by Jann Rowland
Tired of it all though she was, Elizabeth refrained from giving her uncle any further reason to suspect her. Inside, however, she felt sick at heart. When would this situation end? There was no help for it, for her feelings would not allow her to pull away from Mr. Darcy. There would come a time, however, when it all became too much, and Elizabeth feared that time was quickly approaching.
When they arrived at the house, Elizabeth thought to make her escape, but it was not to be. Uncle Gardiner waited for her while she saw to Midnight’s stabling, and then accompanied her into the house, where they met her father.
“Gardiner,” greeted the baron before directing a questioning look at Elizabeth.
“I came upon Elizabeth on the road to the house,” said Uncle Gardiner in response to his unspoken question.
“Yes, Mr. Hill informed me of her departure this morning,” replied her father. He smiled at her before adding: “Apparently she left at an hour later than is usual for her. It appears the late night affected even you, Lizzy.”
“Not so much that I did not wish to feel the wind on my face.”
Lord Arundel grinned and then turned to his brother. Uncle Gardiner observed her with care, and when he noted them both looking at him, he was quick to respond.
“It may be best to limit Elizabeth’s propensity to ride or walk all over the neighborhood, Brother. We would not wish her to succumb to any entanglements.”
“To what do you refer?” asked her father with a frown.
In a placating gesture, Uncle Gardiner put out his hand in surrender. “It is not my wish to imply I do not trust Elizabeth.”
“I should hope not!” exclaimed Lord Arundel. “Lizzy is my most sensible daughter.”
“And yet, you have always allowed her the freedom to wander as she wishes,” replied Uncle Gardiner.
“Uncle!” protested Elizabeth, even as her father regarded him, a hint of annoyance playing about his manner.
“Many young ladies ride out when they wish, Gardiner,” said the baron. “Elizabeth has never given me a hint of concern about her judgment.”
“And I do not wish to question it,” replied Uncle Gardiner. “But let us face the facts, Brother: you are more apt to allow your daughters to do as they will than provide protection. In the present circumstance, the disagreement with the Darcy family has once again become a festering problem, I think it would be best to keep your daughters closer to home.”
“Are you suggesting the Darcy family means us harm?” demanded Elizabeth, offended on Mr. Darcy’s behalf. “It is a grave state of affairs, indeed, if the Bennets believe the Darcy family are capable of assaulting gentlewomen regardless of their feelings for them.”
“Do not exaggerate!” snapped Uncle Gardiner, his own irritation beginning to show. “No, the Darcys would not attempt to harm you. On the other hand, the younger son, in particular, has such a reputation as to render me suspicious of what mischief he might contemplate.”
Elizabeth did not know Mr. Alexander Darcy as well as she knew his brother, but William had told her something of him, had informed her the rumors were overstated—Elizabeth trusted William to be candid with her. Elizabeth knew, however, it would be best to hold her tongue, for Uncle Gardiner was in such a mood that to provoke him was unwise.
“Then you need not worry, Uncle,” said Elizabeth. “I have neither seen the younger Mr. Darcy on my rides nor do I imagine he would approach me if I did. Your worries are unfounded.”
With those final words, Elizabeth excused herself to return to her room. What her uncle meant by his innuendo Elizabeth could not say. It was clear she would need to be more careful, for her uncle appeared watchful.
“Tell me, Brother, what was the delightful Miss Elizabeth Bennet saying to you at the ball last night?”
Darcy turned and regarded Alexander, wondering what his question presaged. It was apparent his brother saw his hesitance, for he shook his head.
“I accuse you of no improprieties, William. But I saw you standing by the dance floor after the confrontation and wondered if she was flaying you with the sharp edge of her tongue.”
“No, she was not,” replied Darcy, irritated by his brother’s words but unwilling to allow him to see it. “We did not stand together long, but her comments dwelt on the events that provided much grist for the gossips and how the continued argument between us was pointless.”
“With that, I must agree with her,” said Alexander.
Darcy turned to his brother. “As do I. However, I must wonder why you asked Miss Lydia to dance, in particular after your meeting with the girl on the street and the subsequent argument with her uncle. You must have known it could not pass without controversy.”
“That is what I wish to know.”
The brothers turned as one to see their father standing in the door. The elder man watched them, his manner intense and interested, more for his brother than for Darcy himself. For the first time, Darcy was struck with the similarity of their situations: though Alexander’s disobedience had been overt, Darcy was no less engaged in rebellion than his brother. It could be argued that his was for a greater cause—he loved Miss Elizabeth like no other, whereas Alexander was his usual wild self. But the sudden realization did not sit well with Darcy. A solution must be found for their predicament, for he did not wish to sneak about the countryside meeting with Miss Elizabeth, putting her reputation at risk.
“Well?” demanded their father when neither brother spoke. “Why did you dance with Miss Lydia, of all people?”
“Because, Father,” replied Alexander, for once no hint of nonchalance staining his voice, “I found her intriguing. Moreover, I consider this feud to be silly—if we cannot even dance with the Bennet girls in front of the neighborhood, how can we ever hope to put the disagreement to rest?”
Mr. Darcy grunted. “The disagreement shall rest when the Bennets show they are worthy of trust. From this day forward, I expect you to exercise more judgment. There are many acceptable young ladies in the neighborhood; there is no need for you to solicit the hands of those chits in particular.”
“Those ‘chits,’ as you call them,” said Alexander, his temper rising, “are the daughters of a baron.”
“I know who and what they are,” snapped his father. “They are off-limits at balls, parties, or even if you meet them on the street. Am I clear?”
Though Alexander gave his agreement, it was little more than a curt nod. Mr. Darcy seemed to accept it, for he did not make any further demands. Instead, he turned the conversation to the confrontation on the dance floor.
“What did Gardiner say to you?”
“Very little,” said Alexander, his manner still brusque. “He asked me what I was doing with his niece, I replied I was dancing, and she said that dancing is what one does at a ball. After that, you and the baron came to separate us and engage in your own spat.”
Mr. Darcy grunted. “That is well then. I must own that Gardiner makes me wary, for it seems his temper is unstable. You should not provoke him, for there is no telling what he might do.”
The grunt from Alexander served as his agreement, for he said nothing more. The subject might have rested there, had they not soon joined the rest of the company for luncheon, for there was one among their number who had never held her opinion about anything. Though Darcy wished his brother would hold his tongue, he could well understand why Lady Catherine annoyed him enough to provoke a response.
“I hope my brother has reminded you of the foolishness of your actions,” said Lady Catherine when they were all seated to luncheon.
“Yes, Catherine, I did,” replied Mr. Darcy, shooting his sister-in-law a quelling glare. “There is no more reason to belabor the point.”
Lady Catherine did not listen—then again, she never did. “I hope you will take our advice and leave the Bennet sisters alone. You would not wish to run afoul of them, for we cannot trust them.”
“In fact, Aunt,” replied Alexander, his glare at his aunt revea
ling his waning patience, “I found in Lydia Bennet a pleasant girl and an excellent dancer. There was nothing objectionable in her—this whole situation has become a farce. I would prefer to leave the subject alone.”
“She is a Bennet!” snapped Lady Catherine. “Dishonor is in their very blood.”
“Miss Lydia Bennet is a young woman, like any other,” rasped Alexander, the sound of his chair sliding away as he rose to punctuate his statement. “Once again, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh is intent upon having her say, even when the rest of the company wish she would be silent.”
Alexander turned and strode toward the door, his father’s voice interrupting him before he could leave. “Where are you going?”
“It seems I have lost my appetite, Father,” said Alexander, fixing Lady Catherine with a contemptuous glare. “If you will excuse me.”
Then Alexander left before anyone could say another word, leaving silence in his wake. It did not last long, of course, as Lady Catherine was not a woman to allow such a slight to pass without comment. It was fortunate his father did not sit still for her diatribe, or Darcy might have followed his brother’s example.
“Catherine, if you cannot be silent about the Bennets, please keep to yourself.” When Lady Catherine turned an outraged look on him, Darcy’s father returned her anger to an equal degree. “Not one more word! If you cannot behave yourself, I will ask you to return to Kent.”
The glance Lady Catherine gave Darcy left no one in any doubt of why that option was unpalatable but it resulted in Lady Catherine huffing and falling silent. Darcy shared a look with Anne, who shook her head in amusement at her mother before focusing again on her meal. The rest of the family’s time together was spent in silence.
“Father,” said Darcy as they left the room a little later, prompting his father to stop and wait for him. “Given the situation, it may be best to send Alexander away again. Perhaps it would be best if he were to go to Thorndell to inspect his estate. That would remove him from any possibility of trouble with the Bennets.”
Though his father eyed him for several moments, deep in thought, Darcy never thought he would agree. His supposition was proven correct when his father said: “I will not always have my family running from the Bennets.”
“That is not what this is about, Father,” said Darcy. “Sending Alexander to Thorndell would remove the most likely member of our family to cause a problem from consideration, and it is time he looked in on his holdings regardless.”
With a grunt, Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I have just had my son returned to me and I would prefer not to give up his company again. If the situation becomes worse we can consider your suggestion further, but at present, I wish Alexander to remain.”
The decision made, his father took his leave, refusing to speak of the situation any further. Given recent events, Darcy thought it better if Alexander departed, and perhaps if Darcy went with him, that would give tensions a time to recede. Darcy had no wish to be away from Elizabeth, but he could not help but wonder if greater trials were destined to come their way.
While Darcy worried for the future, the weather over the next few days rendered his immediate concerns moot, for the very next day the rain began to fall. While Darcy might have welcomed a light, cleansing shower to wash away all his worries, what ensued was nothing less than a downpour. Lightning crashed, illuminating the landscape outside the house, while the winds howled and the rain fell, lashing the house and drenching everything in its path. The outside world was not fit for man nor beast, and on the few occasions Darcy had ventured out of the house, it seemed the rain was driving sideways.
The benefit of this inclement weather was, however, the cessation of any ability for tensions to rise between the two families. While it also deprived Darcy of Elizabeth’s company, the strain on the relations within Darcy’s family began to ease, and comments of the Bennets, ubiquitous in the outset, trailed off as tempers began to cool. Though he could not be certain, Darcy thought the baron was of a temperament which did not hold grudges, though what Mr. Gardiner thought was beyond his understanding. Given Elizabeth’s testimony of the gentleman, Darcy hoped he too would allow the matter to rest.
While the rain allowed the families a respite from each other and from other society, it was not all beneficial, a fact which soon became clear. Spring had come in fits and starts that year, the weather warm at times while cooler at others, and while the snow had melted, there was still enough in the peaks to cause problems should the rain continue unabated. It was during one of the infrequent lulls in the rain that the family received word of trouble on the estate.
“Let us ride out to the McGregor farm,” said Mr. Darcy after the messenger had departed.
“Is there a problem?” asked Darcy, noting his brother entering the room.
“It is possible,” replied his father, “though at present it seems like it is only the threat of trouble. I would like you both to come and offer your opinions. It will be educational for you, Alexander.”
Making no comment, Alexander agreed with a nod, and the three men returned to their rooms to make the appropriate changes to their attire. When they met in the stable a short time later, the three set out, as their horses were already saddled and waiting for them.
The ride was unpleasant, which was saying something, as one of Darcy’s favorite activities was riding over the fields of Pemberley. The warmer weather, which had carried the promise of spring only a few days before, was now a distant memory, leaving the air chilled enough that the men and horses left a trail of mist every time they exhaled into the cool morning air. While the constant rain had dwindled to little more than a fine mist at the moment, it settled into their bones and set them to shivering, which they combated by drawing their greatcoats around them like shields. When the rain began to fall again, as Darcy knew it would, what was uncomfortable would become unbearable.
Mr. McGregor’s farm was a plot of land toward the southwestern side of the estate, adjacent to the small river which ran through the valley and the middle of Pemberley’s lands. The McGregors had farmed the land for several generations and were among the most dependable of Pemberley’s tenants, known for their stolid soberness and ability to coax the most out of the fields they farmed.
“All this rain has caused us a spot of trouble, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. McGregor when he greeted them. “A bit of the hill along the edge of the valley gave away under the heavy rains.”
“Did it cause any damage?” asked Mr. Darcy as he motioned for the farmer to lead the way.
“Some,” said the tenant. “The house is far enough away to have escaped, but one of my barns is a little too close; the flow of mud undermined its foundation.”
The gentlemen inspected the damage and, as Mr. McGregor had said, it was light. Still, the area would need to be dug out once the ground was a little firmer, and the base of the building reinforced before it deteriorated further, otherwise, they would lose the barn. The damage, however, was not the worst of the farmer’s concerns.
“The river is running high,” explained the farmer as he led them toward the ribbon of water bordering his fields. “If we get too much more rain, I am worried it will overrun its banks.”
“Which would disrupt our planting,” said the elder Darcy. “As I recall, we built a large berm here a few years ago.”
“Aye, the lands I farm have always been among the most flood-prone,” agreed Mr. McGregor. “At present, the berm is holding the water away. But if we get much more rain, it will put the barrier to the test.”
“Have the waters risen, that quickly?” asked Alexander.
Mr. McGregor turned a kindly eye on Darcy’s brother. “It was a harsh winter, young master, at least until the weather broke. There was more snow than usual, which meant more water entering the streams. The excess of snow here means the snow in the peaks was also heavier, and much of that snow has yet to melt. The rivers have been running high all spring—the recent rains have made it worse. I w
as speaking to old man Gallagher on Longbourn’s land last week, and he reported the same problem there.”
Though Mr. Darcy shot his tenant a look Darcy could not define, he said nothing in response. It was common knowledge the tenants cared nothing for the disputes between families; cooperation between the various families, regardless of their masters, was beneficial for all.
The berm, as Mr. McGregor had informed them, was holding and did not look to be in any danger from the swirling waters it had been built to hold. The river, little more than a large stream, bubbled and boiled as it made its way through the landscape, nothing like the placid waterway in which Darcy had often fished as a boy. As they stood to survey the land, Darcy noted the way the muck oozed under his feet, how a boot would slip out from under the unwary. The situation was worse than he had ever seen.
With a few more words, Mr. Darcy promised Mr. McGregor the help required to repair his building and instructed him to keep them apprised of the situation. Then they made their way back to the horses and began the frigid journey back to the manor. As a final insult, the rain began to fall again as soon as they mounted their horses.
“William,” called his father when they had been riding for some minutes. “Have you heard from the steward at Thorndell of late?”
“His last letter arrived earlier this week,” replied Darcy, noting his brother moving closer, listening with interest. “It was before the rain began, so I am uncertain if matters have changed in the interim, but he did not report any difficulties.”
Mr. Darcy grunted. “It would be best if you wrote to him again and inquired. None of the other satellite estates are a concern at present, but Thorndell’s proximity to the peaks means we should be watchful.”
“I should prefer to be involved,” said Alexander. “It is time I began to take more control over the place. It is my estate.”
“Then let us write it together,” said Darcy, pleased with his brother’s diligence.