distant memory, but there was always fresh milk, eggs, cheese, and bread. Hill shared his meals with his employers before returning to his warm room in the barn. Mr. Bennet had prepared well, and cords of wood were close by to feed the life-sustaining fire in the hearth.
Still, Sunday was Sunday, and only the most extreme of weather could keep the Bennets from church. Of all the daughters, Mary and Beth were most keen on going. Mary, while always a pious child, seemed to have another incentive for attendance: Pastor Tilney was young, handsome, and unmarried. Beth’s interest was of a secular nature as well—the family always stopped by the Bingleys’ for Sunday dinner, and Beth was in the presence of her beloved sister once again. Mrs. Bennet had her own reason to see her eldest—the first grandbaby was on the way, expected in August.
Christmas came and went, as did the New Year. Day piled upon day, with the only variance from the monotony of the chores being the condition of the weather. No one would visit, and Beth was assured of seeing no one outside her family, except on Sundays and the odd shopping trip to Rosings.
The year of Our Lord 1871 was only two weeks old when something unusual happened. Beth returned from the barn after spending time with her horse, Turner, to the surprise of finding house guests. The weather had moderated a bit, but not enough for friends to come calling. This had to be business, and it was. Her father was behind the closed door of his study with George Whitehead and another man. Neither her mother nor her sisters knew what it was about, so Beth had to be content with a cup of tea to warm her chilled body while she waited.
Before long, the door opened, and Mr. Bennet brought his companions to the table. “My dears, let me introduce my banker, Mr. Billy Collins, manager of the Rosings Bank.”
Mr. Collins bowed. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet your fine family, my good sir.” He was a short man with mutton-chop sideburns, balding, though only in his thirties, dressed in a blue suit, a thin bow-tie at his throat. As Bennet introduced his daughters, Collins eyed each one closely, paying them compliments in a rather oily manner. He dismissed Beth almost immediately and set his gaze most markedly upon Kathy. Beth was happy she was still in her dirty work-clothes.
“Mr. Collins, how nice to meet you,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And you too, my dear Mr. Whitehead—it’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you out here in such frightful weather?”
“Can it not be your lovely family, Mrs. Bennet?” Whitehead smiled.
“A-hem,” Bennet cleared his throat. “Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Collins came to see me on a matter of business, my dear.”
“Oh, how tedious—but I do appreciate your attentions to us, Mr. Whitehead. Is your business completed?”
“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet, to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Beth raised an eyebrow. “May we be apprised of the nature of your business?”
Whitehead and Collins both looked at the girl, Collins fairly gaping, while Bennet choked back a chuckle. The banker recovered his wits to stammer, “It was gentlemen’s business, Miss Bennet—nothing to worry yourself over.”
Beth’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Bennet thought it was a good time to intervene. “Yes, yes, well… enough of that. Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?”
“Oh, and dinner! Please say you’ll stay for dinner,” cried his wife.
Whitehead shook his head. “Alas, we have a prior engagement. Perhaps we can impose upon you at another time?”
Mrs. Bennet was disappointed, and her attempts to disguise her feelings were halfhearted. “Oh, very well, if it can’t be helped. I’ll hold you to your promise, sir. Both you and Mr. Collins. You will have dinner with us.”
“Of course,” Whitehead said as he bowed.
“I shall count the hours,” Collins added, whose comment almost caused more than one Bennet daughter to lose her composure. The men slipped on their long jackets and left soon afterwards. The family then sat for dinner. Beth longed to know what the men had discussed for so long in private, and she had every expectation that her father would tell her. But Mr. Bennet refused to answer any of Beth’s questions until dinner was done, when they retreated to his study.
“As you know, George Whitehead has been a valuable friend since we moved to Rosings. Thanks to him, we were able to secure our mortgage with Rosings Bank at a more favorable rate than Darcy Bank offered. He has now offered even more help. It seems he has contacts with people in Fort Worth who have access to more modern farming implements—new plows and tools, better seeds, a few more bulls. I must say, the improvements could be substantial. Our yields could be significant— perhaps a fivefold increase, according to what George tells me. That should be enough to buy a new store-bought dress or two for you girls without us worrying over the cost,” he added with a smile.
“Father, I certainly don’t need such finery—and the cost! How can we afford the improvements?”
“That’s why Mr. Collins was here. A refinancing of the mortgage will provide the capital.” He reached over and took Beth’s hand in his. “And you certainly will buy a new dress, Beth—I insist upon it. It is my dream to provide my wife and children a better life. That’s why I moved all of you to Rosings. Now, Jane is settled with a fine husband, and I have the chance of making all our lives better. All will be well—trust me.”
Plans for the spring were made in other places besides the Bennet farm. In the ornate blue and gold sitting room of the B&R ranch house, the owner held court.
A tall, middle-aged woman, Catherine Matlock had once been considered very handsome, if not downright pretty, in her native New York. Her father was rich and her dowry was substantial. But her older sister was prettier than she, and monopolized the available beaus. And Catherine’s decided opinions and her tendency to share them with everyone had severely limited her choices as to a companion of her future life.
So, when her cousin from Texas, Lewis Burroughs, came to visit one summer and expressed a desire to have her as his wife, Catherine had little reason to refuse him. The idea of being a queen in a small pond, rather than a minnow in the ocean that was New York society, was undeniably attractive. Lewis was not repulsive—he was handsome enough, did not smoke, and he was moderate in his other vices. So with little trepidation, Catherine Matlock became Cate Burroughs and relocated herself to Rosings Ranch in Rosings, Texas.
She soon found she had a knack for organization and a keener business mind than her husband. In all but name, she ran the ranch. At her urging, Lewis changed the name of the ranch to B&R, for “Burroughs and Rosings.” As for the other duties of marriage, she engaged in them enough to bear a daughter named Anne. Her doting father made Anne his and Cate’s heir, and her mother, her obligation done, saw no reason to undergo the process of childbirth again.
How Lewis felt about her decision would never be known, for he was dead before Anne’s fourth birthday. The official inquest said he was set upon by a band of Comanche while riding his land, but few in Rosings gave much credence to the commission. To this day, whispered speculation of what drove Lewis to self-murder would occasionally be overheard in town.
“Then it is settled,” declared Catherine Burroughs, widow of Lewis Burroughs and owner of B&R Ranch and Rosings Bank. “Your men, William, will drive B&R cattle along with your Pemberley herd to Abilene at the same price per head as last year.”
Darcy appraised his elder cousin critically. No sign of the attractive New York debutante remained. Instead, Catherine was a thin, weather-beaten, middle-aged woman, her silver hair swept back and done up on the top of her head. Her dress was a rich silk burgundy, but her face was as hard and lined as a fence post. She sat on the divan like a princess. Anne sat next to her, on the edge, seemingly ready to dash out of the room at a moment’s notice.
“Yes,” Darcy agreed, “as long as your herd’s assembled and ready on the appointed date. Fitzwilliam here leaves no later than the last week in April, right behind the trail breakers.”
The matron turned to Fitzwilliam, standing hat in hand next to Darcy’s chair. “So early… why so early? You never left before the middle of May before.”
“Miz Burroughs, we ain’t the only outfit that’s tryin’ to sell our beef. Will and I figure that the early bird gets the worm, as they say, and we’ll steal a march on the others by gettin’ to Abilene first. Get a better price, I’m thinkin’.”
“The weather will be wet.” Mrs. Burroughs’s expression showed she didn’t enjoy discussing business with
