Page 23 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

Squaring his stance in front of the mirror, William pulled both suspenders up over his shoulders, stealing only a moment to inspect his appearance before Callum burst through the door of the stateroom.

“Does this tie look all wrong?” Callum fiddled with the plum-colored knot at his throat.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” William tucked in the tail of his shirt.

Finished, he tossed his third waistcoat onto the bed and stared at the options.

“I don’t know what the occasion requires.

” It was merely an autumn afternoon with a small party of guests.

A neighborly gathering. Tea would be served and books would be the topic of discussion.

No real need to be intimidated. So why were William’s hands unsteady and Callum somehow flushed and pale all at the same time?

William swung his mind to matters that he could solve—a mental checklist of the day.

His porter would act as butler just as the man always did whenever the Pemberley dressed itself out for entertainment.

Cook had prepared tea along with treats and pastries. And then...?

“I don’t believe we’re used to entertaining such small numbers,” he said.

“Nonsense.” Callum leaned toward the mirror over William’s washbasin. “We’ve both entertained small parties before.” His voice dropped lower. “Just never a group of five sisters.”

Fair.

Especially since Callum had grown more and more intrigued by one in particular.

Was this what the heart did to a man? William had little experience with affection and had never fancied himself in love. Were the traits which Callum exhibited love ? Could it be possible that William was in the same kind of danger?

Alarmed, he continued to study his friend as Callum struggled with the knot at his throat. When their guests entered William’s private car, there would be no crowd to hide among. Conversation and entertainment would be left up to him. Especially if Callum didn’t pull himself together.

“Cook!” William called down the hallway toward the galley. “We could use your help.”

Cook, a burly, ruddy-haired woman of nearly sixty, appeared with a dripping spoon in hand. “I’ve got cream about to curdle on the stovetop and the pair of you need help deciding what to wear?”

“Just for a moment.”

Cook pushed a plump fist to her hip. “Well, I highly doubt the sensible young ladies due here any minute will care whether your cravat is made from satin or silk. A breath of fresh air if you ask me.”

William led Cook across his stateroom where she assessed the three waistcoats he’d laid out. Her own attire—a black dress with a white apron—was splattered with the makings of jams and custards.

“The striped shirt. It cuts a fine figure.” She pointed to what William already wore, crisp and white with faint blue stripes.

“Hmmm...” She scrutinized the options.

“With the tan waistcoat.” She patted William on the cheek.

“It flatters you, dear boy.” She turned him as though to ensure the straps on his shoulders were only suspenders. “No gun, though.”

“Wasn’t going to.” His gun rested in the safe, beside his billfold and the funds he kept with him to ensure they travelled successfully. He only wore the weapon when the train was in motion and hadn’t been armed since coming here.

She tossed a thumb to Callum. “You either.”

Callum held up his hands peaceably. “It’s under the mattress.”

“Good. And wear silver cufflinks instead of gold. They’ll look more like steel, which these gals’ll be used to. And I suggest a different tie otherwise you’re gonna match the marmalade.”

Gulping, Callum retreated to his berth next door, and judging by rattling of hangers from the wardrobe, hastily revised his approach.

“You’re an angel,” William called to Cook as she walked off, muttering her skepticism of how two men so wealthy travelled without a valet.

Judging by the smell of lemon scones and egg pastries, she had outdone herself.

Already, William and Callum had cleared their clutter from the main dining room.

Now the table sat draped with a lace cloth and the finest dishes the galley had to offer.

William wanted this day to be just right for Callum and Jayne Bennet.

As for William, his first thought upon waking had been that he would see and speak to Lizbeth again.

William loosened his shirt collar. Was it suddenly too tight?

“I believe you’ve gotten too good at avoiding human inter-action,” Callum quipped as he returned.

William chuckled. “Maybe a little too good.”

Perhaps today he could do better. William checked his pocket watch. It was also solid gold so he’d take care to keep it out of sight. He wanted these young ladies to feel comfortable.

William glanced out the window, thinking once more of Lizbeth.

What was happening to him? He’d enjoyed hearing her ideals during the two times they’d conversed and seeing her genuineness from afar whenever their paths crossed.

It didn’t hurt that he was rather taken by her expressive gaze, youthful face, and wealth of curiosity.

All marked by bright eyes and clever conversation that didn’t flaunt or cower in his presence but instead helped him see the world through an unexpected lens.

Interacting with her was like studying a novel.

Except more vividly and in a way that made his ears warm.

The fact that she seemed to truly consider him, even when he lacked the words to explain what he was thinking, only expanded his curiosity.

Who was he kidding? He’d already breached the gates of curiosity and was now staring down a building hope.

William swallowed hard. Therein lay the problem, because as sincere intrigue for Lizbeth was blossoming into unsteadying emotion, he was in uncharted waters.

If he proceeded further down this course, he would be a man with no map.

No sure answers. And that was something he’d always been too afraid to risk.

Even in the spaces of his mind, admitting his growing intrigue for Lizbeth was so discomforting that he kept it well under lock and key.

This was madness. His life and hers were worlds apart.

Made worse by the fact that her father’s land hung in the balance and William’s aunt expected him to marry well.

Factor in William’s inability to appear human when it came to matters of the heart and this afternoon had the potential to completely curdle.

People often assumed him a statue, carved from stone, but it was flesh and blood beating within his chest all the same.

For some reason the woman in question had the ability to amplify that.

“This was a terrible idea,” William muttered to himself. Retrieving his pocket watch he checked the time. “The ladies will be here within the hour,” he called to Callum and was answered with, “I’m all thumbs now!”

For the first time in his life, William understood.

Rising to her tiptoes, Lizbeth reached over the corral and clicked her tongue.

Eugene lumbered nearer, his long-lashed gaze fixed on the apple she held out.

Sassafras followed in the distance. Eugene’s one ear perked in her direction as he chomped the fruit with teeth too big for his head.

When he finished, Lizbeth took care not to get too close lest he soil her dress with the wilted clover that clung to his coat from a roll in the meadow.

Already, Lizbeth stood polished and styled for the afternoon in town.

She’d chosen the same skirt and blouse that she’d worn at the barn dance only two weeks ago, along with a sash made from an old shawl that had once been her grandmother’s.

Now the plaid fabric cinched her waist in a coppery bow.

This morning, Ma had let them bathe with special soap that smelled of roses.

Lizbeth sniffed her softly scented wrist. Her cheeks had been scrubbed to a soft sheen, and her hair, braided and coiled in a crown around her head, lay pinned into place by Jayne’s expert hands.

Hardly feeling like herself, the company of her mules provided comfort.

The scents and sounds of Eugene and Sassafras rooted her to reality, where she belonged, as she pulled a second apple from behind her back for Sassafras.

Lizbeth imagined her sisters up at the farmhouse, fussing and fretting in these final moments.

Lacey was probably still moaning about the state of her shoes, while Kit would gallantly offer to polish them and Maryanne would chide them both for not having prepared their things the night before.

“Lizzy!” Ma called from the house. “Your sisters are ready!”

“Comin’!” Lizbeth hurried back into the house to rewash her hands. Finished, she scooped up the basket of hand pies that she and Jayne had prepared. Filled with blackberry preserves, they’d brushed each moon-shaped pie with egg yolk and baked the small pastries to a golden sheen.

“Thatta girl.” Ma nodded. “As I always say—never show up empty-handed.”

Peering into the basket, Lizbeth checked that the sweetest delicacies she and Jayne knew how to make were safe and sound.

“Off you go now. I don’t mind stayin’ behind. No sense me goin’ along with this cold.” Ma dabbed at her nose with a hankie. “I’d rather you girls have this chance than anything else.”

Calling out their thanks, the girls ambled down the stairs and out into the yard. Lizbeth draped the basket on her arm and followed.

She watched as her sisters strolled down the lane, resembling freshly dyed skeins of yarn.

Jayne wore a skirt of butter yellow, Kit and Lacey different shades of green and brown in their Sunday dresses, and Maryanne a sensible gray dress.

The younger three wore freshly starched pinafores.

Never had Lizbeth seen the aprons so white.

Ma had spent the week brining them in liquid bluing to chase away any stains, then pressed and mended every inch to appear new.

As for Jayne, she wore a delicate leather belt at her waist, accentuating her feminine figure, and a ribbon of lace around her soft bun.

When they approached town, Lizbeth spotted the ornate train car. A twinge of guilt needled her that Ma would miss whatever splendor dwelled within. Lizbeth vowed to recount it to her this evening in vivid detail as she clutched the basket close.

Their excited chatter fell silent as they neared. Large metal steps led up into the car from both ends, and Jayne chose the nearest set. “I reckon this may be the entrance,” she whispered.

Jayne climbed the front balcony steps, appearing calm despite the fact that none of them had ever boarded a train car in all their lives.

After exchanging a glance with Lizbeth, who followed close behind, Jayne knocked softly on the door.

Despite the timid announcement, footfalls sounded and all at once, it opened.

Lizbeth expected to see Mr. Drake, but instead, an elderly gentleman with a friendly face bowed. “Good afternoon, ladies. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you.” Jayne curtsied slightly. “I’m Jayne Bennet and these are my sisters.” She named each one, and with a sparkle in his eye, the gentleman nodded as though introductions on the balcony weren’t necessary. Lizbeth could see in his expression that it endeared them to him in an instant.

“I’m the porter on board so please allow me to see you in, Miss Bennet and all of the Miss Bennets.” He turned and they followed.

Lizbeth hung back a step so that they could fit through the narrow hallway that was now filled with five skirts and silent stares.

Despite the snug space, wealth announced itself from every surface.

The paneled walls were intricate and polished as were the electric bulbs that glowed from their brass sconces and glass globes.

Lizbeth had heard of such miracles but never had she laid eyes on the thrumming of light that required neither wick nor flame.

Within mere steps a large room invited them forward with stately furniture and vases of fresh flowers that didn’t grow in these parts.

Blue velvet curtains graced the windows, all pulled back with gold cording, inviting in the light of day.

Overhead, the ceiling was fashioned from glass, the intricately paneled dome offering a view of the clear sky.

The glass was cut and etched with such craftsmanship that Lizbeth couldn’t speak.

She peered skyward along with her sisters. Kit gasped. Maryanne and Jayne stood speechless. Lacey clutched her hands to her chest, turning in a slow circle as though conjuring a reason she too could live in such a palace.

Velvet chaises edged both ends of the room and a dining table filled the center.

The sunlight overhead glinted upon porcelain dishes and more treats than Lizbeth could have ever imagined.

A silver tower of trays balanced glazed scones, miniature sandwiches, and fresh fruits that she didn’t know how to name.

She clutched her basket awkwardly at the sight of dainty jars of curds and jams nestled around.

Silken napkins and glittering cutlery marked each seat.

There wasn’t a single item on the table that wasn’t dipped in silver, gold, or glistening sugar.

“I thought it was only a pot of tea ,” Lacey whispered. She touched fingertips to her mouth, as wrapped in quiet awe as her sisters.

Lizbeth longed to draw nearer and paint every intricate detail in her mind—a memory to save for all her life—but her feet wouldn’t move.

The porter grinned. “Please make yourselves comfortable and I’ll summon the gentlemen.”

He vanished down the train’s main corridor and at the murmur of male voices, Lizbeth steeled herself for the approach of Mr. Drake.

He trailed Mr. Brydolf into the brightly lit room by a shoulder width.

They were both neatly dressed, both equally handsome, but in different ways.

While Mr. Brydolf’s gaze went straight for Jayne, Mr. Drake’s focus landed on the table, on the seating arrangements, on anything but a human.

Lizbeth was trying to think of what to say when he gestured to the assembly of chairs around the tea service.

“Welcome to the Pemberley, ladies.” He dipped a bow to each of the girls, last of all to Lizbeth where his gaze finally met her own. “I hope you’ll make yourselves at home.”