find out.
As Gaby finished the sonata, Darcy turned to Tilney. “I’ll think about it, Henry.”
“Oh, there’s some news from town,” Tilney added. “I just heard that the Parkers, one of the families that bought land in the new settlement, are leaving the county.”
“What? My cousin only started selling that land two years ago. Why are they leaving?”
“Rosings Bank foreclosed on them.”
Darcy sat back, an unreadable expression on his face. “Cate was always hard-nosed when it came to business, but this seems a bit rash. Foreclosed, you say?” Darcy shook his head. “It happens. Never liked that land—I guess it was only a matter of time. Where are the Parkers headed?”
“Farther west—New Mexico, I hear.”
Just then, Mrs. Reynolds came to the door. “Mr. Will, Miss Gaby, sir, supper’s on.”
The trio began to follow the cook to the dining room when the sight of the black woman recalled something else to Tilney’s mind. “By the way, Will, yesterday at the store—can you tell me what you said to Zimmerman? He looked like you were about to set the dogs upon him.”
Darcy tried to wear an unconcerned expression. “Oh, that. I just told the old coot that if he continued to treat cash-paying customers with disrespect, perhaps there was room in town for another general store.”
Henry Tilney was not the only person making an evening visit. Responding to a knock on the door, Charlotte Lucas opened it to see a man with a black hat in one hand.
“Evenin’, Miss Lucas.”
“Good evening, Mr. Fitzwilliam.” The air had cooled since sundown, and Charlotte pulled her wrap about her shoulders. “What can I do for you? The sheriff’s still at the jail.”
Fitz ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Yeah, well… I ain’t come to see the sheriff, miss. I come to talk to you.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “Me? Whatever for?”
Fitz looked out into the growing dusk, gathering his thoughts, the light from the oil-lamp sidelights framing the door, glistening on his hatband. “Well, you see, I’m leavin’ on a cattle drive to Kansas in about a month. Drivin’ Mr. Darcy’s and Miz Burroughs’s cattle to market. I ought to be gone for a few months.”
Charlotte stepped onto the porch. “Yes, I heard that y’all were leaving early.”
Fitz nodded. “Well… it’s become a bit of a tradition for me to buy somethin’ for Miss Darcy after I get to Abilene. Nothin’ big, you understand, just a trinket or two for remembrance.” He smiled as he fidgeted with his hat. “She’s like another little sister to me, and it pleases her no end.”
“That’s very nice.”
Fitz studied his boots. “Yeah, well… I was thinkin’… maybe I could… uh…”
Charlotte tilted her head, not sure what he was talking about. “Yes?”
He peeked shyly at her. “Bring back somethin’ for you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Me?” she whispered.
In the limited light, Fitz’s expression was hardly visible, but the stammer in his voice gave away his lack of composure. “Uh, yeah. There ain’t much pretty things ’round here for a lady. I’ve been thinkin’, and seeing as you got no brothers to buy you stuff like that at the end of a drive, I thought that maybe… I could.”
Charlotte Lucas was the only daughter of a widowed sheriff. That alone put off most would-be suitors. On top of the situation at home, Charlotte was a woman who would be considered handsome by only her most charitable acquaintances and plain by the world in general. She had never had an admirer, much less a sweetheart, and at twenty-five, she expected nothing more than being the town spinster, taking care of her father in his dotage.
She wasn’t blind or uninterested in the male sex. Occasionally, Charlotte would allow herself to dream of a life with a kind and handsome man with children at her feet, if only she looked more like Jane or Beth. If asked, of the men in town, she liked Richard Fitzwilliam. The good-looking cowboy always had a kind word for her since he came to town. He had been one of the fixtures in her dreams. But dreams never came true for the likes of Charlotte Lucas.
Therefore, it was no wonder that Fitz’s astonishing words sent a shock through her. She grew hot and cold at the same time. Unconsciously, she pulled her wrap more tightly about her. “What kind of… pretty things?”
Fitz looked everywhere but at her. “Oh, I don’t know. Things you can’t get ’round here, I suppose. Umm… a piece of lace or a figurine. Maybe some o’ that fancy perfume that smells of flowers.” He looked up. “Decent things—I wouldn’t buy you anything not decent. That wouldn’t be right.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “No, of course not.”
The corner of his lip turned up. “Have to be pretty, though.”
Her mouth was dry. “Why?”
“Pretty girls need pretty things.”
Silence hung between them. “You think I’m pretty?”
Fitz’s eyes grew dark as he licked his lips. Time seemed to stand still as she awaited his response. He took a half step closer, his smile growing a bit.
Another voice called out from the darkness. “Charlotte, who are you talking to? Oh—Fitzwilliam. What can I do for you?”
The two jumped away from each other as Sheriff Lucas reached the porch, Charlotte unable to hide her flushed expression. The sheriff, scowling, eyed his daughter closely.
“Get yourself inside, girl.”
“Paw, we weren’t doing anything,” Charlotte protested. “Fitz was just visiting.”
“I said, get inside,” Lucas growled. “We’ll talk later.”
Embarrassed, Charlotte nodded at Fitz. “Good night,” she managed before fleeing inside. Sheriff Lucas then turned to the cowhand.
“Unless you’ve got business with me, you best be goin’,” Lucas said coldly.
Fitz straightened up in indignation. “Sheriff, we weren’t doin’ anything wrong. I just came by to call on Miss Charlotte, respectful like.”
“Yeah, when I wasn’t at home.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I’d be glad to come by anytime you like. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Miss Charlotte’s reputation.”
Lucas got between Fitz and his door, his hands on his hips. “What are your intentions?”
Fitz flushed. “I’m an honorable man; you know that.”
Lucas was resolute. “I know you’re a hired hand at Pemberley.”
“Surely, you’ve got nothin’ against Darcy?” Lucas just stared at him and realization hit the ranch foreman. “Oh, it’s me. What’s the matter, Lucas, don’t think I’m worthy o’ courtin’ your daughter?”
Lucas stared him right in the eye. “Charlotte’s my only kin—she’s all I got. She deserves everything good in the world. She deserves a man who can provide for her better than me, you understand?”
“So, I ain’t good enough?” Fitz spit out between gritted teeth.
“No, you ain’t.”
Fitz flinched, but he never broke eye contact with Lucas. “Well, you made your sentiments clear.”
Lucas nodded. “Nothin’ personal, Fitz. I gotta do what’s best.”
Fitz didn’t respond until he replaced his hat and climbed aboard Jeb Stuart. He then turned to the sheriff. “I’ve said my piece, an’ I’ve taken account o’ your opinion. Only one thing remains.”
“And what’s that?” Lucas demanded.
“Hearin’ Miss Charlotte’s opinion o’ the matter. That’s the only one that counts in my book. Be seein’ you.” Fitz pulled Jeb Stuart’s head about and set off at a trot towards the Long Branch Bridge and Pemberley.
“You’re wastin’ your time, Fitzwilliam!” Lucas shook his fist as he walked into the street. “Mine is the word she’ll listen to. Don’t come around here! You hear me?” He stood in the middle of the road in the dark, continuing to yell at the retreating figure.
Any passerby would question whether the man was trying to convince the rider or himself.
