called in by Phillips, preferred to look for the wayward girl
As the disappointed and worried Bennets prepared to go home for the night, William approached them. “Sir, I’ll have my men out at first light. We won’t rest ’til we find her.” Will was talking to Mr. Bennet, but Beth thought his words were for her, too.
“I thank you kindly,” said an exhausted Mr. Bennet. “Whatever you can do, however long you can help, well… you’ve got my thanks.”
“No thanks necessary.” He paused, and Beth thought he was going to say more, but besides a quick glance at her, he fell silent. He nodded as the father and daughter mounted their horses for the ride back to the farm. Beth wasn’t surprised that they were escorted by two Pemberley wranglers, but her father was. Bennet first greeted his waiting family and gave them the disappointing news of their failure. After Mrs. Bennet, Mary, and Kathy returned to the house and the escort left, the farmer questioned Beth as they attended to their animals in the barn.
“I’m very thankful that Mr. Darcy is showing a great deal of interest in our family, Beth,” he said as he unsaddled his horse, “but, it’s surprising, given his lack of dealings between us. Or maybe not so much of a lack of dealings as I believe?” He turned to his daughter. “Beth, is there something you want to tell me?”
Beth hoped the darkness hid the blush she was certain was covering her face. “Will Darcy’s a good man, Father—better than we’ve been given reason to think. But I wouldn’t read too much into it. I’m sure he’d do the same for anybody. Look what he did for the Washingtons—he bought their burial plots, you know.”
“Yes,” Bennet said. To Beth he sounded strangely disappointed. “Well, let’s pray for better news tomorrow.”
Unfortunately, the news was not what they had hoped. Lily’s horse was found grazing on B&R land between town and the Bennet farm. There was no sign of its rider.
Before, Beth had always thought of the period following Samuel’s death as the worst of her life. With Lily’s disappearance, she realized that things could be worse. It was horrible to know that a beloved son and brother had died far away from home, but at least that fateful telegram had given the family the finality of closure. With Lily, the uncertainty made the experience almost unbearable. Hope battled despair in the hearts of the Bennets. Without knowing what had become of Lily, there was no way of not thinking about her.
Rumors swirled around the town. All sorts of theories were put forth, but the one that seemed to be believed by most was that the band of Klansmen had returned and Lily Bennet had either been kidnapped or convinced to run off with them. A cowpoke from the B&R claimed he awoke from his bedroll on the range to the sound of horses in the distance the night Lily disappeared. Nothing was confirmed, but that was enough for those who needed something to believe.
Judge Phillips called off the search after a few days. The rest of the town was nearly insensible with fear. They could convince themselves that the attack on the Washingtons was an isolated incident, but now that a neighbor’s daughter was missing and presumed stolen away, the people could no longer ignore what was happening. Evil was riding the range, and everyone was terrified that they or their family could be next.
Doors were locked tight, guns were kept loaded, and socializing stopped. The storekeepers were concerned over their livelihoods, as shopping for anything save the barest of necessities had ceased. Church attendance was cut in half. The streets in town belonged to the tumbleweeds, dogs, and Judge Phillips’s deputies.
As September turned into October, the Bennets lived in a sort of half-life. No matter the fears and anxieties, fields needed to be tended, animals needed to be fed, and chores needed to be done. The family went about their duties listlessly, one ear cocked to hear the approach of news that never came. There was no escape from the gloom. Mr. Bennet made it clear that none of the women were to leave the farm, and that included church. The once-a-week trips for supplies would be done by either Mr. Bennet or the farmhand, Hill, and neither would be absent from the farm at the same time.
Those trips were the only relief Beth received during this time, because there would always be a note from Charlotte brought from town to her. Not all of the family’s friends abandoned them. The Bingleys would come by as often as they could, and Reverend Tilney’s occasional visits were appreciated, especially by Mary, but they were cold comfort to Beth. She yearned for the company of a man she had once hated—a person she realized was the best man she had ever known.
For it was there in Charlotte’s letters—while the rest of town had given up on the search for Lily, even the sheriff—that Beth learned that the story from Pemberley was different. Will Darcy’s men, when they could be excused from their duties, spent their time searching every nook and cranny in the county, looking for a sign of the girl. Charlotte never said who supplied her information, but Beth had an idea who it was. No one who had witnessed the attentions paid to the girl by Richard Fitzwilliam at the Burroughses’ party back in July could fail to see the signs of a blooming romance.
Beth was thrilled at William’s constancy. He had promised he wouldn’t give up, and he hadn’t. Her heart whispered it was for her, but her better sense tamped down her hopes. Will Darcy was a great man—kind and generous—and she thought he would do the same for anyone. Could he still love her?
Beth now knew she was in love with Will Darcy. She could not pinpoint the time or place when it had happened; the feeling had come to her so gradually. Certainly, by the time she visited Pemberley she was well on her way. Perhaps watching firsthand how well he handled the twin disasters that had befallen Rosings—the lynchings and Lily’s disappearance—had proven to her that Will was not a proud and willful martinet. Rather, he was a quick-thinking and forceful leader, ready to step forward when the time called for action. Perhaps as the last of the numerous misunderstandings of his character fell away, she could do nothing but admire and love him.
Her joy was tempered with anguish. Letters from others extolling his goodness were not enough. Even though she knew he was busy and the times were dangerous, she still longed to see him again—to talk with him again, to dance in his arms again. Why did he not come to visit? Was he embarrassed to associate himself with her family? She was being nonsensical, she knew. Darcy had never been invited to their house in the past. In fact, he had been on Bennet land only once to the best of her knowledge—during the cattle drive in the spring. Why would he ever think he would be welcomed?
But a woman’s heart was never completely rational. Beth desired only two things—Lily returned home and for herself to be in Darcy’s arms—and she was afraid she would see neither ever again.
Summer had finally broken, and the residents enjoyed the moderation of temperatures that passed for fall in Central Texas. On such a bright and sunny day, Charlotte descended from her cart and was in the act of securing the horse when the bells of Santa Maria began to mark the hour. As the twelfth and final peal faded, Charlotte walked not into the mission chapel but the graveyard beyond. There, in the shadows afford by a group of oak trees, stood a tall cowboy wearing a black hat with a silver band.
A moment later, Charlotte was in Fitz’s arms, their lips hungrily searching for the other’s. Arms about Fitz’s neck, Charlotte delighted in the feelings their kisses inflamed in her body and soul. The breath seemed to be squeezed out of her lungs, so tight was her beloved’s embrace. A warm dizziness enveloped her, and she could not support herself on her now trembling legs. Her companion seemed to understand, for they were soon on their knees, and then prone on the soft grass between the headstones, lost in lovemaking.
Fitz’s mouth drew away long enough to gasp, “You’re wearin’ your rose water.” Charlotte smiled widely, her eyes alive with love and passion, lighting up her plain features, before drawing Fitz back for another kiss.
It had begun in late June, soon after Fitzwilliam returned from Kansas. He appeared at the Lucases’ back door one evening while the sheriff was working at the jail. He was dressed in his Sunday best, a small wrapped gift in his hand. Tenderly, Charlotte unwrapped the package to discover a small bottle of perfume. Shyly glancing at the man, she lifted the stopper to the smell of roses.
“They had some o’ that made of gardenias,” Fitz had said, looking at the bottle, “but I was thinkin’ that stuff was too showy for you. Roses seemed a better choice. I hope you like it.”
“I… I love it.” She was confused, yet hopeful.
