She blinked. “Sir?”
Mr Darcy pushed up from his chair and sighed. “We are not so ready to consign him to the grave, madam. I have not yet lost hope that he is alive somewhere and waiting to be ransomed.”
Elizabeth rose unsteadily on her side of the massive desk. “Do you honestly think it possible? I have wondered, but not dared to believe it.”
“It is likely enough. A colonel is generally a man with connections, and a prize on the battlefield if he can be captured alive. We are doing all we can, and I intend to speak with the earl this very afternoon. Meanwhile, you may be interested in this.” He indicated a side table, where a map was laid out with an assortment of flagged pins pushed into different locations.
“TheDaily Mailkeeps us well informed of troop movements. One of the marvels of this modern age of ours. See here—Richard said in his last letter that he was ordered to Johannesburg and then to Pretoria. They are both in British hands now, so we are sure to hear more very soon.”
Elizabeth surveyed the map, with its patriotic markers and unfamiliar names, and was struck by how cold and impersonal it all seemed. Richard must have seen it for a far different thing.
“I will see you have a map of your own,” Mr Darcy continued. “If you will please excuse me, I am afraid I have much business to attend. However, I have made arrangements for you and your party to journey to my country estate in Derbyshire tomorrow. I believe you will be more… comfortable… there.”
She swallowed. Yes, she certainly would be. “Thank you, sir.”
Chapter 3
Wyoming, United States
April 1900
“TheEnglisharesostrange!” Katherine Bennet, better known as Kitty among her sisters, crossed her arms and gazed out the window at the street below.
“Why do you say so, Kitty?” her eldest sister asked mildly. Jane reclined with one of Elizabeth’s books, trying to remain focused on the authoress’ hundred-year-old dialect as she whiled away the afternoon.
“They send ever so many officers over for the horses. Look, five new men in uniform have just come from the train.”
“More English men in uniform?” gasped Lydia, the youngest. She bolted to the window and fairly shoved her older sister aside to afford herself a better view. “Oh, I simply adore the way they talk! I could listen to them prattle on about tea and crumpets all day.”
“It is not tea, but war they speak of, Lydia,” admonished Mary. “If you listened to more than their accents, you might know that.”
“Yes, but why should I bother? None of it makes any sense to me, but it makes me giggle every time they say ‘R-oi-ght, then!’”
“Oh,” Kitty sniggered, “or the way they walk so stiffly, as if they had a broom handle stuffed up the backs of their coats.”
“All soldiers must march like that, Kitty, not just the English ones,” Jane said.
“I do not think it at all proper,” Mary interjected, “for us to mock men of good character so.”
“Who said they had good characters? Anyway, it does not matter, as Uncle Gardiner will not allow us to speak to them.” Lydia pouted and flopped to the sofa seat beside Jane.
“Lydia,” the eldest sister reasoned gently, “we are living in his house now. Surely, our uncle has a right to determine whom he will host in his own home, and since he provides for us, we must heed his wishes.”
“Oh, bother, Jane. Father is paying him for our board, you know,” Kitty protested.
Jane opened her mouth to explain how very much more the generous keep on six women must cost their uncle than the meagre amount their father provided each month, but it was a fruitless argument.
“Oh, my girls!” The door burst open to admit their mother. “You will never guess what I have just heard! That Colonel Marcus—you know, I always thought him such an agreeable man, though your father did not—his replacement just arrived today, and he came to pay his respects to your uncle. The new colonel is named Fitzherbert, or something like that it was, and he is the son of a duke back in England! Fancy that, girls! Why, he must be the wealthiest soldier in the whole army, and he has come here! What a fine thing it is!”
“Come, Fanny—” a stern, masculine voice issued from behind her—“you must not go on so.”
“Oh! Uncle, is it true?” Kitty and Lydia bounded to their uncle with pleading eyes and softly clinging hands. “Can such a man truly exist?”
“I saw him in the general store,” Mary said. “He surely does. Oh, Lydia, you act as if he is descended from Apollo! He is just another Englishman.”
“But a duke’s son!” cried the youngest. “Uncle, please tell me if it is true!”
“Not entirely,” Uncle Gardiner finally managed. “He is the son of an earl, which is a considerable step down from a duke if I understand properly. I would wager he is a second or third son, or he would not be in the army but back in England, living in style. So, you see Fanny, he is not quite the prize you first took him to be. Be good enough to let the poor man alone to attend his duties while he remains in the area.”
