But by the time she finally rose to the surface and cleared the water from her ears and nose, she knew it all for foolishness. Jane was right—not only was it stupidly impetuous, but wrong to leave. Richard would come here, if he came anywhere, and Richard was her husband.
Richard… not… not anyone else.
Chapter 14
Wyoming, United States
May 1900
Richardgavetheorderto halt, and the short line of riders drew up before him. They were straight, prompt, and stood obediently to await the next command. He was satisfied.
“Dismissed,” he told his men, and the line of horses broke up to be unsaddled in preparation for the next group. Finally, he felt as if they were truly going to accomplish what he had been sent here to do. He had one more week before this next batch of horses would be loaded on a train, and then a ship for the long trip to South Africa. Bryson’s men were already starting the breaking on another group of horses in another corral, and Richard and his men would turn their concentration there next.
Since he had nothing to do but wait, he reasoned to himself that he might as well take a look at that bunch while his men caught their next mounts. He rounded the back of the first corrals and saw only one man atop a horse in the second. The others—Bryson and two of his yokels—were leaning on the fence and talking. He could hear a few of their words as he approached, and what he heard froze him in his tracks and filled him with disgust.
“—I told you, that one’s a trollop. She’s to meet me tomorrow night. Said she would sneak out.”
One of the men guffawed. “The little light-skirt! Watch it, that one might be noisy. She’ll tell everyone.”
“Not if I shut her up. You wait, I’ll have her gentle as a kitten, or I’ll break her like a bronc, but she’ll keep quiet.”
Richard’s lip curled. The filth! What man talked publicly about his whores? Whatever the vermin was about, trying to impress his simple-minded buffoons, he had no business doing it here. “Bryson!” he bellowed, and delighted in the way that worthless scoundrel flinched as he turned.
He stalked near, glaring at each of the three idle men in turn. “Why are you three not working? We do not pay you to hold up rail fences.”
Bryson leaned against the post and gestured casually. “Aren’t you the high and mighty one? Paid by the head we are, not the hour.”
Richard drew a step closer and lowered his chin so that the brim of his hat cast a dangerous shade over his eyes. “I have been granted full discretionary powers in all matters pertaining to the remounts—including the choosing of another outfit, if I determine that yours cannot deliver the terms of the contract.”
Bryson thrust out his jaw and stood away from the fence. “You think you can take me, fancy man?”
“Drunk or sober?” Richard crossed his arms and shook his head. “Better tend to the horses instead of your vanity, or I will make sure you won’t be able to afford your favourite vices.”
Bryson held his gaze, his lip curling, then turned to the side with a careless laugh. “Go on, Tommy, no use trading words with these stuffy Khakis. You go show him what a real man can do. Get the buckskin out—I’ll wager he never sat one that rough.”
Richard only narrowed his eyes and watched in silence. He would be glad to put this assignment behind him.
Pemberley
August 1900
Itwasinapale and shaken state that Elizabeth permitted herself to be dressed for dinner and presented on the stair. She could hear voices down below, and as she drew near to the descent, she could see the tops of heads. Maids, butlers… Mr Darcy’s loose, dark curls and the straw-coloured coiffure of Miss de Bourgh.
She supposed she ought properly to call it “golden” in gentle company, but for goodness’ sake, it only looked like flattened wheat straw to her, with little colour and even less lustre. But that, Jane said, was uncharitable. Moreover, it almost sounded like jealousy, and she could not for her life fathom wherethatsentiment might have come from.
She put her foot hesitantly on the top step, but a movement to her right caused her eyes to flick to the hidden door in the wall. It was the servants’ passageway, the one through which she and Mr Darcy had crept earlier—whispering like conspirators and giggling like children whenever Mr Darcy accidentally took them down the wrong corridor. And then there had been his hand on the small of her back, guiding her and ensuring that she did not stumble…
Elizabeth looked quickly away from the maid who emerged from the doorway. She was not supposed to notice the help, was she? And she certainly was not supposed to know where that door led, or how narrow the passage was, or how a man’s hair could smell like clean air and fresh meadow grass in such a closed space.
She steadied her breathing and concentrated on Jane’s voice, down below. And Billy’s, for his was the loudest of all. Apparently, the countess had decided that his position as a tutor did not preclude him from dinner at Pemberley with his cousins. It would be good to see his homely face again, to hear his silly chatter, to see him… standing beside Miss de Bourgh, with his hand on her back…
She blinked and drew a sharp breath when she realised her gaze had drifted away from Billy and back to Mr Darcy. The gentleman smiled warmly, as did the lady at his side.
“Mrs Fitzwilliam,” he greeted her, “I am pleased you could join us. Miss Bennet feared you might be overtired from your ride this afternoon.” This, he spoke with a veiled amusement, that hint of a twinkle in his eye known to all who share a secret. “I trust the exercise left you in good spirits?”
She managed a nervous dip of her head as she tried to meet Miss de Bourgh’s gaze with the open frankness of an honest person. “Indeed, sir, it did. And Miss de Bourgh, I am happy to see you again.”
“Likewise,” the lady answered generously. “I am quite satisfied to hear that you have been taking the air, Mrs Fitzwilliam. There is nothing like brisk exercise for a lady’s constitution, that is what I always say. But my dear, what a fearful colour you have in your cheeks this evening! Darcy, you must send for the doctor straight away. It might be the influenza. Mrs Fitzwilliam, pray, what cities did you travel through before coming to London? Do say it was not New York! A haven for disease, it is—I ought to know, naturally, for both times I was there, I fell ill.”
