Day 4
The thunderous hoof beats drowned out his thoughts as he pushed his mount faster through the meadows of Rosings.
Darcy was grateful Anne had offered him the use of her estate’s stables.
And finally feeling well enough to ride, he had set off early in the morning to release the strain and allow himself a momentary freedom from this alien life.
He stopped along the bordering property to the north and stared at the expanse before him.
I cannot fathom a life without Elizabeth.
This world gives me the possibility of that, of a future with the woman I love.
But it also takes away any hope I have of protecting Georgiana.
I am lost. He leaned over and rubbed the withers of Ulysses before sitting back and seeing George Wickham riding from the woods in the distance.
The woods were not part of Rosings Park.
They had belonged to the Gafton family for generations, and to Darcy’s knowledge, still did.
The Gaftons did not look favorably on George Wickham, as there had been an incident with the eldest Gafton son losing a considerable amount of money and his great-grandfather’s pocket watch to Wickham at Cambridge.
Mrs. Gafton had never forgiven either party, even upon her death.
But that was in my other life. Who knows what their relationship is now?
On impulse, Darcy rode toward Wickham, who slowed his horse upon seeing him.
“Good morning.”
“Fitzroy, ah, glad to see you are well enough to ride again. You are an early riser, eh?”
“I am. And I can see you also prescribe to that school?” Darcy knew the answer before Wickham had time to confirm his beliefs.
“Not if I can avoid it. I had business early this morning with an old school mate. I have also extended an invitation to him for dinner tomorrow evening. Join us for dinner—of course, invite the others at the parsonage?”
“I will, thank you.”
The men continued silently along the road until Darcy could no longer stand it. “And who might your school chum be? I may know him as well.”
“Do you know Peter Gafton?”
“Not that I remember. I wonder if he would recall me.” He pressed on disregarding his own impertinence. “It must be significant business to take you from Rosings at such an early hour.”
Eyeing Darcy before clearing his throat, he said, “Mr. Fitzroy, I cannot recollect much information about your estate, Pembrook. Won’t you remind me?”
“Of course. Pembrook is in Salisbury.”
“Do you farm?”
Darcy paused, attempting to sift through the information Clarence had conveyed days before. “We have three thousand acres and are working to increase our yield by using the newest methods from—”
“Yes, well. I don’t follow along with all the land-owning aspects of an estate.”
“That is what a good steward is for, is it not?” Darcy asked, eyes facing forward.
“Indeed.”
“And Pemberley has always been run with such precision, most notably by your father. It is no wonder you need not concern yourself.”
“True, true,” Wickham said, a slight note of agitation in his voice.
“I understand from Mrs. Wickham that you no longer reside at Pemberley. If I might ask, would you consider selling it? I might be in the market to increase my holdings in the north…”
He allowed his voice to trail off, waiting for a response but attempting to not appear too anxious.
Wickham swallowed and raised his chin, still not looking at Darcy. “I am not in possession of Pemberley at this time, but when I am, I will not be in the market to sell.”
“Not in possession?” Darcy asked, conscious of his tone.
“There was an unfortunate business several months ago which caused me to lose proprietorship, but it is merely temporary.”
Darcy’s grip on the reins was the only outward sign of his anger.
He forced a smile, then said, “If you require help, please allow me to be of assistance. Your generosity to the parsonage and, therefore, my situation, has not gone unnoticed this last week. I am grateful to you and Mrs. Wickham’s benevolence. ”
“Thank you, I shall.”
Darcy saw the calculating look in his eyes and knew Wickham believed he had just trapped another fool who he could manipulate. No, my former friend. You will be caught in the snare of your own creation. Not I.
The golden sunlight peeked through the trees, and Elizabeth stepped lightly along the path a distance from the main road.
She had walked far that morning, further than usual, but she was lost in thoughts of Mr. Fitzroy and his handsome countenance.
It was in a moment of pleasant recollection she heard the voice of Mr. Wickham—“Blast that Gafton. And blast Fitzroy!”—and she immediately stepped back into the trees to assure her concealment.
She realized the danger of her situation if he were to find her alone and cursed herself for not bringing a maid with her as her sister had recommended.
Wickham had stopped his horse, allowing him to nibble a patch of grass. “He suspects nothing.”
He urged his horse and immediately shot across the pasture toward Rosings, allowing Elizabeth to remain undetected. After, she stepped out from behind the tree and returned to the path, watching him fade into the distance, her concern for Mr. Fitzroy increasing.
Her dislike of Mr. Gafton was as strong as for Wickham.
Having been trapped in Rosings’ library a month previous by the gentleman, she was grateful for a footman opening the door, unwittingly rescuing her from his unwelcome attentions.
Maintaining her distance had been challenging in company ever since.
Pushing thoughts of Mr. Gafton aside, she wandered down the path, contemplating the miserable life her friend must have to live with such a man as Wickham.
I do hope it is not a detriment to Mrs. Wickham.
Poor Georgiana. “For someone so young to be eternally tied to such a despicable man.”
Startled out of her reverie by the sound of more hoof beats behind her, she turned to face Mr. Fitzroy, who had at once alighted from his stallion.
“Miss Bennet. I hope I did not frighten you.”
“Forgive me, sir. I was lost in thought and wandered further than I ought. I am gladdened to see you.”
He glanced over her shoulder toward Rosings and said, “I imagine your worries are justified. But you must also be wary of the gypsy encampment. Often their people can be more bellicose, and I do not wish any harm to come to you.”
“I cannot imagine even the gypsies would attempt to set up their camp in Rosings’ woods. Miss de Bourgh would have none of that and send them packing.”
He smiled a dimpled grin that almost took her breath away.
“Whether it be the gypsies or a threat from a…different quarter, do not fear, Miss Bennet. I will not allow harm to come to you from either realm.” He held out his hand to indicate the direction, and they walked down the road, his horse content at his side.
Elizabeth looked hesitantly at the large horse, and he said, “Do not worry about my horse. I raced the blue devils out of Ulysses this morning.”
“He does seem quite tame. I wonder how you came to lose your seat that day I found you.”
He shrugged and touched his brow as if to remember his recent injury. “Will you be staying in Kent much longer?”
She shrugged her shoulders as he had and said, “The time of my departure is not yet fixed. Jane has asked me to reside with her in Hunsford so she may acclimate to the role of wife.”
“Do you miss your family?”
“In a way, yes. But Jane and I are the closest of sisters, and I am grateful our bond was not severed by distance.” She stepped lightly over a limb in the path. “What I do miss is the land of Longbourn, my father’s estate. Rosings Park is beautiful, but it is not home.”
He answered with a knowing nod. “That I understand.”
“Many a day I would lose myself amongst the bluebells, rolling hills, and streams. There is nothing as restorative as a good ramble through the countryside.”
“Do you often walk this early in the morning?”
“I do, but rarely so far. I was lost in thought and was unaware the distance my feet had taken me.”
A deep chuckle came from him, and she wondered at the comfort she felt in the sound.
“That has happened to me on occasion when I am wandering through Pem…brook and wished I could forget my obligations and just reside in nature for a time.”
“We are kindred spirits, Mr. Fitzroy. Too often my mother has had to send one of the maids out onto the estate looking for me.”
“And where would they find you?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face.
Her breath caught, and she lowered her eyes, hoping he could not read her admiration. “Depending upon the season, they would find me in a tree with an apple or curled at the base of my favorite stump reading.”
“And in the winter?”
She bit her lip and snickered. “Winter was when I shamed my mother the most.”
“I cannot imagine you shaming anyone.”
She struggled to hide her smile. “But you are not a mother attempting to marry off her five daughters. We girls were not obliged to household chores for my mother feared it would diminish our luster to a man of high standing. And even then, the only interested party was Mr. Collins.” She cocked her head and smiled up at Mr. Fitzroy.
“In the winter, our maid would discover me at Lucas Lodge. There, my dear friend Charlotte and I would sit in the kitchen and listen to their cook, Mrs. Marks, who had come over from Ireland. She would tell us stories of her homeland and the myth of St. Patrick. But, even better, she taught us how to bake: soda bread, biscuits, cakes. Eating too many pastries slathered with fresh cream, Charlotte and I would make ourselves sick.”
“And Mrs. Bennet did not approve?”