He stared at the place she indicated. It was indeed too tall for her to reach; hopefully, he did not notice the stool near the henhouse, placed there for just such a purpose. “Of course. I am happy to be of service.” He leered suggestively.
She handed him sheets and clothes pegs and then resumed hanging shirts, working her way toward the other end of the clothesline, which was lower near the tree.
After hanging the sheets, he hurried to join her at the other end. “Was the job completed to your satisfaction, miss?” Elizabeth hid a wince at his low, seductive tone.
She clapped her hands. “Oh, just wonderful! How can I ever thank you?”
He crowded her against the tree. “I can think of one way.”
Elizabeth made her eyes round and innocent. “And what is that?”
Sure of his attractiveness, he was now far closer than was appropriate. He leaned forward, no doubt intending to steal a kiss and a grope. Just before his hand closed on her shoulder, Elizabeth yanked hard on the free end of the clothesline—where she had loosened the knot.
The entire clothesline immediately fell down upon her and Weston. Rather than a kiss, he received a slap in the face from a wet shirt. “Oh dear! Oh my!” Elizabeth exclaimed, grabbing Weston as if to keep her balance and ensuring that he lose his.
Unable to free himself, Weston stumbled to one knee in the mud, which was particularly thick in that one place, completely coating his boot and one leg of his breeches. Elizabeth “fell” beside him, waving her arms frantically to ensure they would both become more entangled in the clothing.
“I cannot apologize enough!” Elizabeth wailed. “I must not have tied the knot fast!” Of course, she was quickly becoming covered in mud as well—along with the clean washing. But she considered that a small price to pay.
Floundering about, she managed to splatter Weston’s jacket and shirt with even more mud. With each successive stain, Weston grew more and more irritated. By the time he had unwound himself and Elizabeth, he was clearly no longer in an amorous mood. He did not even help Elizabeth but left her to clamber to her feet on her own.
Through clenched teeth, Weston made a perfunctory suggestion of concern for Elizabeth’s well-being and then rushed into the house. She congratulated herself as he left a muddy handprint on the back door. He would need to don new clothes before he could present himself to Collins.
Once he was out of sight, she directed her eyes to the formerly clean laundry now lying in the mud. She could not in good conscience ask Polly to wash it again, so it would be added to Elizabeth’s daily tasks. Sighing, she dumped the soiled shirts and shifts back in the basket. Laundry was easily her least favorite chore, but hopefully she had bought Mr. Greeves some time.
***
For the rest of the day Elizabeth was on tenterhooks wondering if Mr. Greeves and his friends had managed to move the seed drill before Weston found it. Confined to the house by her duties—including endless amounts of washing—she was unable to obtain any information. Weston was not at dinner, but he did join the family in the drawing room for the evening.
Elizabeth avoided his eyes when he entered the room; she would not fuel any illusions that she might harbor an interest in him. When she did chance a glance at him later, his face was as dark as thunderclouds—a heartening sight. Perhaps he had not been able to show the seed drill to Collins.
There was no innocuous or oblique way of obtaining this information, so she was confined to silent conjectures. Fortunately, during a lull in the conversation Charlotte said, “You seem to be under a cloud today, Mr. Weston. Are you well?”
The steward grimaced. “Well enough, thank you. I had a trying day; hopefully tomorrow will be better.”
“Is there anything we might do to help?” Jane asked. Her eldest sister was far too nice.
Weston ran both hands through his blond hair, further disheveling it. “I experienced a series of mishaps…an unfortunate accident in the mud.” He shot Elizabeth a baleful glare; she attempted to appear chagrined. If he bore her a grudge, so much the better. He did not appear to suspect any deceit on her part; he was the sort of person who would berate another for their clumsiness.
Weston cleared his throat. “Then when Mr. Collins and I walked to the East Field shed to see a particular piece of equipment, it had disappeared!”
Elizabeth bowed her head over her embroidery so immense relief would not show on her features.
“Oh my goodness!” Jane had no notion of the activity with the seed drill; her surprise was authentic. “What were you in search of?”
Weston scowled. “It was a piece of equipment of a type I had not seen before. When I returned with Mr. Collins, there was naught under the tarp save an old spinning wheel.” Thank God, the steward did not recognize the seed drill. That would have increased his suspicions.
“Perhaps someone had taken it from the shed to use,” Jane said reasonably.
“I asked all the tenants in the area, and none of them had seen it,” the steward said through gritted teeth.
“How extraordinary!” Jane exclaimed. “Do you believe it was stolen?”
Collins snorted. “Stolen? More likely it was never there from the start. The interior of the shed is dim. Mr. Weston must have mistaken the spinning wheel for something else.” This was clearly a continuation of an earlier disagreement, and their cousin was not pleased that Weston had taken him on a wild goose chase.
“That is not possible,” Weston said, raising his chin. “I think I would recognize a spinning wheel! This machine was much larger and a completely different shape.”
“You did say it had a wheel-like structure,” Collins pointed out tendentiously. He was obviously not pleased that the steward was pursuing the subject. Elizabeth watched with glee. Apparently, an unintended effect of their scheme was to drive a wedge between Collins and Weston.
“Someone must have entered the shed and substituted the spinning wheel for the unknown machine,” Weston growled.
“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Kitty asked.
“I do not know.” The muscles in Weston’s jaw moved as he ground his teeth.
“We rarely have pieces of equipment move about the estate,” Mary said in her most pedantic tone. “In fact, I cannot recall that it ever happened before. Can you, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth longed to kick her sister. Was she trying to make her laugh? Biting the inside of her cheek, Elizabeth said, “No, I recall nothing of that sort.”
“Perhaps it will yet appear,” Jane said in a conciliatory tone.
“If it ever existed,” Collins said with a scowl.
Weston stood abruptly. “I feel a headache coming on. I must bid you all goodnight.” He strode quite forcefully to the door and was gone.
Elizabeth exchanged conspiratorial glances with her sisters. Mary managed to maintain her pious air, and Jane continued to appear mildly concerned. But Kitty was having difficulty containing her giggles—and infecting Elizabeth with the same ailment.
Well, if she must smile, Elizabeth should at least provide an excuse for it. “I pray you, let me tell you this amusing story I heard from Polly today…”
***
Darcy might be sick. His stomach roiled with nausea, and he tasted bile in his mouth. He tried to slow his breathing so that his heart would not pound so loudly. He had not partaken of any dinner and had retired early for the night. But he had passed the evening pacing the floor and staring out of the window. Try as he might, he could not erase from his mind the image of what he had seen earlier in the day.
That morning he had arisen from Netherfield and spent hours wrestling with his conscience. He had resolved to visit Longbourn in hopes of a private conversation with Elizabeth. Something had passed between them—some sort of understanding—and he did not believe he could pretend indifference in her presence any longer.
After a night spent wandering Netherfield’s halls, Darcy was at once exhausted and filled with nervous energy. I could have kissed her
right there in the garden. I almost did. A thousand times he had imagined how that kiss would have proceeded if he had not stopped himself.
He slept a few hours in the early morning and ate a meager breakfast, finally determining that he must see Elizabeth. He was not sure what he would say when he saw her. But he could no more stay away from her than an unmoored boat could resist the outgoing tide.
Upon dismounting at Longbourn Manor, he had discovered the door was locked and a maid was diligently cleaning the front hall. Darcy had shrugged and proceeded to the back door. Elizabeth was more likely to be found in the kitchen anyway.
He strolled around the perimeter of the building and approached the back courtyard. She might not want him to see her in the kitchen, but he could hardly conceive a better plan. He needed to speak with her at once.
Hearing feminine laughter and a male voice, Darcy had slowed his pace and finally halted before he reached the courtyard. Perhaps eavesdropping was beneath him, but Longbourn was full of intrigue these days. Darcy did not want to inadvertently encounter Elizabeth in a secret meeting with her co-conspirators.
Concealing his presence behind a tall shrub, Darcy stood by the corner of the house and peered into the courtyard.
Elizabeth was not conspiring with anyone. Wearing a stained apron over her plain dress, she was exiting the house, carrying a laundry basket, beside a man who was too well-dressed to be a servant. The next moment Darcy glimpsed enough of his profile to recognize Weston. Fortunately, he was too far away for them to notice his hiss of indrawn breath.
Nor could he hear the words they exchanged. Elizabeth smiled openly at the man and spoke with great animation. Her hips swayed provocatively as she walked. Darcy’s heart pounded, and his mouth grew dry. This was behavior he had never seen Elizabeth exhibit.
She directed Weston to pin some of the clothes to the higher end of the line while she hung some on the lower end, chatting the whole time. No wonder she had bristled over his warning about Weston! She believed herself to be in no danger from the man.
Darcy had not guessed Elizabeth possessed such a capacity for flirtation; certainly she had never exercised it on him. His heart twisted in his chest. Perhaps she had no amorous feelings for Darcy. Perhaps Weston was the sort of man who intrigued her. Unhappily he recalled that she had once seemed infatuated with Wickham. Did he know Elizabeth at all? Apparently, he was completely mistaken in her character.
Weston had pinned a few sheets at the highest point of the clothesline, but something Elizabeth said had caused him to swiftly close the distance between them. Had she suggested she was available for something beyond a flirtation? The predatory gleam in Weston’s eye signaled his plan to grab Elizabeth for a kiss.
Unwilling to watch, he stumbled away from the shrub and quickly stole his way to the front of the house, taking care not to be heard or seen. It was imperative not to be discovered now. Fortunately, the front of the house was still unpopulated, so he need not account for his sudden departure. It was the work of a moment to untie his horse by the side of the drive and mount it. Soon he was on the road back to Netherfield.
Chapter Fifteen
Even as he raged against Elizabeth in his mind, Darcy sought to explain her behavior away. She had made him no promises and might not even recognize his interest, but he nonetheless felt that she had betrayed him. He had believed her to have better discernment and superior judgment than to be swayed by a man like Weston. It sickened him to think how wrong he had been.
Why had he thought he could win her heart? If she desired a man like Weston, she was not the woman Darcy believed her to be.
He found himself wondering how quickly he could have his bags packed and his horse pointed toward London. But it was too late in the day to start such a journey. He would depart at first light tomorrow; there was no reason to spend another minute in Hertfordshire. He would ride to London tomorrow and start for Derbyshire the day after, putting as much distance between himself and Elizabeth Bennet as possible.
***
In the light of a new day, Darcy was no less disgusted with Elizabeth, but he was less interested in slinking off to London as if he should be ashamed of his behavior. His hand shook as he stirred his coffee, and after a long moment he realized the trembling resulted from anger. Instantly, he determined his next move.
He would find Elizabeth and inform her how thoroughly she had fallen in his estimation. If she wished to throw herself into Weston’s lascivious grasp, it was her prerogative, but Darcy would no longer feel any obligation to her.
Although he would continue to seek Lydia Bennet—for her family’s sake.
After choking down a piece of toast, Darcy set off on foot for Longbourn. His horse would be required to bear him to London that day and should be well-rested. The morning was warm and sunny, but overnight rain had created copious mud puddles along the side of the road. By the time Darcy passed through the Longbourn estate gates, Darcy was perspiring miserably into his jacket and wondering if the trek was a fool’s errand.
As he neared the manor, he spied Elizabeth sitting on a short row of steps leading to the door. With a basket by her side, she was shelling peas. Weston was just entering the manor, swaggering up the steps with a smirk for Elizabeth. She did not respond with a smile but the barest of nods; however, that was enough for Darcy. Today he would wash his hands of Elizabeth Bennet, and she would know why!
By the time Darcy reached the steps, Weston had entered the house. Elizabeth’s eyes went wide, but she gave him the smile she had denied the steward. “Mr. Darcy! It is early for a morning visit.”
Darcy knew a scowl was fixed on his face, but he could not manage a more agreeable aspect. Elizabeth started at his expression, spilling peas from her basket.
“What are you about, Elizabeth, accepting the attentions of that man?” he growled.
Her head shot upward. “Mr. Darcy?”
“I cannot believe—I saw you yesterday in the courtyard with him and then just now—” Darcy spat out the words.
Elizabeth carefully set the basket on the steps and stood. Despite the height advantage given her by the steps, she seemed small and delicate. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”
“Y-Yesterday!” Anger tangled Darcy’s tongue. “Y-You w-were f-flirting with that man in the back courtyard!”
Her eyes widened with comprehension, but then she lifted her chin. “I do not believe that is any business of yours.”
“The man is the worst kind of blackguard!” Darcy knew his voice was rising but could not moderate it. “He will dally with you and destroy your reputation! He has nothing to offer but ruination and lies.”
Her lips were drawn into a thin line. “And I repeat, what business is it of yours, sir? I believe I am free to accept the attentions of anyone I wish.”
Darcy gave a hard shake of his head, closing the distance between them until he stood on the step below hers. “Not him! I forbid it.”
She snorted inelegantly. “You are not my father or my brother. On what conceivable grounds do you forbid it?”
Her obtuseness was infuriating. Darcy grabbed her arms, staring directly into her eyes. “Do you not understand, Elizabeth? I am in love with you!”
Her mouth dropped open, and she gave a ragged gasp of breath.
Oh God, what have I done?
He had not intended to speak those words. They should have remained forever locked behind his lips. Naturally, she knew the truth already, but rightfully such a declaration should be followed by an offer of marriage.
Darcy stifled a groan. Was it possible for their encounter to go even further awry? It was horrible in every possible way.
She did not look like a woman who expected such an offer. She appeared…horrified.
When Darcy believed she cared for another man, he thought it was impossible to feel worse, but now he discovered an even lower circle of hell. Elizabeth had not hoped for a proposal from him. This truth was written plainly over her
features.
Darcy had believed she guessed his sentiments—that she hoped he might declare himself. But she had not the slightest inkling—meaning it was nearly inconceivable that she returned those feelings. What have I done? I just laid my heart on the ground before her, offering to let her smash it with a hammer.
“In…love with me?” she repeated slowly, pushing her way backward on the wide step. “No. No. You cannot be serious.”
It was like a knife to the stomach. She cared for Weston and found Darcy horrific. He shuffled backward down the steps. “Never mind. Let us forget this and never speak of it again.” When his feet encountered the gravel of the drive, Darcy pivoted and set a bruising pace for Netherfield. How could I have been such a fool? Pride has led me into error before, but nothing so egregious as this!
But after only a few steps, Darcy felt a hand on his shoulder. Ignore it! Ignore it, a voice chanted in his mind. But he was too much of a gentleman—or perhaps he had too much foolish hope. Arresting his forward progress, he allowed Elizabeth to circle in front of him while he concentrated on maintaining a neutral expression.
Arms folded over her chest, Elizabeth met his gaze fiercely. “I loathe Mr. Weston,” she said simply. A hundred-pound weight suddenly lifted from Darcy’s shoulders.
“What you observed…yesterday in the courtyard…I sought to delay him while some of the tenants moved the seed drill.”
Darcy could hear Richard protesting women’s need for deception. Of course. Why did I not consider that earlier? She is fooling Collins; naturally, she needs to fool Weston as well. “But he kissed you!” The words tumbled from his mouth, seemingly of their own volition.
She blinked. “Did you witness him kissing me?” she asked slowly.
“I left before—I did not want to watch.”
She grimaced. “Ah, then you did not see when I tangled him in the clothesline and smacked him in the face with a wet shirt.”
Rebellion at Longbourn Page 21
