Pemberley Ranch (24 page)

As the days of September passed, the only sign that fall was approaching was that the days were growing shorter. It was still hot, and the dry season was upon them. That meant dove hunting in Texas, and Pemberley was always a dependable roosting area.

Early on this particular day, a hunting party of Will Darcy, Richard Fitzwilliam, and Charles Bingley worked a field near a wooded area about three miles from the main house. All three carried double-barreled shotguns, but had neither beaters nor dogs. Will did not own any hunting dogs, and he would not use his employees to scare up game. Still the sport had been productive and each man had bagged his share.

“You’re a fair shot, for a doctor,” Fitz observed as the three took their ease, sharing a flask with their lunches.

“Not as good as you,” Charles said. “Did you miss any? I would swear you didn’t.”

“If you think that was good, you should see Fitz with a rifle,” Will grinned. “I’ll bet if we made him use a Winchester instead of a shotgun, he’d still bag as many birds.”

“Naw, you don’t want to do that,” Fitz drawled. “Wouldn’t leave much o’ the bird left to eat, an’ then Miz Reynolds would have my hide.”

“You scared of Will’s cook?”

“Nope. Scared she’d quit him, and then the other hands will get sore and come after me!”

Will laughed. “You’re right about that. Mrs. Reynolds has a lot of friends in the bunkhouse.”

The men continued talking until Fitz suddenly stood up. “Hear that?”

“What?” Darcy started, before he did hear, faintly.

“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy!”
came from a distance away.

“Sounds like Peter,” Fitz judged.

Will nodded, got to his feet while pulling his Colt, and fired three rounds in the air. Alerted by the sound, the Pemberley rider found them in short order. Darcy was surprised at Peter’s companion—a very distraught Beth.

“Mr. Darcy,” Peter called as they came to a halt. “Miss Bennet here needs to talk to Doc Bingley.”

“Good God, what’s the matter?” Darcy exclaimed as he half-ran to Turner. Beth’s face was dirty, as dust clung to the tears she had undoubtedly shed earlier. He took the paint’s reins and held up a hand to help Beth dismount. Charles was right on Darcy’s heels.

Beth allowed Will to help her down before saying, “Charles, you have to come home, please—”

Bingley turned white. “Jane? Susan? My God, has anything happened?”

“No, no!” Beth cried in a mixture of grief and frustration. “They’re fine! It’s Lily! She’s gone—missing! We think she’s run away!”

Will had not released Beth’s hand and his grip tightened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes—no—we don’t know! She’s just gone! She went to bed last night, but she wasn’t there this morning! We’ve been looking all over for her!”

“Come sit down, Beth. Do you need anything? Some water? We’ve got water. Or maybe something stronger?”

“No, nothing please. Just let me catch my breath.”

“You know anything?” Fitz asked Peter.

“No. Miss Bennet come ridin’ up to Pemberley, wantin’ to
talk to the doc. She said there was a family emergency. Miss Gaby told me to find y’all, an’ Miss Bennet insisted on comin’ along. Don’t know about any missing girl.”

Will sat down next to Beth and took her hands in his. “What’s been done to find Lily?”

Beth stared into Will’s caring eyes. “Father and I rode to town to get Charles. Jane said he was here, so I went on to get him. Father’s gone to Sheriff Lucas.”

“Has there been any sign of her?”

“No. No note. Just that one of our horses is missing. It was Lily’s horse.”

“Has Lily said anything about meeting somebody? Was she sweet on some fellow?”

“No. There’s been no one.”

“All right. Do you need anything right now?”

She shook her head. “No. I have to get back to Charles’s place—Father will be waiting for me there.”

“Then, I won’t detain you.” Will stood up and began barking orders. “All right. Fitz, I want you to ride back to Pemberley and begin assembling a search team. Saddle up anyone we can spare. Make sure they’re armed. We don’t know what’s happened to Lily, if she’s been kidnapped or not.”

“Will, she took her own horse,” Fitz pointed out.

“I heard that, and maybe she did ride out to meet somebody, and maybe she changed her mind. It’s happened before,” Will shot back. “We’re not taking any chances, all right?”

Fitz got the allusion to Gaby and nodded.

“Peter, ride out and tell the wranglers to keep an eye out for a girl on a… what kind of horse was that, Beth?”

“Buster is brown, with a white flash on the chest.”

“Got that description? Good. Fitz, when you get your team assembled, meet me at the Bingleys.”

Beth stared at him. “You’re coming with us?”

“Yep. Fitz, you better take my birds with you to the house. Everyone clear on what to do? Good. Let’s ride.”

Directly upon reaching the Bingleys’, Darcy set up a command post. He commandeered the Bingley dining room table, spreading a map of the county upon it. When Fitz arrived with a dozen men from Pemberley, Darcy assembled them into two-man teams and assigned them various locations to search. Beth was impressed by his quick command of the situation, and she was pleased with the easy respect his men held for their employer.

She was not the only witness—besides the Bingleys, Mr. Bennet was in attendance, having come to his son-in-law’s house after talking to both the sheriff and Judge Phillips. Bennet wanted to join in the search, but Darcy talked him out of it, pointing out that he could most help the effort by reflecting on his daughter and trying to divine where she might have gone.

Fitz and the Pemberley riders spread out all over the north bank of the Long Branch. Denny and his men, called in by Phillips, preferred to look for the wayward girl
en masse
. Thirty men rode all over the B&R until sundown without success.

As the disappointed and worried Bennets prepared to go home for the night, William approached them. “Sir, I’ll have my men out at first light. We won’t rest ’til we find her.” Will was talking to Mr. Bennet, but Beth thought his words were for her, too.

“I thank you kindly,” said an exhausted Mr. Bennet.
“Whatever you can do, however long you can help, well… you’ve got my thanks.”

“No thanks necessary.” He paused, and Beth thought he was going to say more, but besides a quick glance at her, he fell silent. He nodded as the father and daughter mounted their horses for the ride back to the farm. Beth wasn’t surprised that they were escorted by two Pemberley wranglers, but her father was. Bennet first greeted his waiting family and gave them the disappointing news of their failure. After Mrs. Bennet, Mary, and Kathy returned to the house and the escort left, the farmer questioned Beth as they attended to their animals in the barn.

“I’m very thankful that Mr. Darcy is showing a great deal of interest in our family, Beth,” he said as he unsaddled his horse, “but, it’s surprising, given his lack of dealings between us. Or maybe not so much of a lack of dealings as I believe?” He turned to his daughter. “Beth, is there something you want to tell me?”

Beth hoped the darkness hid the blush she was certain was covering her face. “Will Darcy’s a good man, Father—better than we’ve been given reason to think. But I wouldn’t read too much into it. I’m sure he’d do the same for anybody. Look what he did for the Washingtons—he bought their burial plots, you know.”

“Yes,” Bennet said. To Beth he sounded strangely disappointed. “Well, let’s pray for better news tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, the news was not what they had hoped. Lily’s horse was found grazing on B&R land between town and the Bennet farm. There was no sign of its rider.

October

B
EFORE
, B
ETH HAD ALWAYS
thought of the period following Samuel’s death as the worst of her life. With Lily’s disappearance, she realized that things could be worse. It was horrible to know that a beloved son and brother had died far away from home, but at least that fateful telegram had given the family the finality of closure. With Lily, the uncertainty made the experience almost unbearable. Hope battled despair in the hearts of the Bennets. Without knowing what had become of Lily, there was no way of not thinking about her.

Rumors swirled around the town. All sorts of theories were put forth, but the one that seemed to be believed by most was that the band of Klansmen had returned and Lily Bennet had either been kidnapped or convinced to run off with them. A cowpoke from the B&R claimed he awoke from his bedroll on the range to the sound of horses in the distance the night Lily disappeared. Nothing was confirmed, but that was enough for those who needed something to believe.

Judge Phillips called off the search after a few days. The rest
of the town was nearly insensible with fear. They could convince themselves that the attack on the Washingtons was an isolated incident, but now that a neighbor’s daughter was missing and presumed stolen away, the people could no longer ignore what was happening. Evil was riding the range, and everyone was terrified that they or their family could be next.

Doors were locked tight, guns were kept loaded, and socializing stopped. The storekeepers were concerned over their livelihoods, as shopping for anything save the barest of necessities had ceased. Church attendance was cut in half. The streets in town belonged to the tumbleweeds, dogs, and Judge Phillips’s deputies.

As September turned into October, the Bennets lived in a sort of half-life. No matter the fears and anxieties, fields needed to be tended, animals needed to be fed, and chores needed to be done. The family went about their duties listlessly, one ear cocked to hear the approach of news that never came. There was no escape from the gloom. Mr. Bennet made it clear that none of the women were to leave the farm, and that included church. The once-a-week trips for supplies would be done by either Mr. Bennet or the farmhand, Hill, and neither would be absent from the farm at the same time.

Those trips were the only relief Beth received during this time, because there would always be a note from Charlotte brought from town to her. Not all of the family’s friends abandoned them. The Bingleys would come by as often as they could, and Reverend Tilney’s occasional visits were appreciated, especially by Mary, but they were cold comfort to Beth. She yearned for the company of a man she had once hated—a person she realized was the best man she had ever known.

For it was there in Charlotte’s letters—while the rest of
town had given up on the search for Lily, even the sheriff—that Beth learned that the story from Pemberley was different. Will Darcy’s men, when they could be excused from their duties, spent their time searching every nook and cranny in the county, looking for a sign of the girl. Charlotte never said who supplied her information, but Beth had an idea who it was. No one who had witnessed the attentions paid to the girl by Richard Fitzwilliam at the Burroughses’ party back in July could fail to see the signs of a blooming romance.

Beth was thrilled at William’s constancy. He had promised he wouldn’t give up, and he hadn’t. Her heart whispered it was for her, but her better sense tamped down her hopes. Will Darcy was a great man—kind and generous—and she thought he would do the same for anyone. Could he still love her?

Beth now knew she was in love with Will Darcy. She could not pinpoint the time or place when it had happened; the feeling had come to her so gradually. Certainly, by the time she visited Pemberley she was well on her way. Perhaps watching firsthand how well he handled the twin disasters that had befallen Rosings—the lynchings and Lily’s disappearance—had proven to her that Will was not a proud and willful martinet. Rather, he was a quick-thinking and forceful leader, ready to step forward when the time called for action. Perhaps as the last of the numerous misunderstandings of his character fell away, she could do nothing but admire and love him.

Her joy was tempered with anguish. Letters from others extolling his goodness were not enough. Even though she knew he was busy and the times were dangerous, she still longed to see him again—to talk with him again, to dance in his arms again. Why did he not come to visit? Was he embarrassed to associate
himself with her family? She was being nonsensical, she knew. Darcy had never been invited to their house in the past. In fact, he had been on Bennet land only once to the best of her knowledge—during the cattle drive in the spring. Why would he ever think he would be welcomed?

But a woman’s heart was never completely rational. Beth desired only two things—Lily returned home and for herself to be in Darcy’s arms—and she was afraid she would see neither ever again.

Summer had finally broken, and the residents enjoyed the moderation of temperatures that passed for fall in Central Texas. On such a bright and sunny day, Charlotte descended from her cart and was in the act of securing the horse when the bells of Santa Maria began to mark the hour. As the twelfth and final peal faded, Charlotte walked not into the mission chapel but the graveyard beyond. There, in the shadows afford by a group of oak trees, stood a tall cowboy wearing a black hat with a silver band.

A moment later, Charlotte was in Fitz’s arms, their lips hungrily searching for the other’s. Arms about Fitz’s neck, Charlotte delighted in the feelings their kisses inflamed in her body and soul. The breath seemed to be squeezed out of her lungs, so tight was her beloved’s embrace. A warm dizziness enveloped her, and she could not support herself on her now trembling legs. Her companion seemed to understand, for they were soon on their knees, and then prone on the soft grass between the headstones, lost in lovemaking.

Fitz’s mouth drew away long enough to gasp, “You’re wearin’ your rose water.” Charlotte smiled widely, her eyes alive with
love and passion, lighting up her plain features, before drawing Fitz back for another kiss.

It had begun in late June, soon after Fitzwilliam returned from Kansas. He appeared at the Lucases’ back door one evening while the sheriff was working at the jail. He was dressed in his Sunday best, a small wrapped gift in his hand. Tenderly, Charlotte unwrapped the package to discover a small bottle of perfume. Shyly glancing at the man, she lifted the stopper to the smell of roses.

“They had some o’ that made of gardenias,” Fitz had said, looking at the bottle, “but I was thinkin’ that stuff was too showy for you. Roses seemed a better choice. I hope you like it.”

“I… I love it.” She was confused, yet hopeful.

He finally raised his eyes to hers. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward.”

She nervously licked her lips. “Not at all.”

“Sorry I came to the back door an’ all—you deserve better than that—but I didn’t want to cause any fuss with your kin.”

“I understand.”

He paused, as if to gather his courage—a strange thing to do, Charlotte thought at the time, as she had nothing but admiration for the ranch foreman.

“You goin’ to the Burroughses’ party?” he asked. Told that she was, he gulped.

“Will you spare a dance for me?”

From that moment, Charlotte knew she had a sweetheart. She agreed to dance with Fitz, thanking him for the gift and the invitation with a light peck on his cheek. The look of wonder on his lined face was priceless. She almost wept with joy. He left a minute later, the slightly goofy expression still there.

Charlotte carefully hid her gift in her room, not wanting to answer uncomfortable questions from her father. She used it only for special occasions, and those times were reserved for Richard Fitzwilliam. She wore it to the dance, delighting the man. She offered no resistance when, late in the afternoon, they were able to steal away from the crowd, finding a quiet, private place to share their first kiss. It was everything Charlotte had dreamed it would be.

Their courtship, however, was not. Sheriff Lucas had questioned his daughter severely upon returning home. He had seen her dance with Fitz, and he made his displeasure plain. So firm was his admonition of her behavior—to him, dancing with Fitz was turning her back on his authority as her father—that Charlotte realized discussion or argument was useless. Nothing she could say would soften her father’s heart. Fitz was unworthy of her, and that was it. She would not be able to meet with Fitzwilliam openly, and as she had no intention of giving him up, they would have to meet secretly.

The solution was easily found. Gaby had expressed a desire to practice music with Charlotte on a weekly basis. Rather than making Miss Lucas go all the way to Pemberley, they would meet at the Catholic mission. Charlotte understood the concern over Whitehead; she had noticed his interest in both the Pemberley and B&R heiresses. The mission was close to town, so Gaby would still be safe on Pemberley land, and the church had a piano. One in the afternoon was the agreed time.

However, when securing her father’s permission for the scheme, Charlotte told one little lie—she said they would meet at noon and have a shared lunch before practice. Sheriff Lucas consented, happy that Miss Darcy was his daughter’s friend. But
it wasn’t Gaby who Charlotte arranged to meet at noon, but Fitzwilliam. They would share a basket lunch weekly and have an hour of each other’s company in the shade of the trees near the mission’s cemetery.

Charlotte was certain that Gaby had no idea their musical meetings were a cover for her assignations with Fitzwilliam. She felt a bit guilty over using her friend, but she convinced herself that she had no other choice. As for Father Joseph, if he was aware of the goings-on in his cemetery, he made no comment.

As July stretched into August, the couple spent less time eating and more time enjoying each other’s company in more demonstrative ways. By September, Charlotte was certainly compromised, but not irreversibly so. They had not consummated their love and passion, but each week it grew more difficult to restrain their mutual desire—as it had today.

The troubles in town might have ended the meetings of the Ladies Musical Society, but Charlotte’s weekly visits with Gaby continued. The plain sheriff’s daughter was thought to be immune from whatever was going on. She could travel in town openly and without escort as long as it was during the day. Besides, the queer girl was known to be armed and an excellent shot, as she had proved during rodeos past. So, Charlotte was able to keep her rendezvous with her lover while most women were shut at home.

Whether it was the cool weather, the tension in town, or simply because it had been a week since she had been in Fitz’s arms, Charlotte was more passionate than ever. The air seemed to rush past her ears as she lost herself to her emotions. Fitz’s lips traced a trail down her neck as his hand lightly teased the cloth that covered her breasts. The girl was on fire, a low moan escaping her lips. In the back of her desire-intoxicated mind, she
knew if Fitz lowered his hand and raised her skirts, she would willingly part her legs and allow him to take her. Therefore, it took her a moment to realize the cowboy was no longer half-lying on top of her but had instead rolled over onto his side.

“Oh, God, sweetheart, I love you,” he panted.

For an instant, Charlotte was aggrieved and disappointed before her modesty and common sense caught up with her emotions. Once again, Fitz had shown more restraint than she had, and though she flushed with shame at her behavior, her love for and pride in him increased. She tenderly stroked his face.

“It feels like a wonderful dream, every time I’m in your arms. I keep waiting to wake up and find out that you don’t really care for me—that this has never happened.” He kissed her fingers to reassure her. She smiled, the heat infusing her body starting to fade. “I’d best get the lunch. Gaby will be here soon.”

Fitz turned his eyes to her. “No hurry. Gaby’s not coming.”

“What?” Charlotte sat right up, pulling her hand away from his. “Why not? Is anything wrong?”