Pemberley Ranch

Darcy recoiled as if struck. He said nothing; he only stared at her wide-eyed, as the music from the ball filled the silence. Beth, tears running down her face, refused to break eye contact with him. After a moment, the man seemed to deflate.

“I see. It seems I was under the impression you enjoyed my company. I now see I was wrong. Please excuse me for bothering you.” He gave her a quick nod. “I’ll leave you now, as my presence is understandably unwanted. My… my best wishes to you and your family.” His voice almost broke at his final words, and he walked swiftly away down the veranda. Beth did not move until he turned the corner of the house and she could flee to the sanity of her guest room upstairs, hoping her passage would go unnoticed.

In that, she failed, for out of the shadows at the other end of the veranda stepped a distraught Anne Burroughs.

Chapter 9

As much as she tossed and turned, Beth could find no rest. She sat up in her bed, staring at the richly appointed walls of the guest bedroom that had been given over for her use. A single candle flickered uncertainly in its holder on the bedstead, its pitiful light adding to the gloomy atmosphere suffered by the room’s only occupant.

Beth could not comprehend her agitation. True, Darcy’s totally unexpected proposal had unnerved her, but that was hours past. She could not understand why, once her righteous indignation over the arrogant man’s presumption had burned out, it was replaced by numbness. She tried to remember George’s words and fought to keep Samuel’s portrait in her mind, but she was failing miserably.

All she could hear was Darcy’s passionate declaration: “I love you!” All she could see was the flash of intense pain in his face before it returned to its habitual expressionless demeanor as he voiced his surprising and unexpectedly cordial farewell. Beth could do nothing—not sleep, not answer Anne’s earlier knock on the door—while she wrestled with whatever was consuming her.

Will Darcy loved her. It was impossible, she kept telling herself. He didn’t know her, had hardly spoken with her. He was everything she disliked, and she should have been as distasteful to him as he was to her. Yet, he had declared his love—almost shouted it, in fact. George had been wrong. Darcy wanted to marry her, despite her lowly beginning. A rich Southern rancher wanted a Yankee farmer’s daughter. It was absurd.

Beth was mortified to learn that she had been wrong, so very wrong, about his constant staring. His look was the same one she had seen in one of her dreams, as a wet Will Darcy emerged from the river, his shirt plastered to his skin, his hand outreached for her… No!! Stop it! Stop thinking of him!!

Her frustration grew as her overactive imagination betrayed her again. She needed a distraction. Beth looked about the room, searching for something to read, but there was nothing. The place was as impersonal as a museum. Besides her few personal items on the dressing table, the only other thing in the place that took away from the stark perfection of the expensive décor was the blue dress, carefully draped on a chair.

Beth sat in bed, contemplating the dress. It was the prettiest thing she had ever worn, and Darcy had ruined it for her. As much as she would have liked to believe otherwise, she knew his claim of choosing it for her was not an idle boast. Darcy would not dare lie, knowing how friendly Beth was with Anne, who would know the truth. She could never think of the dress or the way she looked in it without recalling his soft words, and that would never do. And the remark he made suggesting that Anne dress her in that color— it was as if he already owned her and could dress her as he liked.

Beth stood and put on a dressing gown over her cotton nightdress. Without a clock, she had no idea of the time, but the silence of the house told her that everyone must be abed. She could chance going down to the library for a book. Reading always helped her sleep.

In a matter of minutes, Beth was proven correct; the house was as still as a tomb. She made her way down the stairs without incident, pausing only when she saw light streaming from the library. Courage almost failing her, she nearly turned back in defeat before her need overcame her caution, and she forced herself to pause at the threshold, listening for noises within. Hearing nothing, she crept inside.

A candle burned on the mantle, her view of the fireplace blocked by a sofa before it. Soundlessly, Beth moved between the shelves of books at the other end of the room. She had put down her candle and picked up a random volume to peruse, when she was startled by a sound of a hiccup.

All senses on full alert, Beth quickly replaced the book and scanned the room. Nothing. Just as she told herself that she had been hearing things, a low sound nearly made her shriek.

Moaning? Heavens! Someone’s in here—on the sofa! I have to get out of here!

Beth removed the fist she had jammed into her mouth and took two steps towards the door before pausing, trying to decide if she needed her candle. It was her undoing, for the library door flew open, and Anne entered with a determined stride, carrying something in her hands.

“Here is a mug of hot coffee, Cousin,” she said, her eyes moving between the cup and the sofa. “Perhaps after you sober up a little, you can explain what you did to upset Beth so much.”

“Upset Beth?” came an unsteady, yet familiar deep voice. “Whaddabout me?”

Darcy! Beth’s mind screamed.

“What about you?” Anne scolded him as she held out the mug. Slowly, the back of Darcy’s head emerged from the couch as he took the coffee.

“In case you didn’t notice, you eavesdroppin’ li’l busybody, I’m the one rejected ’round here, not her.”

“Drink up,” she demanded. “I refuse to reason with an intoxicated man…” Anne’s voice trailed off as she realized they weren’t alone in the room. Her eyes flared as Beth began to creep out, one finger on her lips.

Darcy stood abruptly. “I ain’t intoxicated—I’m drunk!” To Beth’s horror, he turned his face enough to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. He swung his arm up, pointing in her direction, and bellowed, “An’ she’s the reason why!”

Darcy’s accusation raised Beth’s ire, overcoming her embarrassment. “I’m the reason? How do you figure that? You’re the one surprising innocent ladies with unwelcomed proposals!”

“Will you two lower your voices?” Anne begged in a whisper. “You’ll wake the whole house.”

“Right,” Darcy said as he staggered around the sofa, “can’t interrupt Cate’s beauty sleep.” There was the clink of boot against glass, and an empty whiskey bottle rolled across the carpet.

“I see you’re a drunkard on top of everything else, Mr. Darcy,” Beth declared icily.

“You see nothin’,” Darcy shot back. “I’ve never been drunk afore in my whole life. But if there’s a woman alive that’ll drive a man to drink, you’re it.”

Beth drew back, affronted. With as much dignity as she could muster in a nightgown, she straightened her shoulders and threw her head back. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. Good night, sir!” She turned, but her progress was halted by his voice.

“Yeah, run. Run like th’ coward you are. Run away from th’ truth.”

She turned to look over her shoulder. “How dare you!”

“‘How dare you!’” he mimicked with a crooked grin. “Whassamatta, scared o’ me? You sure weren’t scared earlier.” He turned to a mortified Anne. “’Sides, we got Annie here to chaperone. I think your virtue’s safe.” His expression darkened. “But it won’t be if you keep hangin’ ’round Whitehead, let me tell you that.”

“Will! Your language!” Anne implored.

“No, Annie. She’s gonna hear me out.” He turned to Beth. “I let you have your say earlier. You gonna be a man about it an’ let me have mine? Uhh, I mean woman… uhh. Oh, hell—you gonna hear me out?”

Anger and curiosity battled within Beth. Curiosity won. “Very well, as long as you refrain from using crude language.”

“There ain’t no other kind to describe Whitehead, but all right.” He gestured for her to be seated. Beth chose the sofa, and Anne joined her. Will ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and peered blearily at the two of them. “Y’all want a drink?”

Beth raised her eyebrows. “No, thank you.” Anne simply shook her head.