For a long while the ticking clock was the only sound, unless one counted heavy breathing and moist lips in action. Mental clarity and restraint were slowly restored, Sebastian withdrawing but keeping the space between their bodies minuscule.
“I am glad that I arrived when I did. Being with you during this difficult time, aiding even in a small way, eases my heart. I cannot fathom how awful to hear later that you went through this trauma without me. We may not yet be wed, Miss Darcy, but I already feel responsible for you. Do not doubt that or my love for you.”
She laughed shakily, attempting to nod with her head clasped firmly between his hands. “I have missed you, Sebastian, so much. And I am glad you were here too.”
He kissed her again, tenderly, and then stepped back. “Now I should be going, despite my reluctance. You need to sleep and I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy will need you tomorrow.”
“When will you return?” Her voice caught, emotions still surging close to the surface.
“I am staying at my grandmother’s townhouse. I shall wait upon your pleasure. See to your family first and when you deem it appropriate, write to Lady Warrow.” He pulled on his overcoat, smiling at her worried expression. “I promise to respond with alacrity. After all, I have an official question to ask of your brother and have no intention of delaying any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Yes, indeed you do,” she agreed with a hint of humor, “and, as difficult as it was to manage in my despondency and loneliness, I have several sheets of music I need your expert opinion on.”
“I sincerely doubt I will have anything worthwhile to add to your brilliance, Miss Darcy, but I will delight in hearing you play the notes.”
“You flatterer! The piece is meant to be played together and I am sure you will add some flair I did not envision, after your skill in rapid memorization is tested, that is.”
“I adore a challenge,” he countered, leaning to meet her lips for a final kiss, “and I adore you. In fact, I am crazy in love with you.”
“I love you,” she breathed, closing her eyes and rubbing her soft cheek against his stubbled one. “Shall I have a horse saddled?”
“No, thank you. I think a walk in the brisk air will do me good. It is not far. Attend to the present circumstances, Georgiana, but call for me soon. I need you,” he ended simply, leaving seconds later, after another kiss.
Lizzy’s fever broke three hours before the dawn, Marguerite changing the damp nightgown without the sleeping Darcy even aware. He did rouse at the angry voice of his son demanding sustenance, assisting the procedure since Lizzy remained languorous and addled. The baby did not seem to mind, nursing well from each breast, but Lizzy’s condition worried Darcy.
“It is to be expected,” George stated. “The fever, although lessened, is slightly elevated and the effects of the inflammation cause sluggishness. Add that to the residual ether sedation and I anticipate in may take a day or two for her to rally completely.”
His assessment was correct. Lizzy slept most of the day and all that following night. She recognized Darcy and spoke dazedly of what had happened, but her haziness prevented curiosity as to how she was rescued or the condition of her abductors. Gradually, over the ensuing week her memory would return, but there would forever be gaps in her recollect mingled with bizarre images that made no sense. She was haunted by disturbing dreams, some powerful enough to jerk her awake, crying out in fear and reaching franticly for Darcy.
An oddly sweet odor to her breath and mild cough lasted for another twenty-four hours, also the aftereffects of vitriol, George said, as were her poor appetite and vomiting even with the bland soups and plain breads offered. The inflamed blotch marring her beautiful breast was gone in two days, thanks to Michael and the various medical treatments, internal and external, that their resident physician prescribed.
Alexander experienced lingering lethargy during that first day, his stomach was easily upset, and he too coughed. A honeyed tonic brewed by Uncle Goj remedied the unpleasant symptoms and after another night of restorative sleep he was physically one hundred percent cured. However, nightmares that he never remembered upon waking plagued him for weeks with Darcy called upon to pacify his terrified son until returned to sleep.
Observing their distress with no way to remedy it other than embracing caused him immeasurable pain, in some respects worse than their suffering. His sleep was disturbed by their nightmares and his own plagued dreams. The daytime hours were busy, allowing little time to rest until later in the evenings when the four of them gathered together in the large bed for play and stories, inevitably falling asleep in a tangle of limbs.
The laceration to his scalp was not large and healed without festering. The only negative effect was an annoying tingling as it healed and an occasional headache. His greatest physical pain arose from the wallop against the heavy oak door, the bruises scattered over his body, and muscles stressed during the altercation. Luckily, he was a quick healer and daily hot baths, soothing compresses given by his uncle for the biggest bruises, and deep massages from Samuel speeded his recovery.
The combination of bath, medicines, and massage definitely helped that first morning, Darcy exiting his dressing room prepared to deal with the consequences of the prior night’s events.
Richard had not returned to Darcy House during the night, assuming his cousin would be otherwise occupied and trusting that Dr. Darcy would handle the medical needs with his typical brilliance. Besides, after taking care of matters as completely as possible considering the late hour and extending thanks to the men from his former regiment, all of whom had enjoyed themselves and shrugged off his thanks, he was exhausted and hungry for his wife’s comforting arms.
However, knowing his cousin as well as he did, Richard rose early and rode straight to Darcy House after breakfasting with his new family. Once the hot pot of coffee was delivered to the combination study and library where Darcy sat waiting and steaming cups were held in their hands, Richard launched into his update.
“The men guarding the house were scum Wickham had hired. None of them had any idea they were working for the Marquis of Orman, content to take the money and ask no questions. The fear instilled by my associates and I, obviously military despite not wearing uniforms, was enough to subdue, especially after a spell in Newgate just for good measure.”
He sipped gingerly, continuing, “My comrades enjoyed trussing them up and finding the ricketiest cart obtainable for the long ride back to town. A handful of coins to the gaoler and vague information on their crime will be enough to keep them in misery for a good while.”
“Will they be executed?”
Richard shrugged. “It is easy to arrange that and they deserve it since they knew a woman and child had been kidnapped. Men of that ilk should not be roaming free for the next criminal to take advantage of. I will see what I can arrange and still leave your name out of it.”
“Thanks. What about Orman?”
“Still raving and frothing at the mouth last I saw. Campbell and Willet took him to Bethlem. No news from them today, but I plan to visit the barracks when I leave here. I am not a doctor, Cousin, but the man seems insane to me. It might get tricky since he is a peer of the realm. However, if your name has to come into it, we can merely say he threatened you in some way and not mention Elizabeth or Alexander.”
Darcy visibly relaxed, sighing and nodding in relief. “I will go to great extremes to prevent them being dragged into this and harmed in any way possible.”
“Even lie?”
“I know, I know. It goes against every principle I embrace, but in this situation I will employ every ounce of my poker skills to bluff if need be.”
Richard could not resist laughing. “Well, let us work on a plausible story since your skills at poker are dismal!” Darcy grunted but did smile, and Richard continued. “It will not be difficult to spin a tale. Everyone knows your past with Orman, and his insanity and living conditions are real enough. I say keep it simple
and close to the truth. Call me a cynic, but I would be shocked if the authorities waste time on investigating too thoroughly. They will take one look at him, toss him into a cell, and happily confiscate what property and money he has in the name of the Crown. He will not be an enigma in that madhouse they call a hospital, I assure you. He can share a room with Lord Attenborough or Baron Warburton.”
They spent a few more minutes hammering out the finer details and then broached the most distressing topic of all.
“What about Wickham? I am not crying at his demise, but he was, well…”
“Family,” Darcy spat bitterly, “yes, I know.” He paused for a large swallow of coffee. “What did you do with his body?”
“We took it to the yard, placed in the morgue for now. No questions will be asked, yet, but I cannot keep him there forever. May I make a suggestion?”
“By all means do.”
Richard leaned forward. “From what I have deduced, the only person on this planet who will miss the wretch is Mrs. Wickham. I do sympathize with her loss since she appeared to love him. Therefore, I see no point in multiplying her grief by learning the truth about the man she was married to or how he died. Certainly knowing you were involved will add unnecessary strain that benefits no one.”
“No argument there. I am not looking forward to telling Elizabeth he died at my hand, let alone sharing that with Mrs. Wickham and the Bennets.”
Richard barked a laugh. “I would not worry about Elizabeth’s reaction. Somehow I think she will show her gratitude and pride enthusiastically. As for the rest, here is what I propose: We know he left Mrs. Wickham over a week ago, sending her home or wherever while he came on to London. It does not matter what story he concocted for her benefit. All you have to say is that he was discovered dead on the side of the road, neck broken as a result of falling from his horse as far as can be ascertained, and you were contacted because of this.”
Richard pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket, placing it into Darcy’s hand. The parchment piece was yellowed with age and torn along the edges, the creases grimy after years of being stuffed into pockets, and the charcoal drawn faces smudged in places, but there was no doubt who the two smiling young men were even if their names had not been written underneath.
“I remember sitting for this,” Darcy whispered mouth agape in shock. “We were days away from leaving for Cambridge. Mr. Wickham was proud that his son was to attend with me, intelligent enough to pass the entrance exams even though younger. He held such high hopes of his son’s success.” Darcy coughed around the tightness in his throat, not every memory involving Wickham an unhappy one, especially where Pemberley’s previous steward was concerned. “Mr. Wickham requested his wife draw us. She was talented with charcoal, although not as much with paints. I have to admit that during this time, especially noting how happy his family and my father were, I completely forgot my misgivings where Wickham was concerned. For a while he was George again, my boyhood friend.”
“It was among his papers, the only personal item. He did not even have a drawing or reference to his wife.”
“Mr. Wickham had this framed. I remember it sitting on his desk. After he died, Wickham came for the funeral. I fulfilled Mr. Wickham’s wishes in giving everything to his son, other than a few trinkets specified for others. I gave the picture no thought. Why do you think he carried it?”
“I do not know, Darcy. Perhaps in a twisted way he held a modicum of affection for the past. Or then again, maybe it was so he could look at your face and heap curses, Gypsy style. We will never know and I beg you not to let it distress you. For the sake of the present, it provides a reason for why you learned of his death and were left to handle it. And we can point to this and his past connection with your family, positive as far as most know, as a way to deflect any rumors that may arise.”
“I find it difficult to believe he held any affection, so more likely the curse theory is the correct one.” He folded the paper, handing it back to Richard. “Nothing ties him to Orman?”
“Nothing that I can see. Even my spies drew blanks on that count.”
“What about Geoffrey Wiseman?”
“I will look into anything here in London, but he will disappear with no one the wiser, I suppose, except for your housekeeper, but I leave that in your capable hands.”
“Next on my morning’s agenda,” Darcy said dryly. “The matter of Wickham can wait a day or two, can it not? I would like to talk to Elizabeth before contacting her family. Her insight will be invaluable, especially where Lydia is concerned.”
“It is sensible to wait on this matter anyway. Two odd events, one a death and the other a crazed lunatic out for blood, involving you in the same week might raise an eyebrow or two. Best to space out the fodder for gossip.”
Darcy frowned, scandal, even hinted, being something he abhorred.
“Do not worry too much, Cousin. Orman’s madness will be the topic of choice, with vivid descriptions I am sure, not the death of a man no one knew. Wickham will not generate more than a sentence or two. As for Mrs. Wickham, with all due respect to Elizabeth and no wish to offend, I somehow doubt the widow will be grief stricken or lonely for long.”
Darcy shook his head, unable to hold in a smile. “No, I doubt she will. Her mother will welcome her home with tears of joy, Mr. Bennet will probably be relieved, and I will make sure that her husband left a settlement to provide until husband number two is ensnared.”
“That is generous of you, under the circumstances.”
“Trust me, generosity has nothing to do with it, nor do I really care about Lydia, if you must know. I do, however, care deeply for my wife. And speaking of my wife, I need to check on her. Keep me informed.”
“I always do. That is my lot in life, cleaning up your messes as usual, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy waved his cousin’s gibe and grin away. “I think we are tied for rescuing each other, but you better watch your step or I will give erroneous parenting advice on purpose.”
Darcy had refused to think of the housekeeper and her role in the abduction during the night. He did not ask George of her whereabouts until that morning after bathing and dressing, knowing that the incensed rage would interfere with the calm he needed for his family. Thus, it was mid-morning after talking with Richard and then spending time with his peacefully sleeping wife before he felt in control enough to broach the subject with his uncle and then confront the woman. The time allotted gave his mind the opportunity to rationalize the subject, deciding on the best course of action.
George had gleaned little of interest. Mrs. Smyth had been so shaken by her master’s threatening anger that she was a puddle of tears and incoherency. In disgust he had given up on any questioning, banishing her to her quarters and assigning a footman to ensure she stayed put until Mr. Darcy said otherwise.
In truth, Darcy could care less how Wickham had finagled his way into Mrs. Smyth’s good graces and thus into his house. Knowing the skill Wickham wielded at deception and charming women, he was not surprised and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him. He might have been able to feel some pity for the obviously lonely, mislead woman, but the fact is that she had willingly allowed a stranger into his house and fornicated under his roof, rules that were broken in blatant disregard of his authority. Couple that with her ongoing, albeit suppressed hostility toward his wife and children, and his extensive patience was at an end.
What he was not prepared for, especially after George’s description of how distraught she was the day before, was the blaze of defiance he was greeted with.
She marched into his study, Mr. Travers trailing, her face set into a haughty pose with spine stiff and hands boldly clasping the chatelaine of keys indicative of her office. Darcy sat in his imposing leather chair, composed and coldly authoritative. His momentary startlement at her demeanor did not show outwardly, nor did it cause his disciplined core to waver. Rather, it steeled his resolve.
“Mrs. Smyth, I am no lon
ger interested in the details of your involvement with Mr. Wickham. Your misjudgment which led to your crimes is for you to bear. The proofs of your transgressions against the rules of this household, my rules, are more than sufficient to warrant your immediate dismissal. I order you to pack your belongings and vacate my house by this afternoon. My only concession, my last act of kindness if you will, for years of service will be to offer the availability of a carriage and driver to take you to a destination of your choosing. Under the circumstances I judge that more than fair.”
“And what of my future livelihood? Am I to be given no recommendation for employment?”
Darcy’s brow rose reflexively. “You cannot be serious? Do you honestly anticipate that I would write a letter of recommendation after what has transpired here?”
“Indeed, I would think you might consider the wisdom in securing me another post. But I will accept a letter as just payment.”
Darcy was flabbergasted. But he was also irritated and perversely curious. “Please, do enlighten me as to why I should deem such absurdity ‘wisdom’ on my part.”
She took a step nearer the desk, the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the metal and the ridges of her compressed lips the only obvious indications that she was not as assured as her words intended.
“Mr. Darcy, I know you are a gentleman whose reputation for propriety is of the highest importance. Positive regard amongst Society is valued by you. I would never wish to see your excellent name sullied even further than it already has been.”
Darcy’s face was impassive, his hands resting on the polished surface of the desk with body erect in his chair. He stared at her calmly and in silence, finally replying dispassionately, “I shall ignore the inference that my ‘name’ has in some manner been sullied, at least in your opinion. Let us proceed to the insinuation that I can in some way be further besmirched. I am truly curious as to what you refer.”
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