Beside Two Rivers

17





That night at Havendale, Darcy dragged a goose-down pillow over her head to block out the ticking of the mantel clock. Turning over on her back, she stared up at the ceiling and watched the shadows quiver across it. “This is torture.”

She drew herself out of the covers, lifted the clock from its place, and buried it in a drawer in the armoire, under layers of clothing. “There. Now I can sleep.”

She lay back down and watched the moonlight dance over the plastered walls, unable to keep herself from gathering the bedclothes in her hands and squeezing them. Ethan’s face full of agony over seeing her again caused her much pain. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she brushed it away.

“Oh, God, there must be a reason you have brought us together. Please show me what I must do.”

Restless, she got up, slipped on her robe, and sat in the window seat. The moon, touched by airy, fingerlike clouds, met her eyes. The clouds drifted across a vast sea of ebony, and behind them stars appeared. She turned the latch and pushed the window open to feel the breeze that swept over the downs. The earlier rains had ceased, but left the air cool and moist. Shivering, she ran her hands down her forearms, then reached over and pulled the window closed.

A fox cried in the distance, and an owl hooted in a nearby tree, reminding her of home, the Potomac, and its lush forests. She was more homesick than she had imagined. The days she had spent at Havendale with her grandmother had given them enough time to become acquainted, and they had, but at arm’s length. Still, the questions Darcy had concerning her parents went unanswered, and she wanted to tell her grandmother that she wished to return home. But she could not bring herself to do it. Not yet.

A knock fell on her door and it creaked open. Mrs. Burke peeked inside, her cap snug on her head of gray, her nightgown sweeping over the floor above her bare feet. “I saw a light beneath your door, Miss Darcy. I thought you would have blown out your candle by now. Is something troubling you?”

“I cannot sleep,” Darcy said. “My mind is restive.”

Mrs. Burke stepped in. “Nor can I, and so I went down to the kitchen to have a cup of tea. You can tell me what’s troubling you if you wish. I am a good listener.”

“I was just thinking how I do not fit in here.” Darcy sat up on the corner of the bed. “I am too outspoken, too forward in my ways to be anything like an English lady.”

Mrs. Burke cocked her head. “Oh, I think you are a fine young woman.”

“Thank you. I miss my family. I suppose they must be sitting down to dinner, and soon all will be going to bed, tucked under their quilts.”

“The Breese house sounds like a nice place to live. So little to worry about.”

“Oh, there is plenty. I worry about Uncle Will’s health and whether he has recovered to his former self.”

“I imagine it is a concern that is constant. Letter writing might help.”

“Indeed it would, and I shall send another tomorrow. He gave me a list of flowers he wishes me to collect for him. Is there any heather nearby that I could gather?”

“There are plenty of wildflowers along the hedgerows, and heather on the downs in spring,” Mrs. Burke replied as she tidied up. “But they have few to no blooms on them now. Is there a bounty of flowers where you are from?”

“The meadows are full of them. And my favorite, lady slippers, grow in the woods.”

Darcy’s pocket sketchbook sat on her bedside table and she opened it. She already had several pencil drawings to show to the family back home. God willing, I shall have one of Fairview before I return to my river.

She hoped she would leave Derbyshire long before spring, in time to see the wildflowers in bloom along the river, the return of the waterfowl, and the newborn fawns. She thought of the dogwoods and their white petals, the snowy blossoms of wild blackberry.

She closed the book and set it back. “Mrs. Burke, do you know if my grandmother has a book of England’s flowers in the library?”

“I believe she does. I’ll dig it out for you.” Mrs. Burke picked up her candle. “Perhaps when Mr. Langbourne returns he could escort you.”

“Has he gone?”

“Hmm, but to where I am not sure.”

“Charlotte has left as well?”

“She has. I suppose she told you how much she loathes this part of Derbyshire.”

“Indeed, she made sure of it. I am sorry for her that she does not love Havendale. It is peaceful place.”

“Sometimes too peaceful.”

“I cannot bear the city, and my ways are not as refined as Charlotte’s. Perhaps it was because of me she left.”

“I do not believe so. She never stays long at Havendale and visits but twice a year.”

Darcy drew up her legs, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Charlotte seems so sad, and he so removed from her.”

“It is his way,” sighed Mrs. Burke.

“Do you think it would be all right if I rode Grandmother’s mare tomorrow?”

“I do not see why not. Mr. Brighton said she is as fit as a fiddle.” She paused before shutting the door and said, “I’ve heard that Mr. Brennan is a bold rider.”

“Yes, I am aware of Mr. Brennan’s bold riding,” said Darcy.

“You’ve met him before?”

“Yes, back home. He’d come to stay at a plantation across the river. I do not wish to talk about it.” Darcy saw the look of curiosity in the woman’s face and smiled. “I’ve presented a mystery, haven’t I? You must excuse me for it.”

Mrs. Burke let out a chuckle and shook her head. Her cap shifted and she tucked her stray locks back. “Oh, Havendale has its own mysteries, Miss Darcy. You can be sure of that.”

The door closed and Darcy turned to her candle and blew it out. Havendale held an air of secrecy. Secrets that were tucked away in the memories of its living inhabitants, gone to the grave with the rest—she knew she would never know why. When the flame was extinguished, blue moonlight poured through the lattice window and touched upon her face. Shadows crossed the ceiling above her to intrude upon the misty light that washed the room. She closed her eyes, folded her hands, and pressed them to her lips.

“Whatever secrets Havendale holds, whatever mysteries are hidden within its walls, please do not allow curiosity to keep me from returning home, dear Lord.”




Long after Mrs. Burke had left, and the quiet in the old house deepened, Darcy heard footsteps in the hall, then another knock on her door. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and drew the robe her grandmother had loaned her over her shoulders. Was she to get no sleep this night?

With candle in hand, she opened the door. In the gloom stood Mr. Langbourne, leaning against the jamb, still in his black greatcoat. Surprised to see him, Darcy stepped back.

“I saw your candle through the window as I came over the hill. I need to speak with you.” His stare traveled from her face down her throat. She drew her robe closer.

“Is there something wrong that you need to speak to me about at this hour, Mr. Langbourne? Can it not wait until morning?”

“I would not have bothered to ask if I had no reason. Come downstairs to the library.”

Darkness swallowed him up as he drifted away, and Darcy followed him. A low fire crackled in the hearth set in the center of the north wall of the library. The room, paneled in dark walnut, smelled of old books and dust. Langbourne sat in a chair, still booted and mud-spattered from his ride.

“Close the door, Darcy.” She hesitated, but obeyed. “Sit down. Here in the chair opposite me.”

As Darcy lowered herself into the stiff armchair, Langbourne’s eyes locked onto hers. He shifted to one side. “I have not had the opportunity to speak to you alone. You have not told anyone about what you saw, have you?”

She straightened up. “Not really.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? Explain yourself.”

“Mrs. Burke knows about the tramp, but she doesn’t know about what you did to him. I did not tell her.”

“It is imperative you do not. Obedience is something I expect in a woman.”

“I have said nothing, so as not to worry my grandmother, and I fear if I say anything on the matter, you might have your ruffians injure that man in a worse way if he should come here again.”

“Let us hope he does not. I have no tolerance for vagrants.”

Darcy pressed her brows together. “I do not understand the aversion I have met here in England toward the less fortunate. The Lord instructs us to help those in need, especially the poor. Please, Mr. Langbourne, have compassion on the man.”

He watched her in silence. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “You are without a doubt Eliza through and through. Your grandfather was a fiery preacher, and charity was something he pounded into her. Perhaps if she had been less sympathetic she would have been wiser.”

Darcy longed to escape his cruel eyes, and each time he spoke the name Eliza she cringed inwardly. “I wish to go now,” she said, and stood.

Langbourne leaned forward. “You are expected to accept the Brightons’ invitation to Bentmoor.” He handed her an invitation. She took it in hand and opened it. “We have certain social mores here. I detest them, but in this case they are necessary.”

“I should be happy to attend.” She folded the invitation and turned to go.

“On your own? You have apprehension of very little, don’t you, Darcy?”

“There is no reason for me to be uneasy. Mrs. Brighton was kind to me.”

“You are not concerned who you might meet at this affair?”

“No, sir. Should I be?”

“It is wise to be cautious, for you will have a swarm of men around you. If anything, they will be enamored by the fact that you are an American girl. I will not be going with you to protect you.”

It sounded silly to Darcy. Why should she be guarded of the people Mrs. Brighton would invite to her home? She watched Langbourne stand up from the chair and pour brandy into a glass. Rarely did the Breeses have even a barrel of ale in their home. They were not given to it or any other kind of strong drink. Darcy could see a change come over Langbourne even after one glass. His face grew haggard, his eyes glassy, and his disposition more forceful. She would avoid him.

“I will be gone for a few days on private business,” he went on to say.

Suspicion rose in Darcy, and she wondered what Langbourne did when away. “Charlotte must get lonely without you.”

“Never mind what I do, or what she feels,” he said, turning. “I suppose you will wear your best gown tomorrow night?”

She tried to douse the tension between them by smiling. “I doubt my best gown shall meet with approval.”

“Does it matter?” His eyes darkened as the fire in the grate weakened. “Who is it you wish to please?” He swallowed down the amber liquid, went to her, and lifted a lock of her hair from off her shoulder. “So unfortunate you were not born with your mother’s hair. It was as dark and very long.”

Darcy felt a certain fear of him rise and moved away. Without hesitation, she turned out of the room and ascended the stairs—uneasy at his words, at his touch, and how he made demands on her. At least a visit to Bentmoor would distract her from the weary darkness that permeated Havendale. And upon her return, Langbourne would be gone.