Mr Darcy's Mail-Order Bride Read online

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bingley.” He had no clue how else to reply.

  “Please call me Jane. After all, that was my name before I married Charles. Well, actually, that is still my name even after I became his wife, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my dove.” Bingley replied, both halves of the couple lost in each other’s smiles. “Sweet pea, would you like to tell your sister how you have spent the past few days?”

  “Of course, my love.” Jane beamed with accomplishment, and Darcy could see how Elizabeth was every bit as proud of her sister as Bingley was. “I copied all of the recipes in Charles’ last housekeeper’s recipe box so we can have a good variety of dishes at each meal. Then I planned menus for the first month after we return.”

  “Good for you, Jane. The kitchen has never been your area of expertise. I’m pleased you are willing to take on this task.” Elizabeth fairly glowed with pleasure.

  “Oh, no, Lizzy. You misunderstand.” Jane was quick to reassure her. “I’ve not actually tried any of the recipes. I merely copied them into my own handwriting.”

  Darcy looked at his wife, knowing he should understand what was happening and failing miserably.

  “Then who is doing the cooking, Jane?” Elizabeth queried. “Did you find a new housekeeper?”

  “Oh, no. There is not another female within miles available to help us. Charles and I drive the buggy into town each day and eat at the hotel. Then we have them prepare enough to take with us for the evening. It is a splendid arrangement as we are able to bring the serving dishes back the next day. When Miss Bingley returns home, we can do like we did in Baltimore, Lizzy. I’ll keep the house clean and she can cook.”

  Darcy saw the color rise under Bingley’s collar. His younger sister was one of the most spoiled, privileged girls of his acquaintance. Prior to her leaving for the school in Boston, she had made it as clear as glass that she was destined to be Mrs. Will Darcy, whereupon she would elevate Pemberley to the showcase of Clackamas county where only the most important individuals would cross the threshold.

  His vivid imagination could never stretch far enough to see Caroline Bingley volunteering to cook for anyone, especially not her brother and his wife.

  He looked at Jane Bingley closer and tried to hide his disappointment. Then he looked at Elizabeth. Was he ever happy that he’d chosen the right Bennet girl after all!

  Charles Bingley stayed behind when the women left Darcy’s room. They didn’t speak until they heard the screen door close behind their wives. He easily pictured Elizabeth sitting in her chair—rocking with Mrs. Bingley alongside her.

  “How are you, Charles?”

  “Do you mean to ask, ‘How is your marriage’?” He grinned at his friend. “I’ll tell you without you having to inquire. I am married to the finest woman this side of the Mississippi—actually, both sides of the Mississippi. Jane is everything I could have hoped for and more. There isn’t a speck of dust to be found in the place, and she brings me a whiskey and my slippers every evening before we turn in for the night. She is the kindest, most cooperative woman I’ve been around, and I’m sure she will be a positive influence for Caroline when we bring her home.”

  “You are sure about that, are you?” Somehow, unless a miracle happened, Darcy thought it was a tad far-fetched to believe Caroline Bingley would take well to having another woman run her home. Caroline had been demanding and commanding and was constantly reprimanding her brother when he did not give in to her every desire. Darcy shuddered at the memory of Bingley’s sister. She would be the last person he’d ever want permanently in his house. There would be no peace.

  “Well, of course,” his friend was quick to reassure him. “Jane has done everything she could think of to make the ranch house as comfortable as possible for my sister. She says it will be like having Elizabeth with her from sunup to sundown each and every day.” Bingley smiled even bigger, and his chest puffed out with pride. “We need to get Caroline home to take charge of the kitchen before winter, as I doubt the roads will hold for us to get to town to the hotel each day and back. I’d hate to starve to death because of the weather. Of course, if I died in my wife’s arms, I’d die a happy man.”

  “Hmmm…yes, well.” How Darcy restrained himself from rolling his eyes, he wasn’t sure.

  “Besides,” Bingley continued, “I can’t see any single woman staying that way for long. My sister is returning home all refined and spit-shined to perfection. As soon as word gets out that she’s here, some gentleman will latch onto her, and I’ll be losing another cook. Hey, maybe Richard would be interested in her as a wife. Now that he’s a hotshot Portland lawyer, he’s probably thinking it’s time to start setting up his own household.”

  In his memory, the only woman Richard had ever expressed interest in was Elizabeth—who was as opposite to Caroline Bingley as the East was to the West. No, he couldn’t see Richard pairing off with Miss Bingley. At the thought of his cousin’s interest in his wife, a nervous feeling started in the pit of his stomach as he felt his breathing getting faster. I wonder why? Rather than think on it further, he replied. “Well, it’s good to know you are getting your own house in order, and that you are happy in your marriage.”

  “What about you and Elizabeth? How are you two getting along?”

  “We are doing just fine.” Darcy suspected Elizabeth was being asked the same by her sister, and he wondered how she would answer. Would she tell Jane how she wished she’d never come west and attached herself to him? Would she relate to her the demeaning tasks she’d had to care for since his accident? Would she speak disparagingly of him to another? She had told him she wouldn’t be like her parents by speaking against her husband, but would that still apply to the one person she had shared confidences with her whole lifetime?

  He had no answers, though he wished to be a mouse in the corner as the two sisters visited out on the porch. Darcy sucked in a breath when he discerned the task was entirely possible.

  “Bingley, would you mind opening the window to let some fresh air in?” His friend never batted an eyelash at his request, though the afternoon breeze was stiff and the curtains immediately floated away from the casing as soon as Bingley raised the glass.

  He heard her.

  When Bingley started to speak, Darcy shook his head and put his finger to his lips. He whispered, “I don’t want to disturb them. If you don’t mind sitting here for a bit, I’ll probably doze off for a while.”

  He felt like the worst sort of man, but his brain screamed at him to eavesdrop on his wife, to see if he could determine a means to begin to make things right with her. The first words out of her mouth sent chills down his spine.

  “No, Jane, we aren’t trying for a baby.”

  Good Lord in heaven! Do women talk about these things?

  “I understand, Lizzy. With Will’s accident, it has to be hard for you both.”

  “Our circumstances are challenging, but you know how my courage rises at any attempt to intimidate me. This has been difficult and threatened to overwhelm me at first, yet each day I find something more to love about my new home.”

  “This house is beautiful and solid. I see why you love it here.”

  “Jane, it’s not so much the building itself, though it is a beautiful residence. The river and the forests draw me and, no matter the problems I face inside our home, I feel a calmness set in each time I sit here and rock. I adore both Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. They are a fine couple with a solid marriage.”

  “Quite unlike our own parents, right?”

  “Yes, Jane, quite unlike them. But it’s even more than the sum of all these parts as to why I am pleased to be in Oregon.” She paused. “I sense the pioneer spirit here—that desire to take the raw materials and make something that will grow from them; to build my own heritage.”

  “I don’t understand, Lizzy.”

  “Sister, it hasn’t been thirty years since the first wagon trains arrived and early settlers started building this area into a permanen
t settlement. Sure, people lived here before that time, but those travelers had a vision of what the Willamette Valley could be for the future, and they worked diligently so their dream would become a reality. I often sit here and ponder what the next thirty years will bring for Will and me, and I desire to work together to build something even more permanent than this big log house.”

  “I guess Charles and I have much simpler dreams. We are perfectly contented with things the way they are. Well, except for the food situation.”

  The ladies both chuckled.

  “I am very pleased for you both, Jane. He appears to be a fine man. Are you and Charles planning to stay at Netherfield Ranch?”

  “Well, of course we are. There is plenty of room for children and plenty of land to support a large, growing family. I can’t even begin to imagine us having the worries we had in Baltimore.”

  “And aren’t we happy that is so.”

  Darcy could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Do you worry about our sisters much?” Jane seemed hesitant to ask.

  “Absolutely!” Elizabeth’s response was immediate. “Every single day I worry about whether or not our sisters have enough to eat and whether or not our parents are giving Lydia and Kitty proper oversight.”

  “I worry as well, but I am certain our parents are caring for them as best they can.” Jane’s voice was wistful. “I wish they lived closer.”

  “What will you do if you find them to be in dire straits?”

  “I am sure they won’t be, Lizzy, as they have fewer mouths to feed. Father will seek more students to tutor, I am sure. And Uncle Gardiner will be there to offer assistance if needed.”

  “I hope you are right.” Elizabeth paused. “Come, Jane, and I will show you my favorite part of the garden out back. Will’s mom must have loved roses because the flower garden has a bloom in just about every color of the rainbow.”

  “You know I adore roses.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Darcy had learned much from the conversation. He opened his eyes to see Bingley’s knee bouncing and his hands wringing.

  “What’s the matter with you?” He hadn’t mean his voice to sound so gruff.

  “What’s the matter? I’ll tell you what the matter is.” Bingley jumped from his seat and walked to the opened window and back. “I don’t have a rose garden at my home. According to the conversation I had no right to be listening to, my bride adores roses. That’s a fine how-do-you-do, Will. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “I hope that’s a rhetorical question, my friend, because I haven’t a clue what to tell you.”

  “Well, I can’t come over here in the middle of the night and steal yours because we are leaving in two days to head back east and they would die of neglect in the meantime.” Bingley ran his hand through his already tousled hair.

  “In the spring, Charles. My mom only transplanted roses in the spring after the first frost. That will give you plenty of time when you return to select a plot, dig it up, and shower your wife with rose petals.”

  The image of him showering Elizabeth with flowers flashed across his mind and he smiled at the thought of doing so.

  “Bingley, enjoy the peace and quiet of your travels to Boston, and I wish you well on your return journey.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Darcy thought long and hard about his wife’s comments to her sister and wondered at how foolish he had been in wasting his emotions on regret.

  After the Bingleys had left, he was almost overwhelmed when he reflected on all Elizabeth had accomplished in the week she had been at Pemberley. Daily, there were heavenly smells coming from the kitchen as she and Mrs. Reynolds filled dozens of canning jars with the garden’s bounty. Unlike Bingley, his household wouldn’t suffer from a lack of food during the winter months when the rain and ice made it a challenge to get to town.

  His next visitor was Dr. Henderson, who was exceedingly displeased though unsurprised to find him sitting up in bed. Less than a half hour after his departure, he heard sounds of banging moving from the back door to outside his rooms. His wife swept in with Dan and Melvin following close behind. The mystery intensified as he spied a brand new galvanized iron horse trough being carried into his room by the two men. Elizabeth slid the small table from beside his bed until it sat under the opened window, which she closed.

  Behind them came the foreman with the painted wooden chairs from the porch under each arm. As soon as the trough was set next to his bed, the chairs were place inside, one facing the long end of the large, oval container and the other sitting sideways. Without a word, the men left and returned with one more chair and three buckets filled with hot, steaming water. Again, they left. More water was brought in, and Darcy figured they’d used every pail to be found on the ranch. Whatever was going on would need to be finished before it was time to feed the horses.

  “Are you ready for a bath?” She waited until they were alone in the bedroom.

  He was so ready that he wanted to squeal like a girl. Elizabeth threw back his blankets and started carefully removing the pillows which kept his leg propped up. Dr. Henderson had already taken off his splint, explaining that Elizabeth would replace it later, and Darcy was pleased to feel the air against his skin. Comprehending her plan, he bent his left leg and his right elbow until he could prop and scoot himself over to the chair. His wife held the weight of his right leg—placing it carefully on the two chairs facing the side of the trough.

  “Lean forward.”

  As soon as he did, Elizabeth poured several mugs of warm water over the top of his head. When she lathered her hands and started rubbing the soap into his scalp, he may have moaned. The process was slow: water, soap, and rinse, but he felt better than he had since before the accident.

  Elizabeth was thorough, washing every inch he was unable to access. He didn’t know if her face was red from the exertion or from the intimacy of her touch, though modestly, she kindly offered him the wet rag to take care of what he was able to easily reach. Once he was clean, he looked over to the seven buckets lined up in a row behind her. Elizabeth had wisely taken water from each bucket so she was able to lift what was remaining and pour it over him for a good rinse. He had to smile at her efficiency.

  “Better now?”

  He felt like a man renewed. “Thank you.”

  She looked at him in shock, and he felt immediate shame that he had not used those words before. Or, he had used them in her hearing, but it was not her who was receiving his gratitude.

  “You are welcome.” That was it, the sum total of her words. After drying off his hair, back, and lower legs, she handed him a fresh towel and then started stripping the blankets and sheets from his bed. Apparently Maggie had carried up a pile of new bedding as Elizabeth opened the door and brought the fresh linens inside.

  What did he expect? That their conversation would suddenly become as easy between them as it had been for her and Jane? He was a dunce!

  “Elizabeth,” he swallowed hard. “I have to admit…it shames me….” He cleared his throat.

  “Yes?” The last of the blankets was on the bed, and she was stuffing the pillows into their cases with no small amount of force. Was she imagining that was my head she was shoving out of sight? He wanted to smile at the thought. His wife’s emotions were strong, and he was glad she wasn’t as wishy-washy as her sister appeared.

  “I appreciate all you have done and are doing for me and the ranch. This is not how I imagined my life would be when I finally brought a woman home as my wife. I imagine it wasn’t your vision of wedded bliss either.”

  She laughed—and his heart melted a little.

  “No, I’d hoped we would be married at least fifty years before I had to clean up after you and wipe up your messes. Of course, then your hair would have thinned and you would most likely have less teeth to brush as well.”

  “And your hair would be streaked with gray and white and your figure rounded while you shoo-ed our great-grandchil
dren from their grumpy grandfather.” The picture was inviting.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “What? That I’m a grumpy grandfather?” The sparkle in her eyes was an invitation to set aside the weight of his injury. His heart hadn’t felt so light since…well, he couldn’t remember when.

  “Not at all. I have no trouble seeing you as surly.” Her smile reached from ear-to-ear.

  He chuckled at the probable truth of her opinion. “Then, what?”

  “My mother, at forty-five, has retained her figure after having birthed five children. I will never be rounded, sir.” She dropped the last pillow to the top of the bed. “Do you like to play with matches around gun powder?”

  Darcy was afraid to look close to see whether or not she was upset or if she was just teasing. In retrospect, mentioning a woman’s shape was undoubtedly not the wisest course, especially a lady he would be spending the rest of his life with. He wanted to kick himself. How had he said something with the potential to offend when he’d wanted to have an enjoyable conversation?

  He looked down at the towel draped across his lap so He didn’t see the pillow until it flashed before his face, hitting him on the chest with a resounding smack. He grabbed it before it could fall into the water below.

  “Keep this clearly in mind, Mr. Darcy.” She giggled. “You have married a woman with unusual skills. With four sisters, two of them particularly mischievous, I am ever ready to defend my honor against disreputable pirates, shady gunfighters, and errant husbands.”

  “Pirates?”

  “Of course.” Her laughter rang from wall to wall. He couldn’t keep from smiling. “Little did you know that you married Captain Lizzy Bennet, scourge of the pirates of the Caribbean and sworn enemy of Blackbeard himself.”

  “Captain Bennet?”

  “For a certainty, though I have not taken on the role for years.” Elizabeth plucked the pillow from his hands and put it back on the bed. Then she pulled the blankets back, ready for him to return to the same position he’d held for the past week. “We had little when we were growing up except marvelous stories from my father’s library. Those books fueled our imaginations which provided hours and hours of play-acting entertainment. Jane was always the princess or the damsel in distress. I,” she rubbed the back of her fingers on her chest, “was the hero.”