Page 5 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

But this woman was different.

Miss Bennet’s hands, while scrubbed clean, spoke of work.

They lay small and warm in his own. Her brown hair was as deep a chestnut as his gentle racehorse, and there lingered around her an herbal scent.

He couldn’t name it, but it harkened back to his childhood when Nurse would settle him into bed with a cup of steaming chamomile tea. Comforting and calming.

The smell of home.

And here she stood, one of the very Bennets he might uproot from their land, about to take a turn on the dance floor with him.

William stuffed down his discomfort as he angled the young woman to face him.

He touched her lower back where the coarse fabric of her high-waisted skirt met her simple blouse.

Both styles were a decade behind the latest fashions, but the cut and pale hues complemented this lass’s willowy figure and soft coloring.

As she wasn’t as tall as him, her brown eyes lingered on the ridgeline of his shoulders—not meeting his face—and he didn’t blame her. They didn’t know one another.

Rarely had that affected him before but the unbalance of understanding in this moment was unnerving. No, unjust. He knew who he was and his goals here in New River. He sought land... maybe even her father’s. This young woman remained none the wiser.

The cogs in his mind turning, William gulped as he led them in a small step to the right, hoping to find the slow rhythm with her quickly. “It’s a fine song,” he said in desperation.

“The music?”

He nodded, his chin dipping near to her forehead as he turned them to the right this time. Something felt off.

“I—I do not believe the song has begun.” She followed him regardless.

Stilling, he listened more closely, finally recognizing the humble scales the ragtag band worked through. Oh, he was an idiot. No wonder their feet had been out of step. There was no melody.

He freed her hands and took a step back. “So it seems.”

Lantern light swirled around them, as easy on its feet as the laughter and conversation that ebbed and flowed from the crowd of townspeople. Unlike him.

Miss Bennet clasped her fingers in front of her dress. “I s’pose it’ll begin in just a moment.” Finally her eyes met his. An ancient soul in a youthful face.

“Yes.” And in the meantime? How was he to pass the moments? “Would you care for some refreshment? I believe there’s punch.”

“Oh, I just had some. Well, the cider that is. The punch was a mite sweet for my taste.” She winced as though not meaning to admit all that.

“Would you mind? Showing me to the cider?” He needed something for his parched throat. For his guilt, really. Though a drink so wholesome would hardly do.

He followed her toward the refreshment table. Music swelled again. A waltz. Soft and slow. He kept walking and thankfully, she pretended not to notice as well.

At a table covered in a checked cloth, a young boy dipped two tin cups of cider. “Here ya are, Lizbeth. And for yer gentleman friend.” The boy’s drawl was as stamped into place as everyone else’s.

Yet it was her name that lingered in his mind. Lizbeth. William would aim to think of her only as Miss Bennet. Formality created distance and that’s what he needed in all circumstances here.

They turned to survey the dance floor. He a shoulder width apart from this young woman and none the wiser for what to say.

In the awkwardness that lingered, she swiped her fingertip across the bottom of the cup, catching a droplet of rich cider.

She tasted it and he diverted his gaze. Sipped his own cup.

William swallowed the savory taste, trying not to think of her enjoying the same.

He’d come here on business. Nothing else. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by a brown-haired local with a pretty face and curious gaze. Lizbeth. He’d do well to forget her name after this moment.

Tricky when a few more minutes of survival were at hand. William cleared his throat. “Tell me of this barn.” It was all he could think of. Before them, couples turned in slow rhythm to the band. A dozen hues and textures moving as one.

“The barn?”

If he stalled longer, the song would end. They could part ways, and he’d be none the ruder for it. “Yes. Of its history.”

She surveyed the ceiling with its soaring rafters and massive beams. Water marks ran dark talons down the western ridgeline, but the building was sound, and impressively grand.

“It’s the hoist barn,” she said. “For the coal company. Just beneath these floorboards, the mine sinks down five hundred feet.”

Already the owner of two coal mines across the East, he knew the basics but feigned interest all the same. Especially when she pointed to the far end of the building where a series of mechanical cranks spoke of sound engineering. “Do you see that hatch there?”

William nodded.

“That’s the hoist and the cage that takes the crews up and down.

I’ve never seen inside of it. Girls aren’t allowed to.

” She held her cup between pale, youthful fingers.

Perhaps nineteen... maybe twenty, she had to be nearly a decade younger than he.

Likely, she’d be as glad for this encounter to end as he.

“Pa always told us to stay far away as children. Not that my sisters or I had much reason to come here. But when we were younger, whenever Pa forgot his lunch pail, we fetched it for him.”

William nodded absently, not interested in learning more. The less they spoke of her pa the better. He needn’t know anything else about her origins, nor she about his. “Fascinating.”

“Have you ever been inside a mine?” She peeked up at him as though unsure what a coal baron did exactly.

He didn’t blame her. Most men of his status bought their wealth, but he tried to earn his. “I’ve been down in mines a few dozen times.”

Her eyes widened. “And the dark?”

“I can’t say I fear the darkness, but I’m not too keen on the stillness.”

She looked to be waiting for more.

“It just comes with the territory.” His men wouldn’t respect him if he didn’t know how to crouch low beneath a jagged out-cropping of ore.

Or crawl on his belly in the blackness of the earth.

He did both as often as needed but he didn’t want to overexplain and wasn’t usually one for many words.

He didn’t want to risk her thinking that his curiosity about the building had been in jest. She’d been kind enough to point out its features and that needn’t be doused by his blabbering about mines.

Lizbeth lowered her cup, studying it now as she spoke. “Pa’s told me of how canaries fall from their perches, hearty flames flicker out, and grown men cry for salvation. But I think that’s sometimes to keep us girls far away from the hatch.”

Wise man. William had seen enough of the world below to understand what the folks in these parts faced day in and day out, and he didn’t need to know any more of the aged Mr. Bennet.

The knowledge this young woman had just given him was unnerving enough and his senses needed to stay taut as steel cables if he were to make it out of New River unscathed in a few weeks’ time.

With that reality clouding this moment, William struggled for what else to say.

In the distance, Brydolf and another of the Miss Bennets were dancing.

Her yellow curls were wound up in a romantic fashion—just lyrical enough to distract his best friend.

The man was utterly beaming. William shook his head to gather his wits.

He’d have a few choice words for his friend come dawn and the walk back to the train yard.

As for now, William tried to ignore the thread of jealousy that wove into his spirit. How was it so easy for Brydolf to engage with others? If only his friend would cease this merriment and join him here in the wings. William could use a dose of the man’s energy and enthusiasm.

But no, it was just William and this young lady. So, he had to think of something.

Lizbeth fiddled with a strip of cloth wrapping her waist. While he meant not to admire the trim shape of her waistline, the crooked seam running up her side was strangely endearing.

Then something akin to guilt struck him.

He didn’t know why. He had nothing to do with the origins of her dress or the fact that she was poor.

She and he existed at opposite ends of industrialization. He the money. She the humanity.

She was also fidgeting nervously. Growing bored no doubt.

Words, man. “And you, Miss Bennet? What is it that occupies your time?” While he gathered this one too old for schooling now, she appeared just shy of matrimony and motherhood.

“I enjoy going for walks or finding a spot to read. I also spend time each afternoon stitching on a sampler. But first, I tend the gardens at home and keep the mules fed and watered.”

“Do you have a lot of mules?”

“Just two now. Though we used to have a fair deal more before they were sold to the mine.” Her eyes looked sad over that detail.

“I see.”

“Yesterday, one of our mules, Eugene, toppled over the garden gate. Ma sounded the alarm and my sisters and I caught him before he threw the whole patch asunder.”

William tried to imagine such a scene. Of this young woman going up against a mule and coming out victorious. “Sounds like quite the feat.”

“It wasn’t so hard. Just needed to open a jar of dried apples. They’re his favorite. He doesn’t hear very well, but he’ll follow me just about anywhere with them.”

These garden exploits explained why her hands felt as though they knew the earth better than the next woman’s.

More curiosities came to mind, but he stemmed them.

Was that enough conversation? Perhaps it would have been safer to dance.

The stringed instruments crested their refrain now.

The song would end soon. He was half tempted to state as much so that Miss Bennet would at least think him knowledgeable on music.

Seeing as he’d gotten off on the wrong foot and all.

But conversation just wouldn’t flow naturally for him. It rarely did with strangers. Especially with the way this young woman observed him. He sensed she was more intrigued by his soul than his wallet. What would she see there?

What did he see when he glanced her way?

Eyes—copper brown and focused—seasoned by a hundred novels or as many stories around the fire, no doubt.

She looked sharp as a whip, and he’d take care not to cross her lest he encounter the sting.

If this mule of hers was so easily tamed, he didn’t guess he’d be much of a match for her either.

“And what of your business, Mr. Drake?” she asked. “I’ve heard it said you own coal mines up north. Is there a favorite region you’ve visited?”

He didn’t sense an ounce of greed in her tone.

No prying into the wells of his wealth. Only a gentle curiosity—even more unsettling when the map of New River filled his mind.

The blocks of land he’d carefully marked.

Including her own. Bennet Hollow . A twenty-acre plot of forest and streams that he’d journeyed here to claim along with the other farms. Lines on the map that just yesterday had meant only fences, but now, looking down on her crown of braids and faint smattering of freckles, he saw a glimmer of the vistas and views she called home.

What had only been an equation in his mind now spanned into a portrait. One of beauty and life. The image—the vulnerability—stunned him.

Chest pounding now, William took a small step back, not meaning to sideline her question.

He could scarcely recall it and that unsettled him more.

He wasn’t used to his mind being disrupted so.

In the distance, he heard only a lone fiddle playing now.

The other musicians were all reaching for mugs of drink.

“Well, it seems the song is nearly done, Miss Bennet. I’ll leave you to your acquaintances.” For surely he proved dismal company himself. Gulping, he backed away. “I hope you have... I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

He nodded and gave an impossibly formal bow. Mortified, he turned and trudged off before she could see his lack of composure. Or worse—see him for who he truly was.