Pemberley Ranch (19 page)

“How can you?” she had demanded. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes, dear. I believe you.”

“Then, why? Is Whitehead holding something over you?”

“No. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Charles. War is a terrible thing, and I won’t judge a man by his actions under fire. George has been a valuable counselor, and I’ll deal or not deal with him on that basis. The past is in the past, my dear. Let the war go.”

“But, Father—”

“Enough, Beth.”

At that, she had stormed out of his small study, leaving an aggrieved and disappointed parent behind.

Bennet stood up and looked at the portrait of his son. How much Samuel resembled his late grandfather, he thought.
My son, my dear son. How I miss you. How I miss your grandfather, too.

Tom Bennet worshiped the very ground his father walked; he considered him a man without fault until the night—the first he had shared drinking with his father and uncles—when they talked of the “old times.” What he learned shook him.

Bennet knew his father fought in the War of 1812. What he didn’t know was that he was with General Zebulon Pike during the failed invasion of Canada of that year. For the first time, his beloved father talked about the looting and other atrocities committed by U.S. troops during their weeklong occupation of York, the capital of Upper Canada later known as Toronto, culminating in the burning of the government buildings.

“And that was the worst thing we ever did,”
he remembered his father saying,
“because two years later, the Brits used it as their excuse for burning Washington D.C. Never forget, son—‘For they sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.’”

Later, his uncles would talk of the Indian Wars and his cousins of the Mexican War. All talked of friends reduced by battle, fear, and anger to do unspeakable things. His beloved
uncles killed Indians indiscriminately during attacks on hostile camps. It was impossible to distinguish between the belligerent and the innocent during the heat and smoke of battle, he was told.

It was then Tom Bennet had his epiphany—that good men can do bad things during war and should not be held to account for their actions. Wasn’t his father the best man he had ever known? Yet he looted a helpless city. His uncles were church elders. His cousins would walk miles in the snow to help a neighbor. Should he shun them for what they felt they had to do while wearing a uniform?

Yes, Bennet believed the stories told to him by Charles and Beth. War was awful enough for such things to occur. Besides, he was a born cynic. He took the propaganda in the newspapers with a grain of salt. He knew the South wasn’t the only side to commit atrocities. He knew of men—good men—who had been thrown in prison and had their
habeas corpus
rights suspended simply because, as anti-war Democrats, they had spoken out against the policies of the Lincoln administration. Bennet supported the war, but he wasn’t blind to the hypocrisy of violating the Constitution in order to save it. Bennet was friends with the sheriff who arrested these men and the judge who sentenced them to prison, but he knew they were wrong. History taught him that war was so evil it could corrupt whole governments, and here was proof of it. But Bennet never held anything against either side.

If Tom Bennet could forgive his relations and his neighbors, he had to do the same for George Whitehead and Will Darcy. It was only fair. It was why he could so quickly put the war behind him. It was why he could happily accept Charles Bingley into his family. Why couldn’t Beth see that?

Bennet rubbed his neck. He was happy that Beth finally seemed to put aside her dislike of all things Southern, but this new loathing for Whitehead was troubling. It seemed to him that his daughter had to dislike someone. If so, it was a character flaw he was incapable of fixing.
Well
, he considered,
if ignoring her behavior worked before, maybe the best thing to do now is be patient until this new obsession passes.

Tom Bennet was determined to stand by his own unique principles. Until Whitehead, Darcy, or anyone else proved a threat to what he had built, he would act as he saw best for the future of his family.

Beth attended the next meeting of the Musical Society with far less trepidation than the month before. She was eager to go, for she wanted to see Gaby and Anne and prove to herself that she could love them for who they were, not in spite of where they came from. In the back of her mind, she admitted to herself that she’d be disappointed if Will Darcy didn’t take up his old habit of observing the gathering from the back pew. She no longer feared Darcy’s ill opinion of her, although memories of their confrontation still invaded her dreams.

Beth and Mary drove into town in the wagon a bit early at Mary’s insistence. To their surprise, the Darcy coach was already there. Darcy and his relations were talking with Reverend Tilney outside the church doors. Tilney gestured at the approaching wagon, and Darcy turned to stare at Beth. For a moment, the two were in a silent battle, neither willing to take their eyes off the other, but Beth was the first to surrender. She busied herself climbing off the wagon as Darcy and Tilney secured the horses.
Therefore, she didn’t see the rancher approach until he was almost on top of her.

“Miss Beth,” Darcy touched his hat, “Miss Mary. Good afternoon. I hope y’all are doing well.”

Mary returned the greeting before turning her attention to Henry, who was more than happy to escort her into the building. Beth could not help but smile at the pair’s obvious affection.

Will, too, was grinning. “Am I to offer someone congratulations?”

“No, Mr. Darcy—except to my sister, Jane.”

“Of course, and I would hold myself lax in not expressing my happiness at the Bingleys’ joyful event, had Gaby and I not already paid them a call last week. But allow me to tell you that we hold the opinion that Miss Susan is one right pretty girl, and we wish Jane and Charles all the best.”

Darcy’s compliments to Susan could not but please Beth, and she favored the man with a dazzling smile. “I thank you, sir, on behalf of my family.”

Darcy swallowed and his face became serious. “Miss Beth, before you go in, I have a request from my sister. She’s wanted to show you Pemberley for some time. Would you be available to be her guest this weekend?”

Beth could not hide her surprise at the invitation, and Darcy grew uneasy. “I… I thank you, but…” Beth managed, “but are you sure? I mean,” her face flushed, “I don’t want to cause anyone unease.”

Darcy grew grim. “I understand. Please don’t worry yourself over that. I have plenty of work to do. You would hardly know I was there—”

“You misunderstand!” Beth cried. “I was concerned on
your behalf, not mine! I would never drive you out of your own house.”

Darcy stared at her, his face more unreadable than ever. He seemed to mull his response. “Miss Bennet,” he said slowly, “
both
my sister and I would be happy to have you as our guest at Pemberley. Will you come?”

The anxious look in his face delighted Beth. Her relief that the man didn’t hate her made her bold. “Very well, sir. I will ask my father—on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“My name to my friends is Beth.”

Darcy blinked, and a slow smile grew on his face. “Beth, will you come to Pemberley?”

“Yes, Will.”

Beth had had no idea that Will’s eyes sparkled when he smiled. “With your father’s permission, I’ll send a carriage to your farm Friday afternoon. Will that suit you?”

“That would be very nice, but I don’t need a carriage. I can come on my own.”

“Nevertheless, one will be sent, so don’t bother arguing,” he teased before he offered his arm. “May I escort you in before I take my leave of you?”

“Oh! But aren’t you staying to listen?”

“Wouldn’t like anything better, Beth,” his voice seemed to caress the letters of her name, “but I have business in town to see to. It’s my loss, I assure you.”

“We’ll be sorry to lose our audience, but I understand. Thank you for the invitation, Will.” She felt slightly giddy, enjoying using his Christian name. Beth took her leave of him and entered the church, where she was immediately besieged
by an excited Gaby, demanding to know if Beth was to visit Pemberley. Beth was able to assure her that was her intention, and the next ninety minutes flew by in a happy manner.

Angry voices were being raised at the B&R a few nights later.

“Mr. Whitehead,” said Catherine Burroughs in a manner that would brook no opposition, “I want to know what is being done to secure the last of the deeds in the new settlements.”

Whitehead carefully set down his coffee cup, knowing Collins’s worried eyes were upon him. “We have that all under control, Mrs. Burroughs. All but a couple are already in our possession. We’ve moved slowly so as not to invite suspicion. It should only be a matter of time before we have the rest of that land.”

“Who is left?”

Collins spoke up. “The McDaniels and the Washingtons.”

“Will there be any trouble?”

“Umm,” Collins pulled at his shirt collar, “the McDaniels have run up a few debts in town, so we can foreclose on them at any time. As for the Washingtons… umm… they present a bit of difficulty.”

“Why?”

“They put down more money when they bought their homestead, and they haven’t been behind in their mortgage payment, not even once. We’ll be hard-pressed to justify an expulsion.”

Denny, leaning against a wall, smoked a hand-rolled cigarette. “I’ll take care o’ them. Just leave things to me.” Whitehead and Pyke exchanged looks.

Judge Phillips blanched. “No violence! You said there’d be no violence!”

“And there won’t be, Alton, if everyone’s reasonable,” Whitehead said smoothly.

“I want my land back.” Mrs. Burroughs’s voice was ice cold. “Spare me the details, but do whatever needs to be done.”

Denny’s sneer faded, and he stood up straight. “What’s that?” One hand on his pistol, he moved towards the door and threw it open. There in the doorway was Bartholomew holding a tray. “What th’ hell do ya think you’re doin’, partner?” Denny snarled as he jammed his pistol barrel into the surprised butler’s stomach.

The man looked down at the gun, and then raised his eyes to his employers. “I was about to knock, ma’am, to see if you desired more coffee. Apparently, I’ve disturbed something.”

Whitehead put a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “Put that gun away.” He smiled at the butler. “Sorry, friend, but Denny here gets jumpy sometimes. Goes with the territory.”

Denny holstered his Colt. “Yeah, jumpy. Don’t like fellas sneakin’ ’round. Makes me itchy.”

“I will strive to remember that, Mr. Denny,” Bartholomew dryly replied.

Mrs. Burroughs cried out, “Bartholomew! We are having a business meeting. You are excused for the evening.”

“Very good, ma’am.” With that, he closed the door.

“You think he heard anything?” asked Phillips.

“Bartholomew?” Cate laughed. “He’s been in my employ for years. He knows what to see and not see, hear and not hear.
My
employees know how to behave,” she added, giving Denny a withering look.

Denny snorted. “He better learn to make more noise, if’n he don’t wanna git hurt.”

“Let us continue with the meeting,” Mrs. Burroughs
requested. The gathering went on, this time at a lower volume. Had anyone bothered to look out the door, they would have seen Bartholomew watch a female figure in white quickly ascend the stairs and go into a bedroom.

The butler sighed. “They almost caught you this time, my dear,” he said to himself. He turned and walked to the kitchen.

I
T FELT STRANGE TO
sit in a beautiful landau carriage, Beth considered, as the contraption made its way through town and across the Long Branch Bridge towards Pemberley. The wood was black and shined to a luster so fine she could see her reflection in it. The leather of the seats was a soft dark brown, so comfortable that she felt she could have slept in the carriage as it rolled along the rough dirt road. She felt like a princess from one of the stories in her father’s library. Of course, Beth was far too excited to sleep, and she kept her eyes firmly fixed forward as she rolled along. Clouds were moving in from the southwest, signaling that rain was coming.

The only building to distract her attention from catching sight of the ranch house was a small stone church near the river. The building and a small rectory were surrounded by a low adobe wall. A small cemetery was behind it. Ethan had been assigned to drive Beth to Pemberley and he pointed at the structure with his buggy whip.

“That there’s the Catholic Church—Santa Maria, they calls it.”

Beth nodded. Her conscience twinged at the remembrance of Mary’s unfeeling words months ago. Her thoughts moved once again to the owner of the spread before her, marveling at the man’s forbearance. It seemed Beth and her family had done nothing but insult the Darcy family, and yet they still wished to continue their acquaintance. More than that—Gaby was a good friend and Will… Will had wanted to marry her at one time.

Beth sighed. Her feelings had been at war for the last week. One moment she was telling herself it was foolish to believe Will Darcy still desired her hand. Her cruel and ignorant words must have killed any tender feeling he might have owned for her at one time. He was only trying to be her friend for his sister’s sake, she thought. The next moment she was sure Will loved her—loved her so much that he had forgiven her.

This visit had been his idea. He seemed to want her near him, to want to change her mind. In her most romantic fantasies, Will would surprise her with a huge ball at Pemberley, and the entire town was there—her family, friends, and neighbors. Even the Burroughses and Whitehead attended. Will would claim all of her dances, and they would waltz for hours and hours, she in that exquisite blue dress. At the end of the ball, after he ordered soldiers who had magically appeared to arrest Whitehead, Will would look deeply into her eyes and ask her to marry him. And she
…
would wake up.

Beth, having never been in love before, found it difficult to describe her feelings for Darcy. She liked him, she admired him, and she trusted him. Her heart beat faster when she was near him. She felt strange urgings when his eyes fell upon her person. She wanted to run and hide, yet touch him, all at the same time. Was she mad, or was she in love? If he did ask her again, would she accept him?

She didn’t know. She hoped that this weekend would help with her struggles. If not, she would have to be satisfied with visiting her friend and her handsome, intriguing, infuriating brother.

The landau crossed over a crest of a hill, and the sight that lay below caused Beth to gasp. Along the road about a quarter-mile away was a large, low house. Done in the Spanish style, terra cotta tiles covered a roof supported by numerous white columns, lining a full porch, surrounding the entirety of the house. Dormer windows broke up the hip roof, white plaster surrounding the glass. Several large trees framed the building, a flower garden was in the front, and a row of cedars to the west of the house swayed in the breeze.

Beth pulled her eyes away from the house to gaze at the rest of the ranch. Barns and stables were set some distance from the main house, and a large, long building with windows was close by the barn. Beth expected it was the bunkhouse for the unmarried hands. Men worked in a corral next to the barn, and smoke rose from what Beth took to be a smithy. Smaller single houses dotted the area. Cattle were everywhere, and in the distance, she could see the sunlight dancing on the surface of a small lake.

“Oh my goodness,” Beth could not help herself from saying.

Ethan turned to her with a grin. “It’s somethin’, ain’t it? Prettiest house I’ve ever seen.”

Beth could only agree, and her admiration for the house grew as she neared it.
And Will wanted me to be mistress of all this? Is he crazy?

Gaby was almost hopping in her excitement as she waited next to Will on the porch for Beth to descend from the carriage. She promptly threw herself into Beth’s arms once she was on the ground. Will’s welcome was far more restrained, but Beth did
not doubt his sincerity although he seemed a bit nervous all the same. Ethan carried Beth’s carpetbag from the landau as Gaby and Will escorted their guest inside.

The house was cooler than Beth had expected for the middle of the summer, and she said so. With a smile, Will explained that between the high ceilings and large windows, Pemberley was designed to take advantage of any stray breeze that might come along. Beth looked up at the large wooden beams high above her head, the brown of the wood contrasting nicely against the whitewashed plaster walls. The furnishings were a mixture of large, dark, heavy Spanish and lighter Chippendale pieces. The carpets over the wooden floors were lovely, and Beth was astonished to learn that they had come all the way from India. The wealth all this represented made Beth uneasy, but Gaby soon lightened her mood.

On the way to what the Darcys called the music room, they came across a line of family portraits. Will stopped at the first one. It was a dark-haired lady with rather square features, dressed in a white gown, a small cross at her throat. The expression at first seemed severe, but Beth caught a mischievous gleam in the eye of the subject.

“Mary Grace Darcy, my grandmother and matriarch of the family,” Will named her with pride, half-turning to Beth.

“She looks so regal,” Beth judged.

Will smiled. “She should—she was a princess of the Cherokee Nation. Her birth name, loosely translated, was Running Water. Her family—and most of her village—were wiped out by Comanche raiders when she was little, and she ended up in a convent. The nuns gave her the name Mary Grace, had her baptized Catholic, and taught her English and Spanish. When she
grew up, the Mother Superior didn’t know what to do with her. It was one thing to raise an orphan Indian; it was a whole other thing to bring her into the order. As it turned out, Grandmother was a pious woman, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be a nun, and when George Washington Darcy rode by one day from boarding school and fell in love with her at first sight, she was happy to marry him and go to Pemberley. Great-Grandmother Agatha wasn’t too thrilled at the news, and it didn’t get any better when Mary Grace converted Grandfather to Catholicism. Still, they learned to get along, and Grandmother told me that they became friends before Great-Grandmother Agatha passed. It was Grandmother Mary Grace who saw to the improvement to the mission.”

“Did you see it on the way here?” Gaby asked. Beth said that she had and asked Gaby if she remembered Mary Grace. “No,” Gaby said sadly. “She died before I was born. I barely even remember my mother.”

“My father, Matthew Darcy, was the eldest, along with my Uncle John and Aunts Anne and Mary,” Will continued. “Anne and Mary married and moved away. John died of the typhus when he was still in his teens. My daddy was sent to school in Austin, and that’s where he met this lady.” He pointed at another portrait, this one of a strikingly beautiful black-haired lady. She was obviously Spanish.

“Consuela Helena Diaz Pérez was from a very prominent Spanish family that emigrated from Seville many years ago. Her father fought alongside Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto for Texas’s independence.” Will laughed. “If you thought Mary Grace and Agatha didn’t get along, Momma and Grandmother were like oil and water. Daddy and Grandfather spent a lot of
time getting between them, keeping the peace.” He looked at her portrait fondly. “Some of it was Momma coming from a prominent family, while Grandmother was an orphaned Indian. But mostly it was a battle as to who was going to run the family. Two strong-willed women, neither of a mind to back down. Things changed, I was told, after Grandfather died. Momma’s authority was now undisputed, so she surprised everyone when she insisted that Grandmother remain in the main house instead of a small place that had been built for her. They had their arguments—I was witness to a few—but Daddy always said that the two of them seemed to enjoy their disagreements. I suppose he was right, because when Grandmother took sick, Momma wouldn’t leave her side, and when she finally passed, Momma cried for three days straight. You never really know how people feel until something like that happens.”

“I was named for Grandmother, you see,” Gaby said. “Gabrielle Maria. And then Momma died a few years later. It was just Daddy, Will, and me after that.”

Beth said nothing, overwhelmed by the stories she had heard. Deep inside, her anger at George Whitehead for his snide asides disparaging the Darcys’ heritage was renewed, as well as self-loathing at her own prejudices, which allowed her to accept his cruel statements. Not only were Will and Gaby not embarrassed at their mixed background—one-half Spanish-Mexican and one-quarter Indian—they were proud of it. Beth was ashamed. Hadn’t she been slightly guilty of the same fault she had accused Southerners of—that is, considering a human somehow less a person based on their heritage? She had never enslaved anyone, that was true, but the similarity hit just too close to home for comfort.

Will seemed to sense her discomfort and suggested that Gaby show her to her room to freshen up for dinner. Beth gratefully agreed, and the two girls went up to a second-floor guest bedroom, Beth feeling Will’s eyes follow her as she climbed the stairs.

The storm that had been threatening all afternoon finally broke during dinner, but the rain did nothing to dampen the spirits of those inside Pemberley’s dining room. Will performed his duties as host without flaw, as far as Beth was concerned, and during the times that the conversation began to drag, Richard Fitzwilliam, who had joined the family and Mrs. Annesley at table, could be counted on to inject his own sardonic observations, delighting those assembled.

Beth had never enjoyed a dinner so much. The slow-cooked barbecued beef was delicious, served with roasted corn, beans, and a couple of items Beth had never eaten before—sweet potatoes, and a soft, flat bread called
tortillas
. Will explained that tortillas were a favorite of his mother’s, and Mrs. Reynolds, the cook, learned to make them to please her.

Beth could tell that Darcy was pleased with
her
, or, at least, with what she was wearing. Beth, her mother, and her sisters had worked for hours on the pretty yellow dress. She liked it almost as much as the blue gown she wore at the B&R. At first, Beth was alarmed at the bare shoulders, but when she came down the stairs and heard Darcy’s quiet gasp, she had to admit to being very pleased with herself.

The party retired to the music room after dinner, and Mrs. Reynolds visited with them at Will’s request before Gaby started
her concert. The black woman accepted with a smile the praise heaped upon her for the dinner. “Thank you kindly,” she said. “It’s always a pleasure to cook for guests, although we don’t get to do it much—not like when Mrs. Darcy was alive, bless her soul.”

“You’ve been with the Darcys for a long time, I take it,” said Beth.

“Oh, yes, ever since Mr. Matthew came to get me over twenty years ago.”

Beth blinked at the woman’s choice of words and even more so as Gaby demanded happily, “Tell Beth the story! Tell her the story! It’s so romantic!”

“Now, let’s not bore the young lady with old tales like that,” Mrs. Reynolds demurred, but Will smiled and stood up.

“We’ve had lots of riders on Pemberley. Men of all colors and creeds. We’ve only asked one thing of them: Give us a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. Treat us fair, and we’ll treat you fair. When I was young, we had a freedman by the name of Isaiah Reynolds working for us. He was as good a man with a cow pony as we’ve ever had, Daddy told me, and he earned the respect of the other hands. Well, most of ’em. Anyhow, one day he came up to Daddy and said, ‘I’m gonna have to quit you, Mr. Darcy.’ Daddy asked Isaiah if he was unhappy, and he said, ‘No, sir, you’ve treated me fair. But, I want to find a woman an’ get married, an’ there ain’t nobody ’round here for me.’