Buford lost a bit of his good cheer. “No, I’m no longer with Colonel Custer. I find my current assignment much more to my liking.” What was left unsaid hung over the room.
Fitz tried to change the subject. “Such as raising flags at parties?”
Buford smiled again. “One of my more pleasant duties, I assure you. My colonel assigned me to a detail to do the honors.” He looked around. “Although I’ll probably catch the devil from my wife, Deborah, when I get back. She dearly loves a dance.”
“She’s at post with you?”
“Yes, and expecting another addition to our family in about a month. It’ll be our third, but you worry every time.”
“I expect so.” Darcy took a sip. “How are things otherwise?”
A knowing look crept into Buford’s eyes. “It’s quiet down here, but up along the Red River, it’s another story.”
“I thought I heard something along those lines. Tell me, is the army planning anything soon?”
Buford looked away, considering. “Are you planning on driving any cattle north?”
“Fitz here just got back from Kansas, delivering a herd.”
“Good, good. Let me say this—it’s a wise decision you made, going early. Very wise.”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam nodded, getting the message. The army was planning a major operation against the tribes. Just then, Caroline Bingley walked up.
“There you are, Mr. Darcy. I do believe it’s time for our dance… oh.” She noticed the army officer.
Darcy did the honors. “Miss Caroline Bingley, this is Captain John Buford.” Buford bowed slightly, but to the gentlemen’s surprise, Miss Bingley turned away from him without a word, delivering the cut direct. Darcy did not know the root cause of the woman’s behavior and decided the best way to quell any further incident was to offer the lady his arm for the dance, and they moved away. Fitz was mortified.
“Sorry about that, Buford.”
The officer took a swig of his beer. “Am I supposed to know her? Have I done something to warrant that?”
“Umm… she’s from Georgia.”
“Ohhh… I see. I understand now. The March to the Sea?”
“Yeah.”
Buford cursed. “Damn that war.”
Anne finally escaped the smothering attentions of George Whitehead and went to look for her friend, Beth. Anne wished her mother would believe her when she told her about Whitehead, but she would only dismiss her. “Nonsense,” she would say. “Mr. Whitehead knows his place. He would not look so high as you—he knows better. Enjoy the attention, and who knows— maybe it will finally make Darcy jealous.”
Anne saw Beth standing off to one corner of the tent away from the dance floor, looking in the other direction. Anne walked over to her, catching her attention, but before she could say anything over the low rumble of the crowd, a loud voice was heard.
“I must say I’m amused by what the rustics here about call a ball, Mr. Darcy.”
Both girls saw Caroline Bingley standing close to Will Darcy a few feet away. As they were both behind the pair, they were unnoticed. Anne saw Beth trying to restrain a giggle, holding one finger across her lips. They could clearly overhear the conversation.
“It’s true we don’t have the facilities found in the city, Miss Bingley, but we’re able to manage,” Darcy said dryly.
“And the dresses! Certainly not up to St. Charles Avenue standards, bless their hearts. Except Miss Darcy, of course. No one can disparage her.”
“Of course not.”
Beth threatened to laugh out loud, and Anne had to admit she was amused as well by the pretentious debutant.
Caroline sighed dramatically. “But—oh! Poor Charles! What a waste!”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy said.
“What Charles could be, given the proper situation! I assume he’s a very good doctor.”
“I believe so.”
“Then he must be. I know several physicians in New Orleans, and all are of the highest circles. There’s great demand not just for their talents but for their society as well. They’re accepted everywhere. By the houses they live in, they’re all rich, or will soon be so.
“But here, in the middle of nowhere! There’s no chance for advancement or fortune, I declare. Only caring for farmers and cowboys—and their animals, I suppose. What kind of life is that for Charles, who grew up at Netherfield? He isn’t what he should be.”
Beth lost all mirth and listened intently.
“And what should he be?” Caroline’s companion asked.
“He should be a prestigious physician in a great city like New Orleans, his name on everyone’s lips, not wasting his life here in the wilderness.”
Darcy drew a breath. “He could leave if he wanted to.”
“Don’t think I haven’t dropped a few hints, but no—he’ll never leave. It’s the fault of that wife of his.”
“Mrs. Bingley?”
“Yes. She’ll never leave her family. She’s trapped him here. He shouldn’t have married her. Don’t you agree?”
Darcy was silent for a terrible moment. Anne could see Beth’s anger grow.
Darcy began to speak. “I can’t deny that Charles has certainly limited his opportunities by moving to Rosings. He’ll never be rich here, and by marrying Jane Bennet, he’ll never leave. In my opinion, Jane would never be happy away from her family, and I think Charles knows that. So, I suppose you’re right, Miss Bingley—by his marriage, Charles has forever doomed himself to be poor.”
Beth turned white, spun on her heel, and left the tent. Anne, aghast at what she had overheard, waited a moment and then followed her friend.
Beth quietly left the ballroom tent for the house porch to seek relief from the sweltering heat and to settle her own jumbled emotions. She fanned herself as she stewed. It was bad enough that Will Darcy disrespected the flag that her beloved Samuel died defending, learning that he disapproved of Jane was more than she could stand. How, she thought, could a sweet girl like Gaby have such a detestable brother? How could Anne or Charles or Fitz stand to be in his company?
And yet, she could not erase from her treacherous mind the image of Darcy, tall and dark and enormously handsome, approaching her for their dance. How intoxicating it felt to be in his arms! Never had Beth experienced such a reaction from just being in a man’s presence. Could Charlotte be right? Could she be attracted to him? She couldn’t be, it was impossible… and yet—
“Miss Beth?”
Beth closed her eyes in anger. The very last man she wished to speak to had somehow found her—was now standing behind her, invading her privacy. It took all the control she had not to turn on the cousin of her hostess and lash out at him. Instead, she resolutely stared out at the rolling countryside, one hand on the porch railing, not favoring Mr. Darcy with so much as an acknowledgment of his presence. She hoped her slight rudeness would put the man off.
She was disappointed. Darcy moved to her side, just far enough away to meet propriety. He, too, gazed at the expanse of the range. “I don’t blame you for seeking the quiet of the veranda. It’s very close inside,” he said softy. He half-turned his face to her. “Would you care for a lemonade? A glass of wine, perhaps? You must be parched.”
Beth could not help but turn to him. “Thank you, no. I require nothing but solitude.”
“You and I are alike, then,” he said with the ghost of a smile, which raised Beth’s ire. How dare he compare himself to her!
“You look very lovely tonight.”
That got Beth’s attention. Her head whipped around of its own accord to behold Darcy looking at her in that familiar, intense, unexplainable manner. One corner of his mouth still twisted up.
“Yes, blue is your color. I’m glad Anne took my suggestion. That dress favors you very well.”
“What?” she cried. “You… you spoke to Anne about my choice of dress?”
“Yes. I’m very glad I did. You look quite beautiful, Beth. Much better than in du
ngarees. You were born to wear that dress. I’m glad I bought it.” He took a step forward, almost touching her. Beth could not move, so surprised was she at his statements.
His half-smile faded as he seemed to struggle with himself. Finally, he blurted out, “It won’t do. It won’t do anymore. I must tell you that I have quite lost my heart to you. I can’t go on, can’t see myself without you.” He suddenly took her hands, his thumbs running over the calluses on her fingers. “So rough,” he said sadly, looking at them. “Living on a farm, doing chores.” He raised his eyes to hers. “No more. Let me take you from all that. Let me take care of you. Come with me—you’ll never have to work again. Whatever you want, you’ll have. Dresses, books, music—anything.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ll give you everything if you’ll only say you’ll be mine—”
“No!” Beth’s astonished mind had finally regained control of her voice. She yanked her hands from Darcy’s grasp. “How dare you! Are you insane? How dare you touch me!”
Darcy colored and took a half-step back. “I’m… I’m sorry. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, and I won’t be one of your conquests!” She reached back, ready to slap him, only to stop at his confused expression.
“Conquests? What are you talking about?”
“Are you playing me for a fool? I won’t be your mistress!”
Darcy gaped. “Is that what you thought I was talking about? Beth, I’m asking you to marry me!”
Beth’s hand dropped. “Marry you?”
“Yes! I love you! How could you think I would ask something dishonorable of you? What kind of man do you think I am?”
Darcy’s question seemed to break the dam of resentment Beth was holding against the man. “I know exactly what kind of man you are, Will Darcy. You say you’ll give me anything if I go with you. Am I for sale? Do you think you can buy me like one of your slaves?”
“No—I didn’t mean—I’ve never—I’ve never had slaves.”
“Don’t lie to me! George told me all about the slaves you’ve bought. Just like all of you Southerners—you’ve all owned slaves. How can you live with yourself?”
Darcy drew his mouth into a thin line. “You think that, do you? And what about Charles? Do you feel the same about him?”
“You dare bring up Charles? I heard what you said about him and Jane to Caroline. About how he could have done better had he not come to Rosings—that his marriage to Jane must always doom him to be poor. And you call him your friend! And Jane, who has always defended you—what has she done to earn such scorn?”
Darcy’s face went white. “If you overheard that, didn’t you hear the rest of the conversation?”
Beth ranted on, heedless of his rejoinder. “You sit in your big house, unwilling to take any notice of anything that’s going on. People are losing their homes, and your bank does nothing! You make sure no one unsuitable even touches one inch of your precious Pemberley. But, oh, if your sister shows the least interest in doing something that may broaden her horizons, like going to town and meeting other people, well, then, you shadow her like a mother hen! Making sure we’re all worthy of her acquaintance. Insulting fine, upstanding people like George Whitehead. You’re as proud and unpleasant as Mrs. Burroughs and with less reason. She’s old and set in her ways. What’s your excuse, except you think you’re better than the rest of us?”
Beth could almost hear Darcy grind his teeth as his face turned red. “If you believe George Whitehead to be a fine, upstanding person, then you’re a fool, Miss Bennet. Whitehead’s the biggest piece of scum in the county.”
“George Whitehead is a war hero! And what are you? A traitor to the country of your birth! My brother went to fight to save the union, not break it apart. He fought to end slavery, not defend it. And he died doing it. You killed him—you and any who took up arms against the United States. If it weren’t for people like you, Samuel would still be alive! Marry you? I hate you!”
Darcy recoiled as if struck. He said nothing; he only stared at her wide-eyed, as the music from the ball filled the silence. Beth, tears running down her face, refused to break eye contact with him. After a moment, the man seemed to deflate.
“I see. It seems I was under the impression you enjoyed my company. I now see I was wrong. Please excuse me for bothering you.” He gave her a quick nod. “I’ll leave you now, as my presence is understandably unwanted. My… my best wishes to you and your family.” His voice almost broke at his final words, and he walked swiftly away down the veranda. Beth did not move until he turned the corner of the house and she could flee to the sanity of her guest room upstairs, hoping her passage would go unnoticed.
In that, she failed, for out of the shadows at the other end of the veranda stepped a distraught Anne Burroughs.
Chapter 9
As much as she tossed and turned, Beth could find no rest. She sat up in her bed, staring at the richly appointed walls of the guest bedroom that had been given over for her use. A single candle flickered uncertainly in its holder on the bedstead, its pitiful light adding to the gloomy atmosphere suffered by the room’s only occupant.
Beth could not comprehend her agitation. True, Darcy’s totally unexpected proposal had unnerved her, but that was hours past. She could not understand why, once her righteous indignation over the arrogant man’s presumption had burned out, it was replaced by numbness. She tried to remember George’s words and fought to keep Samuel’s portrait in her mind, but she was failing miserably.
All she could hear was Darcy’s passionate declaration: “I love you!” All she could see was the flash of intense pain in his face before it returned to its habitual expressionless demeanor as he voiced his surprising and unexpectedly cordial farewell. Beth could do nothing—not sleep, not answer Anne’s earlier knock on the door—while she wrestled with whatever was consuming her.
Will Darcy loved her. It was impossible, she kept telling herself. He didn’t know her, had hardly spoken with her. He was everything she disliked, and she should have been as distasteful to him as he was to her. Yet, he had declared his love—almost shouted it, in fact. George had been wrong. Darcy wanted to marry her, despite her lowly beginning. A rich Southern rancher wanted a Yankee farmer’s daughter. It was absurd.
Beth was mortified to learn that she had been wrong, so very wrong, about his constant staring. His look was the same one she had seen in one of her dreams, as a wet Will Darcy emerged from the river, his shirt plastered to his skin, his hand outreached for her… No!! Stop it! Stop thinking of him!!
Her frustration grew as her overactive imagination betrayed her again. She needed a distraction. Beth looked about the room, searching for something to read, but there was nothing. The place was as impersonal as a museum. Besides her few personal items on the dressing table, the only other thing in the place that took away from the stark perfection of the expensive décor was the blue dress, carefully draped on a chair.
Beth sat in bed, contemplating the dress. It was the prettiest thing she had ever worn, and Darcy had ruined it for her. As much as she would have liked to believe otherwise, she knew his claim of choosing it for her was not an idle boast. Darcy would not dare lie, knowing how friendly Beth was with Anne, who would know the truth. She could never think of the dress or the way she looked in it without recalling his soft words, and that would never do. And the remark he made suggesting that Anne dress her in that color— it was as if he already owned her and could dress her as he liked.
Beth stood and put on a dressing gown over her cotton nightdress. Without a clock, she had no idea of the time, but the silence of the house told her that everyone must be abed. She could chance going down to the library for a book. Reading always helped her sleep.
In a matter of minutes, Beth was proven correct; the house was as still as a tomb. She made her way down the stairs without incident, pausing only when she saw light streaming from the library. Courage almost failing her, she nearly turned back in defeat before her need
overcame her caution, and she forced herself to pause at the threshold, listening for noises within. Hearing nothing, she crept inside.
A candle burned on the mantle, her view of the fireplace blocked by a sofa before it. Soundlessly, Beth moved between the shelves of books at the other end of the room. She had put down her candle and picked up a random volume to peruse, when she was startled by a sound of a hiccup.
All senses on full alert, Beth quickly replaced the book and scanned the room. Nothing. Just as she told herself that she had been hearing things, a low sound nearly made her shriek.
Moaning? Heavens! Someone’s in here—on the sofa! I have to get out of here!
Beth removed the fist she had jammed into her mouth and took two steps towards the door before pausing, trying to decide if she needed her candle. It was her undoing, for the library door flew open, and Anne entered with a determined stride, carrying something in her hands.
“Here is a mug of hot coffee, Cousin,” she said, her eyes moving between the cup and the sofa. “Perhaps after you sober up a little, you can explain what you did to upset Beth so much.”
“Upset Beth?” came an unsteady, yet familiar deep voice. “Whaddabout me?”
Darcy! Beth’s mind screamed.
“What about you?” Anne scolded him as she held out the mug. Slowly, the back of Darcy’s head emerged from the couch as he took the coffee.
“In case you didn’t notice, you eavesdroppin’ li’l busybody, I’m the one rejected ’round here, not her.”
“Drink up,” she demanded. “I refuse to reason with an intoxicated man…” Anne’s voice trailed off as she realized they weren’t alone in the room. Her eyes flared as Beth began to creep out, one finger on her lips.
Darcy stood abruptly. “I ain’t intoxicated—I’m drunk!” To Beth’s horror, he turned his face enough to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. He swung his arm up, pointing in her direction, and bellowed, “An’ she’s the reason why!”
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