are of a different shade. She seems shy with us, but I have to believe she is truthful and as spirited as Eliza ever was.”
Charlotte laughed. “Oh, that would be a curse upon her.”
“Eliza Morgan was a beauty, Charlotte, unlike your sickly, skinny self,” said Langbourne. “She was everything a man would want in a woman, and although I hate him for it, I do not blame Hayward for wanting her the way he did.”
“The way you also did, Langbourne. Let us not forget …”
“Be quiet, Charlotte. Mr. Brighton, what would you do if you had a jealous wife?” A pause followed with no reply to Langbourne’s question. “I thought so.”
Darcy moved and her shadow fell over the threshold. The dog yapped and whined. They’d seen her, and she had no other choice but to face them. Drawing off her cloak and setting it aside, she wiped her eyes dry and smoothed down the folds of her dress. Gathering her senses, and trying her best to appear as if nothing had happened, she reentered the room. Mrs. Brighton looked over at her, curious. Langbourne, with his boot on the grate of the fireplace, stared at her.
“Ah, there she is, Langbourne.” Charlotte tugged his sleeve. “Is she not savage looking? I suppose most of the girls in America are.”
Darcy met his eyes, piercing and dark. “Savage is not the correct word, Charlotte. Miss Darcy appears civilized, yet …” and he pulled away and drew close, “full of tamed fire, I’d say.”
Charlotte huffed. “Oh, no, Langbourne. You cannot mean it.”
“Emphatically, Charlotte.” He kept his eyes fixed upon Darcy, and she looked away. The heat of the fire eased through her gown and warmed her body.
“Had you lost your way, having taken so long to come back?” he said in a lowered voice, drawing her aside.
How he underestimated her. She had a sense of direction born with her. “No, Mr. Langbourne. You have no reason to ever believe I could lose my way. I stepped out before you came inside.”
“Everyone loses their way at one time or another. I advise that you not wander too far from Havendale. You saw the kind of people who loiter on the land.”
“I do not know what kind of man he is that you caught.”
“His actions speak for him. Be wary, Miss Darcy. When I am not here, there is no man to look after the women in this house.”
“So I shall, sir.”
“And you will keep my business to yourself.”
“Of course.”
“There is no need to trouble Madeline over such a matter as a poacher. It would frighten and shock her, don’t you think?”
A moment’s pause, then Darcy nodded. “I would not wish my grandmother to be alarmed.” Near the window, she glanced out to see if Ethan had come down the path back to the house. Perhaps her reaction had been too harsh toward him.
“Good.” Langbourne gave her a smile from the corner of his mouth. “You look nothing like your father.”
“I am told I do.”
“You have your mother’s face. She was handsome, you know.”
“Everyone has told me she was beautiful. You must have known her.”
“I loved her.”
Astonished at his confession, uneasiness raced through her. How much did he love her mother? Had his feelings remained with him over the years, and would he be kind to Darcy because of Eliza?
A horse whinnied outside in the courtyard. Her head turned, and she glanced back out the window to see Ethan leading a tall horse. “He bought the stallion.” She hoped the horse would always remind him of the day they met, how he almost trampled her, but did not avoid crushing her heart.
“What do you mean?” said Langbourne. “Do you know this man?”
“Slightly,” she said.
“How?”
“I met him in Virginia, when he visited there with his fiancée, Miss Roth.”
“Well, he won’t be back, and he is not permitted in this house. You understand?”
“It is your house, as you have said, sir.” Questions were on the tip of her tongue. But she dare not ask them.
The others gathered closer to see what was going on, what had caught Darcy’s interest.
“Mr. Brennan is leaving,” said Mrs. Brighton.
“Without a word?” asked Charlotte. “How rude of him.”
“He has other business to attend to,” Mr. Brighton said. “He would not divulge the particulars.”
Darcy watched Ethan place his boot in the stirrup. The dappled light, made so by the raindrops, glazed the glass and quivered over her face. She glanced over at Langbourne, marking the look of hatred in his eyes at the sight