Twixt Two Equal Armies (19 page)

“Well, this time I saw no bats, but the stones are still cold.”

Holly smiled and gave her mother a glance. She was smiling, too. Elizabeth saw the exchange and took Holly’s hand, making her sit down beside her.

“Ask what you need to ask, Holly. I have no secrets from either you or Aunt Arabella,” she said gently.

Holly looked at her cousin’s happy expression and open face.

“And Mr Darcy?” she asked. “Does he still have secrets from you?”

“Secrets? Probably. But we are very good friends now and have forgiven each other numerous times for all manner of trespasses and misunderstandings — wilful and accidental alike.”

“And . . . what will he do now?”

“Well, considering I gave him quite a dressing-down when he last laid his feelings open to me, I fear he will not soon want to risk that again. But who knows? Perhaps I shall be allowed back into the drawing room at Pemberley one way or the other — if I behave myself.”

Holly smiled, happy for her cousin’s happiness even in the midst of her own confused feelings on the matter. She suppressed a sigh as she realised how much this visit had changed from what she had earlier anticipated. It would no longer be one last escape into a carefree past. Instead, she was witnessing the beginnings of Elizabeth’s emerging future — a future richly deserved and filled with promise.
And what of me, I wonder
. . . for as pleased as she was for Elizabeth, she could not escape the feeling that she was losing her; she was being left behind.

“And that is as much as I will hear on the subject of male motives and other guess work,” Mrs Tournier said forcefully. “Things are as they will be, my dears, and I have no doubt even the most taciturn of gentlemen will forget himself and give some inclination of what his intentions are if he keeps meeting you so accidentally around country lanes and fields.”

“And caves,” Elizabeth said mischievously and winked her merry eyes at Holly.

“So,” Mrs Tournier said, giving Elizabeth a stern look, “show some female sense and set about planning what you intend to wear next week to Lady Tristam’s little
soirée-musicale,
or whatever she prefers to call it. That is as much planning for the future as is prudent right now.”

“
D
ARCY.
H
OW ARE YOU AND
country balls these days?”

Darcy eyed his friend sunk deep into his chair, his long legs stretched out on the fender of the blazing fire. It looked like he was preening his nails with the end of a long penknife. A penknife, Darcy reflected, that probably seldom saw other work and especially rarely was called upon to perform its original assignment.

“They seldom serve to interest me solely on their own merits. Why?”

“Well, it seems the gregarious Sir Torquil Tristam is holding what his wife referred to as a
soirée-musicale
next week and thanks to your pushing me all the way to church last Sunday, we are invited.”

“And did you perchance accept?”

“Well, I said we would be delighted, if our hunting plans gave us an opportunity, to which Sir Torquil replied he would be pleased if we could consider his home as a worthy hunting ground — for pleasure — for one evening.”

Darcy sighed. “Oh these country squires and their wit.”

“He has three unmarried daughters,” Baugham added, his mouth twitching.

“That is not what I would count as adequate additional incentive to attend a country ball, I’m afraid.”

“No . . . ” Baugham said slowly, “but I do hear most of local society puts in an appearance.”

Darcy gave him a long look and his mouth curled at the edges before he went back to his book. “Then I would say it would be impolite not to do so also,” he said, eyes concentrating on the page before him again.

Chapter 8

Lord Baugham meets Ladies in and around Rosefarm Cottage

Lord Baugham awoke to the sounds of Riemann shuffling in the background, discreetly moving in and out of his bedroom and dressing room to fetch shirts, water, combs, shaving equipment and whatnot. Baugham surprisingly felt none of his usual inclination to jump out of bed and start the day

The events of last night preyed upon his mind and he was not quite certain which caused him the most unease. He settled on Miss Tournier’s ice-cold voice repeating:

I know things about this place that you could never even have imagined, even if you made it your home for the next twenty years.

Was it true? Was he a stranger, after all, in the place he most readily called home?

But he loved this place. He was not so certain about the village down the road and even less inclined to profess any interest or concern for the inhabitants of that village, but he loved the countryside around Clyne, and surely, if you love a place it is not necessary to count years of residence as proof of devotion. Did he really have to earn that degree of feeling or relationship? Couldn’t he claim that an irrational and spontaneous affection, leading to a slightly chancy purchase of an estate so far away from his usual business was folly enough to prove a worthy affection beyond a doubt? Surely there were enough people who lived their whole lives in one and the same place, calling it home and hating it?

Like Cumbermere Castle. He stopped his thoughts and forced them in another direction. He had no wish to think of his ancestral home and the obligations that were forever being forced upon him from that quarter, by stewards and lawyers and land contractors and purveyors, not to mention interested local parties missing what they saw as the rightful head of the local community.

Then there was Darcy and his quest, adding to his feeling of disquiet. Last night his friend had been quietly content, writing long letters of pleasure to his friend Bingley and his sister, and even longer letters of business. There had been no mention of his outing earlier in the day. He had, however, almost cheerfully admitted to having neglected his affairs shamefully, but it being worth every minute of it so far.

Darcy cheerfully admitting to neglecting his duties was a disturbing thought to dwell on. Then an even more intriguing idea floated into his mind. If he, himself, was prepared to ignore the agonies of travel and the utter boredom of the road to reach Clyne, and Darcy was happily abandoning the principles and sense of duty that had been his guiding light since his early adulthood to take a few walks with Miss Bennet, perhaps love was possible without misery after all.

That thought put an effective end to his loitering abed, and he made up his mind on the spot to engage himself in some distinctly unsentimental and challenging discourse, and, perhaps, to stand up for his friend’s happiness all in one go.

He left a very pale valet scuffling to put away discarded clothes as he walked down to breakfast. Riemann had not taken his cheerful announcement that he intended to go visiting a lady very well, protesting he certainly had no fitting attire prepared for such an occasion and he would beg him to postpone until he could arrange something more appropriate. Baugham simply shushed him and left him to seriously worry over how his future reputation as a gentleman’s gentleman must deteriorate, the way he allowed his Master to walk out of his chamber into polite society.

THAT SAME MORNING, DECIDING TO
take advantage of what promised to be an unseasonably warm day, Holly hauled a bushel basket of peas up from the cellar and sat shelling them in the sunshine. Elizabeth was inside writing to Jane again, no doubt apprising her on her recent walk with Mr Darcy, so she was left alone with her thoughts.

Mrs Tournier ventured out soon afterward, just as a deep sigh escaped from her daughter.

“Lie-lie, please tell me that you are neither pining nor pouting over this latest development of your cousin’s.”

Holly frowned. “No, of course not, Maman!” but then she met her mother’s eyes. “Well, perhaps just a little. I cannot help but think that, no matter what she says to temper her hopes, things will be changing very soon and very fast, for Elizabeth. I think I am happy for her, but at the same time, I cannot say that I am equally happy for myself.”

“Ah, so the world does not unequivocally love a lover after all.”

“I do,” she protested. “At least one of them.”

Her mother smiled and turned her face against the sun. It was fairly successful at warming her up as she sat against the stone wall, which was the only reason she had consented to take herself outside to keep her daughter company. Even so, she felt she needed a little reparation for the wind that was still blowing courageously around the yard.

“So you want to fall in love yourself? Is that it?”

Holly’s head shot up in surprise. “Whatever makes you say that? I was referring to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, of course, not myself. I love her very much and I want to see her happy, but . . . ” she tossed the peas vigorously into the bowl on her lap, “I just don’t like the idea of that Mr Darcy showing up and taking her from us, that is all. And he isn’t even charming about it! He leaves that to his noble friend, though he is not always so successful at it either. Why last night he — ”

Her hand rose to her mouth as she remembered. “Oh, Maman. I made such a fool of myself last night.”

“Sounds as if you are indeed well on your way then to falling in love then,” her mother said in a teasing voice. “Did you find yourself a companion to walk the woods after all? Or did you refuse an eligible one?”

She dismissed her mother’s teasing without remark. “Neither really, but I did drag poor Lord Baugham all over his grounds searching for Elizabeth. Oh, I was so sure that she was in some sort of danger and he was so infuriatingly sanguine about it — I’m afraid I was rather rude with him — but it turns out, of course, that he was right all along and Elizabeth was perfectly safe — with Mr Darcy.”

Mrs Tournier gave her daughter a searching look. “And what was it, exactly, in that which made you feel foolish?”

“Because he was right and I was wrong,” Holly laughed. “And I was so insufferable in my convictions . . . I would have preferred it if he had been just as insufferable right back once he had been proven correct, but instead he offered to see me home, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to have done what I did.”

“Some men don’t revel in the victory, Lie-lie, they prefer the fight,” her mother smiled.

“Well then,” she laughed as she stood and kissed her mother, “I will wish him a proper shrew for a wife, and may he be happy all of his days.” She laughed again as she carried the basket round the corner to the kitchen.

W
HEN HIS LORDSHIP WAS ALMOST
at the gate, he saw a dark figure with a light-coloured apron flapping about her in the wind rise up from her seat, and an older woman’s hand simultaneously come up to pat the cheek of the younger one. The older woman sat in the nook of the stone wall by the house, warmed by the sun and sheltered from the wind. He could not make out the lady’s words as she addressed her daughter.

He was mentally rehearsing his planned assurances to Mrs Tournier of Darcy’s impeccable character when he was startled by the sound of laughter ringing out. It was a rich, musical laugh with a pearly, sparkling twang to it that sprang deep from the young woman’s being. The ease and spontaneity of it surprised him; everything he had seen and assumed about Miss Tournier’s disposition was inconsistent with the scene before him. The sight of her bright smile and open countenance was puzzling to say the least. He looked up and saw the young woman, still smiling, bend to kiss the top of her mother’s head while she briefly answered her. Then she picked up the basket that had been sitting on the bench and slowly walked off around the corner of the house.

Baugham stood looking after her until he felt he had been spotted. He doffed his hat to Mrs Tournier, but quickly and inexplicably changed his mind about his errand and turned his horse in the direction of The Caledonian Thistle and Mr Robertson’s excellent ale.

Chapter 9

How a Small Change of Unfortunate Weather can Spoil and Save your Day

The extraordinary spell of warm, sunny weather could not last and so it was no surprise to anyone that it rained for the rest of the week. This caused hunting trips to be abandoned, walks to be postponed, outdoor work not to be attempted — while young women looked out windows sighing away at the dull greyness while, similarly, young men cursed the rain streaming down and leaving a grey dullness over everything. The only thing the weather did accomplish were a few colour plates being finished sooner than expected, and Miss Bennet acquiring some rudimentary knowledge of the physical reactions of matter to heat.

At the end of the week there was a small lull in the miserable circumstances when a letter was received from the soon to be Mrs Bingley and the rain had lessened to a misty drizzle. Watching Elizabeth immerse herself in her letter, Holly seized the opportunity.

“I must go for a walk,” she said. “I cannot stand it any longer!”

Elizabeth looked up, obviously torn. “Well, a letter can wait,” she then said firmly, “the rain — as we so clearly have been witness to — cannot.”

“Oh no!” Holly was already flying about the hall gathering her things and rummaging the cupboard for her basket. “You must stay! Letters can wait, but I think visits cannot. With this break in the weather, someone will most probably take the opportunity to call and if you were out trampling the muddy fields and woods searching for mushrooms that I cannot even assure you are there anymore, I will never forgive myself. Neither will Mr Darcy,” she said cheerfully and hurriedly shrugged into her light cloak and simple straw bonnet. Elizabeth watched her with a frown.