The officer, tall and dark, shook his hand with a firm grip. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Darcy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Fitz laughed. “Nothin’ good, I assume.”

Buford smiled. “Like I’ll get the straight story out of you.”

Darcy leaned on the bar, signaling for a beer. “You sound like you know each other.”

“Yes and no,” Fitz said. “Buford here was a blue-belly colonel chasin’ my ass all over the Shenandoah Valley during the late unpleasantness.”

“And a slippery man you were, Major.” Buford turned to Darcy. “I rode with Custer.”

“You stayed in the army,” Darcy observed.

“It’s my profession. I resumed my permanent rank after the war.” He looked Darcy right in the eye. “And you, sir?”

“Texas Legion, Vicksburg. I’ve seen the elephant.[3]”

Buford nodded. “Thought so. I’ve got a few ex-Confederates in my company. Good men. Ex-officers, although they’re enlisted now. Regulations,” he shrugged.

“And you’re at Fort Richardson. Not with Custer and the Seventh Cavalry,” Darcy observed.

Buford lost a bit of his good cheer. “No, I’m no longer with Colonel Custer. I find my current assignment much more to my liking.” What was left unsaid hung over the room.

Fitz tried to change the subject. “Such as raising flags at parties?”

Buford smiled again. “One of my more pleasant duties, I assure you. My colonel assigned me to a detail to do the honors.” He looked around. “Although I’ll probably catch the devil from my wife, Deborah, when I get back. She dearly loves a dance.”

“She’s at post with you?”

“Yes, and expecting another addition to our family in about a month. It’ll be our third, but you worry every time.”

“I expect so.” Darcy took a sip. “How are things otherwise?”

A knowing look crept into Buford’s eyes. “It’s quiet down here, but up along the Red River, it’s another story.”

“I thought I heard something along those lines. Tell me, is the army planning anything soon?”

Buford looked away, considering. “Are you planning on driving any cattle north?”

“Fitz here just got back from Kansas, delivering a herd.”

“Good, good. Let me say this—it’s a wise decision you made, going early. Very wise.”

Darcy and Fitzwilliam nodded, getting the message. The army was planning a major operation against the tribes. Just then, Caroline Bingley walked up.

“There you are, Mr. Darcy. I do believe it’s time for our dance… oh.” She noticed the army officer.

Darcy did the honors. “Miss Caroline Bingley, this is Captain John Buford.” Buford bowed slightly, but to the gentlemen’s surprise, Miss Bingley turned away from him without a word, delivering the cut direct. Darcy did not know the root cause of the woman’s behavior and decided the best way to quell any further incident was to offer the lady his arm for the dance, and they moved away. Fitz was mortified.

“Sorry about that, Buford.”

The officer took a swig of his beer. “Am I supposed to know her? Have I done something to warrant that?”

“Umm… she’s from Georgia.”

“Ohhh… I see. I understand now. The March to the Sea?”

“Yeah.”

Buford cursed. “Damn that war.”

Anne finally escaped the smothering attentions of George Whitehead and went to look for her friend, Beth. Anne wished her mother would believe her when she told her about Whitehead, but she would only dismiss her. “Nonsense,” she would say. “Mr. Whitehead knows his place. He would not look so high as you—he knows better. Enjoy the attention, and who knows— maybe it will finally make Darcy jealous.”

Anne saw Beth standing off to one corner of the tent away from the dance floor, looking in the other direction. Anne walked over to her, catching her attention, but before she could say anything over the low rumble of the crowd, a loud voice was heard.

“I must say I’m amused by what the rustics here about call a ball, Mr. Darcy.”

Both girls saw Caroline Bingley standing close to Will Darcy a few feet away. As they were both behind the pair, they were unnoticed. Anne saw Beth trying to restrain a giggle, holding one finger across her lips. They could clearly overhear the conversation.

“It’s true we don’t have the facilities found in the city, Miss Bingley, but we’re able to manage,” Darcy said dryly.

“And the dresses! Certainly not up to St. Charles Avenue standards, bless their hearts. Except Miss Darcy, of course. No one can disparage her.”

“Of course not.”

Beth threatened to laugh out loud, and Anne had to admit she was amused as well by the pretentious debutant.

Caroline sighed dramatically. “But—oh! Poor Charles! What a waste!”

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy said.

“What Charles could be, given the proper situation! I assume he’s a very good doctor.”

“I believe so.”

“Then he must be. I know several physicians in New Orleans, and all are of the highest circles. There’s great demand not just for their talents but for their society as well. They’re accepted everywhere. By the houses they live in, they’re all rich, or will soon be so.

“But here, in the middle of nowhere! There’s no chance for advancement or fortune, I declare. Only caring for farmers and cowboys—and their animals, I suppose. What kind of life is that for Charles, who grew up at Netherfield? He isn’t what he should be.”

Beth lost all mirth and listened intently.

“And what should he be?” Caroline’s companion asked.

“He should be a prestigious physician in a great city like New Orleans, his name on everyone’s lips, not wasting his life here in the wilderness.”

Darcy drew a breath. “He could leave if he wanted to.”

“Don’t think I haven’t dropped a few hints, but no—he’ll never leave. It’s the fault of that wife of his.”

“Mrs. Bingley?”

“Yes. She’ll never leave her family. She’s trapped him here. He shouldn’t have married her. Don’t you agree?”

Darcy was silent for a terrible moment. Anne could see Beth’s anger grow.

Darcy began to speak. “I can’t deny that Charles has certainly limited his opportunities by moving to Rosings. He’ll never be rich here, and by marrying Jane Bennet, he’ll never leave. In my opinion, Jane would never be happy away from her family, and I think Charles knows that. So, I suppose you’re right, Miss Bingley—by his marriage, Charles has forever doomed himself to be poor.”

Beth turned white, spun on her heel, and left the tent. Anne, aghast at what she had overheard, waited a moment and then followed her friend.

Beth quietly left the ballroom tent for the house porch to seek relief from the sweltering heat and to settle her own jumbled emotions. She fanned herself as she stewed. It was bad enough that Will Darcy disrespected the flag that her beloved Samuel died defending, learning that he disapproved of Jane was more than she could stand. How, she thought, could a sweet girl like Gaby have such a detestable brother? How could Anne or Charles or Fitz stand to be in his company?

And yet, she could not erase from her treacherous mind the image of Darcy, tall and dark and enormously handsome, approaching her for their dance. How intoxicating it felt to be in his arms! Never had Beth experienced such a reaction from just being in a man’s presence. Could Charlotte be right? Could she be attracted to him? She couldn’t be, it was impossible… and yet—