He held her gaze for a heartbeat before a squeeze of his eyes brought the man she knew.“Miss Elizabeth, may I help you dismount?”
“Yes, Mr. Wickham, but it is Mrs. Darcy now. Remember.” She gently placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to lift her. “We are brother and sister,” she added quietly.
“So we are,” he noted as he placed her hand on his arm to lead Elizabeth toward the building. “Mr. Withey was most displeased with your asking for me,” he noted as they walked along.
“I had not seen you since you left for Newcastle. Of course, I was curious.” When they reached the church steps, Elizabeth purposely smiled at him, trying to continue her part in this charade. “Look where we are, Mr. Wickham.” She gestured with her free hand to the church steps upon which they stood. “It is the sanctuary at Kympton, the one you so coveted for years.”
Wickham looked around with an assessing eye. “It is, at that, Mrs. Darcy. It is a shame your husband denied me the living once promised by his father.”
Elizabeth forced evenness into her voice despite the fact that she stood in a frozen landscape, wearing a simple day dress, with blood caked about her eyes and in her hair and spoke to a madman. “It must be Providence which has brought us here today, Mr. Wickham. I am sure Mr. Darcy said the living was to come available in the late spring. Perhaps something could still be secured. Mr. Darcy will do anything to keep my regard.”
“The man is not likely to change his mind, Miss Elizabeth.”
She did not correct him this time. Instead, Elizabeth looked steadily at the church. “It is rather inviting. Might we take a look inside? I find it quite cold here in the open.”
“Of course. How callous of me.”Wickham reached for the door and opened it for her. “After you.”
Darcy knew he could be no more than ten minutes behind Wickham and Elizabeth. He slumped over Vulcan’s neck, clinging to the animal, making himself stay in the saddle—to find Elizabeth before Wickham violated her as revenge for past sins. He had witnessed the lunacy for himself and knew he had no choice, but it grieved him to have things come to this. Although he inherently knew he was not to blame for George Wickham’s descent into hell, part of him wondered what he might have done differently.When he had first taken the blame for Mr. Wickham’s transgressions, Darcy had done so out of friendship. Later, he had done it to protect the Pemberley name from scandal. Now, he realized that all he had managed to do was to give Wickham permission to continue his wayward ways—to reinforce all the wrongs the man perpetrated.
Then, as the late afternoon light began to fade, he, finally, saw them. Demon and Pandora stood before the Kympton village church. Somehow, Fate, probably with a bit of Elizabeth’s manipulations, had brought them all to this place at this time. Planning his attack as he approached, Darcy rode to the cemetery beside the church. He painfully slid from the saddle. Using Vulcan as a brace, Darcy pulled himself to stand straight. He took the gun from his waistband, cocked it, and started for the church’s side door.
“It is a most delightful place! Excellent parsonage house!”Wickham stared out the window.“It would have suited me in every respect.”
“How should you have liked making sermons?” Elizabeth asked, trying to keep him talking. She had decided if she could get away and hide long enough to make it to the nearby village, then she just possibly might find help for herself and her husband.
“Exceedingly well.” He turned back to face her. “I should have considered it as part of my duty, and the exertions would soon have been nothing. One ought not to repine; but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! The quiet, the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas of happiness. But it was not to be.”
While he spoke dreamily, Elizabeth slowly edged toward the side door of the church. “I have heard from authority that the living was left you conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron—at my husband’s will.” Elizabeth realized she provoked him, but it was a calculated risk. She leaned away from him; breathing heavily, the weight of her dilemma dawned fully. For the sake of the distraction, she needed to keep Wickham talking.
“You have? Yes, there was something in that; I told you so from the first, you may remember.” Having been caught in the lie he so often repeated, Wickham became more agitated, pacing the length of the vestibule.
Elizabeth eased closer to her goal. She prayed that, as with the front door, the side one would be unlocked. “I did hear, too, that there was a time when sermon-making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the business had been compromised accordingly—and that Mr. Darcy provided you with three thousand pounds as compensation.”
Wickham’s eyes flickered, and she saw James Withey for a split second, but Wickham remained in control. “You did? And it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember what I told you on that point when first we talked.”
Elizabeth cautiously reached behind her and felt for the door handle. Finding it, she breathed easier. It was now or never. “Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel about the past. In the future, I hope we shall always be of one mind.” She saw the flicker again, and James Withey’s rage take over.
His mouth twisted in contempt. “You had to mention that bitch and the marriage!” He stormed across the church at her, knocking over benches set for the parishioners, but Elizabeth did not wait to hear the end of his rant. She ran through the opened door to the cemetery—from a living nightmare—and into the waiting arms of her husband.
Withey stormed across the church trying to reach the woman. Wickham had not been aware of Elizabeth Darcy’s scheming mind, and now James would have to find her and silence her before she sent up a general alarm in the neighborhood. “Damn!” He raced after her, out the church’s side door, but a specter he had thought he left behind stood solidly among the tombstones, and James found himself on the short end of a gun.
“Step behind me, Elizabeth.” Darcy moved her to relative safety as he kept his gaze on their interloper. She stilled against him, terror tightening her fingers on his arm.
“I thought you dead,”Withey snarled.
A sarcastic smile graced Darcy’s face.“As usual, you were in error.”
“Well, Darcy, we are at an impasse. Our battle is to end this day, with only one claiming victory.” Falsely, James took a small step backward. “It is my belief that you are too honorable to kill a man in cold blood, and you are in too much pain to come for me,” he added brashly. With that, James dived through the open doorway, gunfire chasing him into the dusky shadows.
The gunshot surprised her, but Elizabeth did not scream. Instead, she prayed that Darcy had not killed Wickham. The man was correct; it would haunt her husband terribly, so despite what he had put them through, she wished Wickham to live.The sound of the front door banging open told her that God had answered that prayer.
“Help me,” Darcy ordered as he lurched toward the noise.
She clung to her husband.“Let him go, Fitzwilliam,” she begged. “I will not have you labeled a murderer.”
Darcy pulled up. Looking down at her bruised and bloody face, he said, “He did this to you.” He reached to caress her cheek.
“And to you.” She braced his shoulder with her hands.“Let this be the worst of it.”
The sound of hoof beats said Withey had made his escape, and for a moment, they thought it finished, but suddenly Demon bore down on them; and James Withey wielded a sword, slicing the frozen air.
Darcy pulled Elizabeth behind a burial crypt at the last second, but Withey circled the horse and came at them again. Everything moved in shadows: the crazed face of George Wickham yelling a curse filled with years of hate and a proud and a principled Fitzwilliam Darcy standing tall to rebuke the attack. And then Darcy reacted by instinct: He whistled to the horse—his horse—to Demon, and the stallion reared up, pawing t
he air with violent strikes.
James Withey barely held the reins as he charged Darcy for the second time, concentrating purely on making contact with his enemy, so when Darcy emitted a shrill whistle, at first he did not understand the man’s intentions; but then the horse rose on its back legs to defend itself from an unknown attack, and James felt himself sliding from the saddle. And then a grim silence.
“My God, Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth rushed around her husband as he calmed his favorite horse. George Wickham lay, arms and legs akimbo, on a nearby grave, his head split open and a grayish blood seeping into the frozen ground. “He hit the tombstone,” she whispered to the stillness, as she reached out tentatively to touch her sister’s husband. However, the man no longer moved.
Darcy stood beside her. Lifting her gently to her feet, he pulled Elizabeth against his chest, allowing his wife’s grief to begin. “It is over, Sweetheart.” He held her to him. “Mr. Wickham can hurt us no more.”
The sound of fresh horses brought his head up, but only Stafford and Worth appeared. In silence, both men dismounted and joined them in the cemetery’s middle. Surrounded by marble and wood, dismay at what they had all suffered permeated the winter’s quiet. With a nod of his head, Darcy indicated for them to check the body. Worth did the honors while Stafford entered the church to set things aright. No one spoke. They had been through so much together in the past week that none of them needed words to know what to do.
“Are we taking Wickham back to Pemberley?” Stafford said at last.
Darcy still held Elizabeth in his embrace.“It is what Mrs. Darcy would want for her sister.”
Worth brought Vulcan alongside of the grave, so he and Stafford could load the body across the saddle. “Did you notice the epitaph?” the solicitor asked as they clumsily lifted Wickham to the horse.“’Tis fate that flings the dice, and as she flings, of kings makes peasants, and of peasants kings.”
“Wickham proved the folly of keeping bad company.” Stafford shot a quick glance at the Darcys. “As Ovid said, ‘The vulgar estimate friends by the advantage to be derived from them.’”
“Can you ride, Darcy?”Worth asked as he brought Demon forward.
Darcy bent his head to speak to Elizabeth. “May I take you up with me, my Dear?”
Elizabeth raised her head to look at him carefully. “Will it not hurt you?”
“It will hurt me more to have you out of the safety of my arms.”
Stafford suggested, “We should leave before the village comes to see what is going on.We are lucky no one seems to be home at the parsonage. I think we will need to construct a new truth out of this.”
“I suspect you are correct,Your Lordship. Now, if you and Worth will give me a leg up, we will take the back roads to Pemberley.”
“As you wish, Darcy.”
When Elizabeth had settled herself across Darcy’s lap, Stafford handed up his coat. “This may smell a bit better than the blanket your husband wears, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Thank you, Lord Stafford, but I find the odor of horse flesh quite alluring.” She turned into Darcy’s warmth as he draped the coat around her.
Stafford chuckled. “If I ever find a woman with your mettle, Mrs. Darcy, I will be on one knee in a heartbeat.”
“I shall happily celebrate that day,Your Lordship.”
EPILOGUE
TWO DAYS LATER, THE Pemberley family and trusted guests sat together in the same blue drawing room they had shared for the preceding fortnight. Of the havoc George Wickham had wreaked, Lydia suffered the most serious injuries—the bullet from the colonel’s gun going completely through her left shoulder, leaving a gaping wound in her back. However, in Elizabeth’s opinion, Lydia’s most difficult injury to heal would be her sister’s emotional state. Months of dealing with Wickham’s mental decline had left Lydia vulnerable.
Georgiana needed only a few well-placed stitches. Mrs. Reynolds’s diagnosis of Colonel Fitzwilliam proved correct. Doctor Miller removed the fragments of the bullet and of one of the colonel’s many medals and casted the colonel’s broken wrist. Elizabeth suffered only a grazing wound close to her temple, while Darcy had some muscle damage across his shoulder blade and along his spine.An elaborate bandage crisscrossed his back and chest, restricting his movement, which totally frustrated a man known to take pride in the actual running of his estate.
“Sir Phillip returns today?”Worth asked as he sipped a cup of tea.
Darcy replied, “The baronet will take Mrs. Harwood to Derby first, but he and I have decided to send her to a friend in Antigua with the stipulation that the lady never returns to England.There is a facility nearby, where she will be expected to serve her sentence helping some of the island’s many orphans.”
Worth’s contempt for the idea showed. “For the heinous crime she committed, it is more than the lady deserves.”
“We have been through this several times, Worth,” Edward warded off the solicitor’s objections. “It is the only way we can reduce the scandal.”
“I understand,”Worth grumbled, “but I do not have to like it.”
Elizabeth reached out and patted Worth’s arm. “We appreciate your and Miss de Bourgh’s approval of this plan. We comprehend the depth of your disdain for this alternative, but we need to protect Mrs.Wickham.”
“Of course, Mrs. Darcy. I did not mean to criticize. Miss de Bourgh simply loved her long-time companion dearly.”
“As I love my sister,” Elizabeth said quietly.
Worth verbalized no further objections on the subject. Everyone assumed he would soon declare himself for Anne de Bourgh, and when she accepted him, he would become head of that branch of the family. His counsel had become valuable to them as they decided how to handle the outrage associated with Wickham’s intrusion.
“It still galls me that Mr. Steventon knew of the passages and never disclosed the information to me, especially as we searched for an unknown intruder,” Darcy grumbled.
Edward inquired, “What did the man say when you questioned him on it?”
“He thought me to be aware of the ruins. Said because Mr. Wickham’s father served my own for so long that he assumed me familiar with the layout. It seems my great-great grandfather saw a need for escape if the estate was attacked. In the 1600s, it would make sense. I must take the blame, I suppose, for not familiarizing myself with the house’s history. I thought I knew it, however.”
“Wickham must have known of the passageways because of his father?” Stafford thought aloud.
“One can only guess.” Darcy still showed signs of irritation. “His secrets died with him.”
“And what of your sister, Elizabeth?” Edward changed the subject. He sat beside Georgiana on a nearby settee—their fingers barely touching on the cushion between them.
Elizabeth watched with some amusement as Darcy eyed his cousin’s forwardness and his sister’s acceptance. It had taken her several hours the previous evening after Edward presented himself to Darcy to even consider a union of the two.
“Georgiana is not ready,” he insisted.
Elizabeth laughed softly.“Of course, our sister is ready.Women are born ready to marry.”
“You were not,” he accused.
Elizabeth snuggled into his right side. “I was born to marry the most honorable man to grace this earth. It was not my fault he came to me disguised as a pompous prig.” She stroked along his chin line as she spoke.
Darcy chuckled. “He was testing you, my Dear.” He lightly kissed her fingers. “Trying to see if you would recognize Love when it called upon you.”
“I was quite blind to what he offered, and I regret the time we wasted coming to an understanding.” She turned his palm over and kissed it.
“Do you really believe this is what Georgiana wishes?”
Elizabeth kissed his cheek. “Your sister has spoken of no one else for months. Have you not seen it? Have you not heard it? At Christmas, Georgiana bought Edward a gold-tipped walking stick with his initials eng
raved on the handle—quite a personal and expensive gift for a man she sees only every couple of months. Besides, would you wish someone less respectable for Georgiana?”
“I would wish her a Season in London as my parents planned.”
Elizabeth sat up straight, where she might meet his eyes. “I love Georgiana, but a Season would be a daunting experience for her. She is too unassuming, and despite her handsome appearance and her generous dowry, can you honestly believe that Georgiana could find a more suitable match in disposition? Edward would protect her and love her. It that not what you wish for our sister?”
“He is nearly fourteen years her senior,” he objected.
“You are eight years older than I.”
He sighed in exasperation. “What shall I tell them?”
Elizabeth knew Darcy would put Georgiana’s happiness above his own misgivings. “I suggest a compromise of sorts. Accept an understanding between our sister and Edward, but deny them an official announcement until her next birthday, at the end of the summer. In the meantime, we expose Georgiana to other young people in the neighborhood to see if any other young men pique her interest. If not, then you will know her constancy and can accept their union with a glad heart.”
“How did you become so wise?”
“Remember…I married that honorable man. I have learned empathy and compassion from him.” She settled back into his embrace.
Darcy closed his eyes and thought of the exquisite happiness he held and how he had come so close to losing her.“And you have taught me about loving completely. Compared with you, I am a mere novice.”
Darcy’s voice brought Elizabeth from her musings. “There is no way to hide Mr. Wickham’s attacks on this house, for too many people have knowledge of it.Yet, Sir Phillip has graciously allowed the Darcy family to put its own twist on the events. As the baronet said, it would serve no purpose to ruin the good names of everyone involved. So, for the record, Mr. Wickham invaded my home with the purpose of ridding himself of his wife.There is truth in the tale. Besides finding the letter I wrote to Mr. Laurie regarding Harwood and Wickham, we discovered a journal of sorts in the antechamber, which was kept by the one known as Peter Whittington.” Darcy still could not reconcile how one man could actually be four. “It chronicles his attack on Lucinda Dodd, Gregor MacIves’s fight with Lieutenant Harwood, and James Withey’s discovery by young Lawson. It also describes in some detail George Wickham’s contempt for Mrs. Wickham’s spending habits, his growing gambling debts, their lack of financial soundness, and his plan to free himself of his wife and blame it on Pemberley. It appears that Mr.Wickham used the letter to imitate my handwriting—planned to use the forgery somehow to better his scheme.”
The Phantom of Pemberley Page 41
