The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

by Regina Jeffers

  Lydia unwrapped the small package to find a pair of earrings that she had once coveted. “Thank…thank you,” she stammered.

  “You always loved them more than I,” Kitty said softly. “I want you to know happiness, Lyddie. From this moment forward.”

  Lydia fought back the tears forming behind her lids. She looked up to take note of Mr. Winkler’s approach. “Here comes the happy bridegroom,” she announced.

  Winkler slid his arm affectionately about Kitty’s waist. “My mother would like your opinion of a fashion plate from Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s catalogue,” he said privately. “Would you mind seeing to her queries?”

  Kitty smiled easily. “Certainly. It would be my pleasure.” She glanced at Lydia. “We will speak more later.”

  “Go along,” Winkler encouraged. “I will keep Mrs. Wickham company until it is time for the picnic to begin.”

  The politeness which she had been brought up to practice as a duty made it impossible for Lydia to escape; while the want of that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of her education, made her miserable under it. At length, after a short pause, she began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Winkler. This is rather a surprise to me. I mean, you are a baronet’s son.”

  “Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

  “Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the second son,” she said defensively, but immediately Lydia wondered if she had said something foolish. Her knowledge of the aristocratic ranks might be mistaken. Were sons of baronets subject to the same fortunes as those of earls or dukes?

  “A very praiseworthy practice,” said Winkler good-naturedly, “but not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

  “But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose before him.”

  Winkler’s gaze flickered over Lydia. “Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?”

  Lydia’s spirits perked up. Although the man was Kitty’s intended, Mr. Winkler’s attentions were a balm to her bruised ego. “Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversation, which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.” As soon as she had said the words, she wished to own them again, but Lydia raised her chin in defiance and waited for the man’s censure.

  Surprisingly, Kitty’s betrothed spoke with kindness and understanding. He raised neither his voice nor his hand to correct her. “The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by forgoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear.”

  Lydia thought of the supercilious Mr. Collins and giggled. “You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see much of this influence and importance in society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons a week, even supposing them worth hearing, do all that you speak of? Govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregation for the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.”

  “You are speaking of London, I am speaking of the nation at large,” Winkler asserted.

  “I suppose the metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the rest, but I assure you that I thought only of my cousin Mr. Collins,” Lydia said.

  Winkler chuckled. “I had the dubious pleasure of making Mr. Collins’s acquaintance last Christmastide, and in his case, what you attribute to the clergy likely holds true. Yet, I believe, Mr. Collins is not a prime example of true men of the cloth. Nor, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities for our best morality. It is not there that respectable people of any denomination can do most good; and it certainly is not there that the influence of the clergy can be most felt. A fine preacher is followed and admired; but it is not in fine preaching only that a good clergyman will be useful in his parish and his neighborhood, where the parish and neighborhood are of a size capable of knowing his private character, and observing his general conduct, which in London can rarely be the case. The clergy are lost there in the crowds of their parishioners. They are known to the largest part only as preachers. And with regard to their influencing public manners, Mrs. Wickham, you must not misunderstand me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good breeding, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies of life. The manners I speak of might rather be called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation.”

  Lydia immediately understood why Kitty had chosen this man. Mr. Winkler answered her sister’s need for order and for generosity. A pang of jealousy ricocheted through her chest. “Certainly,” she said with gentle earnestness. “I concede to your point and to the fact that you are the perfect mate for our Kitty. I wish you both happiness.”

  “Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth cornered him in one of the second-level hallways. Immediately, she backed her husband into an empty bedroom and laced her arms about his neck. Pulling his head toward hers, she went on tiptoes to claim a kiss. As she had hoped, Darcy responded fervently. When their lips parted, Elizabeth rested her cheek against the fine lawn of his shirt. “Mmm,” she sighed. “Sandalwood and my husband.” She inhaled deeply. “Such an intoxicating mix.”

  His hand slid slowly up the curve of her waist to caress the underside of her breast. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He lifted her hips to him.

  “Do you mind?” she rasped as she kissed along his cravat’s line.

  Darcy chuckled lightly. “Do I mind being manhandled by my wife? Not at all. Use me as you will,” he said softly before returning to her mouth.

  Elizabeth wriggled closer and then insinuated her hand between them to unbutton his waistcoat. She could feel his heat building as she gave his shirt a small tug to free it.

  “Lizzy,” he groaned as his lips slid down her neck’s curve. “I can never have enough of you.”

  Her own heat coursed through her veins. It filled her stomach and sent the familiar ache between her thighs. “I am here, William. Take what you want of me. I have no objections.”

  Darcy reached behind him and turned the key. He lifted her and carried her to the chaise. “As God is my witness, I love you, Elizabeth Darcy. Beyond reason.”

  She wound her arms about his neck. “Then show me, William, and permit me to demonstrate in return of my deepest regard for you. I do not deserve you, but I cannot breathe unless I know your love. Above all others, Fitzwilliam. Forever, I shall love you.”

  Fortunately, Lydia had remained quite sedate throughout the evening’s gathering. To assure her sister’s compliance, however, Elizabeth had placed the girl on her right to control the conversation’s flow. Besides those in attendance as house guests, Elizabeth had invited another three dozen people to spend the aft
ernoon and evening as part of the pre-wedding celebration. Aware of Mr. Winkler’s position in the community, Elizabeth had invited the most influential members of the neighborhood.

  “I remember that husband of yours, Mrs. Wickham,” Mr. Lowell said as he finished off the fish course. “Quite a wastrel when he was younger. Kept my Jonathan busy with one scheme after another. Old Mr. Wickham was always bailing the boy out of trouble.” He paused only briefly before turning his attention on Elizabeth. “Darcy and Fitzwilliam were more studious than my boy and Wickham. Old Mr. Darcy kept a tight rein on your husband, Ma’am.”

  “Mr. Darcy accepted his father’s firm hand with pride,” Elizabeth observed. “And your Jonathan has shown himself to be very adept at handling the mill.”

  Mr. Lowell nodded his agreement. “The boy has a right smart head on his shoulders. And the Earl’s son, Fitzwilliam, he has served England most honorably.”

  “We are quite proud of the Major General. Mrs. Fitzwilliam has joined Edward at the family property in Scotland,” Elizabeth confided.

  Elizabeth noted her sister’s frown. “Was Lieutenant Wickham the only failure?” Lydia mumbled.

  “What was that you said, Mrs. Wickham? I fear that I do not hear as well as I should. It is terrible getting older,” Lowell declared.

  Perfectly aware of her sister’s complaint, Elizabeth quickly responded. “Mrs. Wickham was just commenting on how pleasant it is to hear something of her husband’s youth from those who knew him best. All young men attack life differently; do they not, Mr. Lowell?”

  “That they do, Mrs. Darcy. I expect those horror stories my father used to tell of my escapades would seem out of place with the man I am now. Some say it is harder with boys in the house, but having had three, I can tell you that the two girls were so much more difficult,” he declared.

  Elizabeth smiled easily. The conversation had turned. “I imagine that my father would agree with you. Five daughters brought him several gray hairs.”

  Lowell laughed good-naturedly. “Well, five girls would obviously be more troublesome than two.”

  “What is it, Thorne?” Kitty asked as her intended unfolded a message delivered by Mr. Nathan.

  With a serious mien, he scanned the paper. “Mr. Saunders has broken his leg. The surgeon will not permit him to leave his mother’s house for at least a week. He cannot pronounce our vows. There is no one else in the area. We will have to postpone our nuptials.”

  “No,” she said a bit too loudly. “There must be someone else.”

  “I cannot administer my own vows,” he insisted. “We will have to wait.”

  Elizabeth appeared beside her sister. Smiling to allay the Pemberley guests’ interest in the agitated conversation between their local minister and his fiancée, she asked softly, “Is there something you wish to share?”

  Kitty caught her hand. “Oh, Lizzy, it is absolutely dreadful. Mr. Saunders has sustained an injury and cannot oversee our joining.”

  “Mr. Polland departed for London yesterday,” Mr. Winkler added.

  “We shall have to postpone the wedding.” Kitty’s words brought tears to her eyes.

  Elizabeth placed her sister’s hand in Mr. Winkler’s. “You shall marry the man you have chosen, and the wedding shall take place on Monday as planned.”

  “But…” Kitty began; yet, a flick of Elizabeth’s wrist cut short the protest.

  Elizabeth smiled in amusement. “Did I not mention that Mr. Joseph once held a living at Stoke?”

  Relief washed Winkler’s countenance. “Why did I not consider that?”

  “Probably because the two of you are determined to believe that anything as right as what you are feeling cannot be possible. Trust me.” She turned her head to search the room for Darcy. Their eyes met and held for the briefest second. “God sometimes answers the simplest prayers. Go speak to Mr. Joseph. I am certain the man will be delighted to conduct the ceremony. He has missed his clerical duties.”

  “Thank you, Lizzy.” Kitty gave her sister a one-armed embrace before hurrying across the room to speak to the Josephs.

  “Something amiss?” Darcy said softly behind her.

  “Not any longer,” she said as she intertwined her arm through his. “I resolved my sister’s dilemma.”

  Darcy smiled lovingly at her. “I would never underestimate you, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “I am pleased you sought me out, my husband.” She fluttered her lashes at him in an exaggerated flirtation. “I am in need of a dance partner. Mary has agreed to play for everyone’s entertainment.”

  “Probably not as effectively as Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he observed. “But I am thankful for Mrs. Grange’s efforts.”

  “As am I,” she said softly. “Although I, too, deeply miss Georgiana. Yet, with the unexpected appearance of the Wickhams, I was thankful for our sister’s absence from Pemberley.”

  Darcy brought the back of her hand to his lips. “It is a small blessing, but I will accept God’s forethought.” He paused as they approached the dance floor. “Am I to assume that Lieutenant Wickham has departed the area?”

  “For all any of us know,” she whispered. “Lydia has heard nothing from the man since he stormed from the curate’s cottage yesterday afternoon. Lieutenant Wickham threatened my father after Mr. Bennet’s interference, said he would return to Carlisle, and left one of his infamous warnings for you.”

  Darcy pulled her into a private alcove. “What type of warning?” he demanded in a hushed tone.

  Elizabeth’s forehead crinkled. “Just Lieutenant Wickham’s usual posturing. My sister’s husband claimed our snub was beyond the pale before saying that he would never forgive our rebuff. It is nothing of which to be concerned. Typical for Lieutenant Wickham to blame others for his own shortcomings.”

  “The man will spin the incident to his own benefit.”

  “Aye, but who is to listen? If Lieutenant Wickham announces that we refused to receive him, people shall wonder what of his offense. Pemberley has opened its doors to strangers for more than five decades. Those of sense shall know his accusations as false.”

  “It can be no worse than Lieutenant Wickham’s previous offenses,” Darcy assured. “Now, my love, it is time for our dance.” He escorted her to the floor’s center. Leaning down to speak close to her ear, he murmured, “I will ask Mrs. Grange to play a waltz if you promise to save me a second set.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth lifted in that devilishly wicked way that had always made his heart race. “Oh, what a punishment!” she feigned in shocked alarm. “To be held in the arms of the man I adore. How shall I endure it?’

  Darcy wondered if he had ever thanked her properly for the happiness she had brought to his life. He certainly had tried, but had he succeeded? How would he ever know for certain that she understood the depth of his devotion? “You will persevere,” he assured, “because you have learned to tolerate my presence on the dance floor.”

  “Tolerance is such a noble quality,” she teased.

  Darcy winked at her before turning to those in the large drawing room. “Friends,” he said loudly to draw their attention. “Mrs. Darcy and I would be honored if you would join us on this makeshift dance floor. Mrs. Grange has graciously agreed to accompany our efforts.”

  “How long have you served the Darcys?” George Wickham asked as he played a spade to take the hand. When he had stormed from the curate’s cottage, he had not considered his purse’s weakened state. Therefore, he had sought Pemberley’s familiarity. He had employed a small shepherd’s hut off the north pasture as shelter. Having spent his childhood on the estate, Wickham knew the land nearly as well as Darcy. “Maybe better,” he had told himself. After all, his father had been old Mr. Darcy’s land steward, an exalted position within the Darcy household. Darcy’s father had served as Wickham’s godfather, and the old man’s kindness had been liberally bestowed.

  Not a day had gone by that he had not cursed his youthful disregard of the opportunity, which had once presented it
self. The former Mr. Darcy had supported him at school and afterwards at Cambridge, but he had squandered away the completion of his gentleman’s education, having been sent down from university before Mr. George Darcy could intervene in his behalf.

  The elder gentleman had thought that he might accept a living at Kympton as his profession, but Wickham had had other ideas. Forsaking his vicious propensities was not part of his nature, so having resolved against taking orders, Wickham had written to Darcy and had requested a more immediate pecuniary advantage in lieu of the preferment. At the time, he had considered studying the law; yet, he soon abandoned that aspiration to the joys of idleness and dissipation. For three years, he had avoided Darcy, but with the decease of the incumbent of the living, which had been designed for him, Wickham had applied to Darcy by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, by that time, were exceedingly bad, and his creditors had been hounding him for payments.

  He had tried to convince Darcy that he had had a change of heart and that he was absolutely resolved on being ordained. After all, many of the divinity students were of Mr. Collins’s ilk, knowing less about religion than did those to whom they delivered God’s word. However, Darcy had adamantly refused. Even when he had reminded his former friend of old Darcy’s intentions, Fitzwilliam Darcy ignored Wickham’s entreaty. Just the thought of those days still brought a hard fist of panic to his stomach.