17. The Lay of the Land

CHAPTER 17

The Lay of the Land

" W hat have you heard?"

Darcy eyed his cousin over the lip of his coffee cup. Many mornings he preferred tea, but today he needed the bitter jolt of strong coffee. He had woken with the sun and realised his predicament, half in shame and half in delight. Sleeping with Elizabeth in his arms felt so very right, he could hardly recall his life without her. She, too, seemed happy and at peace with her company, and as he stirred, she nestled up against him and let out a soft sound of contentment. He sent up a quick prayer that once they were married, she would allow him more than this chaste embrace through layers of clothing.

But now, he had to return to his own chambers, and soon. The household would be stirring, and although they would be wed very soon, it would not do to be caught in her room.

And only in his nightclothes.

Heaven forbid!

He ensured his banyan was securely tied, gave Elizabeth a gentle kiss on her cheek, which evoked another happy sigh, and cracked the bedroom door. The corridor was empty, and he returned to his own chamber without being seen. He hoped.

Nobody said a word or gave him assessing glances as he descended, fully dressed in his borrowed clothing, to the breakfast room some time later. Richard was already there with an empty cup at one side, a plate with a half-eaten pile of kedgeree on the other, and a detailed map of the region spread out on the table before him. Matthew Hawarden sat across from Richard, his eyes also on the map. The major nodded to Darcy and Darcy nodded back. Their accustomed greeting, friendly but not exactly voluble. They would both be better company after they had dealt with Wickham.

Richard glanced up as he took a sip from his cup. "What have I heard? From the village? Very little. I cannot imagine that my presence here is unknown, but neither have I been there myself. I did ask one of the more reliable grooms to stop by his usual pub and keep his ears open. I hope to hear from him today."

Darcy gulped back his coffee and went to pour himself another cup. This time he added some bara brith to a plate, and a small helping of eggs. "And my arrival? What of Elizabeth?"

Richard's shoulders rose and he pinched his lips. "As I said, no news yet. Mrs Lloyd has also heard nothing from her daughter who lives there, so I believe your presence is still unknown. Nevertheless, this cannot remain quiet for long. We must be ready." He waved his hand over the map before him.

"Always the soldier, planning his tactics," Darcy quipped. But he felt the blade of fear taunt him behind his teasing words.

Richard's expression remained clouded. "If I were Wickham, where would I go? What would I do? I cannot think him foolish enough to try to storm this bastion. It would be better for us if he did. We are well armed, for it is a hunting lodge after all, and the servants here are all capable with weapons. And Hawarden here is a skilled soldier; my staff trust him. This place is as secure as a castle. But it is more likely Wickham will try something from the village. Now, where? What sort of place would he seek?"

"Better the question," Darcy replied, "is what he plans to do. Will he be content to have me live in fear? I cannot imagine it, not after what he has done. We heard some men in the public in Llandrillo, as they were talking. If they are Wickham's men, and I must think they are, he wants my head—quite literally—sent to him as proof of my demise. He wants Elizabeth as well, for what nefarious purposes I cannot bear to think.

"Promise me this, Richard." He fixed his stare on his cousin and did not release it until the soldier met his gaze. "If matters become dire, Elizabeth's life and welfare must take precedence over mine. Keep her safe. Please."

Richard's mouth opened and Darcy expected some teasing quip, but then he snapped it closed and gave a sharp nod instead. "Understood."

The three men pored over the map for a time, looking for locations both within and around the village where their nemesis might lurk. The village—little more than a few houses, a tiny church, a mill, a blacksmith, and a tavern—did not have an inn worthy of the name. There might be a room to let above the tavern, if a man were to sweet-talk the proprietor with a suitable coin. They would have to inquire there. The smithy also provided a possible place he might seek accommodations. The mill, less so, since there was no loft that Richard knew of. But the storage sheds were a possibility.

"The village is small enough that he would be noticed at once," Darcy commented, scanning the plan with the buildings all sketched as neat little squares. "The town?"

"Too far, I should think." The closest market town, where the family did any necessary shopping and where Mrs Lloyd bought many of the supplies for the estate, was nearly five miles distant, too far to keep a close watch over the comings and goings at Coed-y-Glyn.

"What about the farms in the vicinity? Are there any around here who might give him shelter?"

Richard stroked his chin. "It is possible. We try to be good neighbours, and do not own any property other than the house and surrounding lands to hunt. None of the farmers are our tenants. Still, we are English, and therefore a natural enemy to some. I know of no particular rancour, but we are, quite frankly, foreigners here."

"Who would know where to ask?" Darcy peered at the map as if it would magically display the exact location where Wickham lay in wait. If he were even in the country. He might very well have gone on to Pemberley or the house in London to wait there.

"I shall put Mrs Lloyd on it. She knows the area and the people. She speaks the language. Her curiosity, phrased in Welsh, will be far better received than my demands in English."

This discussion was now halted by the sound of other voices, and in a moment Mr Bennet and Bingley entered the room, followed a few minutes later by Jane and Elizabeth.

Darcy's eyes were drawn at once to the latter. Although he had slept much of the night beside her on her bed, he could not get enough of her. He drank in the sight of her bright eyes and soft pink cheeks, her lips the colour of roses, calling for his kiss. He fought the urge to walk up to her and sweep her into an embrace, to feel her in his arms again.

Something of his desires must have betrayed itself, for she coloured a touch when she looked at him, and her lips parted. He was all but undone.

"Lizzy, you look well this morning. Are you rested?" Mr Bennet's voice interrupted his improper thoughts.

"Good morning, Papa. I slept exceedingly well." Her eyes flickered in Darcy's direction and he sent her a secret grin.

"Does she not look fine? What a wonder Mrs Lloyd was, to find this frock for her so soon." Jane gestured to Elizabeth's gown, a light blue garment that Georgiana would probably describe in some fanciful terms. To Darcy's eyes, it was a perfectly ordinary day frock, quite unremarkable… until he recalled that she, like himself, had arrived here with nothing but the clothing they wore.

Elizabeth spun around in a slow circle. The garment, perhaps, did not fit as well as something from her own wardrobe would undoubtedly do, but it was more than serviceable. "Mrs Lloyd sent a note to the market town a few miles away when we arrived yesterday, and this was delivered, with two others, in reply. I believe it belongs to the daughter of a friend of hers, who has lent it to me. I did like that old gown I wore last night, but this is much more comfortable, and I feel less like one of those portraits upon the wall." Her eyes sparkled and she made another revolution to show off the dress.

Now that Darcy was able to tear his eyes from her lovely face, he noticed that her hair, too, was dressed in the modern style. He had rather liked it before, half-pulled from its pins and streaming down her back, but she looked more than fine with it up in a pile upon her head. Did Jane do it, or was one of the maids adept with ladies' hair?

Her eyes caught his again and she let them linger for a moment as she flushed a pale pink once more.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth." He could not hide his smile. "Please, allow me." He stepped aside to pull out the chair next to him and noticed that Bingley did likewise for Jane. "What would you like? Command me, and it shall be yours."

Her laugh was the sound of angels' bells. "I shall command an army later, but for now, a cup of tea will suit, thank you."

He brought her the tea, prepared as she requested, and a piece of bara brith on a plate as well. Then, with yet another cup of coffee, he sat back to observe the room, ensuring from time to time that she had everything she wished.

Mr Bennet's expression was unreadable. He could not have failed to notice Darcy's attentions to Elizabeth, and his glance darted their way often, but the man's views on the matter were veiled. Was he pleased to see his future son-in-law dance attendance upon his daughter? Was he angry that this was necessary? Anxious that the marriage occur forthwith? Neither his eyes nor words conveyed his thoughts.

Bingley was another story, for his eyes spoke volumes. Darcy had not had the opportunity for private conversation with his friend since his arrival here the previous day, and found the currents circulating between Bingley, Richard, and Jane unsettling. He was the first to confess his shortcomings when it came to understanding unspoken sentiments and subtle intonations, but even he could see that Bingley was rather taken with the eldest Miss Bennet and was not at all happy with Richard's perceived competition.

This was not a surprise. Darcy could hardly recall a dinner, dance, or other social engagement where his friend had not discovered the most beautiful girl in the room, and then promptly fallen in love with her. And Jane Bennet was most definitely beautiful. She was tall and slender, with translucent skin and a classical symmetry to her lovely features that would put Aphrodite to shame. But her beauty, much though Darcy might admire it, did not touch his heart. Likewise, her manner was everything cool and elegant, everything that would see her lauded in the finest company. She smiled sweetly and said everything proper, but he detected no passion behind the look and the words, no force of personality to grab at the soul.

Let others moon before such classical perfection. For him, he preferred a sparkle, a touch of impertinence, that would challenge him and keep his interest. Alabaster ladies with their perfect posture and immaculate manners paled now before the image of an outspoken firebrand who climbed trees and aimed true with a bow and arrow. His eyes drifted to Elizabeth, who sipped at her tea beside him, and his heart overflowed. Yes. It was true. He loved her.

He brought his attention back to his friend. Was Bingley about to fall in love with Jane Bennet? Or, to be cynical, was Bingley about to form an infatuation with Jane Bennet, to be forgotten the moment the next pretty face appeared? Miss Bennet did seem a charming young woman, if cool, and her father was a landed gentleman. For Bingley, one generation removed from trade and not yet in possession of an estate, it would not be a bad match. Although, from what he believed, the Bennet daughters had little wealth and would need to marry well once their cousin inherited Longbourn.

He must watch Jane Bennet, in case her smiles at Bingley were merely aimed to fix him, to secure her own fortune, without any real affection on her part.

And then there was Richard. Whatever was his cousin playing at? For every simpering smile Bingley cast Jane's way, Richard gave a mighty grin. If Bingley offered to bring her a cup of tea, Richard offered the entire pot. And every time Richard offered a kind word of compliment to Jane, Bingley turned red and fumed.

This was quite unlike his cousin. Richard was good humoured and as garrulous as Will was taciturn, but never had Darcy seen him goad anybody thus before. Could his cousin really have his eye turned by Jane's beauty? It hardly seemed likely. Still, the man was expected to marry one day, and although Jane did not have the fortune Richard needed, she would be a pleasant wife, and one who would look well on his arm, as unfair as it would be to the lady.

These next few days might prove quite interesting. Should he survive them.

The weather was fair, and Jane expressed an interest in exploring the gardens. Elizabeth was less eager to be outside again, having spent a great deal too much time in the open air over the last week. And, if she were honest with herself, the spectre of George Wickham, lying in wait behind every rock and tree, was more than sufficient incentive to keep her safe within the building's walls. Mr Bingley, however, rushed to offer Jane his company, and for once, the colonel did not insert himself into their arrangements. Instead, he offered a gentle warning.

"I would beg you, Bingley and Miss Bennet, to remain within the formal gardens and in full view of the house. I shall set a couple of servants at the gates as well, to ensure your safety, and have Hawarden keep an eye open."

Mr Bingley swallowed. "Do you believe us in danger? Could Mr Wickham be this close?"

The colonel raised one shoulder. Although the man was dressed in the familiar clothing of a country gentleman, Elizabeth could all but see the flash of an officer's epaulette in the efficiency of this gesture. "I do not believe there to be any particular peril in it, but I would prefer to be cautious."

Jane thanked him in a weak voice and excused herself to dress for the outdoors, offering to meet Mr Bingley at the doors to the gardens in fifteen minutes. Elizabeth's father seemed pleased enough with the plans.

"If they are within view of the house and of two stout manservants, I cannot believe they need a chaperone. Very well, Jane, enjoy the flowers."

Elizabeth sipped the last of her tea and looked about the room. She had not seen very much of the house, and asked if there was a parlour where she might sit and read, or perhaps write to her mother and her friend Charlotte.

"If you will permit me, Elizabeth, I would be pleased to show you the house, if my cousin does not object." Will was on his feet, one arm out in invitation.

She could not hide her smile. Why, after having been abducted by the man and then forced to spend every minute with him for nigh on a week, was she so eager for his company? She ought to hate him, not love him. But love him, her heart insisted, she did. And now, relieved for a time from the pressures of rough travel, she looked forward to conversing on matters simple and ordinary, like the furnishings of a hunting lodge.

She rose and took the elbow he offered, and allowed him to lead her from the breakfast room.

Will showed her the great hall and explained its history, then led her to the back parlour with its vista onto the gardens where Jane and Mr Bingley would take their walk, and then proceeded to the formal dining rooms.

"The family usually dine in the breakfast room, but when my uncle hosts a hunting party and there are more than a few guests, they use this space." It was a tall chamber, in the newer part of the house, with large windows hidden behind heavy draperies, and a massive table down the length of it that might easily seat thirty with comfort.

From here, he led her to the kitchens, "should you desire to ask Cook for something," and down a long hallway leading towards the courtyard where they had entered yesterday. "If you wish to engage in some sport, there are croquet sets in here, and some badminton racquets." He showed her a door, opening it wide to display the supplies within. "We also have some targets and bows and arrows in the weapons room. The ladies, at times, enjoy demonstrating their prowess during house parties. None has ever matched you in skill." He led her into a further room off the long hall and pointed to another door leading from it. "The firearms are in there, but it is kept locked."

Lizzy's eyes returned to the archery equipment, and she let her fingers trace the graceful curve of the small bow that hung on a hook on the wall. Then she eyed the painted target that leaned against a wall beside a sturdy easel. Yes, some archery might be a fine diversion should they need to stay here for a while.

She voiced her approval of all she had seen, and at last, followed Will to the room she had asked about at first, the library.

This was not a large space, the house being a country retreat for hunting and other pastoral pursuits, but the collection of books on the shelves was more than she had expected. The shelves lined the walls, rather than protruding from them, leaving the centre of the room open. A large desk sat in the pool of light from the window, and two armchairs crowded the fireplace.

"There is paper and ink in the drawers," Will explained. "Shall I leave you, or…"

He stood to the side of the desk, tall and handsome and only somewhat awkward, hands palm-up in supplication. He did not look like a man who wished to leave, and she did not wish him to do so. Could he learn to love her? He certainly seemed to like her. It was enough to spark hope in her heart.

"I shall be quiet as I write, but that does not mean I am unhappy for company if you can abide my silence. There seems to be plenty worth reading in here."

"My uncle enjoys his books." Will walked to a shelf and pulled out a volume. "I have started this one several times and never finished it. Perhaps I can proceed to the next chapter whilst you write." His warm smile bathed her with a sense of comfort, and she nodded with satisfaction.

How pleasant it was to be in company with him, even whilst not speaking. The silence was that of understanding, a shared refuge from the world, full of peace. Her smile lit softly upon her face as she retrieved the instruments she needed from the desk drawer, fixed her pen, and began her missive to her dear friend back at Longbourn.