“Yes, of course. Quite a generous offer. I thank you.” There was a long silence. “Although nothing of that sort comes immediately to mind.”
He shifted his weight awkwardly as if unsure whether to stay or go. “Well, I am…available…I await your pleasure.”
His agitation was contagious. Elizabeth did not know how to respond. Finally, she asked, “How long will you be visiting Hertfordshire?”
Again, the shrubbery seemed to absorb his attention. “I have some business here. My plans are not fixed.”
This mysterious “business” again! What could it be? “Very good. I will inform you at once if you might provide any assistance.”
He nodded but did not respond. Elizabeth was at a loss. What am I to do with this man?
Chapter Fourteen
I am making a muddle of this, Darcy thought miserably. Her acceptance of his apology had buoyed his spirits, but then…everything had gone askew. He was a fool to think she could possibly need—or want—his assistance. Although he was offering help to Elizabeth, he nonetheless felt like a beggar, hoping she would throw a crust of bread his way. Surely she saw through his claims about “business” and guessed his true purpose. Was that the source of her unease?
Of course, he had no plan to offer her his attentions. But he had hoped she would be happier to see him.
Perhaps I should simply depart. I might reach London by nightfall.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Would you like to stay for tea? Longbourn has a new steward whom you have yet to meet.”
Throughout the long trek from Pemberley, Darcy had longed to speak with Elizabeth alone. But now that they were together, everything seemed stilted and unnatural. Perhaps he might fare better in the presence of others.
“It would be my pleasure,” he responded.
Without another word, Elizabeth led the way into Longbourn Manor. The front hallway was far dimmer than the brightly lit outdoors, but it provided a welcome coolness after the growing heat of the day.
“We finished our luncheon recently,” she explained as she strode toward the door that he knew led to the drawing room. “I would expect the family will still be assembled.”
Indeed, Darcy discovered that the drawing room was populated by Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Bennet, her daughters, and a man whom it took Darcy a moment to recognize. However, when recognition hit him, he froze in place.
Everyone stood as Darcy gave them a brief bow. “Darcy,” Patrick Weston drawled with a lazy smile.
“Weston.” Darcy strove to keep his expression and tone neutral. What was this man doing here? Weston’s grin broadened; he enjoyed being the source of Darcy’s confusion.
As everyone settled back into their seats, Darcy took a chair on the opposite side of the room from Weston. “Are you already acquainted with Mr. Weston?” Collins asked, oblivious to the tension between them. “Oh, forgive me! You must have met during your many visits to Rosings.”
Darcy regarded Weston directly. “I believed you had gone into the army.” The man had the most unsavory reputation for drinking, gambling, and whoring his way across the county. Darcy had often begged his aunt to curb the wild behavior of her steward’s son, but she had been very fond of the man’s father and would brook no complaints about the boy. Finally, after one particularly unsavory incident, Aunt Catherine had encouraged him to go into the regulars—to the betterment of Kent. How had Weston arrived at Longbourn?
Weston inclined his head. “I was invalided out. An injury from the peninsula.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Darcy said, wondering if there was any truth to the claim.
“Lady Catherine is a most attentive friend,” Collins added swiftly. “She believed Longbourn to be in need of a steward to help manage its affairs—and sent Mr. Weston for that purpose.”
Hell and damnation! Weston was the new steward? The room was suddenly ten degrees colder.
“I see.” Darcy wished the rules of polite society would allow him to express the disgust and horror he experienced at this information.
“Mr. Weston took up the post just a week ago. The steward’s house was not yet ready for habitation,” Collins volunteered, “so he inhabits Longbourn’s guest room until it is ready.”
Darcy clutched the arm of his chair. Weston was living in the house with four unmarried women? Weston was living with Elizabeth? He wanted to leap from his chair and shout at Collins. The man had obviously lost his mind.
His face must have betrayed some of his alarm. Elizabeth’s expression was a mixture of amusement and sympathy when she gazed at him. Did she know of Weston’s reputation? He needed to warn her, but he could hardly blurt out words of warning in the middle of the drawing room.
Darcy bided his time throughout the tea, adding little to Collins’s conversation about Lady Catherine’s marigolds and the splendor of her grandfather clock. Even Weston spared little effort to feign interest. Fortunately, the two men soon departed to conduct estate business. The minute they had exited, the subject shifted to neighborhood gossip.
Only Elizabeth did not participate; she observed the conversation with a detached smile for a few minutes before standing and making her way to the door. I must speak with her. He stood and hurried to the door, murmuring, “Miss Elizabeth, I am longing to stretch my legs. Might you be prevailed upon to give me the tour you mentioned before?”
She frowned in confusion. They had never discussed the garden, but she quickly acquiesced with a nod. “Certainly, but it must be a short tour. I am due in the kitchen soon.”
Darcy managed to conceal his wince. She might not be ashamed of laboring in the kitchen, but it still disturbed him.
She led him through Longbourn’s maze of hallways to a back door that opened onto the garden. But she did not even make a perfunctory effort to lead him on a tour. Instead she stood by the closed door and squinted up at him in the bright sunshine. “Was there another subject you wished to discuss?”
“Weston,” Darcy said without preamble. “He is known to me from my aunt’s estate. He is not…a trustworthy man.”
Her breath caught. “I wonder then that Lady Catherine sent him to Longbourn.”
“I do as well, although she has ever been blind to his faults. She may be hoping that gainful employment will encourage him to become a better person, but I have my doubts on that score.”
“Do you believe he will be tempted to steal from Longbourn?” she asked.
He sighed, wishing his concerns were that simple. “No…Not actively, but he is lazy and will not do much to improve the estate.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Of that we already have ample evidence! Fortunately, I do not believe Longbourn will suffer from his sort of industry.”
No doubt she would find a lazy man easier to fool with her schemes. “However, that is not the greatest danger to your family.” Darcy coughed, considering how to voice his concern delicately. He was not accustomed to discussing such matters with women. “He…seduced many tenants’ daughters at Rosings, leaving at least one with child.”
Elizabeth gasped. “He did not acknowledge the babe?”
“No, although he had promised the girl he would wed her. She was only one of his many ‘conquests.’” He grimaced at the word. “This was one of the reasons my aunt encouraged him to join the army.”
“I thank you for this caution. We will be on our guard.”
Darcy took a step closer. “The idea of his hurting you”—he swallowed—“is intolerable.” Burning with a desire to know if her curls were as soft as they appeared, he brushed the back of his hand over them. “I…need you to be…safe.” They were softer than he had imagined, individual strands of silk. His thumb whispered over her cheek.
She stared up at him…in wonderment? Surprise? At least she was not objecting to his behavior. Her lips were slightly parted, pale pink and soft…inviting. Their heads were so close, a few inches…
Darcy stopped himself, unable to complete the gesture—knowing t
hat it would throw him off a cliff into the unknown.
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth whispered.
He pulled his hand away and stepped back from her. This is wrong. I must not take advantage of a young woman in such a situation. Not when I do not intend to wed her. He was not that sort of man.
He cleared his throat and took another discreet step away from her. “Weston is a dangerous man. You must not simply be on your guard. You must do something, Elizabeth!”
Her face turned stony. “Miss Elizabeth,” she corrected.
“Yes, yes, of course. I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth.” Sweat trickled down his face; could he make himself more of a fool?
“What would you have me do?” Elizabeth pinned him with her gaze. “I did not hire him and cannot rid Longbourn of him. We are powerless in this situation.”
Georgiana’s words rang in Darcy’s ears.
“We do our best to protect ourselves,” Elizabeth continued.
Darcy admired the fire in Elizabeth’s eyes. He had no doubt she was quite capable of protecting herself, and the thought of such competence was…very attractive.
He forced himself to focus on the subject of Weston. The women of Longbourn were essentially powerless, as much as it pained Darcy to admit it. He burned with a need to remove Elizabeth and her sisters from this precarious situation, but he could not accomplish that feat. And there was nowhere for them to go. Darcy rubbed a hand over his face. “Perhaps there is something I might do. If I spoke with my aunt…”
The prospect was about as appealing as sticking his hand in boiling water, but he would do nearly anything to assure Elizabeth’s safety. And he did owe his aunt a visit; perhaps if he satisfied that obligation, she would provide assistance.
“I doubt you could accomplish much,” Elizabeth said tartly. “Your aunt listens to nobody.” Before he could respond, she glanced up at the angle of the sun. “I am afraid I am due in the kitchen. A good day to you.”
She gave a shallow curtsey and reentered the house, leaving Darcy alone with a wildly beating heart and the sensation that, yet again, he was letting her down.
Somehow he must do better by her.
***
For the rest of the day Elizabeth endeavored to confine her thoughts on Mr. Darcy to those matters pertaining to Weston. His warning had confirmed what she had suspected, and she should have been more gracious in the face of his concern. She found their helplessness frustrating.
That night she stared out the window instead of sleeping and wondered how often she could be ungracious to Mr. Darcy and expect him to forgive her. He had traveled from Derbyshire to apologize to her. And then he appeared about to…kiss her. Again. Or was it her imagination? Surely she did not imagine how he had stroked her hair and cheek.
But in her cold, bare bedchamber, the idea seemed fantastical. Nothing could ever exist between them…and yet she was not successful in completely crushing the thin tendril of hope that haunted her mind.
It was very late before Elizabeth finally fell asleep.
The next morning produced the busyness of work and no Mr. Darcy, so she was more successful at banishing him from her mind. Unfortunately, distressing news arrived after luncheon. Elizabeth was working in the kitchen when someone knocked at the back door. When Elizabeth opened the door, Mrs. Greeves urged her to come outside for a whispered conference. “Weston found the seed drill!”
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”
“Bert tried to prevent him from opening up the shed, but he needed a harness for the plow. He pulled the tarp off and—”
Suddenly lightheaded, Elizabeth steadied herself with a hand on the door frame. The worst had happened. “What did Mr. Greeves say to Weston?”
Mrs. Greeves shrugged. “He disavowed all knowledge. Many of the tenants use that shed, so nearly anyone could have placed the drill there.”
“What will Weston do now?”
“He dithered about for a bit and Greeves tried to downplay it, but then Mr. Weston decided he needed to tell Mr. Collins about it.”
Fear grabbed Elizabeth’s heart. “Is he here already?”
The other woman shook her head. “He needed to visit East Field and the paddock before returning to the manor, but he will surely be here soon. Greeves and Fisher are hoping to move the machine to Fletcher’s house in the meantime.”
“Can they obtain a wagon?”
“Yes, miss, but if Mr. Weston and Mr. Collins discover them—” The woman’s voice broke off in an anguished sob.
If the tenants were caught with such a device in their possession, they would certainly be punished—most likely banished from the estate. Elizabeth could confess everything to Collins, but there was no guarantee he would spare the farmers for their part in the deception.
Elizabeth chewed a thumbnail while she considered the situation. “How much time will they require?”
“At least an hour.” Mrs. Greeves’s hands worried her bonnet ribbons. “They must fetch the wagon from the far south meadow.”
“Very well. I shall await Mr. Weston and do what I can to delay him.”
The other woman squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “Bless you, miss!”
“It is the least I can do after involving your husband in my ludicrous scheme.”
The other woman shook her head vigorously. “Never say that, Miss Elizabeth! Everything at Longbourn has been much better since you started with the new ways of farming. We’ll have a tremendous crop this year, and everyone is excited about it—even the children!”
Mrs. Greeves’s words warmed Elizabeth. “Thank you for saying that.” She stared anxiously at the road. “But you should leave now. Mr. Weston cannot see you here.”
Mrs. Greeves departed immediately while Elizabeth lingered in the yard. She did not dare go into the house for fear that she would miss the opportunity to intercept Weston. She did not have to wait long. He soon appeared, sauntering along the dirt road.
Elizabeth quickly calculated the time. If Weston summoned Collins and they immediately hurried to the shed, they would almost certainly catch Mr. Greeves and Mr. Fisher relocating the seed drill. She had to discover some means of delaying him.
Weston had flirted with her, just as he flirted with all women as a reflex—giving her compliments on her beauty and figure that apparently she should be honored to receive. He deserved a set down, but Elizabeth had not delivered it, preferring that he focus his attention on her rather than her sisters or the female servants. Perhaps she could use that flirtatiousness to her advantage.
The things I do for Longbourn.
As Weston approached the back courtyard, Elizabeth imagined that she was Lydia. What would her youngest sister do if she found the steward attractive? Elizabeth managed to swallow the bile that threatened to choke her.
When faced with an onerous task, her youngest sister often feigned frailty if a handsome young man was nearby who might help. The tallest and sturdiest of the Bennet sisters, Lydia had nonetheless managed to appear convincingly helpless.
These were not Elizabeth’s fondest memories of her sister, but they still provoked the surge of sadness and anxiety associated with any thoughts of Lydia. Elizabeth had so many other causes for concern that Lydia was often eclipsed, particularly since she could do nothing to help. But that did not prevent her from being anxious about her sister’s fate.
She was forced to put it all aside when Weston passed through the gate. Now was her time to act. Elizabeth hurried to the well and hauled up a bucket of water, straining and groaning as if the process was very burdensome. Before Weston reached the back door, she called, “Mr. Weston? What a happy coincidence! Would you be so kind as to carry this bucket to the kitchen for me? I would be much obliged.” She allowed the bucket to thump heavily on the ground and gave a helpless shrug in Weston’s direction.
She felt quite silly, but he responded with a slow grin that was no doubt intended to be seductive. “Of course, Miss Elizabeth. It is a pleasure to help
a beautiful lady.” Elizabeth obligingly giggled at the compliment.
He hoisted the bucket of water with little effort, and she kept pace with him as he carried it across the yard. “I am ever so grateful! But I suppose it weighs nothing to you when you lift such burdens every day.”
“I am happy to be of service.” He grinned at her and licked his lips. Through a sheer effort of will, Elizabeth managed to smile even more brightly.
Weston deposited the bucket on the floor of the kitchen. This placed them near the source of Elizabeth’s next planned distraction. Beside the door was a basket of wet sheets, shifts, and shirts that Polly had washed earlier that day. Although the maid usually did the washing, she had been sent on a trip to the market, and Elizabeth had promised to hang the clothing.
“While you are here, would you be so obliging as to help me hang the washing? I am simply too short to reach the higher parts of the clothesline.” She tilted her head coyly to the side.
Weston’s smile wavered—no doubt he was eager to see Collins—but lust conquered all. “I think you are just the right height, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with an appraising assessment of her form.
Elizabeth concealed a shudder with another giggle. “You say the sweetest things, Mr. Weston!” Picking up the basket, she sauntered into the courtyard, allowing her hips to swing a little. What would Lydia do? As Weston followed, she maintained a constant stream of chatter. “Fortunately, I need not do the washing myself. Polly and Hill do it. Such nasty, smelly work! I would hate to do it. But I promised Polly I would hang the clothing today. Even the sheets, which are so big and unwieldy.”
He smirked at her. “I am sure we can make quick work of them.”
They reached the clothesline that was strung across one corner of the yard, between a hook on the side of the house and a tree. Elizabeth set down the basket gingerly, for the ground was quite muddy, and pulled the first wet garment from it. She gestured to the sagging middle of the line. “I do not have any difficulty reaching this part. But”—she pointed—“would you be so good as to hang these sheets at that end? It is just a little too high for me, and you are so marvelously tall.”
Rebellion at Longbourn Page 20
