B00CO8L910 EBOK

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  “First, a glass of your fine port, if you will. The major general does not have your exquisite taste or appreciation for a good drink.” Richard sighed dramatically. “But such is the sad life of a soldier.”

  Darcy huffed. “I do not believe the second son of an earl, regardless of his profession in the army, would know much about deprivation.”

  Richard laughed as he poured himself a drink, surprising his cousin when he said, “You know, you are not the first to make that observation to me.”

  “Indeed,” Darcy said with little interest.

  Richard made himself comfortable in a seat with his glass, taking a sip from it before continuing. “Yes, indeed. The lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet said as much to me on one of our walks at Rosings.”

  Darcy’s attention was captured, but he turned his back to his cousin to pour himself a drink. He tried to retain his air of dispassion. “Is that so? Miss Elizabeth is an acute lady.”

  Richard smiled at the remembered conversation, causing his cousin to swallow a greater quantity than he would have otherwise.

  “Yes, she is. You know, if my situation were different or her marriage portion were better, I could be quite content with a lady like Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy choked on his drink.

  His cousin raised his glass to his face to hide a smile at his cousin’s reaction. “Miss Elizabeth is quite a lady; that is sure.” He watched Darcy’s red face merely nod and turn to look out the window. He had begun to suspect his cousin had feelings for Miss Bennet at Rosings. Darcy had never been such a nodcock around a woman before. Aloof? Usually. Rude? Most of the time. But a bumbling mute and a fidgety mooncalf? Never. He stared at the woman more than he had talked to her.

  “How is the young lady, you know, with her sister’s . . . ?”

  Richard was never good with uncomfortable details if they had anything to do with emotions. He was a good soldier and could handle serious situations as long as nobody showed their feelings.

  “She is doing much better, I believe.”

  “Have you been to see her lately?”

  “Not since the funeral. Bingley is still in Hertfordshire though.” Let Richard think his friend was supplying Darcy with information on the Bennets; it would keep him from nosing about Georgiana’s friendship with Elizabeth or his own vested interest. “You said you had business with me, Richard. Or was that business to drink all of my port?”

  Richard laughed and raised his glass. “That was part of my business, I confess. The other part was to ask why you are looking for Wickham.”

  Darcy’s face drew into a severe frown. “How did you know I was looking for him?”

  “Oh, come on, man. Do you think that after Ramsgate I would not try to keep an eye on the rogue myself? And furthermore, do you not think that, after all these years, I would fail to recognize the alias you gave yourself when we played games as children? Burns. Yes, I can see from your face that I am correct in the true identity of that man.”

  Darcy’s frown deepened. “I concede I am looking for Wickham, but I have my own reasons.”

  “And have you found him?”

  “No,” Darcy said with evident frustration.

  “I suspected as much. Do you not suppose that Wickham is aware of those who are looking for him? How do you think he is able to disappear so easily? No — if I knew you were the Mr. Burns who was looking for Wickham, then our old childhood friend would know it too. He played the same games with us as children, or have you forgotten?”

  Darcy groaned and ran his hand through his dark curls. “I had not thought of that.”

  “Why are you looking for him?”

  “It is probably nothing, Richard,” Darcy said with a wave of his hand.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows slightly. Darcy never did anything for naught. “Why do you not enlighten me as to this ‘nothing’?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Darcy closed his eyes. “When Miss Elizabeth’s sister fell down that ravine, she was accompanied on the walk by Wickham, then Lieutenant Wickham of the ——shire Militia, encamped in Hertfordshire.”

  “And?” Richard asked uneasily. “I had heard he had joined the militia from my own informants.”

  “And he left on leave from the militia the next day, and no one has seen him since.”

  “That does not explain why you are looking for him, Darcy.”

  Darcy rubbed his eyes and looked over at his cousin. “Mr. Bennet had reason to believe Wickham’s behavior was suspicious after Miss Lydia’s accident, and Colonel Forster, his commanding officer in the militia, said his leave was granted so Wickham could attend his sister’s wedding.”

  “Wickham does not have a sister.”

  “I know,” Darcy said gravely.

  The colonel was silent as he pondered Darcy’s words. The realization came just as he was taking another drink, causing him to spit it back into the glass and sputter, “Are you suggesting that Wickham caused Miss Lydia’s accident and death?”

  Darcy leveled blank eyes at his cousin as he nodded slowly.

  Richard stood abruptly and muttered a few choice words as he began to pace around the room. “Well, you cannot keep looking for him Darcy; that is for sure.”

  Darcy sat up, anger clear in his eyes. “Why is that?”

  “Because we will never find him if he knows you are looking for him, Mr. Burns. He will make damn sure of that.”

  “We?”

  “Yes. If that man is responsible for murder, especially while dressed in His Majesty’s regimentals, I will personally see to it that he is found and punished.”

  “Well, I am glad to have your assistance, of course.”

  “Tell me, Darcy — what information do you have other than your suspicions that Wickham might be involved in this girl’s death?”

  Darcy was about to speak when the door to his study was opened to reveal his sister. She happily skipped into the room, oblivious to the tension and stern faces of her cousin and brother.

  “William, when can we leave for Pemberley?” Georgiana nearly laughed. “I am tired of London and long to be back home.”

  Darcy attempted a smile for his sister while glancing at his cousin. Her excited countenance was a welcome change as she usually was not so animated, but neither gentleman was in the mood for such jovial spirits, considering their previous conversation.

  “I have had some business keeping me in London, Georgie. But if you wish to travel to Pemberley, I can arrange it. I had not known you wished to go.”

  Richard spoke too. “Yes, Georgiana, you should go to Pemberley. London in the summer has little attraction.”

  Georgiana frowned. She needed William to come with her to Pemberley if her new plan was ever to work. She had just received a letter from Elizabeth about her trip north to Derbyshire!

  Exuding her best pout, she griped, “Can your business not wait for a few weeks, William? I would wish for you to come with me.”

  “It cannot, dear. I am sorry.”

  Georgiana’s shoulders slumped visibly as she nodded and, full of disappointment, turned to leave the room.

  Richard looked towards his cousin and, knowing that the business that kept him in town was likely the one they were discussing earlier, indicated to him that he should go. He whispered, “Go for a few weeks, Darcy. I will take care of things here.”

  Darcy thought for a minute and quickly accepted his cousin’s advice. “Georgiana,” he called after her as she reached the door. “If it is your wish that I come with you, then we shall go to Pemberley together.”

  Georgiana beamed and rushed into his arms. “Oh, Brother! Thank you! I promise you will be glad you came.” Satisfied that her show of disappointment had worked on her brother’s heart, Georgiana kissed him on the cheek.

  Darcy patted his sister’s hair, happy to spoil her. He watched her skip to the door with a pleased smile.

  Georgiana turned abruptly and, with a convincing expression, exclaimed, “Oh, I almost forgo
t, I received a letter from Miss Bennet today, and she included a portion for you.”

  Darcy’s heart quickened at the mention of Elizabeth and then did a decided flip when he heard Elizabeth had written to him! He stood quickly and shortened the space between himself and his sister in a few strides. His expectant face and slight twitch of his lips convinced Georgiana of her earlier suspicions regarding Elizabeth. Unbeknownst to Georgiana, her cousin was confirming similar suspicions in his mind as well.

  She pulled the letter out of the pocket of her dress and made a show of flipping through the many pages of the missive, taking her time finding the page for him. His impatience was comical, but she hid her amusement as she handed him the last page. “Ah, here it is.” Reaching to kiss him again, she said, “Thank you, William. Perhaps we could leave in two weeks?”

  Darcy was oblivious to his sister or his cousin’s presence as he held the letter in his hand and saw the delicate, feminine script. He mumbled his agreement to his sister without being aware of what he agreed to and walked back to his desk in a daze. Georgiana exited the room smirking. His eyes were only allowed to deliciously devour, “Dear Mr. Darcy,” in her beautiful handwriting before his cousin’s words interrupted his perusal of the letter.

  “A letter from Miss Bennet?” He was chuckling.

  Darcy folded the letter petulantly and put it in his pocket. He was not about to read it in front of his cousin and was certainly not willing to endure whatever teasing he would receive. Therefore, he spoke tightly when he said, “I believe we were discussing Wickham earlier. You asked what proof I had of his possible guilt regarding Miss Lydia’s death. The fact of the matter is that I have nothing at all. All I have gathered is that Wickham has many debts in Meryton and was likely escaping them. Any motives beyond that, I know not. I had hoped that finding the bastard would shed some more light there.”

  Richard dropped the matter of the letter from Miss Bennet and returned to the topic at hand. “Well, let us hope that her death was not at the hands of that scoundrel. You go to Pemberley, and I will keep looking. Besides, I am beginning to think that, if Wickham thinks ‘Mr. Burns’ has lost interest, it will be easier to find him.”

  “You will write if you find anything?”

  “Yes, of course.” Richard stood to leave and smiled wickedly at his cousin. “I will take my leave now and allow you to return to your little dream world of Miss Bennet and her letter.”

  Richard laughed at the severe frown his cousin leveled at him. He sent Darcy kissing faces, complete with the accompanying noises, as he backed all the way out of the study door. Darcy resolutely remained grave until the door closed, whereupon his face broke into a wide grin as he pulled out Elizabeth’s letter and opened it.

  His eyes lit, and his heart skipped a beat as he again began reading the elegant handwriting.

  Dear Mr. Darcy,

  Please forgive my liberty in writing this letter to you. I have enclosed it with my letter to your sister so that no improprieties may be perceived. Though we both have reason to suspect that I care little for propriety, in fact that is not the case.

  Darcy smiled at her humor and reference to their decidedly improper private meeting when last they were together and with relish continued on.

  I am a very selfish creature and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be offending yours by writing to you regarding your gift to my family. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to us in the gift of the mourning books. Ever since I have received mine, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I have cherished it. Were it known to the rest of my family that I am writing to you about this, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.

  Most sincerely,

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet

  Darcy folded the letter carefully and reverently placed it in his waistcoat pocket. He was pleased that she was not affronted at his roundabout way of ensuring she received the gift. However, he wished he were going to Hertfordshire instead of Pemberley.

  Chapter 10

  It had taken Elizabeth a week to summon the courage to speak with her father about the revelation she experienced with her mother. She had always been close to him, and they shared an uncommon understanding of each other. While collecting her thoughts, she again examined her feelings from that evening.

  It had troubled her greatly that her mother had blamed herself for Lydia’s death. Although Elizabeth had grown to have a better understanding of her mother’s altered behavior, to be sure, she worried this change was founded on erroneous sentiments. Since that evening, however, her mother had been warmer in expression to her second daughter, and in that Elizabeth discerned some satisfaction.

  “Papa, may I speak with you about something?”

  Lowering his book, Mr. Bennet took off his reading glasses and smiled at her. “Of course, my dear.”

  “Who is Sammy?”

  The color drained from her father’s face, and his hands closed the book on his lap with exaggerated slowness. It alarmed her to see him struggle with emotion, and she feared her question had upset him but knew not why.

  “Samuel Thomas Bennet.” He barely spoke above a whisper, and his voice trembled. “Your brother.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and her brows furrowed in confusion. My brother? I do not have a brother. She did not comprehend his meaning.

  Mr. Bennet had never anticipated Elizabeth’s question and was even less prepared for the onslaught of emotions and memories that overcame him. However reluctant he might be to explore the feelings such a confession would elicit, he knew he was beyond avoiding the consequence now. He explained, “After, Lydia, your mother became with child again; it was a boy, but he was born too early and did not survive. We named him Samuel Thomas; your mother called him Sammy.

  “But why did we not know? Why did you not tell us?” Elizabeth asked numbly as she tried to assimilate the startling information.

  Mr. Bennet rubbed his face and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “It was one of the summers that you and Jane went to visit the Gardiners, and as I said, the babe was born too early in your mother’s confinement. It was hard on your mother; she asked me never to speak of it, and together we never told any of you girls she was even with child.”

  Elizabeth wiped her tears with a handkerchief. She never considered what losing a second child might mean to her mother, having by no means recovered from losing Samuel. And to think that she had carried this burden for so long! “Oh, my poor mother,” Elizabeth whispered.

  Confirming her thoughts, Mr. Bennet’s frown deepened as he said, “She has not been the same Fanny since.”

  He had lost both his wife and his son that day fifteen years ago. Mr. Bennet had felt the loss of the babe keenly, not only for losing the son and heir he had wished for, but because from that day on, his wife had completely closed the doors to him, both in her heart and to his company. He blamed himself for having loved her so much that he could not stay away from her. With each pregnancy, she became more silly and nervous over the years, and he blamed himself for putting her in such a condition time and time again. It was his fault she became with child each time and his fault that, each time, he saw her decline. When she had closed her doors to him after Sammy, he accepted his lot, feeling his guilt acutely.

  “She blames herself,” Elizabeth mumbled as the realization of her mother’s words settled in her mind.

  Mr. Bennet looked up sharply at his daughter. “What did you say?”

  Elizabeth was startled by his firm tone and repeated herself hesitantly, “Mama said to me that it was her fault that Lydia died and she referenced Sammy too.”

  “Of all the pea-brained . . . Where is that woman?” Mr. Bennet stood abruptly, left the room and called out for his wife. He had to disabuse her of such a ridiculous notion! The last couple of months had only made him miss her more, and he was not about to allow Lydia’s death to be another wall betw
een them. He finally was determined to do all he could to make her love him again.

  With no little alarm, Elizabeth followed his resolute stride into the parlor where her sisters sat with their mother.

  “Fanny Bennet!” her father commanded with a certain gruffness. She watched her mother stand immediately, apprehension and shock transforming her features. He had not called her Fanny in many years.

  Mr. Bennet walked right up to his wife and took her face in his hands before placing an unyielding kiss on her startled lips.

  Elizabeth’s hand shot to her mouth to hide her amusement at her stunned, blushing mother. All the while, her father wore a self-satisfied, toothy grin as he looked at his wife with undisguised affection, amazing everyone else in the room.

  “Mr. Bennet! What is the manner of this . . . this . . . ” she sputtered and was cut off by her husband kissing her soundly once again.

  “Enough woman! To your room with you; I have something about which I wish to speak to you!”

  Blushing anew, Fanny Bennet complied with her husband’s order and left the room. He followed behind her up the stairs, and the parlor erupted in laughter as they watched the scene dumbfounded. None could remember the last time their father showed such blatant affection for his wife, nor when their mother had ever blushed so readily at him. When Mr. Bennet had closed her chamber door behind them, he turned to her, leaning heavily against it, and said with a changed tone full of emotion and love, “Oh, Fan! How I have missed you!”

  Mrs. Bennet stood before her husband as tears filled her eyes. She could not believe what she was experiencing and was unable to manage the thickness in her throat.

  “We need to talk, my love. I cannot have you thinking Sammy or Lydia’s death was your fault. Come here, wife; please do not push me away.”

  She stood there a moment considering his words. Could she do it? She did not know. But she, too, had missed her husband. Hearing endearments from his lips and kissing those lips — yes, she wanted his love back. Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped forward, buried her head in his chest and gave way to her tears.