Chapter 2 Crossed in Love
Knight's Manor
Elizabeth
Upon my return from a tenant visit, a flash of blue in the garden caught my attention: Cassie sat upon a secluded bench in a wilted posture.
I veered towards her, and my pace hastened when her soft sobs reached my ears. “Cassie, what is wrong?”
Her head snapped up, and she dabbed her handkerchief beneath her eyes. “Oh, Lizzy, I have never been more miserable. My understanding with Stephen…or rather Mr. Ware, is over.”
I sat beside her. “No, I cannot believe this. Did the two of you have an argument?”
“Yes, we did. I called at Hawthorn Ridge today, and Mrs. Ware told me that Stephen and Miss Mullins had ridden into Salisbury. I was disappointed, of course, and I assumed someone else must have accompanied them. But when I left the house, the two of them came up the avenue on horseback alone.” She sniffed.
“You can imagine how I felt. He should not be riding unattended with any unmarried lady when he is promised to me!”
She paused to blow her nose. “I asked to speak to him in private. When I demanded to know why he rode to town with Miss Mullins, he blamed his mother—he declared that she had suggested he take her there.”
The Mullins family—including Miss Mullins, an attractive and amiable red-head—had been guests at Hawthorn Ridge for several weeks.
The elder Mr. Ware and Mr. Mullins had been friends since university.
Mr. Stephen Ware, having completed his studies early for Cambridge’s Easter Term, had been home for the entirety of the Mullins’s stay.
“I can understand the let-down for you to arrive and find your favourite absent, but you have no cause for concern. He would never betray you.”
Her breath expelled in a huff. “That is what he said. He maintains Miss Mullins is a friend, nothing more.”
“You ought to believe him.”
“How can I do so when our association blossomed from a platonic one? No doubt that coquette has been taking every opportunity these past few weeks to gain his attention.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Miss Mullins is no beauty, but I suppose if he can overlook the pimples on her face, she is not so bad-looking.”
I placed my hand on her forearm. “He loves you. You need not be concerned about Miss Mullins or any other lady.”
“No, you are wrong.” She blinked back new tears.
“When I asked him to agree that he will never go anywhere alone with her or any other unmarried lady again, he refused. He said I ought to trust him.” Her voice cracked.
“A man who loved me would assent to my request, if only to ease my mind. Miss Mullins must be more important to him than I am. So, I ended our understanding.”
A sob burst from her. “Oh, Lizzy, I am so unhappy.” She lay her temple against mine and snuffled.
“I am so sorry.” I stroked Cassie’s back in a circular motion. “The situation does not sound so dismal to me, though. In a few days, the two of you will speak again and reconcile.”
“You are so naive!” She pulled back, her cerulean eyes flashing. “Stephen has made new friends at university and has met some of their families as well—including their sisters. He may already have other female acquaintances with whom he spends time alone.”
“That is mere speculation on your part. I see no reason not to take him at his word.”
“Why are you on his side?”
“I am not. I want you to be happy, and I believe he is the ideal match for you.”
She folded her arms. “No, a future with him is no longer possible. Although it is inevitable we shall cross paths from time to time, henceforth we shall meet as distant acquaintances, nothing more.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“I am resolute. Mr. Stephen Ware is not the only one who may meet other people. On our next stay in town, I intend to seek a more desirable match.” Cassie held her head higher.
“I have no notion of who that will be, but mark my words, he will be wealthier, handsomer, and of superior standing than Mr. Stephen Ware.” She shot to her feet and stamped back towards the house without a backwards glance.
Oh, Cassie! I collapsed against the bench. She would not listen to me, but no doubt Noah or my uncle would convince her to relent.
Tuesday, 30 July
Salisbury
Elizabeth
“Easy, girl.” I shifted my weight back in the saddle.
Lily slowed to a trot and then a walk as we neared the home of Mr. Walter Rowe.
He resided in a modest stucco dwelling not far from the cathedral.
I spotted him at the side of the house, kneeling in his garden.
The aged gentleman had lost his wife to consumption five years ago.
He had thinning grey hair and a rather plain face, made pleasanter by his frequent smiles.
At this moment, his position made the bald patch at the top of his head prominent.
I halted Lily. “Good day, Mr. Rowe.”
He shot me a quick look. “Miss Bennet, how lovely to see you.” He rose, dusted off his trousers, and came towards me with a jovial air. “Have you come from Minster Street?”
“Yes, I went to the circulating library.” My hand moved to my saddle bag. “Today I borrowed a memoir of a Scottish author’s travels through Portugal and Spain.” My uncle kept a family subscription to the library—he, Noah, and I used it often.
“That sounds interesting. Let me know your opinion once you have read it.”
“Yes, I shall.” Lily stamped a hoof upon the dirt—she wanted to move forwards. I stroked her neck in a rhythmic pattern to soothe her.
“I received a letter from my daughter, Marina. She will not be able to visit me this summer but is planning to come in October.”
“Oh, that is a shame, but I shall be glad to see her then.” The former Miss Marina Rowe had married Mr. Vaughan, a barrister, last year, and the couple lived in Northampton.
His hands clapped together. “I have tidings from your tenant Mr. Hughes. We spoke last week when he called in on his way home from the market. He remarked that his two daughters adore the dolls you and Miss Barton gave them.”
“I am pleased to hear that.” I sat straighter in the saddle.
Although Cassie’s sewing skills exceeded mine for intricate work such as embroidery, I had designed the prototype for our dolls; we created them to match the physical traits of the recipients.
The Haywards’ three-year-old daughter loved the one she received from us.
It occurred to me that we had not dined with Mr. Rowe in over two weeks.
“Would you like to join us for dinner this Saturday? My uncle will be absent as he is leaving tomorrow for a stay in London, but the Haywards will be there.” Despite the difference in their ages, Mr. Rowe and Mr. Hayward shared a close bond.
His mouth flattened. “I am afraid I cannot accept, though I appreciate the invitation. As it happens, I am also for town. Since my daughter has postponed her visit, I have decided to depart on Wednesday morning to stay with my brother for the next month.”
“Oh, I see.” Mr. Rowe, like my uncle, took frequent trips to London.
Not long after I parted from Mr. Rowe, a familiar gentleman rider appeared in the distance: Mr. Stephen Ware. He cantered towards me on a bay horse from a path perpendicular to the road.
He waved to me, and I returned the gesture. The poor man. Cassie continued to avoid him and would not budge from her resolve. My uncle, Noah, and I had all attempted to dissuade her from this course to no avail.
“Good day, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Ware touched the brim of his hat.
“Good day, Mr. Ware. It is nice to see you.”
He directed his steed to the road and drew alongside me. “Are you on your way home?”
“Yes, I have been to the library in Salisbury.”
“Ah. I hope your uncle and cousins are well.”
“Yes, quite well.”
“Pray be certain to give them my regards.” He held me in an earnest gaze.
“Yes, I shall do so.” He had not mentioned her, but without doubt, Cassie drew the bulk of his concern.
Mr. Ware raised his beaver hat to smooth a section of his hair. “I wonder whether there is any possibility…” He broke off, and his chin dipped before he faced me anew. “Do you suppose Miss Barton would be willing to receive me today?”
From my observation, he had always been a reserved, private sort of man. It must be difficult for him to be so direct. I drew my lower lip between my teeth. Would that I could offer him encouragement, yet it would not do to give him false hope. “I am afraid not.”
The line of his jaw tensed, and he nodded. “Thank you.” He spun his horse round and rode away.
I should relate my encounter with him to Cassie. Surely, she would come to her senses and forgive him one day soon.
Saturday, 31 August
Darcy House, London
Fitzwilliam Darcy
I lifted the missive from my friend Charles Bingley and strained to make out the blurred letters; his slapdash penmanship and the random blots of ink tainting the page made the effort akin to solving a cypher.
My friend had signed a lease on an estate near Meryton in Hertfordshire.
He would take possession of the property on the sixth of September and asked me to join him there, provide my opinion of the house and grounds, and remain for a month or two.
To my regret, I should be forced to decline since I had already accepted my friend Patrick Hayward’s invitation to sojourn at his estate near Salisbury.
Hayward, whose parents had retired to a house in Sidmouth several years earlier, resided there with his wife and young daughter.
Although Hayward had stayed at Pemberley more than once, this would be my first visit to his home.
I moved my calendar nearer and perused the forthcoming dates.
Perhaps I ought to ride out to Hertfordshire on Friday the sixth of September and return to town the following day, thereby providing Bingley a modicum of first-hand guidance while allowing me time to prepare for my trip to Wiltshire.
Thereafter, I could offer Bingley any assistance he may require via correspondence. Yes, I should do that.