Pemberley Ranch

porch. The door was opened within moments of her knock by Dr. Bingley, as if his mother-in-law’s action was anticipated.

The Bennet ladies entered the small sitting room, used during the day as a waiting room for patients, only to find it was already occupied. Beth, for one, was so stunned by the identities of the visitors she cried out.

“Mr. Darcy?”

Indeed, the owner of Pemberley Ranch was standing by the settee, a cup of coffee perilously balanced in one large hand, next to two fashionably dressed women. Beth recognized them as Miss Gaby Darcy and Miss Anne Burroughs. Jane was in a chair next to them, obviously in the middle of an interrupted conversation, and all wore expressions of astonishment at Beth’s outburst.

Charles stepped forward. “I believe y’all know Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Miss Burroughs. We were pleasantly surprised when they dropped by right after we got home.”

The Bennet ladies confirmed that they had met the Darcys but said they were not acquainted with Miss Burroughs, though they had often seen her in church. The introductions were made, Miss Burroughs lingering with Beth and Mary, while Jane and Gaby entertained the others. Beth could see Lily and Kathy openly staring at the Darcys as if they were creatures on display. For the first time, she regretted George Whitehead apprising them of the Darcys’ colorful background.

“I understand from your sister that you play, Miss Beth, and that you and your sisters sing very well,” Anne managed to say, keeping her eyes lowered.

Beth laughed. “Not very well—my sister is obviously having fun at my expense.” She noticed Mary’s hurt look and quickly added, “But Mary here is the musician of the family.” Now that Jane has left us—and a poor substitute she is, she added to herself.

Mary puffed up, pleased at the compliment. “I would love to hear you play, Miss Burroughs.”

“Me?” the girl squeaked. “Oh, no, Miss Mary, I don’t play!” Anne’s face turned from white to red, and the other two ladies were mortified.

It was Darcy who came to her rescue. “It’s true Anne doesn’t play, but my sister does, and the two of them have sung some very pretty duets in their time.” If anything, the compliment seemed to embarrass Anne even more.

The four of them stood about in an awkward silence, none knowing what to say next. Beth could not stop glancing at Darcy’s dark good looks. Finally, Darcy broke the impasse.

“It seems we’ve intruded on a family get-together, Charles. We’ll take our leave.”

Despite Mrs. Bennet’s halfhearted protests, and Jane’s sincere ones, the three outsiders made their goodbyes and moved towards the door. Just as Charles was opening it, Darcy turned to Beth.

“Ah, Miss Beth, I almost forgot the message I wanted to give you the next time we met.”

“Oh?” Beth’s eyebrow rose, expecting a renewal of her banishment from Pemberley.

“I’ve let my riders know that you have permission to ride across Pemberley if you take a fancy to cross the Long Branch again.”

The unexpected civility shocked the girl. “Oh! I… I thank you, Mr. Darcy. That’s kind of you.”

He shrugged. “You won’t be a bother to anyone, so it’s quite all right. I’ve described your horse to my men, so they’ll keep an eye out for you, to make sure you don’t get into any trouble.” A strange expression lit his face. “I’m sure your horse—Turner, isn’t it? Turner is itching to run all over creation after the winter we’ve had.”

The condescension in the first part of his reply destroyed whatever pleasure she felt at his kindness, but the second part puzzled her. Why would he care about her horse? “Yes, you’re right,” she said. “Turner is nothing if not spirited.”

Darcy almost grinned, as if he knew a secret. “Yes, I would suppose so—a paint named Turner.”

Beth had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What?”

“Turner. Named after J.M.W. Turner[2], the British landscape artist, right?”

Beth’s jaw dropped as Lily laughed. “Ha, ha, ha! Someone finally got your silly joke, Beth! You should see your face!”

An amused Darcy escorted his charges out the door with a parting shot. “Interesting name. A rather controversial choice for a young lady, given that he died in his mistress’s house, wouldn’t you say?” Without waiting for a response, he was out the door.

Beth stared at the closed door while Mrs. Bennet demanded who Beth knew that was keeping mistresses, and Kathy and Lily giggled in each other’s arms. Jane walked over and put her arm around her sister.

“Have you finally met your match, Beth? Mr. Darcy’s very clever.”

“Insufferable, you mean!” Beth proclaimed. She turned to the room, determined to think of his tall form no more.

Chapter 4

March

The short period between winter and summer in Central Texas—called “spring” in many parts of the country—finally arrived in Rosings, encouraging its denizens to leave their houses for reasons other than chores and church. Wednesday was the traditional shopping day for the Bennets, both in Meryton and Rosings. Fanny Bennet was never one to pass up the opportunity to see and be seen, gossip and be gossiped about, and inquire in intimate detail about any new item available for sale in any shop without the least intention of purchasing any of them. Since she was never a great reader, it was her favorite diversion besides visiting with her married daughter.

Mrs. Bennet may have wished for all the finery in the world, but she was as tight as any good farm wife. Her mother had been a spendthrift, and after living hand-to-mouth until her marriage, Fanny Gardiner swore she would never have to worry for money again, and she made sure of that when considering a potential husband. Tom Bennet had proved to be not only a caring companion but also a dutiful provider, and she trusted him utterly with their finances. She managed to live within her allowance, praying that Tom’s promises of a better life would come true someday.

However, this Wednesday was different, as it was left to Beth and Mary to shop for the week’s provisions. Mrs. Bennet had come down with a cold and taken to her bed at her son-in-law’s instruction. The presence of Kathy and Lily was required to wash the clothes and wait upon their mother. Beth and Mary took the wagon to the Bingleys’ to collect their sister before continuing into town.

Beth had to admit to herself that things in Texas weren’t as bad as she’d feared. It was a beautiful place. The summers could be unbearably hot, but after a lifetime of Ohio winters, she could manage with a little sweating if that meant she didn’t have to walk through knee-high snowdrifts. The wide, open plains enchanted her. She never dreamed the sky could be so wide or the land so vast. She loved to point Turner in whatever direction beckoned and just run wild.

As for adjusting to the locals, that took longer. The populace was far more diverse than Beth had ever experienced. She had never before met a slave, much less someone from Mexico. It was both exhilarating and frightening. She found the townspeople to be closed and suspicious—not open and friendly to her as in Meryton. Only Reverend Tilney was unreserved from the beginning. The Bennets’ association with George Whitehead seemed to garner only deference, not amity. But once Beth had made friends with Charlotte Lucas, the town opened up a bit more for her. Beth sometimes felt that by befriending the sheriff’s daughter, she had passed some test, and the strange, nagging feeling of unsettledness whenever she met with the townsfolk faded.

Beth and Mary were soon at the Bingleys, and once Jane had climbed onboard, Mary suggested that they go by the rectory. “Perhaps Reverend Tilney needs our assistance,” she mentioned with what she thought was a straight face. Beth nearly laughed out loud.

Jane was all that was sweet and good, but she was not as quick as Beth. “Assistance? With what? Is something wrong? Is he unwell?”

Mary blushed. “No, no! I… I just thought as he has no sister or… wife, that he may need our help in, well, umm… shopping for provisions… or something.” Beth could no longer contain her mirth, causing a mortified Mary to stutter a disavowal of her suggestion. Jane caught on and, reaching out to take the red-faced girl’s hand in hers,