Charles paused in his recount. “When Will was able to talk, I asked the damn fool why he did it. He told me, ‘Charles, I’m expendable—you’re not.’” He looked at Beth, his chin trembling. “And that’s Will Darcy for you.”

Beth blinked as her tears flowed freely.

Bingley pulled himself together. “As Will got better, we got the word that there had been a surprise inspection from the War Department and that the camp had received a commendation for the new latrine. It seemed Whitehead didn’t have the time to have it filled in, but it worked out to his advantage. He took credit for it, from what the guards told me. Helped lead to his promotion.”

It took awhile for Beth to compose herself. “Does Jane know this?”

“Not the details, but enough to know that Whitehead’s not the man he seems.”

“But why not tell her everything? Why not tell the whole town? They need to know how ruthless George is.”

“Beth, it’s not that easy. For one thing, it’s not just my story; it’s Will’s, too. Just by tellin’ you, I’m going against Will’s wishes.” He sighed. “You see, there’s a code out here—what’s in the past stays in the past. A lot of folks came out west to escape the past, so people in these parts aren’t ones to bring it up. A man’s judged by what he is and not by what he was.

“For another, Whitehead’s close to the government in Austin, and he can make a lot of trouble for any that get in his way. He’s got Mrs. Burroughs on his side and a private army in Kid Denny and his gang. A lot of people just want to put the war in the past, and Whitehead’s made friends here—your daddy, for instance.

“Darcy just wants to let it go. He’s afraid if he starts up something, people will get hurt, and there’s no guarantee that if we drive Whitehead out of town, the army or the government wouldn’t come in and make things worse.”

By now, the surrey had reached the outskirts of the town, passing the cemetery on the hill. “Beth, I reckon we just let things go on as they have. Sooner or later, this occupation by the army will be over, Whitehead will show his true stripes, the town will turn on him, and that will be the end of him. ’Til then, we’ll just keep our heads down and look out for our own, just like Will says.”

“But what about Father?”

Charles nodded. “I’ll talk to him again—make certain he’s not gettin’ in over his head in his dealings with Whitehead.”

“Again? You’ve talked to him before?”

“Yeah.”

Beth wasn’t sure that was enough, but she kept her concern to herself.

Darcy didn’t return to Pemberley until the next day. Everyone was concerned over his absence, Gaby most of all, and she asked for an explanation. Darcy declined to answer fully, mumbling something about an “indisposition,” and he immediately claimed a desire to see to the paperwork awaiting him in his study.

Once he locked the door and seated himself behind his desk, Darcy simply stared out the widow, ignoring the papers on his desk. Ever since he woke up the day before with a pounding head and sickly belly, he had been obsessed in reviewing what had happened—how things had gone so wrong and how he could have misjudged things so badly.

He raised one hand to his forehead. He still suffered from a headache brought on by his excessive drinking and his injury. He had no recollection of how he had hurt himself. He had awakened with a bandage wrapped around his head and a chamber pot close by, which he used to empty the contents of his stomach. It had been a full day since Charles had tended to him, and he still refused to rest. Darcy well remembered everything prior to falling down, and it was those memories that haunted him. He accepted his pain as penance for his arrogant behavior.

It had taken all of the day and most of the night before Darcy allowed himself to see past his pain, both physical and emotional, and accept the truth. Beth Bennet hated him, and he had no one to blame but himself.

The study door opened. “Will,” Gaby stated without preamble, “I’m going for a ride, and you’re going with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I’m getting Buckskin and Caesar saddled right now.” Without another word, she left the room.

A few minutes later, Darcy was astride his black steed with his sister next to him on her palomino, riding towards Pemberley Lake. Darcy had to admit the hot sun felt good against his face and the movement of his horse settled his emotions, if not his head. He wondered when his sister had grown so wise.

The two stopped at a shady willow overlooking the lake, and they dismounted. Brother and sister took their ease sitting at the base of the tree as the horses drank from the water.

Darcy was thankful for the quiet; it allowed him to set his thoughts in order. The water before him reminded Darcy of Beth’s clandestine swim, and he finally came to the realization that he had confused his lust for Beth Bennet with love. It was the only reason he could think of that would so blind him to the truth.

Heck, even Anne saw that Beth wasn’t in love with me. But did I listen? Naw—I had to go my own way and make a damned fool of myself. No wonder she thought I was making some kind of improper request of her. In a way, I was. The only reason I wanted to marry her was to get her in my bed. And now, thanks to my drunken performance, there’s no way she’ll ever give me the time of day again.

“Will, is something wrong?” asked Gaby.

Darcy looked at the water for a while, thinking. Damn, I probably ruined Gaby’s friendship with Beth. Anne’s, too. What the hell was I thinking with that dress? That’s just it, I wasn’t thinking. I was treating her as if she was mine already. And all I accomplished was to drive her off and hurt Gaby and Anne.

A woman as fine as Beth Bennet deserves to be wooed, courted. Not just ridden down and lassoed like I was roping a calf—tossed, tied down, and branded. I haven’t the faintest idea how to earn the good opinion of a proper lady. I am the biggest idiot in Long Branch County.

“Will?”

Darcy sighed. “Gaby, I’ve made a mistake—a very, very big mistake—and I don’t know how I can ever make things right.” He tossed a twig towards the water’s edge.

Gaby looked at Will in surprise. It never occurred to her that her perfect brother could ever err. “What happened?”

“Hurt somebody I thought I loved.”

Gaby thought for a moment. “Beth?” she gasped. “What did you do?”

“I’m embarrassed to talk about it. Let’s just say that after what I did, she’d be the last person on earth to go get help if I was drowning in the lake there.”

“That’s hard to believe with George Whitehead in town.”

“He’s part of the problem.”

“What do you mean? Oh, you don’t think Beth’s in love with him, do you? Because if you do, I can assure you she’s not.”

“No, she told me she wasn’t.” Will, to his shame, remembered almost everything from the late-night discussion in the Burroughses’ library, except how he managed to earn a knot on his head. Before Anne told him what had happened, he half-figured that Beth had taken an empty whiskey bottle to him. “But he’s been telling stories.” He turned to Gaby. “How do you know she doesn’t love Whitehead?”

“A woman can tell these things.” She played with the grass beside her. “Will, when I… when Whitehead tried to… court me, I suppose… you made me talk about it. I didn’t want to, but you said it would make me feel better. And it did. Will, I think you need to talk to me now.”

“And it’ll make me feel better?”

“I don’t know. It worked for me. At least you’ll know you won’t be alone.”

Darcy thought about that for a minute. “Well, I can’t feel worse.” And so he told Gaby almost everything. Seventeen-year-old girls didn’t need to know about spying on naked people swimming, after all.

The Bingley household took their ease in the front parlor after supper. Charles read from a week-old newspaper, while Jane mended one of his shirts. Beth attempted to concentrate on a book of poetry, trying to keep her thoughts away from the mystery of Will Darcy, but Caroline defeated her by holding forth on the Burroughses’ ball.