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When faced with an onerous task, her youngest sister often feigned frailty if a handsome young man was nearby who might help. The tallest and sturdiest of the Bennet sisters, Lydia had nonetheless managed to appear convincingly helpless.
These were not Elizabeth’s fondest memories of her sister, but they still provoked the surge of sadness and anxiety associated with any thoughts of Lydia. Elizabeth had so many other causes for concern that Lydia was often eclipsed, particularly since she could do nothing to help. But that did not prevent her from being anxious about her sister’s fate.
She was forced to put it all aside when Weston passed through the gate. Now was her time to act. Elizabeth hurried to the well and hauled up a bucket of water, straining and groaning as if the process was very burdensome. Before Weston reached the back door, she called, “Mr. Weston? What a happy coincidence! Would you be so kind as to carry this bucket to the kitchen for me? I would be much obliged.” She allowed the bucket to thump heavily on the ground and gave a helpless shrug in Weston’s direction.
She felt quite silly, but he responded with a slow grin that was no doubt intended to be seductive. “Of course, Miss Elizabeth. It is a pleasure to help
a beautiful lady.” Elizabeth obligingly giggled at the compliment.
He hoisted the bucket of water with little effort, and she kept pace with him as he carried it across the yard. “I am ever so grateful! But I suppose it weighs nothing to you when you lift such burdens every day.”
“I am happy to be of service.” He grinned at her and licked his lips. Through a sheer effort of will, Elizabeth managed to smile even more brightly.
Weston deposited the bucket on the floor of the kitchen. This placed them near the source of Elizabeth’s next planned distraction. Beside the door was a basket of wet sheets, shifts, and shirts that Polly had washed earlier that day. Although the maid usually did the washing, she had been sent on a trip to the market, and Elizabeth had promised to hang the clothing.
“While you are here, would you be so obliging as to help me hang the washing? I am simply too short to reach the higher parts of the clothesline.” She tilted her head coyly to the side.
Weston’s smile wavered—no doubt he was eager to see Collins—but lust conquered all. “I think you are just the right height, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with an appraising assessment of her form.
Elizabeth concealed a shudder with another giggle. “You say the sweetest things, Mr. Weston!” Picking up the basket, she sauntered into the courtyard, allowing her hips to swing a little. What would Lydia do? As Weston followed, she maintained a constant stream of chatter. “Fortunately, I need not do the washing myself. Polly and Hill do it. Such nasty, smelly work! I would hate to do it. But I promised Polly I would hang the clothing today. Even the sheets, which are so big and unwieldy.”
He smirked at her. “I am sure we can make quick work of them.”
They reached the clothesline that was strung across one corner of the yard, between a hook on the side of the house and a tree. Elizabeth set down the basket gingerly, for the ground was quite muddy, and pulled the first wet garment from it. She gestured to the sagging middle of the line. “I do not have any difficulty reaching this part. But”—she pointed—“would you be so good as to hang these sheets at that end? It is just a little too high for me, and you are so marvelously tall.”
He stared at the place she indicated. It was indeed too tall for her to reach; hopefully, he did not notice the stool near the henhouse, placed there for just such a purpose. “Of course. I am happy to be of service.” He leered suggestively.
She handed him sheets and clothes pegs and then resumed hanging shirts, working her way toward the other end of the clothesline, which was lower near the tree.
After hanging the sheets, he hurried to join her at the other end. “Was the job completed to your satisfaction, miss?” Elizabeth hid a wince at his low, seductive tone.
She clapped her hands. “Oh, just wonderful! How can I ever thank you?”
He crowded her against the tree. “I can think of one way.”
Elizabeth made her eyes round and innocent. “And what is that?”
Sure of his attractiveness, he was now far closer than was appropriate. He leaned forward, no doubt intending to steal a kiss and a grope. Just before his hand closed on her shoulder, Elizabeth yanked hard on the free end of the clothesline—where she had loosened the knot.
The entire clothesline immediately fell down upon her and Weston. Rather than a kiss, he received a slap in the face from a wet shirt. “Oh dear! Oh my!” Elizabeth exclaimed, grabbing Weston as if to keep her balance and ensuring that he lose his.
Unable to free himself, Weston stumbled to one knee in the mud, which was particularly thick in that one place, completely coating his boot and one leg of his breeches. Elizabeth “fell” beside him, waving her arms frantically to ensure they would both become more entangled in the clothing.
“I cannot apologize enough!” Elizabeth wailed. “I must not have tied the knot fast!” Of course, she was quickly becoming covered in mud as well—along with the clean washing. But she considered that a small price to pay.
Floundering about, she managed to splatter Weston’s jacket and shirt with even more mud. With each successive stain, Weston grew more and more irritated. By the time he had unwound himself and Elizabeth, he was clearly no longer in an amorous mood. He did not even help Elizabeth but left her to clamber to her feet on her own.
Through clenched teeth, Weston made a perfunctory suggestion of concern for Elizabeth’s well-being and then rushed into the house. She congratulated herself as he left a muddy handprint on the back door. He would need to don new clothes before he could present himself to Collins.
Once he was out of sight, she directed her eyes to the formerly clean laundry now lying in the mud. She could not in good conscience ask Polly to wash it again, so it would be added to Elizabeth’s daily tasks. Sighing, she dumped the soiled shirts and shifts back in the basket. Laundry was easily her least favorite chore, but hopefully she had bought Mr. Greeves some time.
***
For the rest of the day Elizabeth was on tenterhooks wondering if Mr. Greeves and his friends had managed to move the seed drill before Weston found it. Confined to the house by her duties—including endless amounts of washing—she was unable to obtain any information. Weston was not at dinner, but he did join the family in the drawing room for the evening.
Elizabeth avoided his eyes when he entered the room; she would not fuel any illusions that she might harbor an interest in him. When she did chance a glance at him later, his face was as dark as thunderclouds—a heartening sight. Perhaps he had not been able to show the seed drill to Collins.
There was no innocuous or oblique way of obtaining this information, so she was confined to silent conjectures. Fortunately, during a lull in the conversation Charlotte said, “You seem to be under a cloud today, Mr. Weston. Are you well?”
