“Eternity,” he groaned, kissing her in earnest. “The dream where you captured my heart.”
The disturbing dream had resurfaced. Once more, the light appeared in the dark room, but she did not attempt to sit up or to even see what it brought. By now, she knew: a clean chamber pot and a plate with bread and butter, as well as a flask of water. The chained manacle attached to her left wrist only permitted her limited movements. Instead of moving, she used the few moments the light remained in the room to recover her bearings. She needed to discover more of the place where her captors held her; to explore her prison, a place without sunlight, only perpetual night. If she were to survive, she needed to find a way from this room.
The light had momentarily blinded her, but she diverted her eyes from the glare and searched the shadows to find what else the room held. The cot upon which she rested was made of wood and had a thin mattress. She knew this from lying upon it for days… or was it weeks? Adjusting her eyes to the dimness, she observed a small table with one straight-backed chair. The dark-clothed figure placed the food on the three-legged stool at the bed’s head and turned to leave.
“Would you bring me another blanket?” she rasped, her dry throat slurring the words.
The figure turned to look sympathetically at her. Although she could not see his countenance, she felt the man’s empathy. With a slight nod of agreement, he was gone, and with him the precious light she craved.
As soon as word arrived from the gatehouse of the carriage’s arrival, Elizabeth had waited impatiently at Pemberley’s main entrance. Her husband and Mr. Joseph flanked her, but it was Elizabeth’s excitement which painted the moment. Darcy lightly touched her arm when she began testily to tap her foot, and Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. “I know, I know,” she said good-naturedly. “But it has been seven months since I have seen either Mary or baby William.”
Darcy chuckled. “And your tapping foot will speed the lady’s arrival?” he asked softly.
“This is not the time to be reasonable, Mr. Darcy,” she said in exasperation.
“One of us must remain so, my love.” Darcy winked at her when she sighed deeply.
And then Jasper was setting down the steps, and Mary Joseph appeared in the open door. The woman’s face lit with an animated smile; then she scrambled down the steps to run into Elizabeth’s open arms.
“You are here,” Elizabeth gasped. “I am so pleased.”
Mary laughed openly. “A hug is so much better than even the longest letter.”
“It is,” Elizabeth said contentedly. Then she turned her attention to the coach. “Where is William? I must see your son.”
“Here,” Mr. Joseph said as he assisted a young girl from the coach. The girl, Ruth Joseph, handed her brother the child. Her face flushed with color, and she fiddled with a heavy lace fichu that someone had, obviously, insisted that the girl wear. Her dark, chocolate-colored eyes darted to Pemberley’s majestic entrance. “My,” she murmured.
Darcy smiled easily. “Do not allow the exterior to intimidate you, Miss Joseph.” He bowed in greeting. “I am Mr. Darcy.”
Her brother teased as he returned the boy to his wife’s arms, “Allow the interior to do the act instead, Ruthie.”
Joseph’s sister blushed again, but she managed a quick curtsy to her hosts. “Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Thank…thank you for receiving me.”
Elizabeth caught the girl’s arm. “We are so pleased you have traveled from Staffordshire with Mrs. Joseph. Please, everyone. Let us find refreshments in the drawing room.” Elizabeth reached for the sleeping child. “I must hold him,” she said to Mary. “It feels a lifetime since William was in my arms. My, how our young man has grown.”
Darcy placed Mrs. Joseph on his arm. “It is a terrible habit of children, Mrs. Darcy.” He laughed as his wife rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Perhaps we should forbid Bennet from doing so.”
“If we could, I would be content, my husband.”
“I have asked Mr. Winkler’s sister Rose to stay at Pemberley,” Elizabeth explained. She held William, and Mary Joseph cradled Bennet as they enjoyed tea in the main drawing room. “Mr. Winkler has limited room at the rectory, and I thought Kitty might enjoy the company of both Miss Winkler and Miss Joseph.”
“That sounds pleasant for our sisters,” Jane remarked. “But is it not amusing that those same said sisters are no less in age than were we when we married?”
Mary sipped her tea. “But we have known our husbands’ pleasures.”
Jane pinked before saying, “Soon Kitty shall be one of us.”
“But not before we celebrate the wedding of the last of the Bennet sisters. I have planned a side trip to the abbey’s ruins for today, a picnic tomorrow, and a dinner for Saturday. Besides the local gentry, I have asked several of the neighborhood’s young people to join us. I am certain impromptu dancing shall be necessary.”
“You have always loved to dance, Lizzy,” Jane observed.
“It was one of our family’s favorite pastimes in Meryton. The place where we both met our future husbands.”
“Although Mr. Bingley was more congenial that Mr. Darcy was,” Jane taunted.
“Mr. Darcy was just warming up to my charms,” Elizabeth defended her husband. “Besides, no one can see me when your beauty outshines us all.”
“Are you prepared for another carriage ride so soon?” Matthew Joseph asked his wife as they waited with the others in Pemberley’s main drawing room. As planned, the group would make the short journey to Depedale between Ilkeston and Derby. “I would not have you play havoc with your health. You have assumed so many duties with our removal to Newcastle.”
Mary Joseph reached for her husband’s hand. “But do you not see, Matthew? This shall be no trial. I am a guest. All I must do is relax in the soft squabs of our coach and enjoy the view. I have no meals to plan or details to execute. And if young William should require anything, a dozen pair of hands are available for our son’s comfort. It is quite selfish, but I look forward to some private thoughts, as well as the company of Mrs. Darcy’s family. Tension between you and my father does not exist at Pemberley. Besides, I wish to see the abbey’s grounds through the eyes of the man I love. You cannot tell me that the prospect of exploring a thirteenth-century abbey does not pique your interest. I know you too well, my husband.”
“I admit to being eager to see the arch leading to the building’s east windows. It has brought about many superstitions.”
Mary laughed softly. “It is as I suspected.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “We shall spend the afternoon pretending we are courting again.” She leaned closer to say, “I have missed you.”
Before he could respond, Elizabeth joined their conversation. “We shall leave shortly. There was some issue with a broken spoke on one of the carriages, but the wheelwright has seen to its repair. Mr. Darcy is personally checking on the safety of the other coaches. He takes great pride in his carriages.” The appearance of the Pemberley butler caught Elizabeth’s attention. “Excuse me. Perhaps Mr. Nathan brings word of our departure.”
Elizabeth made her way across the crowded room. She adored to be alone with Darcy, but she was essentially a very social person. She thrived on conversation. She had always considered good company to be that of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation. That was what had brought her and Darcy together: their verbal battles had been exhilarating exchanges of equal minds, as well as romantically stimulating. Although she had not understood it at the time, she could admit to that fact now: they had challenged each other in a primitive dance for dominance. Just the thought of those masked sexually charged exchanges brought a blush to her cheeks. “Yes, Mr. Nathan?”
“There are visitors, Ma’am, in the small drawing room,” he whispered.
Elizabeth glanced about the room to the eyes following her every move. “Would you tell whomever it is that we are not receiving today?”
Mr. Nathan turned his body to mask his resp
onse from the Pemberley guests. “The lady insists on speaking to you or to Mrs. Bennet.” He lowered his voice further. “And the gentleman is Mr. Wickham, Ma’am.”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. “Lieutenant Wickham has dared to come to Pemberley?” she hissed. The butler nodded his response. “I shall not have it,” Elizabeth declared and immediately turned toward where her youngest sister waited, but Kitty caught her arm.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“Our sister has arrived unannounced, and she has brought her husband with her.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Kitty straightened her shoulders with determination. It pleased her to recognize her influence on Kitty. “What do you wish of me?”
“Tell Jane to keep everyone in the drawing room. Mr. Nathan has placed Lieutenant and Mrs. Wickham in the small receiving room off the main hall. I want Lieutenant Wickham out of this house before Mr. Darcy returns from the stables.”
“I shall join you in a few moments,” Kitty agreed.
Elizabeth left Kitty to see to the Pemberley guests while she dealt with this perfectly orchestrated chaos, which she could firmly lay at her mother’s feet. Halting outside the smallest receiving room, Elizabeth straightened the seams of her day dress. Bracing herself for the confrontation that would surely follow, she slipped into the room to find only the lieutenant awaiting her. As if he coveted them, Wickham aimlessly fingered the room’s decorative pieces. “Lieutenant Wickham.” She offered no curtsy. “I had understood Mrs. Wickham accompanied you.”
The man bowed courteously, and she remembered how his manners had once fooled even her. He was a practiced cad and womanizer. “Mrs. Wickham needed a moment to freshen her things,” he explained.
Elizabeth’s mouth set in a hard line. “Mr. Nathan,” she said, knowing the servant waited for her to order Lieutenant Wickham’s removal.
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” The man’s voice came from close behind her.
“Send a maid to Mrs. Wickham. My sister is not to wander through Pemberley alone, and she is to speak to no one but me. Escort her here when she is finished.”
“Immediately, Ma’am.” He withdrew to the door.
Elizabeth would prefer to have her conversation with Lieutenant Wickham without an audience, but she realized she might need Darcy’s servants to carry out her commands, so she did not object to the door remaining ajar. “What brings you to Pemberley, Lieutenant Wickham? I thought Mr. Darcy had made it clear that you would never be welcomed here.”
“We came for Kitty’s wedding,” Lydia Wickham declared from behind Elizabeth.
Elizabeth spun around to find her youngest sister standing in the open door, a tall footman flanking her on each side. Her sister’s usually soft hazel eyes displayed the girl’s irritation. Elizabeth realized, belatedly, that it had been over two years since she had last seen Lydia. At eighteen, her sister’s countenance betrayed the “hardness” she faced daily as Mrs. Wickham. Yet, even with the early lines about Lydia’s eyes, Elizabeth still saw the impetuous girl she loved. Lydia’s fat chestnut curls framed her heart-shaped face, but at the moment, the girl’s mouth brimmed artfully with a tearful pout. Always creating drama, Elizabeth thought, as the girl’s ploy played out. The scene would be quite a burlesque. “I have no objection to your attending Kitty’s nuptials, but you cannot think of staying at Pemberley.”
“Why ever not?” Lydia demanded. “Am I any less a sister than is Jane or Mary? They are both staying at Pemberley, and with their families, I might add.” In a snit, she flounced into the room and flopped into one of the lush chairs.
Elizabeth nodded to Mr. Nathan, and the man quietly closed the door. “Lydia,” Elizabeth began, “if you think that I will permit you and Lieutenant Wickham to importune Mr. Darcy in his own house, you court disappointment.” She straightened her shoulders and delivered the ultimatum. “Lieutenant Wickham, you will leave this house immediately.”
Turning to his wife, the man ignored Elizabeth’s instructions. “I warned you we would not be received by Darcy or by your sister. The man cannot leave behind his jealousies.”
“His what?” Elizabeth stormed forward. “Why would Mr. Darcy be jealous of anything you possess, Mr. Wickham? Do you still banter about that stale lie of Mr. Darcy’s father loving you more than his own son? I cannot imagine that anyone who knows my husband could think poorly of him.” Yet, even as she said the words, Elizabeth realized that she, too, had once believed Mr. Wickham’s falsehoods.
“Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”
“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth. “But how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal redress?”
“There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it—or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence—in short anything or nothing. Certain it is that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it that I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is that we are very different sorts of men, and that he hates me.”
“This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Some time or other he will be—but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose the son.”
“You, Sir, have repeatedly accused Mr. Darcy of having manners that are both dictatorial and insolent.” She backed the man against a tall table as she jabbed his chest with her finger. “I recall vividly how you claimed to all who would listen that Mr. Darcy’s actions could be traced to pride, and that pride has often been my husband’s best friend, that it has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling.” Wickham smiled widely, but Elizabeth no longer found his pleasing countenance trustworthy.
“I beg to differ, Sister dear,” he said smoothly. “I said that Darcy’s pride has often led him to be liberal and generous; to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and to relieve the poor. I also said Darcy is very proud of what his father was and that he would never wish to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or to lose the influence of Pemberley House. I even praised Darcy’s brotherly affection for Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth knew Wickham spoke the truth. She had allowed her own prejudice to color her early opinion of Darcy, but she would not give Lieutenant Wickham’s arguments sway. “Yet, you flavored the truth with carefully placed jabs, saying that pride is a powerful motive, or that Mr. Darcy acted with stronger impulses even than pride.”
“Lizzy, of what do you speak?” Lydia demanded. “Mr. Wickham has done nothing but to act with honor.”
The door opened and closed soundly behind Elizabeth as Kitty entered. Kitty assumed the offensive. “Where was the honor in your elopement? Neither you nor Mr. Wickham cared for your sisters’ fates. Under this infatuating principle, your reckless actions could have destroyed us all. Association tainted us. I am not fool enough to believe that Mr. Darcy did not have something to say in the Bennet sisters’ deliverance. Our mother may believe Uncle Gardiner posted your dowry, but our aunt and uncle have four children, and they would not ruin those children’s futures to save us. How could they offer you a settlement? Even you cannot be that naïve, Lydia?”
Lydia had risen to greet Kitty, but her sister’s words inflamed the youngest. “Of course Mr. Darcy was involved. He stood beside my dear Wickham at the service. And even
if Mr. Darcy did intervene, he did so to earn Lizzy’s affection. He bought himself a wife with any influence he offered on Lieutenant Wickham’s behalf. She had to respond out of gratitude to his offer of marriage.”
Elizabeth turned on her sister. “That is the most ridiculous assertion you have ever made. First, Mr. Darcy earned my regard and my respect many months prior to your foolish flight from Brighton, and when he assisted your joining, my husband did so without any hopes of our finding each other.”
“But you did ‘find each other,’” Lydia accused. “And now you are the mistress of this great estate, and you mean to lord it over the rest of us.”
“Be careful that you do not cut off your own fingers, Lydia,” Elizabeth warned. “If you object to my position, perhaps I should save my pin money for my own use.”
“Come, Mrs. Wickham.” Her husband reached for Lydia’s hand. “As I said we would be unwelcome. Darcy has taught your sister his brand of hatred.”
“And you have taught my sister manipulation and prevarication,” Elizabeth charged.
Wickham caught Elizabeth’s arm in anger. “I should have taught you something of respect,” he growled.
Before Elizabeth could jerk her arm free, the room’s door slammed open, and her husband’s angry stance filled the small space. “If you wish to continue breathing, I would advise you to remove your hand from my wife’s arm.” The deadly coldness of his words sucked the air from the room.
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth gasped. She had never seen him so angry. “Lydia…Lydia and Lieutenant Wickham…were…were just leaving,” she stammered.
“But I wanted to enjoy the festivities,” Lydia half whined.
Kitty rasped, “It is probably best, Lydia, that you leave.” She glanced at Darcy’s implacable countenance.
The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery Page 5
