Before she could respond, a servant rushed forward. “Me Laird. I be sent to find ye. Murdoh needs ye, Sir. Trouble below.”
Domhnall caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “I must leave you. Ronald will return you to your room. Take care, Lady Esme.” He turned immediately and strode away.
She watched his retreating form. Tension bunched his shoulders, but he still moved with catlike sleekness. A lion in control of his territory.
“Lady Esme,” the servant said from behind her. “If’n ye would follow me.”
She nodded her understanding, but her gaze remained on the man with whom she had spent the last hour. A sense of loss prevailed.
“Lady Esme,” Ronald said more urgently.
She reluctantly followed the servant. “What type of trouble?” she said from curiosity.
Ronald stopped suddenly. “Ma’am?”
“Below,” she insisted. “What type of trouble persists below?”
The servant shrugged. “One of the prisoners, Ma’am. He attacked Murdoh.”
Chapter 11
WICKHAM SETTLED IN THE LUXURY of the four-poster bed. He had visited his hiding place three times during the day. From the manor house, he had removed pieces of silver, some jewelry, and several interesting-looking ornaments that he thought might bring him ready cash. When he departed Alpin Hall, he would travel to Edinburgh where a man might sell such items without question.
As he had ridden across the estate, he had pleasantly remembered his younger days when he had explored Pemberley and Derbyshire with his father. “Possibly, I can find a similar position to my father’s on a Scottish estate or in Normandy,” he had told himself. “It is not probable that Darcy will rest before seeing me punished.” Even with Lydia’s connections to Mrs. Darcy, Wickham held only minimal hope of Darcy’s forgiveness. His foolish temper would require him to leave England behind and seek a new life elsewhere. “It is not as if I have never lived by my wits,” he said to his room’s darkness. Those years of dissipation, after he had departed Cambridge in disgrace, quickly flooded his mind. A deep sigh of anticipation lifted his chest. “It would be good to start over. A pecuniary advantage,” he reasoned aloud. “Even with the disgrace, Lydia’s family will welcome her return. I will not have to concern myself with my wife’s future. As if I ever did,” he sarcastically chastised himself. In the past, he had allowed himself great latitude on such points.
Thoughts of his childlike wife brought both pleasant memories and sour ones. Her loyalty and her adventurous spirit he had previously determined were to Mrs. Wickham’s credit. She also possessed a sweet temperament, and she readily made friends among his colleagues. His wife could exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. Yet, Lydia’s having been forced upon him had forever doomed the success of their relationship. He resented how Darcy had bested him.
He had convinced her to accompany him to London. Her mother had provided Lydia with a bit of spending money, and he had needed the stake to escape his creditors. And Lydia was a ready participant. Of course, she had not known what it was he had sought from her. He had gloried in the girl’s attentions, but she had not been the one he wanted. If Lydia’s sister had had a proper dowry, he might have taken on Elizabeth Bennet. Maybe even have chosen to settle down, but his pursuit of Miss King’s settlement had cooled Miss Elizabeth’s interest. He had thought to engage her attentions again when the lady had returned from her visit with Charlotte Collins, but Miss Elizabeth had returned home from Kent with a new respect for Darcy. In fact, her opinion of Darcy had altered dramatically. Wickham could readily recall the conversation in which he recognized that he had squandered any chance of regaining the lady’s regard.
On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining in Meryton, he had dined with others of the officers at Longbourn, and so little was Miss Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humor that, on his making some inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she had mentioned the former Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy as having spent three weeks at Rosings, and had asked him if he were acquainted with the colonel.
Displeased by her tone, Wickham had masked his surprise and alarm. With a moment’s recollection and a returning smile of solicitude, he had falsely assured Miss Elizabeth of the then colonel’s very gentlemanlike qualities and had forced himself to inquire of the lady’s opinion of Darcy’s cousin, a man Wickham had always despised.
With an air of indifference, but with true curiosity, he had asked, “How long did you say the colonel was at Rosings?”
“Nearly three weeks.”
Having sensed her possible defection, he asked cautiously. “And you saw him frequently?”
“Yes, almost every day.”
Her wry smile should have warned him of her intent, but he had overestimated his ability to bring about the lady’s renewed regard. Hoping to regain Miss Elizabeth’s goodwill, he had added his usual spill about Darcy’s disposition. “His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”
“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance.”
Her sentiment had shocked him. “Indeed!” But he had checked himself before adding in a gayer tone, “Is it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style? For dare I not hope,” he had continued, while adopting the conspiratorial tone that had proved acceptable to the lady on previous occasions, “that Darcy is improved in essentials.”
Elizabeth Bennet’s next words had announced her withdrawal from Wickham’s favor. “Oh, no! In essentials, I believe, Mr. Darcy is very much what he ever was.”
Scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over her words or to distrust their meaning, he had listened with an apprehensive and anxious attention while Miss Elizabeth had added, “When I said Mr. Darcy improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that either his mind or his manners were in a state of improvement; but that from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”
And now the lady is Mrs. Darcy, he thought angrily, and the silence absorbed his contempt. Darcy had won Miss Elizabeth’s hand and her heart, and he had settled for the lesser sister and a substantial monetary payment. Of course, if he had known of Darcy’s affection for Elizabeth Bennet, he would have held out for more money. “No further regrets,” he reproved. “We move forward from this time.”
He had spotted several antique pieces that he would take with him when he rode out tomorrow, but he had no plans to return to Alpin Hall afterwards. A horse with the best pedigree and a small satchel of expensive items would be his ticket. “No more service to country and King,” he declared as he punched the pillow to make it more pliable. “Once I have a stake, I will make a new future away from the Darcys and their continual disdain. They will one day say that they knew me when…”
Edward Fitzwilliam bedded down in an orchard. Some of the aristocracy would find his choice of accommodations abhorrent. He was an earl’s son, after all. The “spare” for his brother Rowland. Yet, Edward had always preferred the outdoors and space to a crowded ballroom. It was the reason he had chosen the army over the navy when selecting his military calling. That and the fact that rough oceans made him seasick. “I would have made a deplorable captain in that respect,” he mumbled to his horse as he tied the stallion loosely to one of the bushes.
“Another day—maybe a day and a half,” he told the animal as he wiped down its coat. “Then you can rest, my friend, and I can bury myself in the sweet scent of jasmine. I have a beautiful wife, you know. A woman to quell the emptiness.” He patted the stallion’s neck.
He unwrapped the bedding and stretched out under the stars. “At least, there is no rain. No mud. No knee-deep in blood,” he continued to talk to himself. “No dreams of the horror that was Waterloo. Only Georgie’s beautiful countenance and her sweet body. Heaven on Earth.” A smile spread across his face. “A lifetime of proving myself worthy of Georgiana’s love,” He sighed deeply. “A sentence I will gla
dly serve.”
“Prisoners.” The word beat a staccato in her mind as she reentered the simple chamber with its obvious guard just outside the door. She had considered the idea that she was the MacBethans’ prisoner, but somehow she had not previously mustered the panic that now filled her chest. “Prisoner,” she mouthed the word. The MacBethans continued to lock her in this small space. “It is obviously not a guest room.” She had observed several elaborate bedchambers during her house tour. With its plain furnishings, the room she occupied did not delineate her as an honored member of the household. What would happen if she refused to become Aulay’s bride? Would the MacBethans return her to where the others were being held? And where was that exactly? Lord Wotherspoon had rushed toward the lower staircase when he had left her in Ronald’s care. “What happens to the other prisoners?” she wondered aloud. “Are they tortured? Killed? Why are they here? What offense have they committed? And if I was one of them, what offense did I practice on the MacBethans to give them dominion over me?”
And there had to be more than one prisoner. The servant had specifically said, “One of the prisoners.” Her thoughts flooded the room. Could she escape? Could she assist the others? She needed to know exactly where she was being held. She could observe part of the estate’s entrance from the room’s small window. A better view of the grounds became paramount. If she escaped the MacBethans, could she find someone who would come to her aid? Usually, estates were several miles apart. Could she find a Good Samaritan before Lady Wotherspoon found her? The girl held no doubt that the woman would hunt her down as if chasing a fox in the woods.
“I need more information,” she told herself as she paced the small open space. “What can I remember from my so-called sickroom stay?” she mused. The bandage on her wrist was an obvious reminder. Carefully, she unwrapped the cloth to examine the raw scrapes along the pale skin. “What could have caused these lacerations?” She gently touched the deepest cut, which had scabbed over. “I must remember why I felt gratitude for the kindness Lady Wotherspoon has shown me.” She rewrapped her wrist so no one would know that she had considered her injuries to result from anything but a simple fall.
“This shan’t be easy,” she cautioned her rapidly beating pulse. “Lord Wotherspoon reminded me that I must settle my past before I accept the future his mother has designed for me. Yet, I must do so carefully without offending the woman. Domhnall MacBethan has sworn to protect me, but can I trust anyone in this house?”
“I have sent a message to Drouot House,” Elizabeth explained. “I expect Mrs. Bingley to issue an invitation for your family to join them as soon as she receives my letter. As Mr. Joseph and Mr. Darcy were to use Drouot as their base for their business dealings, the Bingleys shall be expecting your husband.”
Mary Joseph protested, “Yet, not as a man recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“Trust me, Mrs. Joseph,” Darcy countered, “Mrs. Bingley would be offended if you did not take shelter at Drouot House. My wife’s sister has the kindest of hearts.”
“That means that Mrs. Bingley thought highly of Mr. Darcy long before I did,” Elizabeth teased. “Yet, my husband speaks the truth. The Bingleys are two of the most obliging adults on this earth. My father has always contended that Jane and Mr. Bingley would do very well together because their tempers are by no means unlike. Mr. Bennet claimed that the Bingleys were each so complying that nothing would ever be resolved upon between them, and that they were so easy that every servant would cheat them and so generous that they would always exceed their income.”
Darcy chuckled. “I would call Mr. Bennet’s a fair evaluation.”
Mary’s lips twitched. “Mr. Joseph and I shall quash the urge to make the Bingleys our mark.”
“If you are tempted,” Darcy returned the smile, “keep in mind that Mrs. Darcy and I will follow you to Newton Stewart, and my wife and I are less inclined to be generous.”
“Did you hear that, Matthew?” Mary teased.
The clergyman sat propped against a stack of pillows. Someone had shaved him, and although he still appeared pale, a bit of color had returned to his cheeks. “I would say we have been duly warned, Wife. And we are very familiar with the Darcys of Pemberley’s less than charitable natures,” he said jokingly. All four knew that if it had not been for the Darcys’ generosity, the Josephs’ son would have been born in a lowly stable and would have likely died. The couple owed them much more than could ever be repaid. Joseph extended his hand to Darcy. “Be safe, Sir. You and Mrs. Darcy are very important to the Joseph family. You will remain in our daily prayers.”
“Thank you.” Darcy nodded his understanding. He stood and reached for his hat and gloves. “Mrs. Darcy, we should be on the road.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth hugged Mary one last time. “Promise me you shall accept the Bingleys’ hospitality.”
Mary returned the embrace. “I promise.”
Darcy handed her into the carriage. He had taken Bennet from Mrs. Prulock and had deposited his son in his wife’s arms. Then he had assisted the wet nurse to a place beside Elizabeth. Traditionally, the nurse and Bennet would have followed in his small coach, but they would make do with the one carriage. He would welcome the nurse’s presence if it meant having Bennet in close proximity. His son had brought him a peace that he could not explain to anyone who had never walked the floor with a colicky baby in order to allow his mate a few extra hours of sleep. He and Elizabeth had created this beautiful bundle of arms and legs and joy through their love. He placed his hat and gloves on the seat beside him. “I will hold Bennet,” he said softly.
Elizabeth smiled brightly. “You will notice, Mrs. Prulock,” she said in that familiar teasing tone he so adored. The one which had disappeared from his wife’s personality after her previous miscarriages. It was as if Bennet’s birth had given him back the woman Darcy loved with every fiber of his being. “That Mr. Darcy relishes holding his son when Bennet sleeps. Yet, let the boy kick up a fuss, and the child is instantly my son, not our son.”
“Wait until the young master be cutting his teeth. He be keeping the household awake with his temper,” Mrs. Prulock predicted.
With his fingertips, Darcy traced his child’s jaw line. “Even a case of the Darcy stubbornness will not deter my joy at looking at this angelic countenance.”
“At least Mr. Darcy did not blame said stubbornness on my side of the family,” Elizabeth countered as the carriage lurched into motion.
Darcy did not remove his eyes from his son’s face, but he said, “I have learned, Mrs. Darcy, to accept that all Bennet’s failings lie at my feet while our son’s more magnanimous qualities are a direct result of your influence.”
Elizabeth suppressed her grin. “You were difficult to bring to the bit,” she teased. “But I am quite content with the end result.” They sat in silence for several minutes while each contemplated his own tumultuous part in their coming together as man and wife. Finally, she asked, “How long before we reach Alpin Hall?”
“Seven to eight hours depending on the roads,” he said softly.
“I am most anxious to settle what has transpired with Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said.
He nodded as he sat back into the soft squabs. “As am I. I have missed Georgiana.”
“Shall you sleep the day away?” the voice asked in concern.
She turned over to look at the room’s ceiling and once more to count the knots in the wood. “Two and twenty,” she said to test her voice.
“Yes, two and twenty,” the voice spoke with a bit of irritation. “What else shall you do today?”
She said defensively, “What else would you have me do?”
The voice “tutted” her disapproval. “Find a way out of this dilemma. You are a brave, intelligent woman.”
“I would beg to differ. If I were brave and intelligent, I would not have succumbed to my doubts, and I would not be at another’s beck and call.”
“Shall ye sleep the day away?”
Lady Wotherspoon said close to the girl’s ear. A splitting headache had driven her to her bed several hours prior. She had searched her memory for details of her life before coming to Normanna Hall, as well as what had happened to her since arriving at the estate. The process had left her exhausted and suffering with a megrim.
The girl shoved herself to a seated position. “Forgive me, Lady Wotherspoon. I thought it best to channel my energies to recovering fully. If I am to accept Aulay, then I must be at my best.”
“Of course, ye shall accept Aulay,” the woman declared as she began to brush Esme’s hair to remove the tangles.
“Esme” frowned deeply. “I have thought much of what is best. I recall…” she paused. “I recall few details of my life prior to my time in this room.” She sat quietly for several minutes before saying, “Before I could accept Aulay, I would need to learn more of my child’s father.” Her fingers splayed protectively across her abdomen.
Her request had, evidently, surprised Lady Wotherspoon. The woman’s eyes flared with incredulity, but she quickly masked her true response. “A woman should have pleasant memories to share with the bairn.” She braided Esme’s hair. “I think it best if ye remember on yer own, but if’n ye kinnae I kin tell ye more of yer life.”
“You know of my lost memories?” Esme returned the woman’s earlier surprise.
“I’s know some of it. Enough to know yer husband be gone. Ye do not wish the child to be barn without a lovin’ father. Aulay would be a good companion.”
“If I cannot remember on my own, you will tell me what you know?” The girl insisted.
“I shall share it all.”
Lady Wotherspoon rushed through Normanna’s intricate passageways until she reached the Grand Hall. Finding Munro, her husband’s nephew, drinking with several of the other cousins and distant relatives, with a tilt of her head, she motioned him to follow her into the chapel. Although he was of the MacBethan clan, the man had proved resourceful when she had sent him on previous tasks.
The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery Page 18
