Rosings, Texas—September, 1870
A lone figure SAT astride a tall, black Arabian under a single oak tree atop a ridge. It was a hot day, and in the early afternoon sun, the shade was welcomed by horse and rider alike, standing as still as a statue. He was a tall man in a white shirt with dark trousers and black boots, his unbuttoned vest flapping in the slight breeze, a tan, wide-brimmed, ten-gallon hat pulled low over his brow. Before him stretched a sea of prairie, dotted with hundreds of cattle, lowing and grazing. They were not alone; a handful of wranglers carefully moved their cowponies around the vast herd, keeping an eye out for trouble. The movement of the horses disturbed the man’s mount, and he reached down to gently stroke its neck.
“Whoa there, Caesar, rest easy,” William Darcy cooed. “We’ll just stay here under the shade for now. Enjoy the cool.” The stallion nodded his head in apparent agreement and bent to take a few nibbles of grass. The man’s attention returned to the scene before him, his bright blue eyes taking in every detail.
A flash of moving white caught his attention. He turned away from his perusal of the herd and twisted in the saddle. There! Across the ridge of hills was a rider, moving fast. Darcy narrowed his eyes in concentration. The horse was a brown-and-white paint, and none of his riders had such a horse. A stranger—on his land! Caesar began to prance in place, feeling his master’s tension through the reins.
The rider seemed to be alone, and while Darcy had left his gun belt and Colt revolver at the house, he did have a rifle holstered to his saddle. “What say we go check that out, boy?” The horse agreed, and they loped down the hill.
Darcy moved at an angle to the stranger, holding Caesar back until necessary. The intruder was at a full gallop, flying across the crest. Darcy lost sight of the paint as he reached the valley between the hills, and he allowed Caesar his head. The stallion dug in and moved quickly up the rise, and Darcy saw with confidence that he was in the proper position to cut off the paint. Caesar spotted his quarry and headed toward the other horse, waiting for direction from his master.
As they grew closer, Darcy could see that the rider and paint moved in perfect harmony. The horse was rather small, but so was the rider. A boy? Darcy thought, before noticing the wild, curly hair flying on either side of the rider’s hat. As Darcy pulled to a halt, blocking the paint’s progress, a shock of realization coursed through him. That’s no boy—that’s a girl! A girl in men’s clothing!
He pulled his hand away from his rifle, and unarmed, raised his palm in an unmistakable sign. “Hold on, miss!”
The surprised girl came to a halt a few feet away, dust swirling in the breeze. She had on a red-and-white gingham shirt and dungarees, boots firmly in the stirrups. She wore a wide-brimmed floppy hat, shading her face, but even at that distance, he could see her blazing eyes.
“What do you want?”
Her voice was lower than Darcy expected from so short a person—she could not be more than five feet two inches—but it was not unpleasant to his ears, though it was Northern and unfriendly. Darcy was not used to answering demands from anyone in the last four years, and he wasn’t going to change for some strange female.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “This is private property. Who gave you leave to ride across Pemberley?”
“Private?” It was clear he surprised her. “All this? I thought this was open range.”
“Not hardly. Everything this side of the Long Branch belongs to Pemberley Ranch.” He considered her. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
The girl raised her chin. “We are now. Our place is across the river. My father owns the farm there.”
Darcy relaxed a bit. “The old Thompson place?” She answered with a nod. “You’re one of Tom Bennet’s daughters? I was told he had a herd of them.” Almost immediately he recognized how his choice of words could be considered an insult, but it was too late.
The girl’s voice was ice cold. “Tom Bennet is indeed my father, sir, and I thank you for your kind observations about my family. Now, if you’ll pardon me.” She pulled her reins to return from whence she came, only to be halted by Darcy’s words.
“I’ll escort you back to the ford, miss, if you don’t mind.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I do mind. You’ve made it clear that I’m not welcomed here, and I can see myself home. Good day.” To her increased irritation, Darcy fell in beside her. “I see there was no cause for me to voice my preference!”
“The ground is uneven here, and as it’s unfamiliar to you, you might meet with misfortune.”
“So—I cannot ride my horse, is that what you mean?”
Darcy snapped back, “I truly don’t wish to offend, miss, but you’re being mighty stubborn! Your pony might fall into some gopher hole and break his leg and have to be put down. Now, I call that a tall price to pay for your pride!”
The girl said nothing, she only lowered her head. But Darcy could see the color rise on her cheek as she bit her lip. The two rode in silence for some time along the ridgeline before turning right and making their way down to the river. The trees grew more plentiful and thick next to the riverbank. Darcy tried to come up with some conversation, but the girl’s studied avoidance of his glance stilled his tongue. After a few more minutes, they reached a shallow ford across the Long Branch.
“Well, here we are—Thompson Crossing. Your daddy’s farm’s on the other side. I reckon this is how you crossed over?”
The girl’s sarcastic side reasserted itself. “It is. Thank you so much for assuring I didn’t cause Turner any injury. I am forever grateful!”
Darcy blinked. “Turner? Your horse’s name is Turner?”
A grin stole across her face. “It is, sir.”
“Strange. Most girls name their ponies Star or Brownie or Buster.”
Her grin turned into a mocking smile. “But I’m not like most girls, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.” With that, she spurred the paint across the ford, splashing water everywhere, leaving a bemused Darcy behind. He shook his head before turning Caesar back toward the Pemberley ranch house. It was only then he realized that he had neglected to introduce himself.
No harm done, he thought. It’s not likely we’ll meet up again.
The girl in the wide-brimmed hat had just dismounted next to the barn when she heard her mother’s call.
“Beth Bennet—there you are! Come inside and change this instant! There’s company for dinner!”
“Yes, Mother.” She led Turner into his stall and removed his saddle. Hill, the farmhand, assured her he would see to the paint, so Beth hurried to the house and into the bedroom she shared with two of her sisters.
“Beth, you’re late,” said Mary unnecessarily as she was putting her own hair up.
“I’ll help you,” said Jane as Beth tugged off her shirt.
In a few moments, Beth had changed from farm tomboy to countrified young lady. By then, Kathy had joined them, brushing her hair as Jane helped button up the younger girl’s dress.
“Hurry!” cried Lily. “George is just arriving!”
“Lily!” scolded Mary. “That’s Mr. Whitehead! You should have more respect for your elders!”
“Oh, pooh! He’s like family. He gave me leave to call him George, didn’t he, Kathy?”
“Oh, yes,” Kathy responded with a dreamy look in her eye. “Isn’t he the handsomest man?”
“I don’t know,” Beth said as she glanced at Jane. “What say you, Jane?”
Jane gave a smile. “He’s very handsome, to be sure.”
Kathy laughed. “But not the most handsome, is he? Not like a certain doctor in town?” Giggles erupted as Jane blushed.
The door opened, and Mrs. Bennet stuck her head in. “Girls! Come along! Mr. Whitehead is here. Ah, Beth, you’re almost ready. Hurry, hurry!”
“I’ll help her, Mother,” Jane assured her. “The others can greet our guest.” With that, Lily and Kathy almost ran out of the room, Mary following at a more sedate pace.
Jane helped Beth finish her hair. “There, beautiful as usual!”
Beth laughed. “Oh, Jane, you are too good! The only way I can be called beautiful is if you’re not in the room.”
“That’s ridiculous. You are very pretty, and one day a young man will fall on his knees, assuring you of your loveliness when he asks for your hand, just mark my words.”
Beth laughed. “Is that what Charles did, dearest?” She laughed again as Jane blushed for a second time, but the laughter died a moment later. “Why did he refuse our invitation to dinner tonight?”
Jane pretended to arrange the brushes on the table. “Charles said he had pressing business, and he would dine with us tomorrow.”
“Jane, you know he stays away just because George is our guest for dinner! Why is he so stubborn? Surely he must accept our friends if he is to marry you. George is a brave and honorable man. To hold the fact that he fought for the Union against him is very unseemly, I’m sorry to say. Why, haven’t we forgiven him for being a Rebel?”
Jane glanced at Beth, her mouth a firm line. “I will not question my fiancé, sister. I shall be loyal to Charles.”
Slightly abashed, Beth took Jane’s hands into her own. “As shall I, I promise! He is to be my brother, and I will love him as such. I just worry over the influence of others on him.”
“You mean his friends, the Darcys?”
“Yes! You’ve heard what George has said about them—unrepentant Rebels, unfriendly to anyone not in the intimate circle.”
“I’ve heard that Mr. Darcy has taken the loyalty oath.”
“Oh, Jane! What comes out his mouth is not what’s in his heart, I can assure you. He has only taken the oath, I can believe, to be allowed to vote again. But he hasn’t changed one whit. Why, none of us has ever met him or his sister—even you haven’t, and you are to marry his best friend. And just today, one of his ranch hands warned me off his property.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. He wasn’t unpleasant, I hope.”
“Very!” Beth claimed, trying not to recall that the rude man on the Arabian was also undeniably fine looking. At Jane’s alarmed look, she quickly added, “But he was polite, all the same. I’m unharmed.”
She rose and they moved towards the door. “Beth,” said her sister in a worried tone, “I’m sorry you will have to stand with Mr. Darcy at my wedding, but Charles has no family here, and the man is his friend.”
“Don’t fear, Jane. For your happiness, I would do anything, even suffer Mr. Darcy. And I truly adore your Charles. Now, shall we go to dinner?”
George Whitehead patted his mouth with his napkin. “Mrs. Bennet, may I say once again what a marvelous table you set. A better dinner I have not had these four years since I left Illinois.”
Fanny Bennet giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, Mr. Whitehead, how you go on! Would you care for more of the beef? Pass him the plate, Kathy. Kathy—I’m speaking to you!”
Kathy Bennet stirred from her admiration for their dashing guest. “I’m sorry, Mother, what did you say?” Lily unsuccessfully hid a snigger, which earned a glare from her sister.
“The meat, the meat! Pass the plate to Mr. Whitehead!”
“Umm, dear, perhaps Kathy should wait until George has finished his portion?” suggested Mr. Bennet.
“Yes,” replied Whitehead smoothly, “but I shall certainly take seconds.”
Beth nearly rolled her eyes at their guest’s embroidered gallantry. As much as she liked George Whitehead, he could lay on the compliments a bit too thickly for her taste. But as he meant to compliment her mother, his bit of foolishness was forgiven at once. And the man was devilishly handsome with his dark hair, elegantly styled vandyke, and impeccably tailored clothes. Yes, a person with whom it was very difficult to be exasperated.
As Mr. Bennet preferred to listen rather than lead the conversation about table, it fell to Whitehead to steer the discussion. “Miss Jane, I am sure you are looking forward to next month’s nuptials.”
“I am, George, thank you.” Beth had hoped she would bring up the antipathy between Charles and George, but she was disappointed.
“My best wishes for your felicity. And you, Miss Beth—still enjoy riding all over creation on Thomas?”
Beth hid a smirk. Not only had George failed to understand the hidden joke of her horse’s name—most people did— he had forgotten it completely. “Turner, sir. Yes, I was just riding this afternoon, in fact, and I was most rudely treated by our neighbor.”
That caught Bennet’s attention. “What happened, my dear?”
Whitehead was most solicitous. “I hope you were not mistreated by a B&R employee, Miss Beth.”
“Oh, no, it was a rider from Pemberley! I had not realized that they owned all of the land across the river. While enjoying my ride, I was intercepted, warned off the land, and escorted off. Why, you’d think I was a cattle rustler by the way I was treated.”
“Were you mistreated, Beth?” her father demanded. “I won’t stand for it! Did anyone threaten you?”
Beth realized she had overstated the case and tried to put the company at ease. “Father, I misspoke. I was indeed informed that I was trespassing, but I must admit that I suffered no hurt to my person, only my feelings. I was not mistreated, either by words or actions. Besides receiving a scolding, I have no complaints, save that I must remain on this side of the river.”
“How rude!” cried Mrs. Bennet in maternal solidarity. “To treat any child of mine so! Tom, you should have a talk with Mr. Darcy about the character of his men.”
Whitehead shook his head. “I’m not certain that would have any effect, Mrs. Bennet. Recall that I know the Darcys well, and they do not take kindly to others telling them how to run their business. I, myself, after having extended the hand of friendship to that family, have also been, as Miss Beth so elegantly put it, ‘warned off’ Pemberley. Who was the man who accosted you, Miss Beth?”
“Accosted is a bit strong, George. As I said, my ride was interrupted by a Pemberley rider, but he didn’t offer his name.”
“I’ll wager I can guess the man. Ruddy-faced man on a brown quarter horse? Wearing a black hat with a silver hatband?”
Beth shook her head. “No, he was tall with a tan hat. Dark hair and clean shaven, like you, and his horse was black.”
Whitehead stared at her. “His eyes—did you note the color of his eyes?”
Beth licked her lips. She had left that part out, for they were the most intense eyes she had ever beheld, but she would not be reticent. “Blue—bright blue.”
Whitehead let out a bark of laughter. “Why, Miss Beth, you’ve met the man himself! That was William Darcy, esteemed owner of Pemberley Ranch, Darcy Bank, and half of Long Branch County! Do you not feel fortunate at such a meeting?”
Beth could not help stealing a glance at Jane. Sure enough, her sister was red in the face with mortification. For the sake of her feelings, Beth labored to defuse the situation. “I’m always happy to meet new people, George, but I can’t vouch for others. As he said, it’s his land, and I shall respect that.” No matter how little I respect him!
“Well said, my dear,” injected her father, “we should always respect other people’s property.”
George did not take the hint to change the subject. “It’s not surprising that you didn’t know who he was, for he is a rather peculiar fellow. He’s practically a hermit, and he keeps his sister close to Pemberley with him. Had you never seen him in town?”
“No, none of us have,” Beth replied.
Mary decided to have her share of the conversation. “We certainly have not seen them in church on Sunday, unlike other respectable members of the community.”
How like Mary to note that! Beth considered. But it was true. The Darcys did not attend services at the church in town, while Catherine Burroughs and her daughter, Anne, made a very notable procession every Sunday to their reserved pew in the front. Sheriff Lucas, Doctor Bingley, and George Whitehead were all members in good standing of Reverend Henry Tilney’s congregation.
“Well,” Whitehead grinned, “we are commanded to be faithful, yet we are all poor sinners. But what can you expect from a man who has taken up arms against his country?” Beth winced a little at the latest disparagement of Darcy, knowing how it would give Jane pain, as the same could be said of Charles.
Finally, Mr. Bennet roused himself to take control of his dinner table. “Any news from town, George? We’ve been very busy here with harvest time upon us.”
“Yes, a new family has just moved in east of town in the new settlement—the Washingtons, a former slave family from Louisiana, looking for a better life out here.”
Bennet frowned. “East of town, George? You mean that land near the river?”
“That’s the place.”
Bennet pursed his lips. “It’s a bit low there, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you say that land’s prone to flooding?”
Whitehead stared at Bennet for a moment, his face made of stone. He blinked and a shy grin grew across his face. “Well, I’m no expert about that, Tom. I’m only the recorder of deeds. Mrs. Burroughs sells the land. But I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen any flooding in the new settlements.”
Bennet shrugged his shoulders as he sipped his coffee. “If you say so, George.”
“Well,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “if everyone’s finished—no seconds, Mr. Whitehead? Are you sure? Well then, girls, help me clear the table for dessert. Blackberry cobbler!”
William and Gabrielle Darcy walked the small man in the black cassock to his carriage. “I’m pleased you could join us for dinner, Father.”
Father Joseph smiled as he spoke in a heavy Spanish accent. “No, my son, it is I who should thank you, your sister, and most particularly your cook, Mrs. Reynolds!”
“Oh, Father,” said Gaby, “you’re welcome anytime.” She curtsied as he took first her hand and then her brother’s, before making the Sign of the Cross over them in blessing.
“May Our Father bless you and all here.” The priest climbed into his carriage.
“Go with God, Padre!” Will shouted as the brother and sister waved in farewell.
“That there’s a good man, even if he does wear a dress,” drawled Richard Fitzwilliam, leaning on a column next to the steps leading down from the veranda.
“Maybe you should come to Mass with us sometimes, Fitz,” said Gaby. “It’ll do you good.”
Fitz laughed. “Me? All that kneelin’ an’ bowin’ an’ such? Thank you kindly, Miss Gaby, but that ain’t for me.”
Gaby shook her head in fond resignation as she continued into the house. Will and Fitz sat down in two rocking chairs on the veranda and lit cigars. “Heard ’bout the latest homesteaders come to town?” Fitz began. “Former slaves bought some o’ that bottomland from your cousin, like the rest o’ them.”
Darcy closed his eyes for a moment. “Damn!”
“Yeah,” Fitz took a puff, “don’t know how folks ’round here will cotton to a family of former slaves movin’ in.”
Darcy glanced at his friend and ranch foreman. “You’ve got a point, Fitz, but that’s not what I meant. You’re not from around here. There’s a reason that land’s lay fallow ’til now. It’s low and prone to flooding. I remember back in ’55 when the Long Branch came up from its banks after a heavy storm. It’s been dry ever since, but that won’t last. We get one big rain, those people in the new settlement will have three to four feet of water in their homes.”
“Your cousin, Mrs. Burroughs, must know that. Why’s she sellin’?”
“Oldest reason in the world—money. Whitehead and that fancy-pants bank manager of hers, Collins, talked Cate into it.”
“You could talk her out of it.”
Darcy stared out onto his land, his features set. “Nope. That isn’t my concern anymore. I learned my lesson in the war, Fitz. I worry only about my family, my people, and Pemberley. Everything else can see to itself.”
The two finished their cigars in silence.
“Ah, here you are, Beth,” said her father as he walked into his study.
“Yes, I was reading and keeping Samuel company.” Beth was in an armchair near the bookcase, an oil lamp on the side table, and the precious lone photograph of Samuel that had been taken before his departure with the rest of the Ohio troops lovingly hung on the adjoining wall. Bennet walked up to it, sighing.
“You know, I think Samuel would have liked Texas,” he observed before turning to her. “You’ve certainly changed your mind about the place.”
Beth put down her book. “Texas is a lovely place.” She then smiled impishly. “If only it wasn’t full of Texans!”
Bennet laughed. “Now, that’s not quite true. You’ve made great friends with Miss Charlotte Lucas, the sheriff’s daughter. Reverend Tilney’s a good man.” He paused. “You’re not holding the war against Doc Bingley, are you?”
Beth bit her lip. “No. How can I? He makes Jane so happy—”
“Don’t you like him for himself?”
Beth colored. “I do. It’s just…” she glanced at Samuel’s portrait, “I feel as if I’m betraying Samuel’s memory.”
Bennet laid a hand on her shoulder. “Beth, you’ve got to try to forget about the war.”
“I try, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll forget Samuel.”
Bennet just shook his head. “Well, I’m going to bed, my dear. Don’t stay up too late.” He kissed the top of her head and left. Beth watched him go and then turned her eyes to the photograph.
Softly to herself, she repeated her vow. “I’ll not forget you, Samuel. No matter what the others do, I’ll stay true, just watch. I’ll never forget you.” With that she extinguished the light and left the room for bed.