We have had a fright wondering where you had gone. Your grandmother has taken to her bed …”
Darcy hurried to remove her cloak and gloves. “Is she ill?”
“Do not be alarmed. She is just tired and asks that she be not disturbed.” Mrs. Burke whispered, “When there are people in the house she is rarely up to sitting with them—unless it is you. She asks that you see her later.”
“Are you certain? I shall go right up and see her if need be.”
“Quite certain. Mrs. Langbourne is in the drawing room with company. Lord knows where Mr. Langbourne is.”
Darcy glanced down at her soiled dress. Mud was splattered along the hem and her shoes were quite soaked. “I am not at all presentable by Charlotte’s standards, or my own for that matter. I should change.”
The urge to tell Mrs. Burke about the encounter with the horseman and what she saw take place grew to an overwhelming proportion. She motioned to Mrs. Burke to follow her upstairs, and once in her room, she shut the door.
“I met a man out on the moors. To say he did not frighten me would be a lie, for he rode very fierce toward me.”
“Had he narrow, gray eyes?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Darcy slipped out of her soiled dress.
“And a face lined about the mouth?”
“Yes. He was none too handsome, if that is what you mean. He had a dog with him, too.”
Mrs. Burke nodded and squared her shoulders. “Well, miss. You just met Mr. Langbourne. I feel sorry for you.”
“Why? What have I done wrong?” Darcy pulled tight the laces on her bodice and tied them into a bow. “He chased me down. It is Mr. Langbourne you should feel sad for. He’s not a kind man and will reap what he sows.”
“Oh, I do not disagree with you on that score. I meant to say, I feel sorry you had to meet him in that way. Let us hope his visit is short. They almost always are.”
Darcy stepped over to the mirror, picked up a brush and ran it through her hair. “I saw a vagabond at a distance. He looked very hungry.”
“Hmm. He showed up yesterday, and brought a bird to the kitchen door of which I am glad for it. The only time we have a plump pheasant or a quail is when Mr. Langbourne comes to Havendale and goes shooting.”
“So you know the man, you know his name?”
“No on both accounts. But he looked at me with a purposeful stare, as if he knew me. I do not recall ever seeing his face, but his eyes were familiar in a way.”
Thoughtful, Darcy followed Mrs. Burke downstairs to the sitting room, where a pleasant fire crackled in the hearth. Drifting pale gray clouds swallowed the dusty sunlight that flowed through the windows. A few raindrops spattered the windows.
Seated on the settee was a well-dressed woman of middle years with reddish hair and ivory skin, and next to her, Charlotte. Introductions were made, and when concluded, Charlotte stood and moved to an armchair near the fire.
“This dreary weather will go straight to my bones, and I shall be chilled and sick before long,” Charlotte groaned.
Darcy, unsure of what was expected of her, waited.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Darcy.” Mrs. Brighton patted the seat beside her and Darcy moved to it. “I gather you are enjoying your stay at Havendale?”
“Yes, ma’am, though the journey was long.”
“I can only imagine. You are a daring girl to have taken the risk.”
“Risk, ma’am?”
“Indeed. For I have no doubt there were many dangers on the way. Thieves on the road, pirates on the sea, and ruffians aboard ship. That is not to say the danger of disease and the appalling food.”
Darcy smiled lightly. “You are speaking from your own experience, Mrs. Brighton? I should like to hear of your adventures.”
Mrs. Brighton giggled. “Oh, mine? Oh, no. These are things I have read and heard.” She paused and looked about the room. “I have been your grandmother’s neighbor these past twenty-eight years, and the color of this room has never changed.”
“You must know my father.”
“Never set eyes upon him, my dear.”
“Oh, I see.” Darcy looked down at her hands, disappointed.
“You shall be meeting my husband shortly. I think he may have met Hayward once or twice.”
Charlotte moaned. “Oh, yes. The prodigal Hayward Morgan and the ever-faithful Mr. Brighton.”
Mrs. Brighton’s brows arched. “Indeed the faithful friend he is, Mrs. Langbourne. Someone has to do it.”
Charlotte shook her