***
Sitting in his study, Bingley stared at the documents on the desk without comprehending a single syllable. He had no desire to read the words, let alone act upon the request. Lately, his thoughts had often returned to the wonderful time spent in Hertfordshire. He glanced around the room before opening a locked drawer and caressing the vivid blue topaz pendant retrieved from within. “I was going to give this to her as an engagement present. Mother’s eyes sparkled so when she wore it.”
Assessing the room filled with mahogany furniture, and walls covered with deep green paper, he decided it matched his mood: dark, dull, and boring. The blazing fire kept the study warm, still a feeling of coldness ran through his body. His mind returned to another fire in another room—Mr. Bennet’s study. The only image he recalled from that day was the cameo on the desk; perfectly crafted, so even he could discern it was Jane. He had stared out the window into the garden hoping to catch a glimpse of her. If she could welcome me into her life, I would be content. If only she wished it too.
Bingley returned the pendant to its place in the drawer, and then walked to the window. He finally understood Darcy’s need to separate himself from everything and gaze at nothing while he thought. He realized Darcy stared more inwardly than outwardly now that he had become accustomed to the same endeavor. Ignoring the reflection on the glass pane, Bingley brought to mind every word and gesture Jane had made. He compared her to the manner in which Miss Lydia would frolic and flirt and then tease the redcoats. She was not like that. Jane was a lady.
He had always been aware Mrs. Bennet pushed her daughter towards him whenever they were in a room together. He remembered how his angel would lower her head to hide the blush. Was it embarrassment for me? He shrugged. Was she merely dutifully doing as her mother required, or did she care for me at all? Was it just for money?
Bingley tried to identify a single change in her actions after learning her dowry was lost. When did they lose it? Was it gone the entire time? Is that why her mother pushed her so? Bingley could not detect any alterations in her attitude from the moment they danced the first dance at the assembly until their final goodbye as he handed her into the carriage on the 26th of November, the night of his ball.
Forty days have passed without a single spark of sunlight in my heart.
When Jane had danced with Rawlings, he remembered how his own hands had twitched uncontrollably. Bingley recognized from the beginning that his feelings for her were different from those he had experienced with other ladies. He had felt the intensity of her hand whenever they came together, his skin burning at her touch. Holding his hand up to his face, he attempted to stare heat into it. This is my curse. Every lady since Jane has the coldest hands. I cannot stand to touch them. He shook his hand and returned to peering into the darkness with both hands now clasped behind his back.
His recollections centered on her dainty smile. It was the same. She smiled with the exact smile she used with Darcy, Rawlings, Blake, and Mr. Goulding as she did with me. He covered his eyes with his hands.
Bingley meandered over to the chair closest to the fireplace, hesitating before he sat down as he conjured up his beautiful lady sitting near the fire all bundled in blankets. When she stayed at Netherfield Park, he had witnessed what his life would be like today, if only Jane had loved him.
Plopping his head back against the chair, he dreamed of his beautiful angel pouring him tea. He studied the conjured up likeness of her hands as she held the teapot and the strainer. He had always admired the graceful way she picked up the cup and saucer. He reached out to accept it from her when his mind returned to the present. He checked around the room to see if anyone had witnessed his foolishness.
He leaned further back in the chair. His mind wandered to the competitions. He pulled the scarf from his pocket. He drew it near his nose to inhale its fragrance. It no longer held the rose scent he had come to love, yet it smelled as strongly to him as the day she handed it to him. He remembered how it covered up that spot on her breast. Not even I believed the Bennet girls all had freckles in the exact same spot. I wanted to rip that dress and discover the truth of that tiny sliver. I wanted to taste her and touch the silkiness of her skin.
Bingley returned the scarf to his pocket. Tonight at Dembry’s ball, he realized there was no one else whom he wanted to ask to dance. The ladies were elegant, sophisticated, witty, and beautiful. Having always enjoyed the female sex, he found them all to be insincere and untrustworthy now, and none of them represented his ideal of an accomplished woman. Always before, they had agreed to the dances, not out of any interest in him, but for his fortune, and he could no longer accept a lady’s attention based on money. He wanted something more; he wanted a woman that wanted more than wealth. He stared at the fire and announced to the empty room, “I want Jane.”
Slowly he rose from the chair and moved to the desk. I suppose I should concentrate on the rifle sales. Lord Liverpool is counting on my getting this order correct. Perhaps I should speak to Darcy. He needs to know that Liverpool sent word to the Custom officials about the shipment of the rifles to British America. If the United States boards the ship and seizes the weapons, the alliance could be in major trouble politically.
Bingley prepared the note, and wondered how Rawlings was faring. He should not be arriving in New York for another few weeks, and he supposed the ocean trip could be just as dull and boring as the ball had been earlier.
***
“Take that man.” The sailor pointed to Rawlings. “I heard him speak. He is a British citizen. “Are you trying to desert your duty and your country, you lowlife?”
Logan stood between the sailors and Rawlings, defying them with his stare.
“Do not dare touch us, you mewling fen-sucked bugbear and…” Rawlings turned towards the other man approaching Lowell. “And you, you little cullionly, fat-kidneyed lout, do not dare place a hand on me or my friends.”
A man hurried off to find the captain, and when they arrived, Lowell cried, “You must do something.”
Captain Pierce threatened the sailors and waved a letter he pulled from his pocket.
After reading the message, the leader yelled, “Release him. Our apologies, good sir.” When the other sailors looked at their leader, he merely said, “His father is Earl of Wolverly.” The sailors let go immediately, but maintained their hold on Logan and Lowell. As Captain Pierce decried their action, Rawlings held his hand up and shouted,
“These are my companions. You cannot take them.”
“The letter made no mention of the others, sir. We have our orders from our captain. All able-bodied British subjects are to be returned to the Royal Navy. These men are British deserters.”
Lowell paled at the thought. “I am an American, you simpleton. My father is a powerful leader in Boston.”
“Makes no difference to me. You sound like an Englishman to me.”
Rawlings tapped Lowell on the shoulder, held his finger to his lips and shook his head. “Take me to your captain. I need to speak to the man now.”
The leader escorted Rawlings to the British ship. Nothing Captain Pierce said changed the clasp the other sailors held Logan and Lowell. In fact, the more Pierce spoke, the tighter the grip became, until finally, Lowell begged the captain to quiet down lest his sister and cousin hear.
After a moment, one sailor asked another one, “How much do you suppose it will cost him to buy these two here?”
“I suspect more than you make in a year.”
Lowell looked at Logan. He nodded to show agreement with the sailor. “A captured man might be freed with bribery money. Rawlings had planned for just such an incident for me.”
“But not me! I must speak to their Captain.”
Mr. Lowell, I suggest we wait until Mr. Rawlings returns.”
The hostages and sailors remained in their same positions while they awaited word from the British ship. They did not have to wait long. Rawlings returned with a wide smile upon his face, saunt
ering along the deck with a casual gait. “Enjoying the night air, my good sirs. It is a bit chilly for a walk about the deck. And I see you have become cozy with our new friends while I was busy visiting our neighbor across the water. Should I be hurt?” Rawlings handed a note to the Captain and demanded the sailors release the men.
Logan sighed in relief. However, Lowell was confused until the British leader nodded to release the men after the Captain handed him the note. The sailors left shortly afterwards, and without taking any prisoners. The captain returned to the bridge. Lowell and Logan waited for Rawlings to explain himself.
Rawlings took his time straightening his cravat and smoothing out his waistcoat, but he did offer a smirk when he looked at their confused faces. “I know the Commander well, or rather the Lieutenant-Commander. We attended Eton together. He, too, is the second son of an earl. The commander succumbed to cholera, and my friend took control.”
“I assume then our freedom was… free?”
“Let us just say I only had to pay half the going rate, or rather, I received two for the price of one. My friend has to pay the sailors, and our friendship would not overcome what is due. Now he does apologize for the disturbance and offers to escort us to safer waters. In fact, he demands it. Unfortunately, it will not be New York. He has his orders to detour us to Boston.”
“Boston, why that is my home!” Lowell exclaimed. “Did I hear correctly, Mr. Rawlings, you are an earl’s son? Moreover, what are you, Mr. Logan? The son of a duke or a prince?”
“He is my friend. He—”
“I am his valet.” Logan interrupted.
Rawlings shrugged. “You have been a poor sort of valet this trip. Why, I had to care for you! Perhaps though, you can be the earl’s son and I shall be the valet. We are heading to America, and I suspect I will be received better with your background than with mine.”
“Not true, Mr. Rawlings. Many will want to meet you and not your valet.” Lowell turned to Logan to apologize when Logan held his hand up.
“Call me Rawlings. I have grown tired of titles,” Rawlings said as the men approached the railing to watch the Royal Navy return to their ship. “I suppose it is the custom in America for friends to call each other by last names.”
“Or first names. We do not hold any particular custom. You may call me either Francis or Lowell.”
“Lowell it is then, and this is Mr. Logan.” Rawlings smiled at Logan’s sighs.
Logan grabbed his stomach. Rawlings guided him closer to the railing. “Shall I hold your head again?” He did not speak. He merely did what one did when one could no longer put off a natural urge to relieve oneself of dinner. Rawlings was somewhat surprised when Lowell stood beside them.
“When we arrive in Boston, how shall we introduce you, Mr. Logan? As a gentleman or a valet?”
Logan turned to Lowell, shared a grimace before leaning over the rail again.
Chapter Thirteen
“As a valet, please.” Logan looked worn out when he answered Lowell’s question. He did not wish to return to the role of gentleman, and now that the British had boarded the ship he realized it was safe to reveal his status without fear of being taken. He had always enjoyed being in the background, and believed his life worked better from that station. The three men had returned to the warmth of the dining room and talked for a while about the situation.
Rawlings grew concerned when Logan abruptly excused himself to head back out to the deck.
“I am sure he will be fine.” Lowell’s gaze followed the queasy looking man as he disappeared from the dining room. He was about to speak again when Rawlings held his open palm up.
“Traveling as a gentleman is safer. As a valet, the British would falsely claim he was a deserter. Nonetheless, my own countrymen should have treated me with more respect, but I suppose the Navy trusts no one these days. The number of deserters increases daily.”
“You two speak as friends. I do not have a valet, and I am curious. Is this the usual way between a gentleman and a manservant?”
“Not usually. Logan has been with me since I was a mere lad of sixteen and I sought a friend at that time. He complied with my request. I was surprised to discover your elevated status in Boston. You come from a prominent family? You surprised me when you told him your father was a powerful man.”
Lowell laughed. “We are a pair, trying to hide our pristine family connections.” He breathed in deeply as the ship lurched forward in an attempt to make up lost time. Lowell supposed that was what caused Logan to return to the railing. “Our talk the other day did not reveal your true plans. You, however, discovered mine.”
“I belong to a group of young men, partners really; two tradesmen’s sons, one marquess, and one highly esteemed gentleman farmer, who put us together. He is the one with interests in milling.”
“A gentleman farmer? Is he involved in any other industry?”
“Mining, shipping, insurance. In fact, he insured this ship, and will be delighted I was able to earn him his profit,” Rawlings said.
Having learned more about the congenial man sitting across from him, Lowell relaxed as the two spoke about the the alliance. Rawlings explained what they were attempting and Lowell provided him with a solid understating of how business worked in Boston and New York. Much to Rawlings' surprise, the American offered to provide letters of introduction for him. Lowell emphasized that the Livingston family in New York would be the most beneficial family to meet, and in Boston, the Perkins and Forbes families could offer insight into the China trade.
The two men shared a few drinks and talked well into the night, touching on many topics including similarities and disparities in the politics and the social realm between their two countries.
When a silent pause occurred, both men agreed to turn in for the night. Returning to his cabin, and while preparing for bed, Rawlings dwelled on the friends he had left behind in England. He wondered which activities were keeping his friends busy—business or social. Bingley, he supposed, was still mourning the loss of his angel. Kent had returned to the place he preferred, as would any social climber.
When Blake and Darcy had returned suddenly from Hertfordshire, he concealed his unhappiness at not being able to return to Netherfield Park. He had planned to seek permission to court Mr. Bennet’s youngest daughter before leaving on this voyage. Now the opportunity was lost.
Rawlings took in the emptiness of the room and realized how he longed to hear Lydia’s laughter and again receive the teasing looks she had sporadically cast his way. He should have returned to Meryton and announced his intentions. Then, Mrs. Bennet would have kept George Wickham away. Tonight he would be resting easier instead of fighting this sense of foreboding. The arrival of the Bingley family in London ended his opportunity to secure her. He pulled the coverlet back and gazed at the vacant bed. He wondered if Miss Lydia was dreaming of redcoats or had the waltz changed her thinking in any way.
As he climbed into bed, his thoughts turned from Lydia to Bingley and then to Blake, wondering whether the two friends had overcome their recent heartbreaks, or if Darcy had admitted the truth of his desires. Thoughts of his partners faded as the likeness of Lydia Bennet came into view, but just before he succumbed to sleep, the faces of Miss Long and Miss Lowell appeared. He clutched his pillow tightly to his chest. A hunted man, indeed!
***
Three weeks had passed since his sister’s surprise dinner party. Darcy's schedule was so busy, he had not had time to read any of his books, but he made plans to make his first batch of distilled spirits for Kent’s birthday in July. A servant placed a pot of tea on the table where Darcy sat, fingering the collection of poems given to him by Miss Bingley. He studied the paper, deciding several of them were old. The pages numbered fifteen, and contained cheerful prose, but only a few went beyond odes to family members. Still, he recognized that Miss Bingley had given him a unique gift.
Sipping the tea, he read one of the more interesting ones: The Procession.
/> The legislators pass along
A solemn, self-important throng!
A World of Expectations_Book 2_The Confrontation Page 20