The Knights of Derbyshire

by Marsha Altman

  “Yeh’ll watch him, eh, what that ‘e doesn’ fall down?” Mrs. Bellamont asked him. “Jeff?”

  “Aunt Bellamont. Of course I will.” And with that, he followed his cousin outside. “Patrick! You come down from there before you hurt yourself!”

  “No!”

  “Well, then – at least try to fall into my arms!” Geoffrey said, and heard his aunt’s laughter in the background.

  *****************************************

  “I was going to say hello to my nephew,” Grégoire said, “but he seems otherwise occupied.”

  “You wouldn’t want him to lose his concentration as he tries to prevent your son from killing himself,” Darcy said, and smiled at his brother. “How are you?”

  “A bit surprised to be in Kent, but an invitation is an invitation.”

  “You are unfortunate enough to be an object of Mr. Collins’s great respect.”

  “I do not find it so unfortunate.” Grégoire added, “Most of the time.” He bowed to Elizabeth, who was just entering the hallway. “Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Grégoire. If either an injury or a wedding will get you back to England, we shall have to arrange more marriages for the Collins daughters somehow.”

  He smiled and excused himself, and Elizabeth joined Darcy at the window as they watched their son run around the tree frantically as Patrick swung from the limbs.

  “Something about this seems familiar,” Darcy said.

  “What? That our son, a tree, and disaster all deserve to be in the same sentence?”

  “Not that,” Darcy said. “Did this guest house not used to be the Collins’ cottage? Before renovations?”

  “It was. I remember the grounds quite well.”

  He looked around, apparently puzzled at something, and then turned to her and said out of nowhere, “So I am to understand our wayward niece is doing well?”

  “According to her letters, yes. According to the school, she is a brilliant student in language arts and other more scholarly subjects, but a social nuisance to all of her teachers.”

  “But enough that they can tolerate.”

  “As long as Mr. Bingley keeps paying the bill, I suppose so.”

  Darcy looked out the window again, but said nothing.

  “You’re thinking of something,” Elizabeth said, “and at this point in our long and thriving marriage, it is downright rude not to share it, if you’re going to think it so publicly.”

  He smiled. “And, at this point in our long and thriving marriage, you have caught me. I was thinking that the Darcy men are particularly terrible at expressing their feelings. At least in their youth.”

  “Oh? And what brought this notion about?”

  “A simpler thought than you realize. This was the room in which I proposed to you.”

  Elizabeth was taken aback. This was not the answer she had expected, nor did she expect the sly grin on his face as she looked around and assessed that, barring some refurbishments, it was. “Yes, you Darcy men are particularly terrible at expressing your feelings sometimes.”

  “Not all the time. I did get it right the second time.”

  “I started the conversation.”

  “I initiated the walk.”

  “No, I think that was Mama.”

  “Well, I offered to go with Bingley to Longbourn.”

  “With the express purpose of seeing me.”

  “True,” he smiled. “I could not have been more motivated, or so terrified. Telling a woman you love her and wish to spend the entirety of your remaining days in her presence is quite a daunting task for a confirmed bachelor. Then mucking it up and having to do it a second time is even worse.”

  “I suppose it might eventually get easier.”

  Darcy paused, and turned about the room before facing her. “Elizabeth Bennet, will you spend the rest of your days as my wife?”

  “Seeing as how I have but little options at this juncture – I believe I am required to say yes,” she said, taking his hand. “Not that I need such a requirement.”

  He kissed her. He had not the first time, or the second time, but the third time, he kissed her.

  “Yes,” Darcy said. “Definitely easier the third time.”

  The End

  Historical Notes

  So, there are no wolves in England.

  Of course you know this. You must know this obvious fact which is common knowledge to anyone who knows anything. Unfortunately, I didn’t, until about book 8, when a reader said to me, “By the way, wolves are extinct in England.” It turns out that medieval England was pretty serious about hunting them. At this point I was five books in to the wolf plotline and motif, so I wrote in a bit about some earl introducing them to Derbyshire for sport (like the one who introduced rabbits to Australia in this period) to explain away their presence. In other words, I cheated, but you may have noticed that it’s a pretty important plotline.

  English Radicals did exist and were very interested in communal property and against land enclosure, an issue so boring that I couldn’t bear to have any of my characters discuss it at length in the book. If you want to read about the Land Enclosure Acts, see the bibliography, and I hope you have insomnia that needs curing.

  The issue of entail is also a tremendously complicated one, and the breaking of an entail is not much written of because it rarely happened, so I may have had some particulars wrong due to lack of source material.

  Bibliography

  Chase, Malcolm. The People's Farm English Radical Agrarianism 1775-1840. London: Breviary Stuff Publications, 2010.

  Clendening, Logan. Source book of Medical History. New York: Dover Publications, 1960.

  Cole, G.D.H. The British Common People 1746-1946. London: Methuen & Co LTD, 1961.

  Druett, Joan. Rough Medicine : Surgeons at Sea in the Age of Sail. New York: Routledge, 2000.

  Hammond, J. The Village Labourer. Stroud: Nonsuch, 2005.

  Perkin, Harold. Origins of Modern English society. New York: Routledge, 1991.

  Richardson, Robert. The Story of Surgery : an Historical Commentary. Shrewsbury, England: Quiller, 2004.

  Acknowledgments

  I cannot begin to explain the scope of the gratitude I feel for Brandy Scott. She’s worked tirelessly on every one of my books, the short stories, and even this segment. There’s no part of this series that she hasn’t had a part in reading or editing. I don’t know how or why she does what she does, but like manna from heaven, I know better than to question it.

  I’d like to thank my fans, who are the reason this book happened. There was a period where I wasn’t sure it was going to be published at all, which was a real shame because it is in many people’s opinions one of the best books or the best book in the series. It’s Brandy’s favorite, which is why I dedicated it to her. So many people emailed me or spoke to me, pulling for this book, that the publishing went forward despite numerous hurdles.

  My parents have been very supportive of this series and my general career with all its financial uncertainties. They ought to have known better, but was I really going to be a doctor or a lawyer? I don’t like needles or court rooms. I don’t even like the courtroom segments on Law and Order. Especially if they involve needles.

  My agents have remained by my side despite my dubious earnings: Katie Menick, Howard Morhaim, Kate McKean, Alice Spielgert, and whoever else may be wandering around their office, sorting things - you have my gratitude. Thanks to Talia Goldman for copy-editing and Cherry Trotter for cover design.

  Speaking of agents, Diana Finch and Jeff Gerecke have been very helpful with their free advice. All you have to do is be their assistant. Liza Dawson was also a huge provider of encouragement.

  Jessica Kupillas Hartung is in here because she did me a major favor on the day I was writing these acknowledgments, and also for being an all-around super fan.

  To all the people who come up to me in synagogue and ask me if I’m Carol’s daughter and if so, they liked my books, I don’t know wh
o you are. I should, but it’s not as if we’ve ever worn nametags and it’s a big congregation. Cut me some slack. And thank you for reading.

  My roommate, Alex Shwarzstein, pays her half of the utilities bill and I love her for it. Also apparently she actually reads and likes my work. That’s a bonus.

  Reassurance in my career and life choices came from Rebbetzin Chana Henkin and Simi Peters. I wish I didn’t have to fly 12 hours to see you guys. I wish I was in Israel all the time, but slowly I’m learning to take life on its terms, not mine. I didn’t think I was going to be a Regency romance author, either.

  To the Holy One, Blessed be He, I would apologize for having so many of my characters take Your name in vain, but I have a feeling I’m just going to keep doing it, so come to peace with it.

  Coming Soon … Book 6 in Our Series

  Georgiana and the Wolf

  by Marsha Altman

  Look for it online by checking out marshaaltman.com

  Prologue

  Inspector Robert Audley turned to the mortician and said with annoyance, “You are aware that the body should not have been moved until my approval?”

  Monsieur Lambert was an elderly gentleman, and so was excused to sit in the corner of his dusty workshop. “Oui. But Inspector, you were not called when this body was found. You were not called for another day.”

  Audley frowned. “That is true,” he said as he looked at the body again, partially uncovered by his own actions. The corpse of a man named Simon Roux was in a state of ready decomposition, now three days old. Monsieur Roux was found by a shepherd at dawn, and was already stiff by the description of the local guard, so all he had at this point to pinpoint a time of death was that information. It was probably sometime in the early morning, while it was still dark, or the body would have stunk as it did now. Only the mortician’s chemicals under his nose prevented Audley from being overwhelmed.

  The inspector probed the cold wound on the dead man’s neck. He had died quickly after his wounds, as no one survived a slash to the throat, much less three. “These marks – ”

  “Claws. Definitely.”

  “I agree,” Audley said. “Not a blade, certainly, but have you ever seen three claw marks so evenly spaced?” He took a measurement of one with his forefinger and thumb, and then checked the next, and then the last. “That is very rare on a true animal wound. Also, strange that the animal merely killed him with one swipe and then left the body so intact otherwise.”

  Old Man Lambert said quietly, “It is odd, yes, Inspector. I have never seen anything like this before. Perhaps this is why you were called.”

  “Perhaps.” He took a last look at the messy, bearded face of Simon Roux. By reputation, he was a known gambler who worked the fields in season and made his living by selling firewood the rest of the year. He was also known to be good with a blade – or at least a hatchet – and one was found on him, unused, at the scene of the crime. Inspector Audley had barely been in town two hours and he already had the impression that the man was not well liked, at least by the female populace. “Were you called to the scene or was the body delivered here by your assistant?”

  “I was called, Inspector.”

  “I will need a list of everyone present, even women and children, when you arrived. Was the marquis there?”

  “Non, Inspector. He remained uninvolved until the ... rumors started spreading.”

  This was when Inspector Audley had been called, by special request of the Marquis, and rode from Paris to his summons immediately. Normally he did not like to be approached about a case from a suspect, but apparently the nobility still held more sway than they were supposed to, because Audley was pulled off a significant strangler case on the docks to attend to this murder in the wilderness with a startling order from above.

  Of course, logically, the Marquis was not a suspect. He had no known reason to kill Simon Roux, a man he was not known to associate with. If there were any connections, it was hidden – but Inspector Audley would find it out. That was his profession and his duty, even to a man like Simon Roux.

  ******************************************

  The meeting with the marquis was earlier than he expected, until he reminded himself that the country noblemen often ate earlier than city folk. He knew very well that the marquis would want to have him at dinner to parade around the fact that he had brought in (undoubtedly, at his own expense) this superior inspector to investigate the brutal crime. Inspector Audley was not bothered by it, as it would give him a terrific meal and a chance to see the local people in action, from the servants to the marquis himself.

  The meeting between them took place precisely at four, when the inspector was often accustomed to taking tea. To his surprise, he was not asked to stand before the noble, who instead offered him a seat and a rather wide selection of flavored teas. “I heard, Inspector, that you are of English descent.”

  “Yes,” Audley said. “My father was an officer. He retired here.”

  “In Paris?”

  “Valognes,” he said, making his selection quickly and waving off the servant with sugar cubes. He wanted to preserve his teeth. “He still lives there with my mother and sister.”

  “But you are the famed inspector of Paris.” But the marquis was not an ostentatious noble of old, trying to flatter him openly. He was a quieter man, more intense and serious, almost frightening with his pointed nose and long black hair. He was a widower, but that was all the inspector had at the moment.

  “Hardly,” Audley said. “My lord, I am afraid I must of course begin with the most basic inquiry – ”

  “Of course,” said the marquis. “I was asleep that night. I went to bed very late, being distracted by a new book. And, I will not deny that I am one to take walks along my lands in the early morning. I enjoy the morning mist, especially this time of year.” He sipped his tea. “Do you have a conclusion as to the time of death?”

  Audley knew the man was clever, and also guessed that the marquis could likely tell if he was holding back. “Early morning, but likely, very early. Perhaps one, two past midnight.”

  “Then I was asleep,” the marquis said. “I do not know this man – Monsieur Roux?

  “Simon Roux, yes.”

  “I know of him only by reputation. He came to the village a few years ago, after the war, and never fully settled himself. He remained unmarried and was apparently a known womanizer. You know the type, surely?”

  “I do.” The war brought out the best – and worst – in men. Many were left scarred by it, unable to find their places in this new France, whatever it was to be. “Have you any idea of the foundation of these rumors concerning yourself and Monsieur Roux?”

  “None whatsoever. It came as a shock to me, but what good free countryman is not ready and eager to discredit a noble? Even if to stoop so low as to start rumors about ... werewolves, or whatever this nonsense is.” He paused. “You know, it was not even a full moon the night of his death.”

  “So you are aware of such legends?”

  “Such are the things told to a child, especially one who lives so close to the woods. Wolves, vampires, witches – that sort of nonsense. I thought we got rid of that nonsense with the revolution, but apparently, not so.”

  “But somehow, someone started the rumor that you were seen running through the woods that night – or, someone with a wolf’s head was seen in the woods wearing your clothing. Am I correct?”

  “You are.”

  Audley made a note in his book. “Have you done an inventory of your wardrobe since the event?”

  “No. I had not thought to do so until people seemed to be – taking these ridiculous rumors seriously.” He smiled, and Audley could not help but notice his teeth were very pointy. “But – in the dead of night, I imagine one would only have to acquire one splendid coat to give the effect of appearing as me.”

  “True, but I would appreciate if you would do the inventory as soon as possible, perhaps even before dinner. If a serv
ant can be rooted out, it will make our lives much easier.”

  “Of course. It will be done.” The marquis rose. “If there are no other pressing questions, I must prepare for dinner. You have joined us on a very special evening, Inspector Audley.”

  “I have?” Audley said, rising with him.

  “Yes. My bride – my intended bride – is joining us with her companion. She is studying in a seminary for English women very near here.”

  “Very convenient.” The inspector could not help look at the marquis and be reminded that this man was in his forties and a widower, and a seminary girl could have been hardly more than twenty.

  “Our intention. Our families planned this wedding together– hers in England, mine here – but I would not agree to it until I saw her and we felt it was a good match ourselves. So she came to study in the seminary that is but five miles from here, and I have arranged that she may occasionally visit.”

  “Her name?”

  “Lady Heather Littlefield. You shall be introduced tonight, of course.” He made motions to leave, and Inspector Audley bowed.

  Something struck him. “My Lord – ”

  The marquis stopped in the doorway and politely turned around. “Yes.”

  “You said she had a companion?”

  “Yes, her friend from school, who accompanies her so she is not alone in a carriage with the guard. I apologize – her name escapes me now. I am quite a bad host.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah yes. I remember it.”

  The inspector readied his pen again. “Yes?”