Chapter 3 A Sojourn at Springvale Estate
Springvale, Wiltshire
Darcy
Ihad chosen to ride my stallion, Regal, ahead of the coach carrying my valet, Winston, and my luggage.
We cantered past fields of wheat and several outbuildings before reaching the avenue.
My friend’s stone and stucco residence sat nestled between a forest of elms and a meadow tinted with ragwort and mallow flowers.
I dismounted and handed the groom my reins.
When I entered the vestibule, Patrick Hayward rushed towards me from the hall.
“Darcy, it is good to see you!” He shook my hand and clasped my shoulder.
“Thank you, Hayward. I am glad to be here.” Married life appeared to agree with my friend; he looked hale and happy.
Hayward wore his dark-brown hair longer and carried a few more pounds on his lean frame than before.
The angular contours of his countenance, though, had not altered.
I glanced at the interior structure and elegant furnishings around us. “You have a fine home.”
“Thank you, it is not as grand as Pemberley, but it is ideal for us.”
We moved deeper into the house, and Mrs. Hayward, a pretty, plump lady with an aquiline nose, came towards us and gave me a warm welcome. She directed a maid to take me to my chamber. An hour later, refreshed and changed, I joined my hosts for tea in the drawing-room.
My friend described his latest shooting venture with a neighbour, Mr. Walter Rowe. Hayward’s eyes gleamed as he recounted having brought home seven brace of partridges, thanks in part to the superior performance of his new fowling piece, purchased last spring from Manton’s gun shop in London.
He paused to sip his tea. “Mr. Noah Barton of Knight’s Manor, the estate bordering mine to the east, has invited me to shoot with him and his father this Saturday. When I mentioned your expected arrival, he included you in the invitation. Shall I tell him that we accept?”
“By all means.”
Mrs. Hayward beheld me. “I should like to have a dinner party and invite our neighbours so you may become acquainted with them.”
I clinched my facial muscles to forestall a frown. “That is most considerate of you, but pray do not go to any bother on my account.”
“Nonsense, it is my pleasure.”
With a chuckle, Hayward shook his head. “If I know Darcy, my dear, a dinner party with him as guest of honour is the last thing he would want. I fancy he would prefer to meet our neighbours one at a time, or at least one family at a time.” When he met my gaze, I nodded my thanks.
“Indeed?” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “In that case, we shall thrust no more than one household of friends upon you at once.”
“That sounds ideal, thank you.”
The following day, Hayward and I took his carriage into Salisbury, where he acquainted me with the local blacksmith, surgeon, and postmaster.
The shoemaker’s shop displayed a sign indicating they would be closed until Monday.
I made a mental note to return and query the cobbler; maybe he could assist in identifying the suspect who used the name King.
We spent an amusing hour sipping ale at The Haunch of Venison, a quaint tavern on Minster Street.
With no little pride, the affable proprietor exhibited his prized possession, a mummified hand.
He spun an unlikely yarn of the hand’s origin and further bent our ears with tales of ghosts who haunted the grounds.
Later, when my friend lingered in the tannery to inspect the saddles, I parted from him to enter the nearby haberdashery.
I often purchased small gifts for Georgiana when I travelled, and I strolled the aisles with her in mind.
A display of colourful scarves drew my notice.
Georgiana might like one of them, but which one?
“Good day, sir. I am Mr. Crew. May I be of assistance?”
I shifted towards the short, smartly dressed man whose hair receded high above his forehead.
“Perhaps. I hope to find an item my fifteen-year-old sister would find desirable. Which of these do you think would be the most suitable?” I indicated two striking silk scarves, one in a green-and-yellow floral pattern, the other in blue-and-white stripes.
“Ah, both of those are pretty. Is your sister dark-haired like you?”
“No, her hair is blonde.”
He spread both scarves out on the table. “I think either one would make a delightful gift. It is a shame my female clerk is not in today, for she has exquisite taste in these matters.” His gaze locked upon a sight behind me. “Ah, pray allow me a moment, and I shall have an answer for you.”
Before I could articulate a response, he snatched the two scarves and strode towards a female who browsed an aisle with gloves and handkerchiefs. Did he mean to intrude upon another customer for such a trifling matter? If he had voiced that intention, I should have forestalled him.
Out of curiosity, I took a meandering course to acquire a clear view of the lady and the haberdasher from a sheltered position behind a group of cloaks.
“Good day, Miss Bennet. Are you in need of assistance?”
The lady beamed at the manager. “Good day, Mr. Crew. No, thank you. I am passing the time whilst I await my cousin, who stopped at the post office.”
The radiant smile Miss Bennet directed at Mr. Crew illuminated far more than herself; indeed, her presence brightened the area like the warming rays of the sun emerging through dark clouds on a bleak day.
I found myself in the inexplicable state of envying the man for being the recipient of her attention.
Her dulcet voice—confident, yet distinctly feminine—in combination with the captivating picture she made, summoned me closer as might a siren’s call.
Miss Bennet’s charms defied her unremarkable features.
Her small nose lacked character, she stood at an unfashionably short height, and with her average-sized bosom and narrow hips, she lacked the symmetry and curves of the ideal female form.
And her attire, of a commonplace cut and mediocre fabric, did nothing to embellish her looks.
Yet her sparkling brown, or maybe hazel, irises had a fascinating allure, even from six yards or so away.
I had to lock my feet in place to resist the inclination to shorten the distance; if I ventured any nearer, I should be caught staring.
“Ah, in that case I should appreciate your opinion of these two scarves.” Mr. Crew held them up for her perusal. “Which would you choose for a fifteen-year-old blonde lady?”
“Both of these are lovely and elegant, so I imagine she would be pleased to receive either.” Her expressive brows shifted to emphasise her speech in a most charming manner.
“If the young lady has blue eyes, I should choose the striped scarf, and if she has brown or green eyes, the green-and-yellow one.”
I had become so engrossed in the melodious tone of her speech, it took a moment for the gist of her words to strike me.
Why had that point not occurred to me? The blue one would enhance the colour of Georgiana’s eyes.
Moreover, what explained my peculiar attraction to this lady, a stranger?
Never before had I experienced anything similar to this phenomenon.
“Thank you very much.” Mr. Crew bowed to her. “I appreciate your help.”
“The pleasure is mine.” She glanced towards the window. “Ah, I see my cousin has finished his business, so I must go.” With a nod, she quit the shop in a light, graceful gait.
In her absence, the room faded to a dull lustre.
Rather than indulge my disposition to follow Miss Bennet’s progress until she moved out of sight, I lowered my head to feign interest in the display of snuff boxes before me as Mr. Crew approached.
I ought to be thankful she left before I drew attention to myself.
“Well, sir, I have an answer for you.” Mr. Crew wore a triumphant grin.
“Yes, I heard the lady’s response. But I wish you had not disturbed her on my account.”
Mr. Crew’s hand fluttered at me. “Pray, sir, think nothing of it. I should not have approached just any customer. I have known Miss Bennet for many years, and I knew she would not mind my question. She is one of the most amiable ladies of my acquaintance.”
“I see. Well, I shall take the striped scarf.”
“Very good, sir. May I assist you with anything else?”
“No, thank you.” We moved to the counter to settle the payment.
Although a myriad of questions absorbed me with regard to Miss Bennet, I refrained from querying the man lest I betray a peculiar interest in her.
She must live in the area, so in all likelihood I should make her acquaintance soon.
Unless… My next thought caused a leaden mass to develop in my gut: although she had spoken like a gentlewoman, based upon her dress, she might be the daughter of a tradesman.
Any female who attracted me in such a forceful way yet could not make me a suitable spouse must be avoided at all costs.
When I reached the tannery, Hayward met me at the doorway, and we returned to his coach. I did not ask about Miss Bennet; nevertheless, I should remain alert for any mention of her by my friend or his wife.
Later that day, I met Mr. Allan Barton, a widower of an age with Hayward’s father, and his son, Mr. Noah Barton, a tall gentleman with blond hair and attractive features, when they called at the house.
Although Mr. Noah Barton proved to be the most garrulous of the pair, his father appeared to be amiable enough.
I noted the elder Mr. Barton had a prominent cleft in his chin. In the course of our conversation, I managed to confirm he had recently returned from a month-long stay in town; thus, I already had one name to provide Mr. Notley.
By the time the Bartons departed, I had formed a favourable opinion of both men. The possibility that the elder Mr. Barton, a respected estate owner, might have killed Mrs. Cooper seemed far-fetched, to say the least.