by Gail McEwen
“Well then we shall be thankful for Jane’s endless affection and regard for all and sundry despite circumstances and distance. However, if my daughter can leave you alone for a quarter of an hour, you are to run upstairs, fling off your dirty garments, have a wash and catch your breath only to skip downstairs to us again and then be at our disposal for the rest of the evening.”
Elizabeth smiled and embraced her aunt once again.
“I will. Thank you, dear aunt, so much for having me! I will be right back!”
Holly followed her out to tend to tea and Mrs Tournier looked after the two girls with a thoughtful smile.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, LORD BAUGHAM awoke at dawn after a heavy dreamless sleep. At first, the faint sound of rain slowly penetrated his perception with its heavy patter on the thin windowpanes, gradually lifting him to the surface of consciousness, until he finally drifted awake murmuring “Well, I’ll be! I wonder if the dam will hold.” That thought stayed with him as he slowly opened his eyes and stretched his limbs, aching after an exceptionally still slumber. He slowly accustomed himself to the morning and found himself thinking about his planned expedition, which not even the rain could spoil. He felt his eyelids shut again and as he listened to the rain slowly fading away, he realised it was far too early to leave this blessed drowsy state and so he let himself be dragged down into sleep once more.
But a few hours later, when he woke again, he was itching to rise and wasted no time in throwing off the covers and ripping the drapes open to ascertain whether his ears served him right and the rain had stopped. Indeed, he was right and he hastily washed himself and dressed in his trousers, boots, shirt and simple waistcoat. The necktie could wait; he had business this morning out on the brook by the end of the wood. The bridge was near collapsing, Mr McLaughlin and he had noticed on their way back yesterday, and he needed to walk over to ascertain the damage before he set out on any pleasurable communing with trout or other wildlife.
He found Mrs McLaughlin in the kitchen by the fire, plucking a grouse.
“We need more groose,” she said as a way of greeting. “Ye’ve not bagged enooch this sennicht.”
Baugham scanned the kitchen. Somewhere there must be an apple tart. His nose very distinctly said so.
“Yes, well, I have been busy, Mrs McLaughlin.”
There was a growling noise from the housekeeper.
“What with? It’s autumn. We need meat on the table and in the aumrie.”
“Aumrie?” Baugham said still looking around. “Oh, pantry!”
He went over to the door at the centre of Mrs McLaughlin’s culinary kingdom and opened the clasp. There it was! Untouched as well. He took it out and reached for a knife on the kitchen table. A quick look from Mrs McLaughlin and he arrested his movements.
“I am going to repair the bridge with Mr McLaughlin later today. I need my strength,” he said sternly.
“Aye, well, I’ll mind that when I pack yer nacket later on before ye leave,” she calmly said.
Baugham reluctantly put down the tart.
“And more than tairt ye need meat,” she finished and calmly went back to her plucking.
His lordship threw one more longing look at the apple tart and then went on his way to find Mr McLaughlin to tell him to pack up.
While that was being attended to, he took a turn around the stables to look over his horses before he returned to the house. One more surreptitious check on the kitchen revealed that the housekeeper was still standing guard over the pantry, so with a sigh he strode out again to meet the waiting Mr McLaughlin. Together they set out to their destination.
They worked for a fair while, replacing the half-rotted planks with newer, safer ones and sharing some of Mr McLaughlin’s cheese and bread for lunch. Pleased with their day’s work, Mr McLaughlin coaxed his lordship into taking a detour to the west of the estate on their way home to inspect another collapsed bit of road. It was agreed that something had to be done about it before the heavy autumn rains set in and this problem was further pondered over in his lordship’s study, accompanied by a welcome pot of strong, hot coffee and the rest of the now surrendered apple tart.
THE END OF THIS DAY could not come too soon for Darcy. He had already endured two long days in a comfortable carriage, two sleepless nights in very fine inns, but by assuring himself — through the prodigal distribution of coin at the last stop — of the freshest horses available and pushing his driver to his and the beasts’ limits, he hoped to reach Clyne Cottage before the night grew too late.
He was stiff and tired and his jaw ached. At first he had wondered about this last inconvenience, until he realised that every time his thoughts threatened to go off the disciplined track he had set for them — to wonder at the folly of what he was now doing, to worry at what Miss Bennet’s reaction would be upon their meeting, to wonder how he would go about finding her, and the thousand other random anxieties that threatened to overwhelm his mind — he would set his teeth, perhaps twenty times an hour, and turn his mind back to the present. A present that consisted only of a journey, and a sore jaw.
He would think no farther than reaching his destination: a fire, a meal, a bath. Baugham would be there, and that would mean company and conversation, then a marginally comfortable bed. He would not think of Miss Bennet until tomorrow . . . he wondered if Baugham was acquainted with her relations. If that was so, things would proceed more smoothly and naturally, but his lordship always boasted of the isolation of his Scotland existence. Knowing his personality as he did, Darcy could not wholly credit his assertions, but even if it was so, he would at least have some knowledge of such unusual neighbours, even as far as knowing where they lived. Miss Bennet would go for walks, he was sure, maybe he could . . .
A quick jerk of his head brought him back to the present, the journey, and he felt a sharp pain in the muscles of his jaw as he set himself to think no more of Miss Bennet. Once again.
Chapter 3
In which Two old Gentlemen Friends settle down for a Peaceful Time at Clyne and an Interest in Local Families is Revealed.
Well, I must say I do not envy my sister Bennet one jot,” Mrs Tournier told her niece. “Despite the happy news about Jane, it is with some astonishment and disbelief I find that she managed to reach the age of twenty-three without marriage! The good Lord knows that fact does not bode well for her younger sisters.”
Elizabeth tried to give her aunt an affronted look, but only managed to break out into a laugh.
“It is perfectly true, though,” her aunt went on, “if you subscribe to the notion that marriage is the only respectable profession for you. In keeping with that sentiment, I must say that my brother’s indifference and my sister’s obsession between them do little to further your interests.”
“Ah, but could not one say that since the eldest sister — belatedly I admit — has managed such a splendid match in both love and importance, and the youngest managed the complete opposite at a far too early age, all the remaining sisters will have every chance at achieving something in between the two?”
Holly smiled as Elizabeth put down her teacup after that statement with an innocent look on her face. It was a great pleasure just to sit, watching and listening, while her mother and cousin talked as if no more than a week had passed since they had last sat with each other. Bennet women. Although age, situation, life and distance separated them, there was something so inherently familial in the way they conversed. The way they turned a phrase, hitched one eyebrow at a crucial point of argument, the sideways smile that revealed deliberate exaggeration or mischief and that same low, almost husky laugh.
Holly smiled as her mother poked her cousin in her arm to make a point and Elizabeth laughingly took it and shook it about, refuting her argument.
Holly had no memories of her Bennet grandparents; therefore she supposed she was really more of a Tournier woman. This was, of course, a fancy she had constructed herself, for she had even less knowledge of her French family than her
Hertfordshire one. Nevertheless, it was an assumption she happily made based solely on her memories of her father and what he had meant to her. Yes, even if she would be no one else, she would be her father’s daughter.
“And you have been fortunate yourself, Elizabeth, in being able to decline our cousin, Mr Collins’ offer I understand.” Mrs Tournier’s blunt question brought Holly back to the conversation before her and she raised her head to hear the answer.
“I suppose Mama told you — I’m quite out of her good graces still, even though I think Jane, the dear unselfish creature, has made some progress toward remedying my disgraceful behaviour.”
“I heard from your father, yes. As you know I have never corresponded with Mr Collins, just as I did not with his late father. I prefer to think of it as his prejudice, but the truth is I would not have the stomach for it even if he were to approach me.”
“Are you quite sure that was wise, Aunt?” Elizabeth smiled mischievously. “You do have an attractive, unmarried daughter that you might have tried to interest him in. I believe you have missed your chance to secure your own return to Longbourn.”
“Well, I shall be sorry to see Longbourn pass out of my brother’s direct line, but I have no desire to again call it home. Once is quite enough, as you might well understand.”
“I do. And as I am convinced that Mr Collins’ suit could not have been successful with Holly either, I am glad she was saved the mortification of hearing his violent professions of affection.”
“At least Mr Collins had the grace to accept your refusal in time,” Holly joined in, laughing. “You must count yourself as lucky to only once have to endure such an inappropriate declaration!”
A strange blush crossed Elizabeth’s face and Holly feared that her jest may have been perceived as unkind. She hastened to explain herself.
“And lest you despair, let me just tell you that we are at odd ends of the same dilemma, for every time I return home for a visit there is a gentleman, Mr Grant, who persists in proposing, no matter how many times I refuse him. He takes heart in the general opinion in the neighbourhood that we are a likely match and he simply will not hear me. It is unfortunate that there are no Miss Lucas’s in the vicinity, for he is quite a catch — sadly, I obviously am not sensible enough to take advantage of it.”
Holly’s tragic tone made Elizabeth laugh. “And what is wrong with Mr Grant that he is not worth considering despite his eligibility?”
“Poetry,” Holly groaned. “He quotes poetry — extensively — and not just any poetry. He is excessively fond of Byron and Blake. That, as you can imagine, makes any alliance impossible to contemplate.”
“Yes, I can see that. Quite,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps I will do the gentleman a favour when we meet and share with him your love of Burns.”
“Do and I shall never forgive you,” Holly playfully smacked her cousin’s hand. “I will not have my love for Robert Burns sullied, thank you very much. It is a pure affection, and thankfully, one with no danger of unwanted offers.”
“It appears, Holly, as if there is no hope for us. As I can boast of no offer that actually qualifies as serious or proper, and you state that repeated offers and poetry are no less vexing, I wonder if we ought to consider foreswearing all of our marital ambitions at once and be done with the business altogether!”
“Excellent idea!” Holly stood and solemnly pulled her cousin to stand in front of her. “Let me go first. Take my hands and bear witness: I, Hortènse Amelie Marianne Tournier de Caisson, hereby renounce all pretensions to fine matches and swear to reject all prudent considerations. I vow to be a poor spinster, content in the company of intelligent and interesting females — to the exclusion of any member of the male sex.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Oh you are bold! But that is easily sworn standing in this room and in this company. In fact, that is hardly a sacrifice at all! Now add that no man shall ever be worthy of your regrets and that nothing less than insanity shall ever persuade you it is right to throw yourself at a man’s fickle mercy.”
“Agreed,” Holly continued the joke. “But I think we can make some exceptions — we will allow ourselves to enjoy the company of pleasant old men, and scholars such as Sir John Ledwich, and good-natured married men such as Mr Pembroke — the elder Mr Pembroke I mean — our landlord. But any man younger than the age of forty will be strictly forbidden to come into our vicinity.”
“Agreed!” Elizabeth laughed. “There! Is that not a relief? The root of all our problems solved at once! I must say I look forward to how free and easy our lives will be from now on. There is only one thing we have to fear now.”
“And what is that, my free and easy cousin?”
“Why, love!” said Elizabeth and her merry eyes twinkled.
“I expect we are quite safe from that, way out here. Unless you have designs on Mr Grant, as he is the best and only prospect in our little village.” Holly’s smile turned sly. “And if you do, I will say right now that I happily relinquish any prior claims on his affections.”
“You are so eager to entice me into breaking a most solemn vow already! You temptress, you! No, unless love comes and claims my sanity and my will, I am right here beside you at the carefully drawn battle lines, cousin. Depend upon it! And if it does come,” Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m sure the spectacle of it will quite make up for the disappointment of such weak restraint.”
“Well, even if you are determined to give yourself a way out, Elizabeth, do not think that I will release you from your vow so easily. We are sworn sisters in this endeavour and any man who has the temerity to make you fall in love with him will have to prove his worth to more than just your father.”
THE SUN WAS SETTING BEHIND a thin veil of clouds, coloured in shades of purple and rose, when his lordship directed his horse through the back gate after several days’ absence. Mr McLaughlin followed his Master and they reached the stables in mutually agreeable silence. As was his habit, Lord Baugham stripped down to his shirtsleeves, unsaddled and groomed his horse before considering his day’s work to be complete, then left his companion to unload the guns and re-deposit the effects.
The night was already upon him, and to his great delight his lordship could see the stars above his head as he crossed the yard. He opened his front door with a contented sigh, ready to call for a bath and a fire.
Riemann met him in his chamber and — as expected — was quietly busy preparing for his lordship’s pleasure upon his return. The fire crackled wildly, battling the last remnants of chilly air in the room and everything Baugham had looked forward to was being laid out, prepared and arranged. His lordship sighed contentedly and stretched his limbs. He was sore and tired, his arms ached, his feet hurt and the mix of dried sweat and cold limbs made him feel exhausted and slightly detached from reality.
He undressed slowly, stretching his aching muscles as he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it with the rest of his clothes on the floor. He arched his back and smiled as he heard Riemann come back into the room.
He was just about to undo his breeches when his valet’s voice behind him made him freeze.
“My lord,” Riemann quietly said, “were you aware that Mr Darcy is sitting in your library?”
Baugham turned around and saw his man standing behind him, not with his dressing gown and slippers, but with a fresh change of clothes.
“No,” Lord Baugham said and, snatching the clean shirt from his valet, stalked out the door.
Riemann watched as he walked out, heard the door slam and sighed before going down to the kitchen to postpone the bath and dinner.
Darcy was sitting by the hearth, deeply immersed in a book. Baugham felt no doubt he was genuinely unperturbed by the commotion caused by his unexpected arrival and he took in his leisurely pursuit before he entered, walking to the mantelpiece and assuming a nonchalant pose.
“Darcy,” he said in a flat voice. “What are you doing here?”
With the studied arrogance of complete s
elf-assurance, Darcy carefully closed his book on his lap, ready to resume his reading in just a few minutes.
“I came to see you.”
Darcy let his eyes linger on his friend, taking in every detail of him, but Baugham stared at the fire, shifted his pose and picked up a poker. He did not look at his unexpected guest beyond that quick initial glance.
“Well, you’re very lucky then,” he dryly said. “I’ve been gone for three days.”
“I know,” Darcy said calmly.
The air between the two men was heavy. Baugham felt an inexplicable resentment upon being served with the exact behaviour he so frequently exercised towards his friend. To arrive unannounced and unexpectedly at any of Darcy’s establishments was his prerogative. It was an unspoken means of equalising the power balance between himself and his fastidious, but rich and self-sufficient friend. Darcy had always accepted this as Baugham’s privilege and never complained or questioned; there were other ways to keep his unpredictable and mercurial friend from besting him. Now the tables were turned and Baugham was annoyed by Darcy’s presumption and perceived arrogance. The careful balance between them was slightly off-centre because of it.
They circled around each other without moving, trying to find a balance. Baugham offered Darcy a whiskey; Darcy complemented him on the taste. Baugham asked about his family; Darcy thanked him and asked about the hunting. Thus they continued for a while, letting the immediate dust settle between them.
“So,” Baugham finally said. “Now you have seen me, what next?”
Darcy looked at him for a while.
“Dinner, I should think,” he said at length. “If you’re so inclined.”
“Oh, I think so, however sore and tired I am. I will go wash; Mrs McLaughlin will be displeased enough as it is, thanks to you. I see you’ve made yourself quite at home already, so if you’ll excuse me . . . ” Baugham’s words tapered off as he left the library.
