Pemberley Ranch (12 page)

“No, it’s true, I swear. Can I come closer? I don’t want my voice to carry.”

She seemed to think about that. “All right, but not too close.” Darcy swam across the river until he was a couple of feet away. “That’s close enough,” Beth decided.

Indeed, it was close enough. Darcy could make out her pale form under the surface of the water. He looked up to see with a shock that Beth was carefully looking back at
his
body.

“Do you swim a lot?” she asked.

“Yes, but not in the river. We’ve got a big lake on Pemberley. I’ve been swimming there since I was a boy.”

“Is it warmer than the river?”

“Yeah. Are you chilled?”

She nodded.

“It is cold. Maybe if I got closer, we could keep each other warm.”

She seemed undecided, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. “That sounds indecent.”

Darcy flushed. “Sorry.”

Beth smiled slightly. “I didn’t say no. I said it sounded indecent. Can I trust you?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded and turned her back. Darcy slowly swam to within a foot of her, resolutely keeping his eyes fixed on the back of her head.

“Is that better?” he asked. The water was shallow enough for him to touch bottom—in fact, he had to squat to keep his torso underwater.

“A little.” Beth looked over her shoulder and bit her lip.
“I’ve seen that look before. You stare at me all the time. The society meetings and at Jane’s. You do it a lot.”

Darcy licked his lips. “I can’t help it.”

She turned away. “You like looking at me?”

“Yeah.” Darcy’s voice cracked.

“So do I,” Beth said softly.

Darcy couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

She turned slowly to him, her arms crossed to shield her breasts underwater. “I like that you look at me. I like the way you look at me. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before.”

“That’s because no one else loves you the way I do,” Darcy blurted out.

Beth’s eyes grew wide. “You
love
me?”

Darcy couldn’t say anything; he just nodded.

Beth stared at him, eyes boring into him, looking for the truth.

Darcy glanced away from her scrutiny. “I’m sorry—I just thought there shouldn’t be any secrets between us, given, well,” he shrugged, “our present situation.”

Beth giggled a bit and then sobered. “Look at me,” she commanded. “Look into my eyes. I can see people’s feelings in their eyes.”

Darcy could do nothing but obey. For long moments he allowed himself to get lost in her gaze. Finally, Beth gasped.

“You
do
love me,” she declared.

Without thinking, he reached for her under the water. His fingers gently caressed the soft skin of her upper arms and shoulders. Instead of recoiling, she sighed and fell into his embrace, her hands the only thing between them. Slowly, with the utmost care, Darcy lowered his lips to her slightly open mouth. The kiss began gently, like the wings of a butterfly, until Beth
moaned and returned the kiss. Before Darcy knew it, their arms were about each other, her soft, warm body firmly against his. A fire was ignited—hands and lips were everywhere—promises and declarations were demanded and made. When Darcy felt Beth’s leg curl around his, he reacted instinctively. He reached down, carried her in his arms, and strode to the soft riverbank.

As he laid her down, Beth looked up in fear. “Oh, please, don’t dishonor me!”

Darcy’s earnest gaze took in her scared eyes, inflamed lips, and erect nipples. “I can’t dishonor you, my love. I can only love you. You’re to be my wife—I promise you that here, before God and nature. We’ll never be parted from this day forward.” With that, he kissed her deep and long, a kiss she returned full force.

Beth’s knees parted and Darcy settled between them. He paused in his attentions to her breasts to guide himself into her. She arched her back in desire, and he slipped inside, her legs coming up and around the back of his. There was a resistance, and Darcy tried to hold back, but he was undone by the exquisite sensations. Beth cried out.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” Darcy said over and over again into her shoulder.

“No… It’s all right… I’m fine… Don’t stop.”

Never one to turn down a lady, Darcy did as he was bid, moving slowly, then faster and faster until they both reached their release. Beth gasped as Darcy cried out her name. Spent, he collapsed upon his lover, and she, for her part, slowly ran her hands up and down his flanks.

“I… I never dreamed,” she said in wonder.

“Beth, oh, Beth, I love you so—”

“
What the hell is this?
”

Beth screamed as Darcy tried to roll off her. There, standing in the opening of the small clearing by the river, was a furious Tom Bennet, shotgun in hand.

Beth, in tears, tried to cover herself with her hands, scrambling towards the bushes. Darcy knew he was in enormous trouble and raised his hands over his head, desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make the situation worse.

“Mr. Bennet, I know this looks bad, but—”

“Shut up, you cur!” Without another word, the angry farmer raised his shotgun to his shoulder. All Darcy could see were two enormous black holes.

“Father! Nooo!”

There was an explosion, and Darcy’s world went black.

W
ILL
D
ARCY AWOKE FROM
the nightmare with sweat running down his face. His dream was so real and disturbing that he was both aroused and frightened. He rose to sit on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor and his face in his hands as he tried to calm his wildly beating heart.

Darcy needed no soothsayer to tell him what his dream meant. His desire for Beth Bennet had become overwhelming. He needed to do something about it—either forget about her, put her aside, or…

Or what?

The lessons drilled into him by his mother and the priests would not let him even consider taking Elizabeth Bennet as a mistress. His conscience would allow only two alternatives.

He would make Beth his wife or he would give her up.

July 2

A wagon from the B&R picked up Beth at her sister’s house. As the flatbed wagon was filled with supplies, Beth sat on the seat next to the ranch hand driving the wagon, a man named Wilkerson. The cowpoke drove through the center of the little town, turned north at the main crossroads, and headed out of town.

It was a warm day, and the wagon creaked as it rolled over the uneven road alongside Rosings Creek, the original namesake of the ranch. The ride forced Beth to bump into the cowboy, eliciting an apology from the girl.

“No harm done, little lady,” the man leered. “You can bump inta me anytime you like.”

Beth could think of nothing to say in response that wouldn’t insult the man, so she slid as far away from him on the bench as possible. Her actions caused the driver to laugh.

“Afraid o’ gettin’ your pretty dress dirty? That’s no cause to be unfriendly, missy.”

“I’ll thank you to remember I’m a guest of your employer, Mrs. Burroughs,” Beth said coldly.

The man scowled and turned his attention back to the team pulling the wagon. Beth’s thoughts turned to her luggage. She packed every dress she owned, thinking that Anne’s mother would never approve of Beth’s normal working clothes. Yet she felt that none of her frocks was good enough for the party a few days hence. She was afraid she was going to look like a country bumpkin.

That feeling only increased after her first view of the B&R main house. It was two stories and built in the Greek Revival
style favored by many of the plantation houses in the South. Large pillars framed the front of the white mansion, and the windows sported dark green shutters. Behind the house, Beth could see men laboring to erect a huge tent—for the festivities, she surmised.

Beth had seen illustrations of such houses, but there was something wrong with this one. As she grew closer, she realized what it was that bothered her about the B&R house. What was meant to be impressive seemed pretentious. A house that would look beautiful framed by sleepy live oaks next to a lazy river was completely out of place in the middle of the plains of Texas.

The wagon pulled in front of the house where three men awaited her. A short, white-haired man helped her down from the wagon.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet. My name is Bartholomew, and I’m the butler here. Shall we go in? These men will bring your belongings to your room. Mrs. Burroughs and Miss Anne await you in the sitting room.”

The main door opened to a long, wide hall. Beth followed Bartholomew past a few doors before stopping. He softly knocked on one.

“Enter,” came a voice from the other side. Bartholomew opened the door and indicated that Beth should walk through. The room was in blue with gold furnishings in the French style. Gauzy curtains covered the windows, framed by heavy gold drapes. An intricately designed, ornate rug covered most of the floor. Facing the door from the other side of the room was Mrs. Catherine Burroughs, sitting in a rather large chair, a severe expression on her thin face. The lady wore a white blouse over a full dark skirt. Anne sat next to her on a small settee with a
nervous smile. Beth wondered for an instant if Queen Victoria’s sitting room in Buckingham Palace could be any more flamboyant. She made a small curtsey; it was the right decision.

“Ah, Miss Bennet, please come closer,” Mrs. Burroughs said pleasantly, satisfied with the girl’s discretion. “Sit down, sit down. Anne, make some room for her. Tea? Do you wish for tea, Miss Bennet?”

“Umm—” Beth was not quite seated yet.

“Of course, you do. Bartholomew!” The little man appeared as if by magic. “Bring tea with scones and apricot preserves.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He left as quickly as he entered.

“Well, Miss Bennet, we are happy you are able to stay with us. Anne has spoken very highly of you. I understand you are from the North?”

Beth had never heard anyone dominate a conversation like Mrs. Burroughs. Her mother appeared downright quiet in comparison. And the woman’s language! Where did she learn to talk that way? Beth glanced about—did she take a wrong turn and end up in England?

“Come, come—speak up! Where is your family from?”

Beth found her tongue. “We’re from Ohio, Mrs. Burroughs.” She was surprised at the response.

“Ah, the country. I am a Matlock. I was born in New York City, you know. I was raised and went to school there. Yes, school—a fine finishing school for young ladies. I highly recommend it. Anne, of course, could not take advantage of such a place herself, living as we do in Texas. Oh, I could have sent her back East, I suppose, to my family, but it would have been terrible to lose the company of my only daughter. Do you have siblings, Miss Bennet?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have four sisters.”

“What? No brothers?”

Beth bit her lip. “My brother died in the war.”

“My sympathies, Miss Bennet. Many families have suffered grievous loss. Ah, the tea is here.”

While Mrs. Burroughs saw to the tea, Anne reached over and took Beth’s hand. “I didn’t know about your brother. I’m so sorry.” Anne’s genuine sorrow made up for her mother’s false concern. After the tea was poured and tasted, it was time to renew the interrogation.

“I understand your eldest sister is married?”

“Yes, ma’am, to Dr. Bingley. They would be attending the party, if she was not so close to her time.”

“Yes, I noticed her condition in church. It is best that she remain at home for the babe’s sake. Tea, not coffee, is the best thing to soothe her stomach if need be. And mint. Tea with mint, I always say. It helped me immensely with Anne. You must tell your sister, Miss Bennet.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“I noticed the rest of your sisters in church. What a burden they must be on your family. Your father bought the old Thompson Farm, yes? Good land there. A pity about the family—died of yellow fever many years ago. Didn’t you know? Oh, well. I understand your father is rather friendly with George Whitehead.”

“He is a friend of the family.”

“Yes. A clever man, for a clerk. He does some work for me. You see, I do not hold any grudges over the late unpleasantness. We must all look forward under the new order. This land has been in the family for over three generations, and I have every intention of passing it along to my dear Anne, intact and
improved, when the time comes, of course. I hope your father has his affairs in order. Who is to inherit, may I ask?”

Beth was taken aback. “Mrs. Burroughs, I hardly know. My father is in good health, and the topic hasn’t come up in conversation over our dinner table.”

“It should. One should always be prepared for the unexpected. I only ask to see if your father is forward enough in his thinking to make one or more of his daughters his heir. I cannot abide the primitive practice of descent along the male line. The Burroughses never did.”

An incredulous Beth glanced over at Anne, but her friend was not puzzled over her mother’s behavior. She only looked resigned. Beth decided to try to change the subject.

“I understand you’re related to the Darcy family,” she said.

“Yes. Old George Darcy was Anne’s great-grandfather. At his death, he divided his land along the Long Branch River. This side, originally called Rosings, went to his only daughter, Elizabeth Darcy Burroughs. The other side, Pemberley, was George Washington Darcy’s, her brother. There were two other brothers, Harry and Richard Darcy, but they moved west to California where their descendants reside today. I have no idea why Mr. Darcy broke up his ranch into two parts. It makes very little sense to me.”

Beth thought about what she knew. George Whitehead told her GW Darcy had been involved with an Indian woman. Did his father punish him by giving away half the land to his sister? Why only half—why not disinherit him altogether? It was not a question she could ask Mrs. Burroughs.

“My husband, Lewis, was the heir of Rosings. We changed the name to B&R shortly after our marriage. We also built this house.”

“It is very beautiful, ma’am.”

“Thank you. We wanted a house worthy of the land and our position. I believe we accomplished it. Now, tell me of this musical society of yours. My daughter attends along with her cousin, Gabrielle Darcy. Who are the other members?”

“My sisters and Charlotte Lucas.”

“The sheriff’s daughter. A good sort of girl. A pity she’s so plain. Do you all play?”

“My sisters, Mary and Jane Bingley, do, as does Miss Darcy.” Beth almost said Gaby and was glad she caught herself. Something told her that Mrs. Burroughs would not be happy to learn that she was on a first-name basis with the lady’s cousin. “Miss Darcy is the best, I think.”

“Oh!” Anne piped in for the first time. “But Jane—Mrs. Bingley, I mean—plays very well, too, Mother.”

Mrs. Burroughs gave her daughter a cold look. “I am sure she is competent, but need I remind you that Gabrielle has studied for many years under her own tutor? I believe Miss Bennet has the right of it—Gabrielle is the most accomplished.” She turned to Beth, and in a tone that would brook no opposition, asked, “Is that not so, Miss Bennet?”

Beth was mortified at the way Anne was treated. “You… you are right, ma’am.” She took a sip of the now-cool tea to soothe her nerves. While she did so, it occurred to Beth that she needed to get out of the old dragon’s presence before she lost her temper and said something she would regret.

She set the cup down. “Mrs. Burroughs, I beg that you excuse me. I wish to clean up and rest after my journey here. Perhaps later Anne might show me around.”

“Of course, Miss Bennet, I certainly understand. I will have Bartholomew show you to your room.”

“Mother, I would be happy to help Miss Beth. And there is something particular I want to show her. May I, please?”

“I would like that very much, if that is all right with you,” Beth added.

Mrs. Burroughs seemed pleased that Beth had deferred to her. “I am very glad that you have become a friend to my daughter, Miss Bennet. It shall be as you wish.” The grand lady stood up, dismissing the other two. “Dinner is at six.”

“I hope Mother didn’t offend you,” a worried Anne asked as the two ladies walked to her room.

“Not at all,” Beth lied. The woman had deeply offended her, but she would keep it to herself rather than distress poor Anne. Beth was afraid the shy thing would break down at any time. “What is it you want to show me?”

Anne opened the door. “In here.” Beth followed her friend into a well-appointed bedroom to see a four-poster bed covered in ball dresses. Anne bit her lip as Beth gawked.