Bound by Love

In the distance, the fields of Pemberley were also coming alive. Plows and bags of seed hanging from the tenant farmers’ shoulders, the bounty carefully set aside during the previous year’s harvest to provide this year’s birth, had given way to newly sprouted fields of grains and vegetables. In other areas, too far to be seen, shepherds with were driving their sheep to their summer pastures, and the coats would already be growing, thick, fluffy white clouds of the finest wool to be bartered and sold. And in a still further corner of the estate, the miners were preparing to cut into the earth with their picks and axes, cutting vast quantities of coal from the earth to power England’s factories.

It was all as it should be, a great steaming engine of prosperity which drove the estate, and though he had considered the matter before, William could not help but feel the pride in the land and in the people who made up the instruments of success for the estate.

Riding through the woods and hills of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy—William to his family—could not help the feeling of contented satisfaction which welled up within him. He had known all his life he would eventually inherit Pemberley from his father, though at the age of eleven, he fervently hoped it would not be for many years yet. His father was a great man, and he had always counselled William to become one with the land—to feel kinship with it, and respect it as more than simply a means for a wealthy way of life. He was to treat it as a great responsibility, to deal with those who worked the land with the greatest of respect, while showing them that their problems were matters of concern, not merely complaints to be swept aside. William was to work alongside them, one of them, helping them bear their burdens and assisting them in solving their problems. He was determined to live up to his father’s example.

“I say, William!”

William reined in his horse and looked back, noting as his companions trotted up behind him. In appearance they seemed similar enough that they would almost be taken for brothers. They were both tall and fair of both hair and features, and if the elder was somewhat taller, the younger would, himself, not be short of stature. His cousin Anthony Fitzwilliam was the best of friends, supporting William and pushing him to be better, all with the touch of mischievous humor which was part of his very being. William felt pleased and humbled to have such a devoted cousin.

The younger boy, by contrast, was neither of the same exalted lineage, nor was he from a family of any consequence. In fact, George Wickham was nothing more than the son of his father’s steward, not that the circumstances of his birth meant anything to William. What did matter to William was the mean streak that the boy had seemed to develop in the previous months. William did not know, but through his observation, seeing the dark looks and accusing eyes when the other boy thought he was not looking, he suspected that George was jealous of his position. Furthermore, he seemed to be a magnet for trouble, and had often drawn the more serious William in with his schemes, at times leaving William to bear the brunt of his father’s displeasure when their latest escapade had been discovered. To William it seemed like he was on the verge of losing his friend, and he did not know what to do to reverse the trend.

“Eager today, are we not?” said Anthony as he rode up to William.

“And you are not?” asked William. “The summer is still young and too often I have been cooped up in the house with nothing to do.”

“Nothing to do!” cried George. “It seems to me that you always have something to do. Rarely can you be found without a book in your hand, and to me that means that you are always doing something, though it is a most tedious way to pass the time.”

“My father says that a man cannot be considered liberal and learned unless he spends time expanding his horizons,” said William.

George only rolled his eyes. Both of William’s companions were active sorts, rarely settling down enough to read a book. It was a commonly debated topic between them, though in this instance William thought the subject was one brought up out of habit. William did not doubt his companions wished to discuss the subject as little as he did himself.

Shaking the reins, William kicked his horse into a walk again, knowing the others would follow him. “It is a fine day, and I do not think that we should spend it bickering about books.”

“On that, I can agree,” said Anthony.

The continued on for some time, bantering back and forth as they rode. At times they kicked their mounts forward, racing to the next landmark or daring one another to jump over obstacles in their path. They behaved as boys who were experiencing the wonders of freedom, reveling in the warmth of the day and the newness of adventure.

They were passing a small copse of trees when a flash of color from the woods caught William’s eye and he reined in his horse.

“What is it?” asked Anthony as he stopped behind William.

“Over there, in the trees. I thought I saw something.”

“Probably just a hare,” said George with a dismissive wave.

But William was already dismounting, and while holding the reins of his stallion in one hand, he parted the foliage in front of him, noting in fact that he had seen something indeed. There, in the distance, was a flash of color, partially hidden behind a tree.

Intrigued, William tied his horse up to a nearby tree and entered the woods, taking care to make no sound as he moved through the underbrush. As he approached, the color came in sharper focus and resolved itself into a pink, flower pattern of the type of dress he had often seen Anthony’s sisters wear. And as he came closer, the pattern established itself into a dress, with a pair of stockinged legs protruding from behind the tree.

William approached and made his way around the tree in a wide arc, and when he had passed around it sufficiently, he was able to make out the figure in front of him.

It was a young girl, no more than about three years of age. She was sleeping on a bed of heather, with one arm cushioning her head, while in the other she clutched a gleaming chain of some sort. She was small and slight, the top of her head crowned with a riotous mass of mahogany curls, which at one time might have been fashioned into a plait. For a moment William almost wondered if the girl was even alive, until he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest. She was a pretty young thing, and he suspected that when she reached her maturity, she would possess an uncommon beauty, though her cherubic face showed only a hint of the future woman to come.

“What is it, William?” asked George as he thrashed his way through the bushes to William’s side.

“Quiet!” exclaimed William, though in a low voice.

Anthony stepped up to William, and upon seeing the girl whistled softly. “Well, what have we here?”

“Do you know who she is?” asked George, rather stupidly in William’s opinion.

“I have never seen her before,” said William.

“Could she be a tenant’s daughter?” pressed George.

William turned to look at him, his attention caught by an odd tone in George’s voice. He did not like what he saw in the boy’s eyes, though he was not certain just exactly what was out of place.

“I think not,” said Anthony. “Look at her dress. That is the dress of a gentleman’s daughter.”

“Then what is she doing here?” asked George.

“I do not know,” said William. “But it is obvious she needs help.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Look at her. She is too young to be out in the middle of the woods on her own. She must be lost. If she does not have shelter, it will be difficult for her tonight. The nights can still be quite cool.”

“We need to take her to your father,” said Anthony.

“Why?” asked George. “She is a trespasser; that much is evident. We should have a little fun with her before we run her off.”

Again William was struck by that sense of disquiet about George and he wondered at his friend’s seeming cruelty. Shaking the feeling off, he turned to look at his friend in the eye

“Do not be stupid, George! She is a child of three. How could she possibly mean any harm?”

George opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a stinging retort, when the girl’s eyes suddenly popped open, and she sat up wildly looking this way and that. She quickly scrambled to her feet and seemed poised to flee when William approached her and held his hand out in as unthreatening a manner as he could muster.

“Please, we mean you no harm.”

The girl looked at William’s hand, eyes wide with fright, before she looked up at his face, her eyes searching out his, testing, seeking assurance. She must have read something in his eyes, for instead of running, she relaxed slightly, though she did not completely seem at ease. It appeared that however she had come to be in this place, she had received a fright along the way.

“What is your name?”

The girl tilted her head to the side as she regarded him, and then she spoke, though her words came out as an almost inaudible whisper. “Lizbeth.”

“Elizabeth?” asked William as he edged closer to her.

His slight movement caused her to tense up again, so he put out his hands in supplication, and backed away. She relaxed slightly.

“Your name is Elizabeth?”

The girl nodded.

“How old are you?” asked William trying to keep her attention so she would become more comfortable with him and not flee.

In response she held up three chubby fingers, which were stained and grimy, William noted absently.

“How did you get here?”

Apparently it was a wrong question, as her eyes lit up in alarm. She gazed at them through wild eyes for a few moments before she seemed to calm. Then she looked at William and said:

“You are not colorful people?”

“No,” replied William, though in truth he had no notion as to what she was talking about. “We are just normal boys, out for a ride on my father’s estate.”

“Oh come on, William,” snapped George. “She is trespassing. We should run her off before she has a chance to steal anything.”

“Be silent, George!” said Anthony, the warning note clear in his voice. “I do not know what you see, but I can see nothing more than a frightened little girl, not a thief.”

“You should come with us,” said William, ignoring the argument between his two companions. “My father can see that you are returned to your family.”

Her eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Janey?”

“Who is Janey? Is she your friend?”

“Sister,” said the girl.

“Yes, my father can see that you return to Janey.”

The girl considered this for a moment, but made no move to join them. William began to feel a little impatient; it was clear from her pronunciation that she was an intelligent little imp. It was equally clear she was stubborn!

“Are you hungry?” asked William, a surge of inspiration running through him.

Again her eyes lit up, and she actually took a hesitant step toward him. “Hungry,” she said, the eagerness in her eyes unmistakable.

“I have an apple in my saddlebag. You can eat it as we ride to the house.”

Once again the girl seemed to consider the offer, and though she was silent, William could almost see her weighing the benefit of the promise of food against the fear which still held her in its grip.

“Come, it is right over here,” said William extending his hand.

That seemed to do the trick, as after a brief moment of hesitation, her hunger won out over her reluctance, and she grasped his hand, allowing him to lead her from the copse.

Behind him, William could hear his cousin’s mirthful chuckle. “It seems you have a way with frightened waifs, William. I do not know what we would have done without you.”

William chose the simple expedient of ignoring him. He knew that his cousin—undoubtedly joined eagerly by George—would tease him about this episode mercilessly. But William was willing to endure it if he could see the child to safety and returned to her family. It was no less than his father would expect of him, and William felt warm at the prospect of his father’s approbation.

And thus he found himself astride his horse a few short moments later, the beast pointed back in the direction of Pemberley, his two companions following behind. In front of him, perched in the protective circle of his arms, sat the little girl, happily munching on her apple, excited at the adventure of riding so high off the ground. It was clear that though she appeared to be the daughter of a gentleman, she still had little experience with horses, no doubt due to her tender age. And yet she was happy, eagerly taking in the experience, though only moments before she was terrified and ready to flee as fast as her legs would carry her.

William did not care to speculate on how she had arrived in those woods. No doubt his father would coax the story of her arrival there from her, and arrange to find her family and return her to them.