Pemberley Ranch (15 page)

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.

³
“I’ve seen the elephant” was a term used by Civil War soldiers in letters and diaries to describe the experiences of undergoing battle during wartime.

A
S 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!”

Darcy’s accusation raised Beth’s ire, overcoming her embarrassment. “
I’m
the reason? How do you figure that? You’re the one surprising innocent ladies with unwelcomed proposals!”

“Will you two lower your voices?” Anne begged in a whisper. “You’ll wake the whole house.”

“Right,” Darcy said as he staggered around the sofa, “can’t interrupt Cate’s beauty sleep.” There was the clink of boot against glass, and an empty whiskey bottle rolled across the carpet.

“I see you’re a drunkard on top of everything else, Mr. Darcy,” Beth declared icily.

“You see
nothin’
,” Darcy shot back. “I’ve never been drunk afore in my whole life. But if there’s a woman alive that’ll drive a man to drink,
you’re it
.”

Beth drew back, affronted. With as much dignity as she
could muster in a nightgown, she straightened her shoulders and threw her head back. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. Good night, sir!” She turned, but her progress was halted by his voice.

“Yeah, run. Run like th’ coward you are. Run away from th’ truth.”

She turned to look over her shoulder. “How dare you!”

“‘How dare you!’” he mimicked with a crooked grin. “Whassamatta, scared o’ me? You sure weren’t scared earlier.” He turned to a mortified Anne. “’Sides, we got Annie here to chaperone. I think your virtue’s safe.” His expression darkened. “But it won’t be if you keep hangin’ ’round Whitehead, let me tell you that.”

“Will! Your language!” Anne implored.

“No, Annie. She’s gonna hear me out.” He turned to Beth. “I let you have your say earlier. You gonna be a man about it an’ let me have mine? Uhh, I mean woman… uhh. Oh, hell—you gonna hear me out?”

Anger and curiosity battled within Beth. Curiosity won. “Very well, as long as you refrain from using crude language.”

“There ain’t no other kind to describe Whitehead, but all right.” He gestured for her to be seated. Beth chose the sofa, and Anne joined her. Will ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and peered blearily at the two of them. “Y’all want a drink?”

Beth raised her eyebrows. “No, thank you.” Anne simply shook her head.

“Well, I’m gettin’ one.” Darcy walked over to the sideboard.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Beth’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Darcy snorted as he poured a brandy. “Nope—not if I gotta
talk about that lyin’, no-good son of a… snake-in-th’-grass.” He returned to stand between the couch and the fireplace. “Now, let me remember what it was you said.” He scratched his head, a gesture that seemed very out of place in Beth’s perception of the man. It looked… endearing.

“First, about that there dress. Why did you get so upset about it?”

Beth gasped. “Because you bought it for me! You had no right to do that.”

“Beth, he didn’t,” Anne said quietly.

Darcy frowned. “Annie’s right—I didn’t buy that for you; I bought it for her over a year ago. Remember, Annie? My last trip to Fort Worth?” Darcy grinned. “Huh! Good thing Cate never found out, ’cause otherwise I’d never hear the end of it. Anyhow, I just told Annie I figured that dress would be real pretty on you, is all.”

Beth felt both relieved and disappointed, but she chose to put those thoughts aside. “Don’t you see? It implied that you had a claim on me. I was mortified!”

“Didn’t mean no harm by it.”

“You still shouldn’t have done it.”

Darcy waved off her objection. “I was just tryin’ to do somethin’ nice for you. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry I did, an’ that’s all I’m gonna say ’bout that.

“Next thing. You said you heard me talk poorly o’ Charles an’ Jane. Somethin’ ’bout that he could have done better if he didn’t move here.”

“That’s right. I overheard your conversation with Caroline Bingley.”

He frowned. “What is it with the women ’round here,
sneakin’ about, eavesdroppin’ on private conversations?” Both Beth and Anne blushed at that. “Annie here is always over-hearin’ things. Quiet as an Injun, she is. Huh—an’ they call
me
a half-breed.” Beth was amazed at his statement—she never dreamed he could make light of his heritage.

He turned back to Beth. “If you heard all that, did you hear what else I said? Charles is one fine doctor. That man saved my life. In a big city, he could write his own ticket, be as rich as Midas! But he don’t want that. He came here ’cause he wanted to go to a place that needed him, and lucky man that he is, he found him somethin’ better than all the gold in th’ world. You know what that is?”

Beth bit her lip. “Jane?”

“That’s right. Charles would rather be poor an’ married to Jane than be rich and lonely in New Orleans, or wherever. An’ if I was in his shoes, I’d choose the same. That’s what I told that… woman.” Darcy nodded as he took a drink.

“What else? Slaves—that’s right, you said I owned slaves. Who th’ hell told you that? Whitehead?”

Beth blinked. “Yes, but… but you can’t deny that. Everybody knows white people owned slaves in the South.”

“Well, well, think you know everythin’, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong, Miss Beth. Annie, did Cate ever own slaves?”

Anne looked at Beth. “No, we’ve never had slaves.”

Darcy paced before an astonished Beth. “Miss Beth, do you know what it’s like ridin’ the herd? A man’s gotta be self-relie… self-relie… gotta be able to look out for himself without somebody else keepin’ a close eye on him. Gotta be able to protect himself, his fellows, an’ the herd from coyotes an’ rustlers. How can you give a slave a gun? No, ma’am, you can’t. I ain’t sayin’
there’s never been slaves on ranches, but there sure ain’t been any in these parts. There ain’t no slaves on Pemberley an’ never have been. One more lie from Mr. Whitehead.”

Darcy grew more agitated while Beth digested his words. They flew in the face of everything she had believed. Everyone up North believed that most, if not all, Southerners owned slaves. It was in the papers. Reverend Goldring preached against it. And yet, she could not refute Darcy’s words. They made too much sense. And Anne backed him up.

Beth colored as she thought of George. He had been here longer; he must have known the truth. Yet, he had purposely misled her—or rather, allowed her to continue to hold to her misconceptions. Why? She had come to the conclusion months ago that George stretched the truth at times—it was part of his charm. But this was an out-and-out lie. Why would he do it? And what else had he lied about?

“Whitehead… Whitehead,” Darcy was mumbling. He stopped suddenly and turned to Beth. “Are you in love with him?”

“No!” The denial flew from Beth’s mouth before she could think.

He peered closely at her. “You sure?”

Beth’s mind began to work again, and she grew irritated at his questioning. “Mr. Darcy, while my personal life is none of your concern, I shall repeat myself. I am not in love with George. He is a friend to my family—that is all.”

“George Whitehead is nobody’s friend. He’s a carpetbaggin’ piece o’ scum. I remember you callin’ him a war hero. Ha! A jailer is what he was.” Darcy pointed at his chest. “My jailer!”

“What?”

“Captain George Whitehead was second in command o’ th’
Camp Campbell prison camp in Missouri, where Charles an’ me were taken after Vicksburg. Now, ole George may have been the assistant commander, but since his colonel spent the better part of every day tryin’ to get inside of a bottle, George had a free hand runnin’ th’ place. For a year we enjoyed his hospitality, us and a thousand other prisoners.” His face grew soft. “At least there were a thousand when we started out. By th’ time Charles an’ me were transferred to Camp Douglas in Illinois th’ next summer, three hundred of us were in th’ ground.”

Beth was shocked. “Three hundred men died? But… but the papers all said that Confederate prisoners were treated well.” She looked at Anne, who also sat with an astonished look on her face.