Caroline sighed dramatically. “But—oh! Poor Charles! What a waste!”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy said.
“What Charles could be, given the proper situation! I assume he’s a very good doctor.”
“I believe so.”
“Then he must be. I know several physicians in New Orleans, and all are of the highest circles. There’s great demand not just for their talents but for their society as well. They’re accepted everywhere. By the houses they live in, they’re all rich, or will soon be so.
“But here, in the middle of nowhere! There’s no chance for advancement or fortune, I declare. Only caring for farmers and cowboys—and their animals, I suppose. What kind of life is that for Charles, who grew up at Netherfield? He isn’t what he should be.”
Beth lost all mirth and listened intently.
“And what should he be?” Caroline’s companion asked.
“He should be a prestigious physician in a great city like New Orleans, his name on everyone’s lips, not wasting his life here in the wilderness.”
Darcy drew a breath. “He could leave if he wanted to.”
“Don’t think I haven’t dropped a few hints, but no—he’ll never leave. It’s the fault of that wife of his.”
“Mrs. Bingley?”
“Yes. She’ll never leave her family. She’s trapped him here. He shouldn’t have married her. Don’t you agree?”
Darcy was silent for a terrible moment. Anne could see Beth’s anger grow.
Darcy began to speak. “I can’t deny that Charles has certainly limited his opportunities by moving to Rosings. He’ll never be rich here, and by marrying Jane Bennet, he’ll never leave. In my opinion, Jane would never be happy away from her family, and I think Charles knows that. So, I suppose you’re right, Miss Bingley—by his marriage, Charles has forever doomed himself to be poor.”
Beth turned white, spun on her heel, and left the tent. Anne, aghast at what she had overheard, waited a moment and then followed her friend.
Beth quietly left the ballroom tent for the house porch to seek relief from the sweltering heat and to settle her own jumbled emotions. She fanned herself as she stewed. It was bad enough that Will Darcy disrespected the flag that her beloved Samuel died defending, learning that he disapproved of Jane was more than she could stand. How, she thought, could a sweet girl like Gaby have such a detestable brother? How could Anne or Charles or Fitz stand to be in his company?
And yet, she could not erase from her treacherous mind the image of Darcy, tall and dark and enormously handsome, approaching her for their dance. How intoxicating it felt to be in his arms! Never had Beth experienced such a reaction from just being in a man’s presence. Could Charlotte be right? Could she be attracted to him? She couldn’t be, it was impossible… and yet—
“Miss Beth?”
Beth closed her eyes in anger. The very last man she wished to speak to had somehow found her—was now standing behind her, invading her privacy. It took all the control she had not to turn on the cousin of her hostess and lash out at him. Instead, she resolutely stared out at the rolling countryside, one hand on the porch railing, not favoring Mr. Darcy with so much as an acknowledgment of his presence. She hoped her slight rudeness would put the man off.
She was disappointed. Darcy moved to her side, just far enough away to meet propriety. He, too, gazed at the expanse of the range. “I don’t blame you for seeking the quiet of the veranda. It’s very close inside,” he said softy. He half-turned his face to her. “Would you care for a lemonade? A glass of wine, perhaps? You must be parched.”
Beth could not help but turn to him. “Thank you, no. I require nothing but solitude.”
“You and I are alike, then,” he said with the ghost of a smile, which raised Beth’s ire. How dare he compare himself to her!
“You look very lovely tonight.”
“Yes, blue is your color. I’m glad Anne took my suggestion. That dress favors you very well.”
“What?” she cried. “You… you spoke to Anne about my choice of dress?”
“Yes. I’m very glad I did. You look quite beautiful, Beth. Much better than in dungarees. You were born to wear that dress. I’m glad I bought it.” He took a step forward, almost touching her. Beth could not move, so surprised was she at his statements.
His half-smile faded as he seemed to struggle with himself. Finally, he blurted out, “It won’t do. It won’t do anymore. I must tell you that I have quite lost my heart to you. I can’t go on, can’t see myself without you.” He suddenly took her hands, his thumbs running over the calluses on her fingers. “So rough,” he said sadly, looking at them. “Living on a farm, doing chores.” He raised his eyes to hers. “No more. Let me take you from all that. Let me take care of you. Come with me—you’ll never have to work again. Whatever you want, you’ll have. Dresses, books, music—anything.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ll give you everything if you’ll only say you’ll be mine—”
“
Darcy colored and took a half-step back. “I’m… I’m sorry. I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, and I won’t be one of your conquests!” She reached back, ready to slap him, only to stop at his confused expression.
“Conquests? What are you talking about?”
“Are you playing me for a fool? I won’t be your mistress!”
Darcy gaped. “Is that what you thought I was talking about? Beth, I’m asking you to marry me!”
Beth’s hand dropped. “Marry you?”
“Yes! I love you! How could you think I would ask something dishonorable of you? What kind of man do you think I am?”
Darcy’s question seemed to break the dam of resentment Beth was holding against the man. “I know
“No—I didn’t mean—I’ve never—I’ve never had slaves.”
“Don’t lie to me! George told me all about the slaves you’ve bought. Just like all of you Southerners—you’ve all owned slaves. How can you live with yourself?”
Darcy drew his mouth into a thin line. “You think that, do you? And what about Charles? Do you feel the same about him?”
“You dare bring up Charles? I heard what you said about him and Jane to Caroline. About how he could have done better had he not come to Rosings—that his marriage to Jane must always doom him to be poor. And you call him your friend! And Jane, who has always defended you—what has she done to earn such scorn?”
Darcy’s face went white. “If you overheard that, didn’t you hear the rest of the conversation?”
Beth ranted on, heedless of his rejoinder. “You sit in your big house, unwilling to take any notice of anything that’s going on. People are losing their homes, and your bank does nothing! You make sure no one unsuitable even touches one inch of your precious Pemberley. But, oh, if your sister shows the least interest in doing something that may broaden her horizons, like going to town and meeting other people, well, then, you shadow her like a mother hen! Making sure we’re all worthy of her acquaintance. Insulting fine, upstanding people like George Whitehead. You’re as proud and unpleasant as Mrs. Burroughs and with less reason. She’s old and set in her ways. What’s your excuse, except you think you’re better than the rest of us?”
Beth could almost hear Darcy grind his teeth as his face turned red. “If you believe George Whitehead to be a fine, upstanding person, then you’re a fool, Miss Bennet. Whitehead’s the biggest piece of scum in the county.”
“George Whitehead is a war hero! And what are you? A traitor to the country of your birth! My brother went to fight to save the union, not break it apart. He fought to end slavery, not defend it. And he died doing it. You killed him—you and any who took up arms against the United States. If it weren’t for people like you, Samuel would still be alive! Marry you? I hate you!”
