Pemberley Ranch (18 page)

“If you believe she dislikes you, why do you put up with her?”

“Because she’s my sister.” Jane stroked Beth’s hair. “If you came down sick, I would nurse you, you know that. Caroline’s sick, but in a different way. She’s sick in her heart, and we’re trying to help. Perhaps one day, Caroline will allow herself to love again.”

“You’re a better person than I am, Jane,” Beth said in awe.

Jane smiled. “No, I’m not. You’re special in your own way.”

They sat quietly for a moment. “Has Charles told you anything else about the war?”

“Some. What are you asking?”

“Has he told you about George Whitehead?”

“He told me Whitehead did some wicked things in the war, if that’s what you mean.”

Jane’s use of George’s last name told Beth that her sister was deeply angered by the man. “I’ve heard some things, too. I think we should tell Father.”

Jane glanced away. “Charles has tried to warn Father, but…” she shook her head, “he dismissed him. He thanked Charles for his concern but said that things were different now.” She turned to Beth, confusion written over her face. “I don’t understand.”

Neither did Beth, but before she could say so, the bedroom door opened to reveal a grim Charles with Caroline behind him. Miss Bingley once again wore an expression of supreme indifference.

“Beth, Caroline would like to say something to you.” He gestured for his sister to proceed.

A stone-faced Caroline stared at a point above Beth’s head. “I hope you will pardon my strong words earlier, Miss Bennet. If, by my honest account of the misfortunes that have befallen my family, you’ve taken offense, I am sorry.”

Charles was not happy about the halfhearted apology. “Caroline…”

Beth stood up, intending to end this disagreement. She was not fooled into thinking Caroline was in any way sincere. Her use of “Miss Bennet” rather than the more familiar “Miss Beth” was ample evidence of that. But that was neither here nor there. Caroline deserved her pity and forbearance, and she intended to make amends as best she could.

“Thank you, Miss Bingley. May I say how sorry I am about the hardships you have been forced to endure? I thank you for telling me, and I hope there are better days ahead.”

Caroline’s eyes flicked to hers, and Beth was shaken by the resentment she beheld there. For the first time in her life, Beth was truly hated by another person—not for
who
she was, but for
what
she was. She realized that Caroline Bingley would never forgive or forget; she would nurse this hatred for the rest of her days. It was a disconcerting experience for Beth, especially as in essence she had sworn to do the same.

Still, Caroline extended her hand, which Beth took gingerly. “Thank you. I trust we will get along just fine in the weeks we have left together.” Her smile was devoid of any warmth.

“I… I believe we shall.” Beth was shaken again. Never before had any apology she offered been so effectively dismissed. Matters were hopeless.

Caroline sighed. “It’s your usual time to retire, I believe.”

“It is. Good night, Miss Bingley.”

The lady nodded again and swept out of the room, Charles following in her wake, still unhappy. Jane kissed Beth good night and left for her own room.

Beth shook her head sadly as she prepared for bed. It was going to be a long month.

Darcy and Gaby stood outside the Baptist church until they finally spied their quarry. Gaby gave her brother’s hand a squeeze before waving at the two ladies approaching.

“Miss Caroline! I’m so glad you came today. There’s something I’d like to get your advice on.”

Miss Bingley, who heretofore had simply been walking to the meeting of the Musical Society with Miss Bennet and had been concentrating on following Charles’s unexpectedly harsh command to be polite to the woman, looked up in surprise. “Of course, Miss Darcy. How may I help you?”

Gaby threaded her arm through Caroline’s. “I, uhh, wanted to discuss my musical selection with you. I need your help to pick the right piece. Your taste is so fine; I know you can choose the proper one.”

Caroline looked between Darcy and the girl. Her desire to spend time with the handsome rancher was overcome by the combination of the appeal to her vanity and the opportunity to prove useful to Darcy’s sister, thereby impressing the man. “Certainly, Miss Darcy.”

Gaby practically dragged her into the church. “My music is inside.” Caroline looked back helplessly as the doors closed behind her.

Darcy’s thoughts changed from the reward Gaby was sure to demand for this piece of theater—perhaps a new saddle for her horse, Buckskin—to the half-confused, half-amused lady before him. Just as she began to follow the others, Darcy stopped her.

“Miss Bennet, may I have a moment of your time?”

Beth turned to him warily, an unfamiliar expression on her face. “Yes?”

Darcy removed his hat and steeled himself. “I’m sorry for the unease our meeting must give you. I’m very aware that my presence is a trial to you. But I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to apologize for my reprehensible behavior during our last meeting. I’m heartily ashamed of myself, and I offer no excuse. I don’t ask for your forgiveness—indeed, I don’t deserve it. This charade,”
he waved his hand, “wouldn’t be necessary and I’d never presume to disturb you again if not for the sake of my sister and cousin. I beg you—do not end your friendship with
them
because of
me
.”

He watched with anxious eyes as Beth stood before him, blinking. She seemed astonished, but Darcy would not trust his observations. Too many times in their acquaintance had his instincts been very wrong about this girl.

“Mr. Darcy, I… I thank you. I would never throw off Miss Darcy or Miss Burroughs, even though
we’ve
had our… disagreements.”

“Then, may I tell them that you still welcome their company?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! I’m… I’m only surprised.”

“Surprised about what?”

She glanced away. “Surprised that you still think me a suitable companion for your sister and cousin, given my mistaken opinions about you.”

“Miss Bennet, I can think of few people I would entrust my sister to, other than you.” Beth blushed, and Darcy cursed himself for being too forward.

“I’ll accept your apology only if you’ll accept mine. I’ve been blind and ignorant about many things, especially about you—”

“Misled, I would say!”

Beth allowed a small smile. “Perhaps, but I thought myself to be a good judge of character. I now know I’m not. Thank you for teaching me that lesson. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“I don’t think you need to apologize to me, but I’ll accept it, if that means you’ll remain friends with Gaby and Anne.”

She nodded. “You mentioned a charade. Do you mean that Miss Gaby wasn’t as interested in Miss Bingley’s company as she appeared?”

“No.” An embarrassed Darcy allowed himself a smile. “I figured you might be coming to the meeting together, and I had to find a way of speaking to you privately. This,” he gestured as before, “was Gaby’s idea.”

Beth giggled a bit, and then looked around. “Is Anne here? I didn’t see her with you.”

The rancher grew serious. “No. She was unsure of her reception. She’s afraid you wouldn’t want her company anymore.”

He saw Beth become distressed. “Oh, no! That’s not true. Please tell her she’s still my friend.”

“I will.”

Beth looked down. “I hope Miss Darcy still thinks kindly of me, as little as I deserve it.”

“She likes you very much.”

“As I do her.” She sighed. “I wish I could be friends with her brother.”

At that, Darcy’s heart sank even lower than it had been.

Beth continued, “But how can I, when it’s apparent I don’t even know him? I’ve been very foolish.”

For the first time since the party, Darcy dared to hope. Carefully he said, “Perhaps you could get to know him. Start over.”

She glanced up at him. “Will he be willing to give me that chance?”

“He seems to be a nice enough fellow. I’m sure he will, if it was welcome.”

Beth blushed again. “Thank you,” she whispered. Darcy nodded and the two stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“Excuse me,” Beth said. “I must be going inside. The meeting’s about to start.”

Darcy put his hat back on. “And I have a meeting as well— at the bank. Good day, Miss Bennet.”

“You, too, Mr. Darcy.”

He watched Beth enter the church before turning and crossing the street to the Darcy Bank in a better frame of mind than he had expected a half-hour before. He waved at the teller, Mr. Rushworth, in his cage before knocking on the manager’s door.

“Bertram, got a few minutes?”

Edmund Bertram got up from his desk. “Certainly, Mr. Darcy. Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?” Two mugs were quickly prepared, and Bertram returned to his desk, facing his employer. “What brings you to town, sir? It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Bertram. I’ve been away too long.” Darcy took a sip as Bertram raised an eyebrow. “I want you to tell me everything that’s been going on around town.”

“Everything? That’s going to take some time.”

“I have the time, if you do.”

“Then I’d better tell Rushworth to put on another pot. We’ll be here awhile.”

⁵
Morgan’s Raid, or The Calico Raid, June 11–July 26, 1863, was a highly publicized 1,000-mile incursion by 2,400 Confederate cavalry into the Northern states of Indiana and Ohio during the Civil War and was one of the northernmost military actions involving the Confederate States Army.

August

T
HE NEW MONTH SAW
the end of Jane’s confinement, and Beth and Caroline were able to put aside their mutual loathing long enough to help Mrs. Bennet and Charles bring Susan Jane Bingley into the world. Beth thought the little girl was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. Caroline’s only comment was, “Susan—Susanna—was my mother’s name. That’ll do.” Beth wasn’t sure if she saw a gleam in Caroline’s eye, so swiftly did the other woman excuse herself to rest.

Jane recovered quickly from her ordeal, so only two weeks later, Charles helped his sister to board the stagecoach back to Louisiana. Caroline made one last attempt to convince Charles to move to New Orleans before taking her leave of Jane. The party waved as the stage left town, Beth feeling guilty relief that the woman was out of Jane’s life.

Beth, too, found her help was no longer needed and returned the next day to the farm. She was content to fall back into the routine of chores and was happy in the familiarity of her family. She was pleased to see that Kathy continued to mature and
take more responsibility around the house, but Lily was still Lily—young and lazy.

The only other change was with her father; he seemed to spend more time than usual closed up in his study. When he was with the family, mostly at table, his face carried lines never seen before. There was a slight air of worry about the man, but when Beth asked him about it, he dismissed her concerns with a smile.

Mrs. Bennet mentioned something about the harvest not being what it should, but she was confident that, if this year was tight, next year should be better. Other than that, she appeared to have changed little. Beth shook her head. For all her mother’s emotional outbursts, she was a farmer’s wife through and through. Fanny Bennet was a levelheaded, dependable sort of person, except when it came to her daughters’ futures. Knowing a good marriage was the difference between plenty and poverty, happiness and hunger, she worried incessantly over the lack of eligible men in Rosings. When it came to the farm, however, she was as stoic as her husband. It was a farmer’s lot to be held hostage by the whims of markets and weather. The phrase “
Things will be better next year
” sustained the Bennet clan through the worst of times in the past, and Beth knew it would serve as a source of steadiness for her family in the future.

A few days later, Beth, riding her beloved Turner, found herself at Thompson Crossing. The horse started to move forward, but Beth held him back. Normally she would not have hesitated to cross the ford and allow Turner free rein across the vastness of Pemberley, but after her argument with Darcy at the B&R, she had second thoughts.

Yes, Darcy had forgiven her—he made that clear in town— but Beth still felt uneasy. Her terrible accusations, mostly built on lies and willful miscomprehensions, were unworthy of clemency. Beth felt a need to punish herself for hurting such a man as Will Darcy.

Looking at the situation dispassionately, Beth could finally see that there was little to complain about when it came to the owner of Pemberley Ranch. He was kind to his kinfolk and respectful of others. True, he was a reserved person and hard for strangers to approach, but the man’s ironclad sense of justice and generous, forgiving nature more than made up for it.

Beth could now understand the incident in Zimmerman’s store months ago. Darcy had somehow expressed in a few words and a quiet look his displeasure at how poor Mrs. Washington had been treated. That was why Mr. Zimmerman rushed to the back door to see to the woman’s order. Beth had to shake her head. How many other rich men would wait in line behind anyone, especially a former slave?

Stupidly, Beth had not considered the enormous compliment Darcy had paid her by allowing an affectionate acquaintance to blossom between herself and his relations, particularly after Mary’s overheard outburst about Catholics. Beth knew in her heart
she
wouldn’t be so forgiving over such an insult to her faith. She was glad that Henry Tilney had set her family straight about the matter, but Beth hardly thought about the matter anymore. She shouldn’t have forgotten, she berated herself, because that belittled the gesture made by Will and Gaby, reaching their hands out in friendship.

Beth had ignored all that. She had allowed herself to hate someone without knowing who he was. George’s falsehoods
found fertile ground to grow in Beth’s mind because she had spent years cultivating it. She, alone in her family, held on to anger over the war. She was the only one not to put it truly behind her.

She now knew the reason she wouldn’t let go of the war— she was afraid she would dishonor the memory of Samuel. Her initial anger at his death was understandable, but she had perpetuated her anguish by embellishing the facts. Samuel wasn’t killed by the Rebels; he died of influenza while in camp. An honest person would have to admit that it could have happened anywhere at any time. Didn’t a cholera epidemic sweep through Ohio in ’49, the year before she was born? Her parents told her the family was lucky to have been untouched by it.

Fair was fair, and Beth had not been fair to Will Darcy or the South. Truly, the person she had been angry with was, in fact, Samuel himself. She never wanted her brother to enlist in the first place, but, caught up in the patriotic fervor engulfing the community, Samuel couldn’t wait to don the blue of the Republic, march off to defend the Union, and put paid to those foolish Rebels. Beth felt abandoned as her beloved brother and playmate joined the army and left home. Her only consolation was that the war would be short. Surely those silly Southerners would come to their senses and beg for mercy at first sight of the mighty Union Army. Only after Bull Run and Shiloh did both sides realize they were in a struggle to the death.

For almost two years, Beth waited in fearful anticipation for news of her brother. Perversely, she held on tightly to his promise to return, a promise no man could be certain to keep. Providence would either take Samuel or return him. When the hated telegram came, Beth wanted to lash out at someone, but
it couldn’t be Samuel, and it couldn’t be God. It could only be the Confederates.

By the time she reached Texas, she thought she put the war behind her. After all, she had made friends here. But her confrontations with Darcy and Caroline, and the explanations afterwards, made her reexamine her thinking.

What she found made her uncomfortable. She realized she had
allowed
herself to befriend Charlotte, Gaby, and Anne, not because of their innate goodness, but because it flattered her own vanity. Beth permitted herself to be friendly to Southerners to prove to the world that she was open-minded, tolerant, and forgiving. Though she enjoyed her friends’ company, did she really respect them? Did she ever listen to their views without a critical ear? Did she ever give credence to their opinions? Charlotte told her about Darcy, and Anne tried to apologize, but Beth had dismissed them. In her estimation, Beth knew she was superior to them, not because of wealth, position, or education, but by the simple accident of where she was born.

Northerners were better than Southerners; it had been her belief for most of her life. The word of a Northerner must be taken over that of a Southerner. That was why she listened to Whitehead. Darcy challenged her, so she dismissed him. She felt free to heap all of her pain, grief, and disappointment onto a fine man who had suffered and lost more than she had.

No, Beth told herself. She wasn’t better than Southerners. She certainly wasn’t better than the man on whom she had heaped all her pain and disappointment over Samuel’s death. William Darcy, rather than being a wicked representation of all that was wrong with Texas, was the best man she had ever known. Instead of being thankful for his friendship, grateful for
his understanding and patience, and appreciative for his regard, she had been mean, thoughtless, and hypercritical.

Beth fought back her tears.
What a fool I was! How cruel and judgmental I was. I, who prided myself on my ability to read character and congratulated myself on being kind to those less fortunate, have been nothing but mean and critical. I believed everything George said because his stories confirmed my prejudices. Had I been in love, I couldn’t have been more wretchedly blind.

Pride has been my weakness. George didn’t seduce my heart but my vanity. His stories allowed me to remain comfortably ignorant and allowed me to look down on my neighbors. Even Miss Bingley, for all her haughtiness, deserves more compassion from me than censure. How would I behave had her misfortunes fallen upon me?

And Will Darcy. Why am I so distressed over him? I couldn’t be falling in love with him—it’s impossible. Yet, when I think how I wronged him, my heart is filled with a terrible sorrow. I don’t know why, but the very idea that he’s alive and might think poorly of me is unbearable!

I know he said he’s forgiven me—in fact, he apologized for his own behavior—yet, I can hardly credit it. For him to be so kind to me after I cruelly abused him is astonishing. I’m blessed I have the chance of being his friend and the chance to change for the better.

Poor Caroline. Her hates and disappointments are destroying her. Oh! But for the Grace of God that could be me! Thank you, God, for my family and friends, for You have surely saved me from a pitiful existence. The lesson taught me is hard, but I will be grateful for it the rest of my life.

“Howdy, ma’am!”

Beth looked up to see a cowboy in chaps waving on the Pemberley side of the river. He stood next to his horse, which
was taking a drink. The ranch hand seemed to be about her age—or even younger; there was certainly a boyish enthusiasm about him.

“Afternoon,” she returned tolerably, the distance allowing Beth to compose herself.

“Are you Miss Bennet?” he asked to her surprise.

“I am,” she answered warily. “How do you know my name?”

The young man grinned and pointed at Turner. “Your horse, ma’am. We was told to be on the lookout for a paint with a girl in… umm… dungarees. I reckon you’re her.”

Disappointment overcame Beth. Obviously, Darcy had rescinded his open invitation to ride his range. Not that she could fault him. Though she did not intend to take advantage of Darcy’s former goodness, she was crushed to learn of his changed feelings.

“Ain’t cha comin’ over?” the cowboy asked.

“Pardon me?”

“Just wonderin’ if you was of a mind to ride today.”

“I… umm… don’t know.”

“’Cause if’n you was, I was gonna tell you that the herd was about two miles that-a-way,” he pointed northwest, “an’ you may wanna avoid that, ’cause of all the dust.”

“Oh! Thank you for letting me know.”

“That’s okay, ma’am. Mr. Darcy told us to keep an eye out for you. Why, just this morning he said to… umm… ‘offer you every courtesy.’” He grinned, pleased at his memory.

Beth tried to hide her joy. “He said that?”

“Yep, that’s just what he said. Sure as I’m standing here.”

Beth smiled, reassured that Darcy really was the man she was coming to believe he was. “I think I will ride today. C’mon,
Turner.” The horse happily crossed the shallow ford. “Thank you, Mr. …?”

“Aw shucks, ma’am, I ain’t no mister. Name’s Ethan. Me an’ my brother, Peter, are drovers for Mr. Darcy. Been ridin’ for him near onto three years now.” He mounted his steed. “That’s a fine-lookin’ horse you got there.”

“Thank you, again.”

“But, I gotta ask, what kinda name is ‘Turner’?”

Beth laughed. “Ask Mr. Darcy next time you see him.”

Ethan tipped his hat. “I will. You be careful. You need somethin’, we’re right over that there ridge.”

Beth waved as the young cowpoke rode off. She then leaned over and whispered into Turner’s ear, “Ready to kick up some dust?”

The paint shook its head and took off at the slightest urging. Within moments Beth was flying across the ridgeline, her hair trailing behind her, horse and rider in perfect harmony, reveling in the summer sun.

Tom Bennet rubbed his forehead as his favorite daughter left his study. He knew she was angry, but he could do nothing about it.

Beth had tried to warn him off George Whitehead. She calmly told him wild tales about false imprisonment and the torture of captives, of lies and chicanery. Once she finished, she asked if he was going to continue to have dealings with Whitehead and was flabbergasted when told that he would.