Tempted Chapters Four and Five

Yes, you read that right… Two chapters this week! Why? Because I said, that’s why. Unlike my kids, I’m guessing no one here will complain when I say that. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four

Derbyshire, England
July 1900

Great Scott!

Elizabeth swallowed and put a trembling hand to the window. How did one form an oath in British? For if anything could be found to inspire such an impolite ejaculation, the sight before her was surely it.

“Good heavens!” Jane breathed, and Elizabeth could see her sister counting the windows on the front of the house. “Are you sure this is not part of some tour? This cannot be the house we are to stay in.”

“The main house was originally built by the earl of S—  in the time of Oliver Cromwell, upon the site of the ruins of the first house which was dated as far back as the reign of Mary I. The western wing, which you see there, was added during the reign of James II by the first Darcy to call Pemberley his seat, a Mr Edward Merewether Darcy. The entire house was updated with running water two decades ago and, most recently, with electricity by the present Mr Darcy.”

Jane and Elizabeth both turned to stare at their cousin.

“When did you become such an expert on English houses?” Jane demanded.

“I have always been fascinated by English history,” Billy huffed defensively.

“It’s true. I have caught you reading books on the peerage often enough when you were supposed to be working,” Elizabeth agreed.

“And Mr Darcy may be modest, but he is proud enough of his homes that all in his employ are well schooled. It was quite easy to induce the maid to tell me all she knew about the Darcys’ house in Derbyshire.”

“Did she tell you anything of our hostess, the esteemed and regal Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth shivered. Richard had described Georgiana Darcy as a sweet and adventurous young woman, but then, he had praised his other cousin just as highly. Mr Darcy’s formality had taken her aback—perhaps it was only the way they all were, but she had not been prepared for it after Richard’s ease and warmth. And now she was to live in the same house as a properly brought up English girl.

From an extraordinarily wealthy family.

In a house at least three times as old as her own home country.

How boring.

“She only declared that Miss Darcy was as kind and beautiful as her mother, Lady Anne, née Fitzwilliam.”
Well, that was something. Perhaps some of Richard’s affability was a family trait.

***

“Mrs Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennet, and—” the lady blinked slowly—“Mr Collins. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Elizabeth felt her teeth baring in an uncomfortable, forced grin. If the lady was “pleased” to meet her, she hoped never to see her “displeased.” Or perhaps she was one of those people whose faces never altered with genuine emotion, which would make her all the more forbidding and cold than she appeared already.

Elizabeth stumbled her way through what she supposed was a proper greeting, then tried not to look like a simpleton or a bumpkin when their hostess led them into the house. She failed utterly.

 Miss Darcy had proceeded her stately way into some grand hall and then paused. She turned, her shoulders drawn back and her chin set high and aloof. “You will wish to refresh yourselves after your journey. I have ordered tea for your rooms, and dinner will be served at half-past seven. Margaret will see that you have everything you need.” With that, she gestured to the maid and left them.

Elizabeth bit back a sigh and rolled her eyes towards Jane. At the very least, Margaret had travelled from London with them. She had refused to ride in their carriage—had even seemed offended that Elizabeth would ask her to, but she was one somewhat familiar face in a sea of strangers. She was inviting them to follow her now, and with little alternative, they did.
***
 Georgiana Darcy appeared on first glance to be an unusually tall girl, but Elizabeth discovered at dinner that it was merely an illusion—the effect of her willowy form and the graceful way she moved. In fact, when Elizabeth stood beside her, their shoulders appeared almost the same height, but Miss Darcy possessed an air, a certain poise, that had probably been bred into her by centuries of nobility and cultivated by the most expensive finishing school in the country. That must have been where she learned her hostessing skills as well, because every inflection, every movement was calculated to be inoffensive and proper. It was as if every nuance of her conversation and each element of the meal followed a prescribed script—one Elizabeth had not read.

“I trust you found London to your liking, Miss Bennet?” Miss Darcy enquired as the footmen carried away the soup course.

“Very much so,” Jane answered demurely.  “I was surprised at how large it was, and it was a pleasure to watch all the people.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at her sister. It seemed their hostess was already having her influence over Jane, for her sister had been content throughout the meal to respond in banalities.

“And you, Mrs Fitzwilliam?”

“Oh, it was remarkable! One afternoon we toured a book store called Hatchard’s. Have you ever heard of it?”

Miss Darcy blinked slowly again—a mannerism Elizabeth had come to think of as condescension restrained by odiously good manners. “I have.”

“Indeed!” Billy interjected. “Why, the historical section alone could account for an entire room. I think I should have never come out if Cousin Elizabeth had not insisted.”

Miss Darcy smiled tightly and dipped her head. “Miss Bennet, what do you think of the trams? I presume you have nothing of the kind in Wyoming.”

“No, we had seen nothing so splendid,” Jane agreed.

“That is not entirely true, for we saw them in New York before we sailed,” Elizabeth objected.

Jane smiled, glanced briefly at Elizabeth with widened eyes, and then turned back to her hostess. “Riding in Mr Darcy‘s motorcar was a novel experience for us.“

Miss Darcy inclined her head. “My brother purchased them only last year. I say ‘them,’ because he has another here at the estate. However, he uses this one but seldom.”

Elizabeth‘s eyes widened as she spooned up a bit more soup. Two motorcars! And one not even driven often!

“…magnificent!” Billy was declaring. “That we should live in such a time!”

Miss Darcy acknowledged whatever Billy had been saying with a demure smile, then turned her attention to the butler to ask after the next course.

Elizabeth frowned and said no more through the rest of the meal.

***

“Jane, what happened to you?”

Jane gathered the folds of her robe and slipped onto the divan beside Elizabeth. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you had hardly an original idea or opinion of your own! You were as dull and boring as Miss Darcy.”

“Oh, Lizzy, do not call her dull. The poor girl is frightened out of her wits trying to entertain us.”

“Frightened! ‘Poor girl’? Jane, you are too good to pronounce her the snob she is, but I am not. She has not a single thought in her head that her family and her finishing school have not put there.”

“Lizzy, do not be so harsh on her. After all, she has shown us every consideration. She is so young to be managing a household.”

“How old is she? Have you heard?”

“She told me herself that she has just turned seventeen.”

“Really?” Elizabeth tipped her head. “She looks older. I mean, not that she appears aged, but she is so… poised. How does one go about achieving that air of sophistication?”

“I expect that is all she has ever known. Remember, Lizzy, she was not born to harvesting hay and branding calves, as we were.”

“Oh! I hear it in your voice, you are thinking meanly of our own heritage now. Do no such thing, Jane Bennet, for ours is a proud history. I should like to see one of these fashionable Darcys sitting up all night with a sick animal, all covered in muck and cold and praying they both see the dawn. And what of staring at a half-empty cellar in the dead of winter, wondering if it will last a family of seven through to the next harvest? I would not trade our sort of courage for all the social graces in England.”

Jane squeezed her hand. “Your sort of courage, you mean. You are the brave one. I am—” she shrugged, then offered a weepy smile—“just Jane. The one everyone speaks well of, but no one has any use for.”

Elizabeth tugged her sister close. “I do. I need you, dear Jane, if I am ever to come through this.”

***

Wyoming, United States
April 1900

Colonel Fitzwilliam surveyed the motley herd assembled before him. Three hundred horses crowded the groaning corrals, most of them with humbled heads cast low, placidly lashing their tails against the biting flies. “These are your best?” he asked incredulously. “They are not even fit to drag the wounded off the field!”

The top hand in charge had introduced himself as Jake Bryson—a rather tallish sort of bloke, whose shirt and hat brim were stained with sweat and grime. Bryson leaned against a hitching post, shrugging his avowal that these were, indeed, his best animals, and spat a vile stream upon the ground.

Richard would not permit the man the satisfaction of seeing him grimace. Americans were revolting—or, at least, this specimen was—and they all seemed to delight in provoking some reaction from him.

“If it’s wounded men you’re thinking of, Colonel, I’ve got a handsome little stallion behind the smithy. Crushed Murph’s nose, he did, and poor old Blake’ll never walk straight again. But he’s a looker! Prettiest dappled grey I ever saw.” The hand chortled to himself, shifting the chaw about his gums and never seeming to blink as he stared back at Richard.

“My men have enough trouble with bullets without the bother of outlaw mounts. I require trained animals, ready to answer the call of the bugle. Are these mongrels even broken to ride?”

Bryson waved a hand to one of those who worked under him. “Jerry, Sam, Tom! Saddle up some horses. The colonel here wants to see ‘em go.”

What followed was, to Richard, the most painful display of braggadocio and ineptitude it had ever been his misfortune to witness. He was a cavalryman, trained almost from infancy in the ways of elegant horsemanship, and these blowhards hired to break in the remounts must have learned their skills from the back of a whiskey bottle.

A rangy chestnut bucked his way across the pen, his rider making more effort to exhibit his prowess at staying aboard with style than to direct his mount. A second man chose a mouse-coloured little horse, who appeared docile enough, but for the fact that it seemed impossible to turn his head in either direction—assuming his rider even knew how to accomplish such a feat.

“Enough,” he muttered at last, when a scruffy bay propped his front legs and refused to move forward again. Rather than further subject himself—and the horse—to the rider’s mishandling, he drew Bryson away.

“Look here, Bryson, I am expected to send a lot back East within the fortnight. Can these brutes be ready, or not?”

Bryson narrowed his eyes and shifted the chaw around his mouth. “What’s a four-night?”

Richard sighed in exasperation. “Two weeks. How long has this bunch been in training already?”

The hand shrugged. “Four days or so. Five or six for some of the prettier ones.”

“And have you no better breakers than these? I have never seen a more useless set of men. Breaking in a horse properly requires some skill and finesse. Rough, ill-educated hands like these will spoil the creatures.”

Bryson grinned. “The barmaids don’t seem to mind.”

Richard set his teeth and glared at the man until he sobered. “My lodgings are in town. I brought four of my own men with me, and tomorrow morning we will return to set this bunch right. Your men will take instruction from mine, or I will teach them the spur and whip myself. Is that understood? I’ll have none of this drunken foolishness going forward.”

Bryson’s own face hardened and his lip curled as he turned to emit another stream onto the ground. He said nothing, but stared in such a way that did not signal surrender.

“And what of their feet?” Richard continued. “I noticed that some have already been shod. I should like to take a closer look, to be certain these buffoons of yours shall not cripple anything.”

“My men don’t do the shoes,” Bryson snorted. “That’s Bennet. He’s out back, in the smithy.”

“Then I shall speak with him next.” Richard gave a jerk of his chin and walked away.

He found the man he sought bent over a hot forge, hammer in one hand and tongs in the other. Standing back, Richard watched in silence as the fellow beat the molten fire out of a bit of iron, then bent it to his will. He was not a large fellow, and he did not possess the hulking shoulders of most lifelong blacksmiths Richard had seen, but his movements all appeared competent.

A shoe took shape from the iron bar, and Bennet turned for a peg to punch the nail holes into the soft metal. He stopped, eying Richard with a lifted brow. “Good afternoon, Colonel.” He then bent back to his work while it was still hot, just as any smith Richard had ever known might have done. “You must be Marcus’s replacement. I hope, sir, that you know something of horseflesh. Your predecessor did not.”

“And I was hoping to find the same, for your Mr Bryson is an imbecile.”

“I would speak more cautiously, if I were you.” Bennet plunged the cooling shoe back into the forge and withdrew a red hot spike. He turned, pointing it towards Richard, with a look in his eye that seemed half amusement, half threat. “That is my son-in-law you speak of.”

“Then you are as great a fool as he, and worse so, to give your daughter to such a blockhead.”

Bennet lowered the spike to his anvil and burst into a hearty laugh. “We shall get on well enough, Colonel! I spoke in jest—he is not my son-in-law, nor, God willing, shall he ever be. But as for my daughter, if Bryson laid a finger on her, I expect he would lose it.”

Richard could not help a sly smile, and he watched as Bennet returned to his work. “Where did you learn your trade, sir?”

“Where does any man learn? My father taught me, although I never thought I would have to earn my living at it.” He paused in his work to crank a handle on a surprisingly modern blower apparatus. It appeared to have been made by hand, but it was effective, nonetheless.

“What is your business here, Colonel?” Bennet asked nonchalantly. “Have you come to ascertain that I will not burn down the corrals with my forge, or did you merely look for conversation consisting of more than one syllable?”

“I came to see the horses’ feet. I expected no one here had the least idea what they were about, and I cannot risk a hundred lame horses.”

Bennet tipped his head to the left as he bent it again over his anvil. “I just finished the third shoe on that horse there. I hope it meets with your approval. Now, if you please, I should like to finish for the day, because as pleasant as this conversation is, I am looking forward to a mug and a book in my tent far more.”

Richard shook his head and left the work area. A peculiar man, this Mr Bennet. He walked over to the horse tied at the front of the smithy, and with a gentle pat on the shoulder, picked up the hoof. The foot appeared balanced, the shoe well-fitted, and the nails all perfectly placed. He slowly dropped the horse’s hoof again and looked back to the man at the forge. Bennet appeared to have done with him, for he never even glanced up to see if Richard had approved of his work.

Richard sighed and looked around. The hands were still trying to impress him with their dubious talents—unless that was the way they always rode—and there seemed little more he could do until the morrow when he brought his men and set to work in earnest. A pity he could not travel to another station and buy horses elsewhere, but he had his orders. This entire venture was a bloody waste of his time.

At least there was a proper hotel in town. Given the state of affairs, Richard expected a decent bed would be welcome by the end of his days here.

Chapter Five

Pemberley, Derbyshire
July 1900

Darcy passed his hat and gloves to the footman as he entered his own home and glanced up the stairs. Where was Georgiana, and why had she not come to meet him? The greater curiosity, however, was how she was faring with their guests.

“Is Miss Darcy out riding?” he asked the footman.

“I believe she is on the South lawn, sir.”

He nodded. “Very good. And what of Mrs Fitzwilliam and her companions?”

“Mr Collins is in the library, and the ladies are walking the gardens.”

“Thank you, Wilson. I will change and go out. Oh, please inform Mrs Reynolds that Mr Bingley will arrive tomorrow. See that he has his usual room, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Half an hour later, he stood on the balcony surveying the South lawn, but caught no sight of Georgiana. Thinking perhaps she had joined the others, he passed back through the house and sought the gardens. Miss Bennet, the elder sister, was easy enough to find, for she was reclining under a temporary pavilion with a tray of refreshments. She leapt to her feet when he approached, but he motioned for her to be easy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet. Is Mrs Fitzwilliam—” He stopped, because a movement caught his eye from behind a tree.

Miss Bennet tipped her head with a nervous smile. “Lizzy has always been one to wander.”

“Indeed.” The young woman was, in fact, just stepping through a narrow path between the tree and a rose hedge, one typically used only by the gardener. She had not seen him yet—rather, she was glancing over her shoulder in curiosity, and when she turned round again, her face was darkly puzzled. Then she stopped.

“Oh! Mr Darcy. I did not know you meant to come today.” She hesitated, then dropped into an unpracticed curtsey.

“That will not be necessary, Mrs Fitzwilliam.” He gestured to the chairs arrayed under the sun shelter. “Will you be seated?”

Her face adopted a suspicious look, and she glanced at her sister. “Have you some news?”

He sighed as they both lowered into the chairs. “Unfortunately, no. But take heart; it is too early to hear anything of value. My cousin, the earl, has exhausted what resources we have at hand, and we have been corresponding with the officers in South Africa to learn whatever we may.”

She nodded silently. “Mr Darcy, you are too intelligent to trifle with me. What, in your opinion, are the… the odds?”

He raised his brows. This was an unconventional sort of woman. And, despite his cautions to himself, he found her frankness rather… refreshing.

“I wish I could say, Mrs Fitzwilliam. I would like to hope, but just as you do not wish to dwell on baseless supposition, neither shall I. If he has been captured, time is of the essence.”

He left unsaid the rest—festering wounds, malnourishment, dehydration, tse-tse flies… torture. Every day that passed decreased the chances that Richard would be recovered alive.

Mrs Fitzwilliam drew up, her shoulders lifting and tightening. “I understand.”

“I have written to one who was stationed with Richard to see if any other word is to be had. And, naturally, the son—or, rather, the brother, now, of an earl will command the general’s attention.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Why him, more than any other man?”

“Why, their connections back home, of course. Many a high-ranking official owes his status to some family member in Parliament. Matlock can bring pressure to bear.”

Mrs Fitzwilliam’s eyes narrowed.

“Please, do not concern yourself with the matter,” he relented. “We are doing everything that can be done, and some that cannot.”

The corner of her mouth tightened in what she must have imagined to be a smile. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. Are you certain there is nothing I can do?”

“You? In fact, I am certain there is not. How should you?”

“Oh, I did not mean that I know people to write letters to, or that I can board a ship for South Africa, but…” She worked her lip with her teeth and sought the ground before stammering out her request.

“I meant, is there anything I can do to make myself useful? Everyone else is working or doing something. I am not accustomed to being idle, and I am afraid that two weeks of such has left my nerves a bit frayed. Is there nothing I can do to earn my keep, as we say?”

His look of astonishment must have given him away, for her expression sank before he even spoke. “Mrs Fitzwilliam, I can hardly have you polishing silver or clipping the hedges. I do not know what you are accustomed to in America, but here, you are the wife of a gentleman, and shall be accorded the dignity of such.”

“But surely, even such figures must have some occupation,” she protested. “You do not take your ease all day. Where I am from, even the wives of the wealthiest landowners must do their part.”

“You are a guest, and a lady,” he stated flatly, and in such a tone that she stiffened and offered no further argument. He wondered if she even understood what the term “lady” meant—or what it meant here.

“If you are seeking amusement, please avail yourself of the library, the music room, the grounds or even Lambton’s shops as you choose. My staff will all attend your needs—you have but to voice them.”

The woman’s chin drew back, and there was some defiant spark in her eye, but she merely answered, “You are very kind, Mr Darcy.”

“I only do as I feel right. My cousin’s wife will not be treated as a beggar or a servant in my home.”

“And we are very grateful,” Miss Bennet put in, with a quick look to her sister. Mrs Fitzwilliam stilled, then offered a short smile.

“Then let us speak of other matters. I have a guest arriving on the morrow—an old friend who is asking for my opinions on certain business dealings. I am happy to receive him; however, his arrival does create some… complications.”

Mrs Fitzwilliam’s interest piqued. “Such as?”

He hesitated. “I would not wish you to feel obliged to alter your daily routine for his benefit.”

She frowned. “You do not want him to know the precise nature of our connection. I am to remain your little family secret until you verify my claims.”

“You need be at no pains to entertain Mr Bingley,” he answered firmly. “And as to your claims, have I not accepted them? But you are correct in that I feel it wisest to limit introductions at this point. It is best for Richard, and best for you.”

She rolled her eyes faintly, but demurred.

“Thank you for understanding. And now, I must speak with my sister. Have you any knowledge of her whereabouts?”

At this, Mrs Fitzwilliam’s expressive features took on a conscious look. “I believe she was touring the walking paths. I saw her going in that direction a few moments ago.”

“Excellent. Then I shall see you at dinner, Mrs Fitzwilliam—Miss Bennet.”

She merely nodded in silence, her eyes tight and her lips puckered in thought.

***
“Lizzy, what are you thinking?”

Elizabeth watched Mr Darcy walking across the manicured green scape, then out of sight behind a tree, and collected her words before answering. “Nothing, and everything, I suppose. Have you the sense that we are desperately out of our class here?”

Jane frowned. “Not especially. Why, yes, everything is different. The customs, the foods, the way they address one another—and the house is so large! But has not everyone been kind to us?”

“Kindness to fulfil an obligation is merely ‘hospitality,’ and anyone can do that who has the resources.”

“I do not think they are so very different from us, Lizzy. Do you? Certainly, they are very wealthy—exceedingly so—but they are just people, after all.”

“Precisely, but sometimes I feel like they believe they are better than that. Why, think of what we were just talking of. Why would Mr Darcy not permit me to meet anyone else from Richard’s family? Why is he so anxious that we do not mingle with his other guests? The reason is obvious, Jane. They think of me as a stain on the family, at the very best. You can be assured that only a few persons, and those only the most intimately involved, have even heard my name.”

“But can you blame Mr Darcy for that?” Jane reasoned. “Think, Lizzy, if some stranger arrived and claimed to be married to… well, to me, for example. If you had reasons to doubt and I could not be consulted, would you not do all you could to protect my reputation?”

“Protecting one person’s reputation does not mean slighting another. I would treat such a gentleman with respect while I examined his claims.”

Jane cleared her throat. “Lizzy…”

Elizabeth groaned. “Oh! I suppose you mean for me to see that Mr Darcy has done precisely that. And that, perhaps, brings me back to my point. Why the veil of silence over everything? Why can he not simply tell me, to my face, exactly what to expect and how I should act? Back at home, I would have understood why and how everything was to be done, but here, it is like we are caught in some enormous social web that I shall never comprehend. I do not dispute that Mr Darcy has shown us every consideration, and more than many would have done, but I had hoped to feel…” She broke off, puckered her brow, and then decided, “Useful. No, that is not right. Family. I wish it felt like that.”

“All families look different, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh. “I suppose. I feel so torn, Jane. I am worried—terrified for Richard. Mr Darcy tells us he is dreadfully concerned, and he says others are as well, but I cannot see it. What I would give to clasp his mother’s hands and have a good cry with her, as we would do with Mama.”

“That would make you feel better?”

“No, but it would give vent to my feelings, so I could go about doing something useful. But it seems I shall not even be permitted thatconsolation, because Mr Stuffy won’t allow it.” Elizabeth made a mock moustache with her fingers and stuck her nose up in the air until Jane snorted and giggled. “Ladies must be accorded the utmost dignity,” she intoned in a deep, nasal falsetto.

Jane clutched her stomach and nearly rolled back in the grass in laughter, but then her eyes widened and she drew a sharp breath, putting out her hand. “Lizzy!”

“—And pray do not argue with me, Miss Bennet, for you see, I have this manly facial hair and my servants will—”

“Lizzy!”

Elizabeth dropped her fingers in some annoyance, but then froze when she saw where Jane was pointing. Mr Darcy had emerged from behind the rose hedge—his features dark and his eyes stormy. Elizabeth gracelessly clambered to her feet as she watched his fists clenching and his chest rising in steady, measured breaths.

Before she could apologise, he clipped out, “I meant to ask you both if you would care for some afternoon tea, but perhaps that would be a bit too stuffy for you.” He turned on his heel and marched away.

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands and wished she could crawl under a rock.