“Mr. Darcy’s leaving right now, Lucas, an’ we’ll be followin’ him,” Fitz assured the sheriff.

“This ain’t over, Fitzwilliam,” Denny spat.

“See you ’round, Denny,” Fitz said coldly. The three Pemberley riders backed out of the saloon after Darcy and his sister.

Whitehead had noticed the end of the confrontation between Denny and Fitzwilliam as Darcy and his party walked away.

“Well, Mrs. Bingley, I must apologize for Mr. Darcy’s rudeness—”

An angry Bingley held up his hand. “Stop. Don’t—say—a— word, Whitehead. I won’t hear anything against Darcy. I didn’t invite you—you’re only here as a favor to my father-in-law.”

Whitehead tilted his head. “That’s mighty unfriendly, Doctor.”

Bingley knew Jane was upset, and he hated that he was spoiling the reception. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I stand by what I said when you moved to town. You go your way, an’ I’ll go mine. You get sick, an’ I’ll treat you like anybody else. Other than that, I’ve got nothing to say to you.” He saw that Jane’s sisters were walking their way, and he didn’t want to prolong the conversation, especially in their presence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to dance with my bride.” With that the two took to the floor, Bingley whispering in Jane’s ear he would explain later. Just as they started to dance, an angry Beth with a curious Kathy and Lily joined Whitehead.

“George, I couldn’t help noticing that you and Mr. Darcy had cross words,” Beth observed.

A corner of Whitehead’s lip twitched. “Yes, you could say that.”

Kathy looked towards the door. “Imagine! Causing a scene at Jane’s wedding! What a disagreeable person! I hope Jane wasn’t too upset.”

“I’m sure she’s not, Miss Kathy. Your new brother-in-law has caught her attention.” Sure enough, Jane was beaming at her groom as they moved to the music.

“I thought there was going to be a fight!” cried Lily. “You could take him, couldn’t you, George?”

“Lily!” admonished Beth.

“Far be it from me to start such unpleasantness,” Whitehead assured them. “I was just congratulating your sister when Mr. Darcy dragged Miss Darcy away.” He shook his head. “Some people won’t let bygones be bygones. It’s a shame. But what can you expect from someone with Darcy’s… erm, background?”

Kathy’s eyes flew open. “Background? Whatever do you mean, George?”

Whitehead leaned close. “Didn’t you know? Darcy’s not… quite… white, you see. It seems his grandfather took up with a squaw, so he’s at least one-quarter Indian.”

Shocked, Beth remembered both Darcys: olive complexion, jet hair, and high cheekbones.

“My goodness! Mr. Darcy is a half-breed!” laughed Lily.

Whitehead grinned. “So it would seem. People around here only tolerate the Darcys because of their wealth. Money, you see, does buy respectability. But, enough about that! Would you care to dance, Miss Lily?”

Beth watched as Whitehead escorted Lily to the floor, feeling a confusing mixture of shock, amusement, and a tiny bit of shame.

Chapter 3

January, 1871

In the weeks that followed, the Bennets saw very little of their neighbors. Winter had come to Rosings, and while it did not have the bitter cold and heavy snows familiar in Ohio, the ever-present wind brought its own miseries. No matter the weather, there were chickens to feed, pigs to slop, and cows to milk, and with Jane’s marriage, one less person to share the chores. Beth’s favorite job, as it always had been, was in the barn, caring for the horses. She would brush the animals and see to their water and feed before helping her father and Hill care for the cattle.

On the coldest days, the family was thankful that the long-departed Mr. Thompson had built his house so that the pump for the well was inside. Nothing could be done about the outhouse, of course, but at least when the infrequent snowstorms came, the snow was never very deep.

Their diet was mostly dried beans, peas, and whatever salted meat was still available. Vegetables were a distant memory, but there was always fresh milk, eggs, cheese, and bread. Hill shared his meals with his employers before returning to his warm room in the barn. Mr. Bennet had prepared well, and cords of wood were close by to feed the life-sustaining fire in the hearth.

Still, Sunday was Sunday, and only the most extreme of weather could keep the Bennets from church. Of all the daughters, Mary and Beth were most keen on going. Mary, while always a pious child, seemed to have another incentive for attendance: Pastor Tilney was young, handsome, and unmarried. Beth’s interest was of a secular nature as well—the family always stopped by the Bingleys’ for Sunday dinner, and Beth was in the presence of her beloved sister once again. Mrs. Bennet had her own reason to see her eldest—the first grandbaby was on the way, expected in August.

Christmas came and went, as did the New Year. Day piled upon day, with the only variance from the monotony of the chores being the condition of the weather. No one would visit, and Beth was assured of seeing no one outside her family, except on Sundays and the odd shopping trip to Rosings.

The year of Our Lord 1871 was only two weeks old when something unusual happened. Beth returned from the barn after spending time with her horse, Turner, to the surprise of finding house guests. The weather had moderated a bit, but not enough for friends to come calling. This had to be business, and it was. Her father was behind the closed door of his study with George Whitehead and another man. Neither her mother nor her sisters knew what it was about, so Beth had to be content with a cup of tea to warm her chilled body while she waited.

Before long, the door opened, and Mr. Bennet brought his companions to the table. “My dears, let me introduce my banker, Mr. Billy Collins, manager of the Rosings Bank.”

Mr. Collins bowed. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet your fine family, my good sir.” He was a short man with mutton-chop sideburns, balding, though only in his thirties, dressed in a blue suit, a thin bow-tie at his throat. As Bennet introduced his daughters, Collins eyed each one closely, paying them compliments in a rather oily manner. He dismissed Beth almost immediately and set his gaze most markedly upon Kathy. Beth was happy she was still in her dirty work-clothes.

“Mr. Collins, how nice to meet you,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And you too, my dear Mr. Whitehead—it’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you out here in such frightful weather?”

“Can it not be your lovely family, Mrs. Bennet?” Whitehead smiled.

“A-hem,” Bennet cleared his throat. “Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Collins came to see me on a matter of business, my dear.”

“Oh, how tedious—but I do appreciate your attentions to us, Mr. Whitehead. Is your business completed?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet, to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “May we be apprised of the nature of your business?”

Whitehead and Collins both looked at the girl, Collins fairly gaping, while Bennet choked back a chuckle. The banker recovered his wits to stammer, “It was gentlemen’s business, Miss Bennet—nothing to worry yourself over.”

Beth’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Bennet thought it was a good time to intervene. “Yes, yes, well… enough of that. Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?”

“Oh, and dinner! Please say you’ll stay for dinner,” cried his wife.

Whitehead shook his head. “Alas, we have a prior engagement. Perhaps we can impose upon you at another time?”

Mrs. Bennet was disappointed, and her attempts to disguise her feelings were halfhearted. “Oh, very well, if it can’t be helped. I’ll hold you to your promise, sir. Both you and Mr. Collins. You will have dinner with us.”

“Of course,” Whitehead said as he bowed.

“I shall count the hours,” Collins added, whose comment almost caused more than one Bennet daughter to lose her composure. The men slipped on their long jackets and left soon afterwards. The family then sat for dinner. Beth longed to know what the men had discussed for so long in private, and she had every expectation that her father would tell her. But Mr. Bennet refused to answer any of Beth’s questions until dinner was done, when they retreated to his study.

“As you know, George Whitehead has been a valuable friend since we moved to Rosings. Thanks to him, we were able to secure our mortgage with Rosings Bank at a more favorable rate than Darcy Bank offered. He has now offered even more help. It seems he has contacts with people in Fort Worth who have access to more modern farming implements—new plows and tools, better seeds, a few more bulls. I must say, the improvements could be substantial. Our yields could be significant— perhaps a fivefold increase, according to what George tells me. That should be enough to buy a new store-bought dress or two for you girls without us worrying over the cost,” he added with a smile.