by RITA GERLACH
“He is gone,” Ethan assured her. “He won’t be back.”
“Miss Darcy,” said Mr. Brighton, his brows knitted with concern. “I am terribly sorry. I have no idea how the man got in without being seen. I will speak to my servants and …”
“No harm done.” She put her hand to her aching temple. “I pray he will not be hurt by anyone. He is a lost soul who has been mistreated.”
“He could be dangerous. And he trespassed. I’ll have the constable searching for him within the hour.”
“Please, Mr. Brighton, let him go. I do not believe he is a danger to anyone, just a poor soul whose mind is adrift.” Darcy stepped away, toward the hall with Ethan. “I wonder who he thought I was.”
“A sweetheart from his past perhaps.”
“Ah, so he has a broken heart as well as a broken body. If you should see him again, will you help him?”
“Yes, if I happen upon him, I will do what I can.” His gaze shifted to her and softened.
Darcy wished to say more, to question him, and hear it from his own lips that he never cared for any other. She drew in a breath. Force him to tell me his heart, Lord. Do not allow him to torture me any longer.
A feverish light shone in his eyes, as he slipped one hand behind her, followed the curve of her neck and glided it up into her hair. Tendrils came loose and tumbled between his fingers. He brought his lips close to hers, and whispered, “I have suffered without you, Darcy. Whatever it was that made you despise me, I regret it.”
Despise him? She had to explain. But the moment she tried, the footman stepped into the hallway, and they drew apart.
“If you are ready, miss, the carriage is waiting.” The footman looked irritated that he had to wait upon her a second time.
Ethan touched her arm. “Darcy, I need to talk to you …”
Mrs. Brighton, with a group of ladies, appeared, each looking flustered and concerned. “Darcy, my dear. What a horrible night this has been for you.”
“I am fine, Mrs. Brighton. Really.” Darcy struggled to smile.
“I thought you had left, due to your dress being ruined.”
“I did, but I …”
With a shake of her head, Mrs. Brighton drew Darcy away from Ethan toward the door and the footman. “It is best you go home. You may not realize it now, but you have had a shock.”
“You might faint any moment, or grow ill,” said the lady beside Mrs. Brighton.
“That is so true, Darcy. Now you go on, and do not tell Madeline anything about this … except for the dress. But do not mention that man.”
Swept down a short flight of stairs to the carriage and the footman and followed by the flood of ladies, Darcy took her seat. And as the carriage rolled away, she looked back and saw Ethan standing outside, watching her leave. Anticipation that he would visit her caused her to smile.
20
The following day, Darcy laced up her walking shoes, slipped on her gloves, and donned her cloak. She could tell, when she glanced out the window, that a chill lingered in the air. The sky hung gray and misty. The birds were silent.
Mrs. Burke met her down the hallway. Maxwell’s nails clicked along the floor as he trotted behind her. Darcy peered into Madeline’s bedroom before going on, and saw the old woman sitting in her wing-backed chair. She appeared to be asleep. A blanket covered her and her cap concealed her gray hair.
“How is my grandmother today?” Darcy asked Mrs. Burke.
“Weary as always. And growing more so.” Maxwell circled around Mrs. Burke’s ankles and she shooed him back. “You are going out?”
“I’d like to do a little exploring.”
“It is a fine day for it, though cloudy. Take the mare. If you should get lost, that old nag knows her way back.”
The moment Darcy stepped outdoors, a sense of release from the shadows and the confinement that was Havendale poured into her. She drew the brisk freshness of the day deep into her lungs. Her breath expelled into a translucent vapor in the morning air. She crossed the lawn to the stable where Madeline’s mare was boarded in its stall. The moment she stepped through the door, the heavy scent of hay and animal met her. The horse lifted its head, flicked its ears, and nickered when she ran her hand down its broad neck.
After cinching the saddle, Darcy slipped the bridle over the mare’s head, put her foot into the stirrup, and pulled herself up. It would shock most to see her riding astride, instead of seated sidesaddle, the acceptable method of riding for a lady. Astride, she could stay atop the horse and control her without toppling from the saddle at a swift gallop. Back home, Aunt Mari would scold, but her uncle insisted she ride in whatever manner suited her if it meant preventing a fall.
Smiling, she pictured them both in her mind. Aunt Mari with her hands on her hips looking worried, and Uncle Will waving her on in approval. Nudging the horse with her heels, she headed out to the road. Beyond the gate, the mare sprung to a gallop. The moorland lay crisp with dew, and Darcy pushed the horse toward the path that hugged the River Noe. She splashed across the shallows and headed up a hill, her hair whipping back against her shoulders as the pumping of her heart kept pace with the beat of the mare’s hooves.
Her eyes filled and burned from the chilly wind—from the anxious churning that rose inside her. When will he come to Havendale? She set her teeth and sent the horse over an ancient border. The mare wearied and slowed, and she took pity and soothed it with a there, there and a caress of her hand along its glossy coat.
Darcy looked across the vast expanse of land, misty to the north and bright to the south, the heights casting smooth shadows across the lowlands. She could see for miles to the high hills of the west, and the silver ribbons of brooks beneath them in the windswept valley. Stones pitted the fields between gorse grass and thistle, with barren bluffs stretching above them.
A pair of siskins chirped and pranced among the thorny briars in the hedgerows. They reminded her of the goldfinches back home that she had trained to come to the windowsill for the thistle seed she had spread. She longed to return to her river, to stand on the cliffs above the gorge. She yearned for home, for the deep forests, the ferns and rhododendron that grew beneath shady elms, the deer, the birds of the air, and the placid Potomac.
She scanned the land, wondering if Fairview could be seen from where she stood. But there were no houses of any kind in sight. He must be far. Will I see him again, God? My heart aches so.
She rode on, down a path to an area where the land smoothed out before her. She had not met a soul along the road, nor had she seen fresh signs of horse and rider in the soft earth. What had been the partitions of a cottage came into view—crumbling divides between stretches of dead weeds, choked by withered vine. Charred remains caused her to wonder what had happened to the family that had once lived there. Had the fire taken their lives, or had they escaped destruction?
At the foot of the hill stood a church made of stone. Even with the cloudy day, the windows sparkled. Light passed across them and created prisms. Then the long gray shadows from the clouds returned. Tall grass waved among the gravestones in the churchyard and flaunted their spiky tips, and several stock doves broke out from among them and took flight.
She swung her legs over the mare’s side and slipped off, her feet landing on moist ground. She strode to the wall, sat down upon it, and gazed at the spears of sunlight plunging through turreted clouds. The chill air passed through her cloak as the scent of rain whipped through the breeze.
“I want to go home, God,” she said aloud. “I miss my cousins. I miss Uncle Will and Aunt Mari. I miss my river. For what reasons have you sent me to this place? Is there something I must do? Is it Ethan? Am I meant to be his wife?”
The gallop of a horse drew near, and she dashed the tears from off her face. Startled, she turned her head and a horse and rider drew up. The breeze swept her hair across her eyes and she shoved the strands back to see the man’s face. When she realized it was Ethan, a shiver passed through her and she
drew her cloak closer, her feelings for him rising as he reined in.
“Ethan!” Her breath caught in her throat. She hoped he had not noticed she’d been crying, but by the crease in his brows, she knew he had.
He dismounted and held out a hand to help her down. She chose the opposite side of the wall, creating a barrier between them. They were always meeting in this way—by chance.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You appear upset.”
“I am a little homesick.” She folded her arms when he stepped closer. No other words could she find, so fast beat her heart. She fixed her gaze on Sanchet, the stallion’s shining eyes flickering in return. “You bought Mr. Rhendon’s horse after all. I meant to comment on it before, but it was not convenient.”
“Well, I felt an attachment to him, since it was upon him that I first saw you.”
Darcy smiled. “Hmm. He is a fine horse. I hold nothing against him.”
She held her hand out and Sanchet moved close. She stroked his velvety nose and laid her head against his sleek coat. He smelled of leather and tack, and it made her think of the Virginia plantation where he had been bred and raised, the Maryland bluffs along the river, and the path leading down to the spot where Ethan saved her from drowning. Then it all came back to her again—how she owed him her life.
Sanchet nickered. Darcy patted his neck. “I am not afraid of you. Why, you are gentle as a lamb. What a brave fellow you are to have borne the voyage across the sea.”
She turned to look at Ethan. His hair brushed along his coat collar and lifted in the breeze. Beneath the cloudy sky, standing upon the damp grass, he looked more handsome than she ever recalled. He had a careworn look, a windswept expression, and a sorrow that lingered in his stare.
“I saw you as I came up the road. It is a chilly day to be out.” His eyes never left her face.
“You’re right. I should be heading back.” She gathered her hem just above her heels and proceeded toward a break in the wall. The mare stood a ways off munching the grass. Ethan stepped alongside Darcy, on the opposite side of the wall.
“Allow me to escort you back.”
“There is no reason to inconvenience yourself.”
“It is no inconvenience at all. I was on my way to Havendale to see you anyway.”
A weed grew from a crack in the wall and she plucked it out and looked at it. Then she glanced over at him. “Were you?”
He stopped walking and she heard a sigh pass between his lips. “I did not like the way we left things.”
Nor had she. Perhaps being cordial would help, and so Darcy decided then and there she must be civil and forgive Ethan. What was done was done. At least they could be friends. But he had said he wished to be more than that, and I feel the same. Would it be too bold to tell him I love him, Lord?
She raised her hand, moved her hair back from her face, and fastened her eyes upon the ruins. “Do you know this place?”
“Yes. My father was a minister and we lived here for a short time. I was young and do not remember much. This was also your grandfather’s and mother’s home. The house was actually a part of the Havendale estate.”
Darcy stared at the pile of rubble. “This was the vicarage where she grew up?”
“I am surprised no one told you.”
“My Uncle Will said my grandfather preached near Havendale. I saw the church and wondered if this could have been the place. I had no idea this had once been their home— and yours as well.”
“Yes,” Ethan said. “We have a connection here, do we not?”
Darcy nodded. Pained to look upon the blackened remains, she imagined her mother standing out on the grass, her dark hair blown back by the wind, her young face tilted toward the sun. Had her father ridden up on a blustery day just as Ethan had with her? Did he propose to her by the door, or here by the wall, and had he carried her far away on horseback or in a carriage? Darcy knew she’d never know, but to think they had stood here long ago caused her emotions to rise and fall like the gusts of wind that swept over the land.
She placed her hands atop the wall that separated her from the heaps of charred stone and ash, from the cold remains where there had once been windows and a door. Her mind drifted back to River Run and the empty, decaying house that stood there. Were these evidences of what lives her parents had lived?
“What happened here?” she asked in a grave tone, her brows pinched.
Setting his hat back on his head, Ethan leaned against the wall. “When your grandfather died, your mother was to vacate the house to make room for our family. That is when she left with Hayward Morgan. Shortly after our arrival, a fire destroyed the house, killing both my mother and baby sister.”
Troubled, Darcy turned to him. “I am sorry.” And truly she was. How could anyone survive such loss, go through life with a tragedy of this kind bound to them? Only God could strengthen such a soul. She realized how strong a man Ethan must really be.
He hung his head. “It was long ago.”
“I know how it feels to lose a mother.”
“We’ve lost loved ones in different ways, but it is still a grievous thing, whether they have gone away from us, or passed into God’s heaven.”
“Yet, God has a way of sending us aid in our time of need.”
“His aid came in the form of an inheritance for my father. We had a home to live in. Yet he never preached again from the pulpit, but learned to serve God in other ways. He was kind to the poor and needy. This was his saving grace.”
Darcy noticed sorrow flicker in his eyes, along with a light that said secrets were also locked away at Fairview. Neither spoke for a long, tense moment. Presently, with her head low, she laid both her hands over his, and he looked into her eyes.
“I am grieved for you, Ethan.” When he did not answer, she drew her hands away and walked on. “Count it a blessing, sir, that you know about your family. I have so little knowledge of my parents.”
“Surely you have learned more about your father while staying at Havendale,” Ethan offered.
“I am afraid Havendale keeps its secrets under lock and key,” Darcy answered.
Ethan answered with a solemn nod. “Some things should be kept hidden and forgotten. But then there are other things that should come to light, if they help in some way.”
She turned her head to look at him as she drew through the break in the wall. “You believe that?”
“I do.” He took a step closer. “I cannot forget you, Darcy. Can you forgive me? Hurting you was the last thing I would ever do.”
“In your letter, you said you never meant for me to think you loved me, that your heart belonged to Miss Roth. I wish you had made that clear in the beginning.”
His eyes widened. “I never sent you a letter.”
“It was penned in a masculine hand and signed by you.”
“No. I never sent it. How did you come by this letter?”
“Miss Roth gave it to me.”
He shook his head. “I see. And how did this come about?”
“She came to the house. My family had gone into the village, and I was alone.”
“What did Miss Roth tell you?”
“That you and she were to be married upon your return to England.”
Ethan huffed and shifted on his feet. “I made no such promise.”
“She was emphatic.”
“A wicked lie, Darcy. All of it.”
“You can see why I believed her. I had no reason not to. I could not stand in the way.”
“Miss Roth. She did this. She wrote that letter herself and devised this whole plan to separate us.”
“Why would she go to such extremes?”
“Jealousy. Fear. Revenge even.”
“But she risked the chance of being found out.”
“Indeed. I also was given a letter that said you no longer wanted to see me.”
A breath escaped Darcy’s mouth. “How cruel of her. Believe me when I say I did not write it.”
&n
bsp; “How stupid could I have been to believe you had? Forgive me?”
Darcy replied with a look, with a tender glance of her eyes. Ethan faced the ruins. Suddenly he burst forth with passion. “I should have been more of a man. I should have come to you the moment I read that letter.”
“Then … you were not attached to Miss Roth in any way?”
“Thank God, I was not, nor am I now.”
The wind blew keen, and Darcy hugged her arms. Ethan stepped closer, looking concerned. “You are cold. Come, I’ll take you back, if you do not mind that we ride together.”
She moved on, and reaching the mare, she picked up the reins and turned back to him. He rushed to her, drew her close. “I love you, Darcy. I would live and die for you. Do you believe me?”
She gazed up at him. “I can say—I do.”
She hid her head against his breast and held on to the lapels of his coat. He raised her face, and to her lips his melted. He had kissed her once before, but this time it spoke of desperate love, as if the air he breathed depended on her. Tremulous with tears, Darcy put her arms around Ethan and he held her close.
After a moment, he set her back, at arm’s length. “There are things I must tell you. I was sworn to secrecy about events that have … What I mean to say is, when the opportunity to visit Mr. Rhendon’s home in Virginia presented itself, I was urged to accept his invitation with the goal in mind of finding you—to see if you were well cared for and happy.”
“My grandmother did this?”
“Madeline knows nothing, asks nothing.”
“I should be angry with you, Ethan. But I can tell whatever caused you to swear an oath to be silent, you must have done it out of good intentions.”
“With all my heart, Darcy, my intentions were and always will be honorable. Try to understand what I’m about to tell you.”
A horse suddenly raced across the fields at breakneck speed toward them, and when its rider crested the slope before them, he drew hard on the reins. The horse reared up and whinnied, then stomped its hooves into the mossy earth.