Adam Lawrence, the future earl of Greenwall, was traveling from London to Cheshire. Against his better judgment, he had agreed to escort his mistress, Cathleen Donnel, to her home country. Her uncle had taken ill, and the family had summoned relatives to his bedside. Cathleen had been his lover less than eight months, and Adam knew he should not cater to her, but despite his reputation as a rake, he never treated his women disrespectfully, and the news had greatly distressed her. She had considered not going, but Adam had known that she would regret it always, so he had insisted that she go and that he accompany her. His coachman, Morris Johnson, pressed the horses, as the party anticipated a winter storm, and Adam cursed himself for placing them in danger.
Green-eyed Cathleen Donnel was an actress of sorts. Actually, she had no talent in that respect, but she possessed a beautiful singing voice and previously made her living on the stage. And Cathleen was a most pleasing mistress. She had dallied with several other short-term patrons prior to Lawrence, but it was he who paid the rent on her upscale townhouse on Mayfair’s fringes. Adam preferred his women to have some experience but not be well worn, and Cathleen met those qualifications, as well as meeting his passion with her own. Besides, he thought that she possessed the greenest eyes he had ever seen this side of a spring meadow. Cathleen’s auburn Irish hair had attracted him at first, and her petite, buxom figure, pouty mouth, and mesmerizing eyes ensured that he stayed infatuated with her.
Adam glanced at Cathleen as she slept on the opposite seat. Using her cloak as a blanket, she curled up on the coach’s bench. For a brief moment, he wondered why he let her have her way. It seemed he always let other people influence him—tell him what to do, actually. His father—his tutors—his professors at the university—his mistresses—his friends—they all made decisions for him. Easier, he supposed. It was easier when others assumed the responsibility for what happened.
Adam never discussed his aversion to responsibility with anyone. At five and twenty, he accepted no real accountability. His father, Robert Lawrence, made all the decisions: where Adam lived, where he attended school, how much money he could spend, and where he bought his clothes and his horses. His father never needed Adam to do more than be his heir. Most of the time, Adam felt quite useless. However, he never let anyone see that side of his personality. To the world, he showed an aristocratic face and an inscrutable nature. He received what he wanted, when he wanted it—so why complain.
Glancing at Cathleen again, Adam saw her stir. She looked exceedingly appealing with her disheveled hair and dress. Cathleen groaned and stretched before sitting up. “Did I sleep long?” she asked huskily, sleep still lingering on her tongue.
“Less than an hour,” Adam answered before moving next to her. He quickly gathered Cathleen into his arms. “You look delicious.” Adam brushed his lips across hers.
As she should, Cathleen laced her arms about his neck.After all, Lawrence was completely masculine—narrow waist; well-formed chest and back; muscular legs and hips; dark, straight hair—actually worn a bit too long for her taste; and gray—actually, silver—eyes. He was the kind of man that women desired immediately. And he was good to her. Only recently, Adam had bought her a gold-leaf book, one she had seen in the window of an upscale bookstore and wanted immediately. A collection of fairy tales, most from the Brothers Grimm, the book was not a first edition but a limited printing, and Cathleen loved it more than many of the jewels and gowns she earned with her body. She had never owned a book—she read well, but her family lacked the wealth to own books other than the Bible.The uncle she rushed to comfort was a minor Irish nobleman—a baron, but nothing like the relatives that her handsome lover, Lord Stafford, claimed. Her uncle’s family worked the land; Cathleen was sure Lord Stafford would bolt if someone even suggested that he might dirty his hands.
“Do you desire delicious?” she asked teasingly, sliding her tongue along the line of Adam’s lips.
“I am more than hungry,” he growled and then nibbled her earlobe to emphasize his point.
Cathleen laughed lightly. “You are always hungry, my Lord.”
“Do you object?”Adam pulled back to take in her countenance.
“Absolutely not. I am a blessed woman; you chose me.”
Lawrence knew Cathleen uttered the words he paid her to say, but a part of him wanted her to care about him simply because he was Adam Lawrence, not because he would someday be an earl. Dismissing such thoughts, he deepened the kiss.Then he said, “We will try to make it to Cheshire itself this evening, although Mobberley may be an impossibility before dark.”
She kissed along the line of his cravat. “Then we have time?”
“Plenty of time,” he murmured.
When his butler, Mr. Baldwin, announced the arrival of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Darcy shot a quick glance at Elizabeth before ordering the man to show his indomitable aunt in. He and Elizabeth were sharing time in his study, as had become their habit. In reality, Darcy did not like to be too far from his wife; they did not always talk or even keep each other company, but he liked to look up and see her in his home. Before he had won Elizabeth’s heart, he had envisioned such moments—had seen her everywhere—on the main staircase, at his table, in his garden, and in his bed. Today, Elizabeth worked at her embroidery, something not necessarily her forte. She bit her bottom lip in frustration as her thread knotted again. No matter. Darcy found contentment in the scene.
Now, Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Neither of them had seen his mother’s only sister since that day the woman had actually taken the trouble to journey from her home seat of Rosings Park in Kent to Hertfordshire for the sole purpose of breaking off Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s supposed engagement. This was before Darcy had proposed to Elizabeth Bennet a second time. She had vehemently refused him the first, and he had striven to prove himself worthy of her love. However, his aunt had held a starkly different opinion of their possible union, and she had made no bones about her objections.
That day, Lady Catherine had verbally attacked Elizabeth—quite ungraciously—accusing his future wife of industriously circulating scandalous falsehoods. His aunt had lambasted Elizabeth, saying, “Your arts and allurement may, in a moment of infatuation, have made Darcy forget what he owes to himself and to all his family.”
When Elizabeth had steadfastly refused to succumb to Her Ladyship during this extraordinary visit, his aunt had rushed to London to enumerate the miseries of a marriage with one whose immediate connections were so unequal to those of her and Darcy’s family. What Lady Catherine had not considered was the violence of the love her nephew felt for Elizabeth Bennet. His aunt’s words, instead of turning Darcy from the woman he loved, had taught him to hope as he had scarcely allowed himself previously—actually not since before he erroneously thought Elizabeth to be expecting his attentions during that first ill-fated proposal. He had known enough of Elizabeth’s disposition to be certain that had she been absolutely and irrevocably decided against him, she would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine frankly and openly. When he had been approached, Darcy abruptly ended his aunt’s interference in his life and immediately boarded his coach, returning to Longbourn to judge whether Elizabeth might finally accept him.
Unfortunately, Darcy’s engagement and ultimate marriage to his Elizabeth had served to sever ties with his aunt. Lady Catherine preferred to “control” everything within her own “parish.” The minutest concerns of her tenants were Her Ladyship’s domain; in the same way, she expected to lord her power over her family, as well. When her cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sailed forth into the village to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty. When Darcy had defied her orders to abandon his fascination with Elizabeth Bennet and instead honor what his aunt saw as an engagement to his cousin Anne, Lady Catherine had indignantly declared herself to be finished with him.
Following propriety, Darcy had written to her to announce his engagement and the impending marriage. Lady Catherine had given way to all the genuine frankness of her character in her reply, sending her nephew language so abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse between Darcy and his aunt was at an end.
But, at length, by Elizabeth’s persuasion, he had been prevailed on to overlook the offense and to seek a reconciliation. Darcy admired Elizabeth’s ability to forgive, although he suspected her insistence came from the fact that his wife missed her own family desperately, and like it or not, Lady Catherine and the Matlocks were his only family, besides Georgiana. The woman had guided him when his mother had passed, and Darcy knew her heart to be in the right place. So although she had yet to respond, for the past six months, he had written to her monthly with family news. At least, she had not returned his letters unopened; he had supposed that to be a positive sign. Now she had arrived, unannounced, at Pemberley. Darcy expected trouble.
“Show Her Ladyship in, Mr. Baldwin,” Darcy stood to acknowledge the woman he had thought never to see again.
Elizabeth placed her sewing on a side table and rose to receive their guest. He noted how she fidgeted with the seams of her dress and patted her hair to make sure nothing was out of place. When she saw him watching her, Elizabeth colored. Darcy chuckled and winked just as Lady Catherine’s footsteps heralded her appearance. Mr. Baldwin opened the door farther and announced,“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” before stepping aside.
She swept into the room, all haughty grandeur, but Darcy noted immediately the gauntness of her face under the thick cosmetics she wore “Aunt,” he said, “I am pleased to see you at Pemberley again.” He bowed to her and came forward to accept the hand she offered. “Come, let me show you to a chair before the hearth.”
Without waiting for Lady Catherine condescension, Elizabeth established herself as the manor’s mistress. She dropped a curtsy to the woman before adding, “Welcome, Lady Catherine. Is Miss de Bourgh not joining us today?”
The woman answered the query in a shaking voice without looking directly at Elizabeth. “I sent Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson to their regular rooms. The trip has taken its toll on Anne’s constitution ; she has always been of a delicate nature.”
“I see.” Elizabeth ordered tea for three from Mr. Baldwin. Then she said to her husband and his aunt, “If you will excuse me, I will see to Miss de Bourgh’s comfort.”
“Of course, my Dear,” Darcy replied. Lady Catherine remained silent. As Elizabeth turned to leave, Darcy added, “Please rejoin us at your convenience.”
When the door clicked behind her, Darcy seated himself beside his less-than-affable aunt. He pasted a smile on his face before speaking.“Lady Catherine, although unexpected, you are welcome in my home.” Darcy could not help but note her trembling hands. “I assume, Aunt, that this is not simply a social call.”
“Hardly, Darcy,” she declared, more strength in her voice this time.“I need your help or else I would never lower myself to return to this estate, especially with that woman here.”
Darcy had expected as much, but her words set him on edge. “Your Ladyship, as much as I have always held an affection for you and have esteemed you, I must caution you regarding your word choice. Elizabeth is my wife, and I will tolerate no disrespect where she is concerned. I have never been happier, and before I will let you ill-use her, I will send you from Pemberley permanently.” Darcy paused to emphasize the truth of his words. “Now, I am more than willing to serve you with those stipulations.”
“If you had fulfilled your obligation to your cousin, I would never be finding a need to seek your relief,” she asserted.
“As much as I respect Anne, we would not have suited each other. I needed a woman at Pemberley who could help me bring the estate to right; with all the temptations of fast money the cottagers see in the bigger cities, it takes a different temperament to address the changes coming to this country. Mrs. Darcy is that woman—a woman of resilience and adventure.”
“Adventure?” she said and snorted.“If that was what you sought, then Anne would have been a better match.”
“With no disrespect,” Darcy spoke with a twinge of irony lacing his tone, “the words Anne and adventure are not ones I would think in harmony.”
Lady Catherine snapped, “That shows how little you know of our Anne.Typically, a man sees only the shell.”
Darcy refused to argue with her. “Tell me the matter,Your Ladyship, and let me determine how I might be of service.”
She impatiently tapped her foot; Darcy knew that to be a sign of extreme agitation in his aunt. “I do not want a word of this to escape. It would be a great disgrace if others knew. I have sent Mr. Collins and his wife for a family visit to Hertfordshire rather than have them know my shame.” When Darcy said nothing, she continued, “Deeply moved by your desertion,” she intoned, “Anne needed extra attention, and despite my better judgment, I allowed your cousin, the colonel, to bring some of his fellow officers for a visit before reporting to Dover.”
Again, Darcy remained silent, waiting for the whole of the story. He recognized her dramatics—had dealt with them on more than one occasion over the years. He would not let her bait him. “I knew better,” she chastised herself, “but I succumbed to Anne’s need for company. A mother allows her only child freedoms when sound reason says otherwise.”
“You have always been most charitable,” Darcy said, silently wishing that his aunt would just come to the point. “And I cannot imagine our cousin would pollute your drawing room with unsavory characters.”
Darcy counted his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam as one of his closest friends. They served as joint guardians for Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, and they knew each other as well as two very private men could. In fact, there had been a time when Darcy worried that he might lose Elizabeth to his cousin. They had taken to each other immediately, often falling into easy conversation of Kent and of Hertfordshire, of traveling and staying at home, of books and of music.After her initial refusal of him, Darcy had spent many miserable nights imagining that she might have readily accepted Edward, but his cousin’s position as a second son of an earl demanded that he choose a woman of fortune. Edward held a title, but he could not afford to fall in love with a woman of Elizabeth’s small means. For Darcy, this had proved little comfort during those months when he pined for a “lost” Elizabeth.
“One of your cousin’s associates is a Lieutenant Harwood, a man of no consequence,” Lady Catherine said. “Although Edward Fitzwilliam brings honor to our family, I admit to finding the military an objectionable occupation. It brings persons of obscure birth into undue distinction and raises men to honors, which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of. A man is in greater danger in the military of being insulted by the rise of one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to.”
Before Darcy could offer her another caution, Mr. Baldwin interrupted with the tea service. They waited until the man had retired before continuing their conversation.
“And I assume this Lieutenant Harwood paid Anne undue attention,” Darcy encouraged.
“He did, but I remained unaware for some time. The man subversively began to correspond with Anne, sending her letters under the guise of writing to her maid, pretending to be the girl’s brother. The chit will be seeking other employment as soon as we return to Kent. She will rue the day she helped Anne to defy me!”
Darcy thought he might find the girl another position before that time. He would not blame a servant for doing what his cousin had obviously asked her to do, even if that request denied reason. As Anne was shy and withdrawn, her maid had probably rejoiced at her employer’s interest in the man. They all wanted Anne’s happiness. “So you brought Anne to Pemberley to remove her from this man’s attention?”
“I wish that it were that simple.” She sipped her tea. “Under the guise of going to London to see her modiste, Anne, after many weeks of this secret correspondence, made a trip to Liverpool to meet Harwood.” Her voice wobbled, and her hand trembled.
Darcy reached for her cup and returned it to the tray. He took her gnarled hand in his. “Tell me, my Dear.”
“I found her…my Anne…in a room in a seedy inn…one this Harwood character had arranged for her. Oh, Darcy, what will I do?” she whined. “I certainly cannot have Anne marry such a cad.”
Darcy fought back the smile creeping across his face. His cousin Anne had finally defied her mother. Possibly, “this Harwood character” did see his cousin as an easy mark and wanted to secure a quick marriage to claim Anne’s substantial dowry. As Rosings Park came unentailed to Lady Catherine after her husband’s passing, Anne’s husband would take control of a vast fortune soon enough. Then again, possibly, the man had developed a true affection for Darcy’s “sickly” cousin. Darcy would need to ascertain which case prevailed. “Do you wish me to speak to Anne?”
“Darcy…would you do this for Anne?” She actually looked pleased.
He smiled. “You and Anne will be my guest for a few days. I anticipate a winter storm is headed our way, and I will not have you on the road in bad weather.Winter turnpikes in Derbyshire can be quite treacherous.”
“The storm was just settling into Manchester as we departed. We have outrun it so far.” She seemed suddenly very weak for a few moments.
“Come, you will find safety here until it passes.” He patted her hand.“As head of the Darcy family, I will not have you on the road in unsafe conditions.You and Anne are under my care for now.”
“Thank you, Darcy.”
“No thanks are necessary. Mrs. Darcy is preparing for a visit from Mrs. Wickham later today. A few more guests will be most welcome.” Darcy took some pleasure in watching his aunt stiffen with the news.
“That girl!” she began. “The one of the infamous elopement? That of the patched-up business at the expense of your wife’s father and uncle? Mrs. Darcy brings that girl to Pemberley? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?”
Darcy warned her with a one-word reprimand: “Enough.”
Lady Catherine stifled her next thoughts.
“Aunt,” he said ominously, “as I said earlier, you will control your tongue. I do not accept Mr.Wickham as my brother; however, I will not deny Mrs. Darcy the company of her youngest sister.” He wondered what Lady Catherine would think if she knew that it had been he, not Elizabeth’s father or uncle, who had arranged Lydia Bennet’s marriage to George Wickham. Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself. He had done it purely for Elizabeth. Lydia’s elopement had brought shame to her sisters, and Elizabeth’s sobs had torn his heart apart. He loved her, although at the time he had not believed that she would accept him. The wish of giving happiness to Elizabeth had added force to the other inducements that led him on. He had thought only of her when he acted. “Mrs.Wickham will be welcomed, as will you and Anne. If you do not believe you can comply with my wishes, I will see you into Lambton—to the inn. I will secure comfortable rooms to tide you over.”
“I will tolerate the girl,” Lady Catherine hissed.
“And with civility?” Darcy ordered.
“I will be a paragon of the nobility’s best.”
Darcy accepted her avowal.“I expect nothing less,Aunt.” He rose to end the conversation. “Let us settle you in a comfortable room, my Dear.” He helped her to her feet.“Later today, I will seek Anne’s company and see what I may deduce from our conversation.”
A torrential rain met the public stage as it made its way toward Lambton. “I do not like the looks of this,” mused Mrs. Williams, widow of Admiral Samuel Williams of the British Navy. Lydia found it amazing that, in reality, Mrs. Williams was only in her early thirties; she appeared older. Evidently, the lady had followed her husband in his service to England, and the sea had taken its toll on the woman’s complexion.The admiral had lost his life in the Battle of San Domingo. Now, Mrs. Williams traveled to Macclesfield to take up residence with her late husband’s family.
Lydia followed the woman’s line of sight. “Shall we make it to Lambton?” Even though she often felt out of sorts with her husband, Lydia would have been very happy to have him traveling with her at present. The road conditions frightened her; she no longer thought it so grand to be her own woman.
The man who had kept her company earlier joined the conversation. That day, they had been the only occupants of the coach for several hours. “We will reach Lambton, but no farther today, even though the light could take us into Cheshire. Such rain ruins even the best-kept roads. Loaded down as we are, we risk becoming stuck in some mud hole or sliding into a ditch.”
“How long, Mr.Worth?” Lydia’s eyes rested on the horizon beyond the coach’s window.
Nigel Worth, a second son of a minor nobleman, was an affable man and loved to talk to anyone who would listen. He had flirted with Lydia periodically, especially when Mrs.Williams slept, although he held no illusions of her finding him appealing. It was just his nature. He actually did know of the girl’s husband indirectly. As a solicitor in a neighboring county, he had once represented a man in court trying to recover the gambling debt that George Wickham owed him. Of course, Worth had not disclosed to Lydia the fact of his dealings with the girl’s husband. From what Nigel had discerned Mrs. Wickham held no real knowledge of her husband’s base nature. The man had left several residents in Middlewich holding his gambling blunt. “Close to an hour, Mrs. Wickham—should not be much longer than that.” He looked at his pocket watch before depositing it in a side pocket of his waistcoat.
“My Lord.” Cathleen’s voice disturbed Adam’s sleep. He had taken pleasure in her body along the winding roads from Nottingham and then contentedly nodded off, allowing the coach to rock him to sleep.
Adam slowly opened his eyes to find his mistress looking distressed. “What is it?”
“Listen,” she instructed.
Fully on alert now, Lawrence sat up, straightening his clothes as he did. “It sounds menacing.” He moved the shade from the window to have a look for himself.The rain came down like liquid bullets tapping out an incessant rhythm on his coach. He considered speaking to Mr. Johnson through the trap, but he doubted that his coachman could hear him over the rain’s pounding.“You might move closer to the strap,” he cautioned, trying to keep his voice even. “We may be in for a bumpy ride.”
“Will we have trouble?”
“Mr. Johnson can handle the coach,” Adam declared. “We will have no problems. I have complete confidence in the man, but you should understand that such conditions may affect whether we reach Mobberley in time for you to see your uncle before his passing.” Adam touched her hand in sympathy. “I am sorry.”
“You have done more than most men, my Lord. Even if we are too late to give my family comfort, I will cherish your kindness.” Cathleen dropped her eyes; she did not often speak so personally to her benefactor. “You truly are the best of men.”
“There are many who would disagree with you, my Dear.”
Cathleen looked him in the eye. “That is because they do not know you as I do.” And in her opinion, Adam Lawrence was truly everything she said. A kind and generous man, he held a reputation as a rounder, but she saw none of that. Often she wished she could have known him as his social equal—where he might actually love her—where she might help him become the man he wanted to be—a man quite different from the façade he presented to the world. But she knew she was not the woman to bring Adam Lawrence such love—such contentment. Cathleen would give him what she could while they shared their time together.
Reluctantly, she wondered what her family would think when she arrived in Mobberley unchaperoned and in Adam’s carriage. His livery would announce their relationship. She would bring shame to her mother and father, as well as her younger sisters, and for that, Cathleen despaired. Perhaps Adam might allow her to return home alone. When they reached Mobberley, she would ask him to leave her and move on to Manchester or even to Warrington. She would take a public conveyance and follow him there. At least,Viscount Stafford cared enough for her not to allow her to travel a great distance alone.
“Elizabeth, are you ready to be to Lambton?” Darcy had found his wife in their joint sitting room. “Mrs.Wickham’s coach should arrive within the hour.”
“I worry for the roads.” She sat on a window box, looking out across the formal garden. “The rain has turned icy.”
Darcy came to where she sat. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he peered through the fogged-up glass. “All the more reason to take our leave now—to give Mr. Stalling extra time to negotiate the roads. Your sister will have no transportation… if we do not venture forth.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.“I could go alone,” he volunteered.
Elizabeth turned to gaze into the face she found most comforting in the world. “No.…no…I will bring Lydia here. I shall not send you alone to bring Wickham’s wife to Pemberley. You show me a kindness, my Husband, by tolerating my sister’s intrusion upon your life and your home.” She stood and caressed his cheek.
“Our home,” he corrected. “Pemberley is our home, and Mrs. Wickham is your sister—and mine, too. If you must endure my aunt’s intrusion, then I can allow Lydia’s naïve exuberance to permeate the hallowed walls of Pemberley. As long as I sleep with you in my arms, I am a happy man.Very little else matters in the scheme of things.” He bent his head to brush his lips across hers.
“I love you, my Husband,” she whispered close to his mouth, “with all my heart.”
Darcy smiled mischievously.“I surely hope so, Mrs. Darcy, as we are about to be snowed in with Attila the Hun and Kathryn Howard. If nothing else, the mixture should be entertaining: our own little circus—it will be a juggling act, keeping them apart.”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a wretched man!” she chastised him.
“I know you, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy,” he scolded. “You take as much pleasure as I in observing the foibles of our neighbors and family.”
Elizabeth chuckled as her arms encircled his neck. “You may be right, my Love. I just wish we had married sooner, so that we could compare our appraisals of those we found most entertaining.” She judiciously omitted the fact that for a time, he had been among those she found amusing.
Darcy drank slowly from her lips. Breaking contact, he inquired, “And who might that be?”
Elizabeth pressed herself closer to him and rained kisses across his face as she recited the names. “Caroline Bingley.” Kiss. “Louisa Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Collins.” Kiss. “Sir William Lucas.” Kiss. Kiss. By then, Darcy had forgotten both the question and Lydia’s impending arrival. All he wanted was her—his Elizabeth. “Do we have time?” she whispered as he edged her toward a nearby chaise.
“Not to sleep in each other’s arms,” he groaned, “but enough for me to show how much I desire you, my darling Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth lowered herself to the sofa, taking Darcy down with her. She knew him—knew the true Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man who would move heaven and earth for those he loved, but also a man one did not want to cross. He passionately protected those he loved. And he loved Elizabeth most of all.
Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth rushed through their private quarters, knowing that Darcy waited for her in the main foyer. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her new fur-lined pelisse, one of Darcy’s Christmas gifts. As she walked, she tried adjusting the fit without tripping on the hem. She had descended the first two steps when she heard one of the maids call out to her.
“What is it, Megs?” she asked, a bit annoyed. Darcy disliked being kept waiting.
“Pardon, Mrs. Darcy.”The maid bobbed a curtsy.“I be wondering, ma’am, if ye knew the whereabouts of the candelabra, the one we keep on the table by Miss Darcy’s room.”
Without thinking, Elizabeth stepped to the hallway and glanced in the direction of the table, almost expecting to see the candelabra in its usual place.“I am afraid I have no idea, Megs,” she murmured. “Did you ask Miss Darcy?”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss Darcy—she likes having it close by. When Miss Georgiana cannot sleep, she goes to the music room and plays until she feels more peaceful like. That be why we leave it there for her. Even when Miss Darcy returns to her room, she leaves the candle stand in the hall so we can change out the wax for the next time. Miss Darcy says she has not used the candleholder for nearly a fortnight. It be there earlier today.”The woman looked frightened of being accused of taking the item.
“I am sure there is a logical reason.” Elizabeth reached out and lightly touched the woman’s arm.“When do you recall seeing it last?”
Meg closed her eyes to remember. “I suppose it be when I first came on—before I changed the bed linens.”
Elizabeth heard Darcy’s footsteps on the lower level.“Megs, Mr. Darcy waits for me. We must retrieve my sister at the Lambton inn. I will make it part of my afternoon duties to help you locate the holder. Possibly, Mr. Darcy’s aunt or his cousin took it to their rooms without realizing Miss Darcy’s nocturnal habits. We will laugh when it reappears in some very obvious place.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied again. “You be right about that.” The maid glanced toward the stairs. “Mr. Darcy seems impatient, ma’am,” Megs ventured.
Elizabeth chuckled. “What man is not so?”
“None I know of, Mrs. Darcy, but ye better hurry. I would not want to be the source of Mr. Darcy’s fluster.”
“Neither would I, Megs.” Elizabeth smiled as she slipped her left hand into her muff.Then she hurried down the stairs to meet her husband.