Mrs Gardiner stood before her, shaking her head. “I spoke your name three times. Is something amiss, Lizzy? It is not like you to be so distracted.”
“Oh! No, I am certain it was nothing, Aunt. Nothing at all.”
DearDarcy,
How are you keeping, old chap? I hope Georgiana has settled in well after coming home from school. Tell her I was sorry to miss her, and that dear Cousin Richard will be sure to bring her something from America. Do you suppose she would like an eagle feather? I found one only yesterday. Or perhaps a beaded bracelet would be just the thing. There is an old tribal woman living near here who creates the most remarkable jewellery. I have never seen the like before.
Darcy, I believe if you saw this country, you could not help but admire it as I do. Oh, perhaps it would shock you—there are certainly not the conveniences we have at home, but the sheer amount of empty air is astonishing. For miles and miles by train, as far as the eye can see, there is only open ground. I fancy you could seek all the solitude your heart could desire and then some, for the people are scattered rather thinly over this territory. Pardon me, I suppose Wyoming is a state now, as of only nine years ago. I wonder if someone did not tamper with the numbers, for I do not see how there can be sixty thousand people here for it to qualify as a state. I think more people are living in Grosvenor Square alone than this whole region.
What people are here are a curious lot. They are as rugged as the mountains and range they call home—I suppose they must be, to have carved out a living here. Their manners are largely wanting. Finishing school would not go amiss for many, but for all their coarseness, the people in town are generally a good-hearted, cheerful sort. It is rather like rubbing elbows with your tenants, as well as a hefty sprinkling of industrial labourers. How shocked Mother would be, but I tell you, I have quickly come to respect them. There is a spirit among them, an assertive independence and confidence that I cannot help but hold in some reverence.
Perhaps I shall describe one such person so that you will understand. There is a young woman here by the name of Elizabeth Bennet. I encounter her often because she works in the local dry goods mercantile with her aunt. Additionally, her father is the blacksmith at the corrals, and among all her sisters (there are four others), she is the only one I have seen calling on him at his work. He rarely comes to town, and I gather there must be some reason, but I am not privy to it.
The first time I met Miss Elizabeth, she was flying across the countryside as if the hounds of Hades rode after her. I thought her in some distress and tried to come to her aid, but as I quickly discovered, the lady can look after herself. I have seen her frequently since, and she walks about with her head held high and no fear of anyone. There is one chap who regularly delights in pestering her. A detestable, uncouth fellow he is, and he causes me daily headaches of my own, I assure you. But even when I step in to attempt to shield her, as a gentleman should, I find my efforts less than necessary.
Now, you might think such a creature would prove a wild ruffian, incapable of a clever thought or a polished word. Instead, I find her to be quite the opposite. She frequently quotes lines of poetry (it seems a passion she shares with her father), and though her actions may not appear refined, her comportment is entirely ladylike. I daresay a few London ladies could learn something of gracious manners from her, though she probably has no notion how to serve a proper cup of tea.
So, you see, I am not quite among savages here. Did I not feel remiss in my duties to my men, I would count this experience as something of a holiday. As I write this evening, I am watching the clouds descend upon the mountain peaks in the distance, all lit up by streaks of red fire from the sunset. A hawk is crying somewhere, and the tall grass has all gone dry. I imagine a prairie fire here would be a fearsome thing, but for now, I am simply admiring the golden waves as it ripples in the fading sun.
I am enclosing letters for Mother and Father with yours, to save on the postage. I know you will not mind a visit to Matlock at this time of year if you can be got away from your duties in London. Go back to the country, Darcy! Ah, yes, I am a devious soul, for I expect you shall see Anne there, too. Give her my greetings and let me know if you decide to come to the point at last. I hope I shall be at liberty to stand up with you after my current assignment is complete.
Yours,
RF
Pemberley
July 1900
Darcyblewoutafrustrated huff as he cast aside Richard’s only letter from his time in Wyoming. How many times had he read it now? But each time, he acquired new information from it. This time, as on several previous occasions, he was dwelling most principally on Richard’s observations regarding the former Miss Bennet.
What sort of regard was present in the author as he made his remarks? Was Richard selecting her to illustrate his general opinions, as he had once presumed, or was his cousin smitten with the lady even then? And how, precisely, did a woman go about in that great wild? Richard made it sound as if she were seldom escorted and frequently reckless.
And rudely irreverent.
He tapped his knuckles in agitation on his desk as he scowled at the window. He was under no illusions that no one had ever mocked him before, but certainly, it was never done in his hearing. And by a woman who ought, by right, to feel every proper notion of gratitude to him for his pains on her behalf! But this American seemed to hold nothing sacred. Worse, she clearly misunderstood every intention of his, as well as the norms of society. Newly self-conscious about his moustache, he smoothed and straightened it as he pondered what to do.
He could not very well ask her to leave. Even had she somewhere else to go, it would be an absurd over-reaction to a few hasty words. Best to pretend the whole affair had never taken place—that he had not overheard her mournful desire to condole with Lady Matlock, that he did not perceive the ache in her voice when she spoke of a wish for some purpose to her days… that she was not dashedly handsome when she laughed, even if it was at him. No, better to greet her at dinner just as if nothing at all were amiss.
That, however, she refused to permit. As he was leaving his study, she accosted him in the hall—still in her outdoor dress—with the urgent timing of one who had been waiting for him. “Mr Darcy, I beg you would permit me to apologise.”
He put his hands stiffly behind his back. “It is not necessary, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
“I am afraid it is. I spoke wrongly. You have been terribly kind to me, and I repaid you with cruelty.”
“Cruelty? Hardly, Mrs Fitzwilliam. Perhaps I ought to be relieved that you do not know what true cruelty is.”
That chin tipped up in her usual sign of obstinacy. “You might be surprised,” she answered in a husky voice.
“Nevertheless, it is best forgotten, madam.”
She caught the tip of her glove with her other hand and looked uncomfortably to the side. “I thank you, sir.”
Some bit of his indignation eroded as he regarded her profile. She truly was young, probably not much older than Georgiana. Displaced from all she knew, robbed of the man for whom she had consented to change her life, and thrust into a house entirely foreign where her usual sources of occupation or comfort were denied her, it was a wonder that her agitation and grief had not already overcome her.
“Mrs Fitzwilliam, would you speak privately for a moment?” He gestured back towards his study.
A guarded look filled her eyes, but then she firmed her lips and nodded. She followed him, and he offered her a seat.
