“Elizabeth,” Georgiana pulled her sister into the music room, “might we talk?”
Elizabeth anticipated the nature of the ‘talk,’ but she readily agreed. “I am all ears, Georgiana,” she responded as they took up residence before the fireplace.
Then a nervous silence followed. Elizabeth watched with amusement as Darcy’s sister fidgeted.“Why do you not just tell me what is on your mind, Georgiana? I will not judge you.”
The girl swallowed hard and flushed. “Could-Could you,” she stammered, “could you t-tell me when you knew you loved my brother?”
Elizabeth smiled kindly. “I suspected as much.” She rolled her eyes upward, trying to visualize the moment. “It would be prudent to say from the first moment he walked into the Meryton Assembly Hall, but Fitzwilliam managed to insult me with his refusal to ask me to dance, and I set myself against anything he could offer. So, from the beginning we verbally tussled for supremacy, but I suppose, in many way that was love. I hated that Fitzwilliam might find me wanting—that he might think poorly of me—might think I was lacking in some essential. Therefore, I pretended, even to myself, to despise him. I once told Jane that I knew I loved him when I realized how many depended upon him for their existence, and I realized he needed someone upon whom he could depend. I cannot say the exact moment; we were connected from the beginning. Your brother brought sunlight to my heart.” Elizabeth nudged Georgiana’s foot with her own.“Is there someone you affect, Georgiana?”
“Would it disappoint Fitzwilliam if I did not want a Season?” The girl blushed thoroughly.“I would be so out of place in a room full of strangers.”
“Do you not wish to meet a young lord? Once you became familiar with Viscount Stafford, there was no awkwardness.”
Georgiana looked off to the side. “Then Fitzwilliam would object? I thought as much.” Her gaze fell to her hands resting in her lap. “I had simply hoped—.”
“Hoped for someone more familiar?” Elizabeth understood perfectly. “Perhaps with my encroaching confinement, we should seek entertainment in Derbyshire—give you time to build a rapport with some of the local young people—give you a chance to meet someone new.”
Georgiana looked devastated, but she said, “Yes, maybe that is what I need.”
Elizabeth knew better—knew what stirred Georgiana’s heart—what the girl truly wanted. She would see how things developed before she spoke to her husband in that regard. “Lydia loves a social gathering,” she began. “Why do we not show her some of Derbyshire? Bakewell’s celebration is next week. What do you say, Georgiana? Might I send for Lydia, and we can plan an excursion?”
“Why not?” Georgiana’s lack of enthusiasm rang clear to her sister.
Silence filled the room as the men froze in a horrified tableau. “Can it be?” Darcy breathed the question.
Sir Phillip turned slowly toward Pemberley’s master, a grim frown furrowing his forehead.“I fear we must speak to the lady immediately.” He returned the coins and ring to the bag and refolded the paper. “Colonel, might you and Lord Stafford take Mr. Darcy’s men and examine Mrs.Wickham’s room?”
The colonel nodded.
“Mr. Darcy and I must question Mrs. Williams or Mrs. Harwood or whatever we are to call her. Worth, I want you there to ensure that the lady’s rights are protected.”
“As you wish, Sir Phillip,” Mr.Worth said automatically.A poker face hid his complicated feelings.
“Come, gentlemen, we have a mystery to unravel.”
Peter searched the antechamber for his belongings. Consumed by his frustration, he did not try to hide his anger. “I am personally exhausted by your need to control every situation. I do not know why we must take our leave so soon. I love Pemberley; it could be my home again if I could simply find a way to please my father. He wanted me here—wanted me to have the lessons of a gentleman—to take my place alongside Darcy—to have a superior life. Now, you say we must abandon the place we have established here.” He slammed a stolen Pemberley book against the wall.“And do not place the blame solely upon my shoulders. I told you the woman would not allow me to leave the room. She would have sent up an alarm for the whole household. It is just as much the fault of both of you as it is mine. You killed the footman and you the lieutenant.Tell me how it is my fault! You do not own me, you know. I do not have to do what you tell me!” Peter stormed away to sulk. “I will show them,” he grumbled. “They want to get Darcy’s attention—make the man sorry for his former snubs—well, I know how to do that better than anyone!”
Sir Phillip led Darcy and Worth to the room holding Mrs. Harwood. “Allow me to do the talking,” the magistrate warned before they entered. When the door swung open, the woman rose slowly to stand defiantly before them. “Your shoes, Mrs. Harwood.” Sir Phillip extended his arm and offered her the footwear.
The lady took her slippers and stepped into them before returning to her previous stance. “So, now you know my secret,” she whispered.
Darcy and Worth circled slowly to stand behind the widow. “Would you care to explain your part in the lieutenant’s scheme?” Sir Phillip motioned for her to return to her chair.
A slight shake of her head said she refused his kindness.“Robert…Robert,” she faltered, “was the love of my life. I married Samuel Whitmore when I was seventeen, but ours was a troubled joining. My parents thought it a brilliant match, and as they had a household of daughters, they readily gave me to the first man who offered.” With her description, Darcy could not help but think of Mrs. Bennet trying to pawn Elizabeth off on Mr. Collins. “Admiral Whitmore, some twenty years my senior, wielded power aboard his ship and within his quarters. He tolerated no question of his authority. When the admiral lost his life at San Domingo, I rejoiced at being free. I spent a little over a year in mourning for a man I truly despised, and then I met Robert Harwood.”The lady swayed in place, and Darcy moved forward instinctively to catch her. He gently lowered her to the seat before moving away.
“I knew Robert’s failings—women always know. Society accuses us of wanting to reform a rake, but that is never our intention. We simply want to give them the love they have never known, no matter what it costs us. One night in the arms of such a man is worth all the nights of loneliness.” The lady’s voice trailed off in memory. She sat in silence, unmoving for several long moments. Sir Phillip took the seat beside her and quietly took Mrs. Harwood’s hand in his own. He said nothing, but the gesture caused the lady to regain her confidence.
“Robert joined the Regulars in order to escape a trail of gambling debts in his home country.” Darcy instantly thought of George Wickham. On three different occasions he had taken it upon himself to pay his former friend’s debts. Darcy had done so around Lambton and in Cheshire prior to the costly escapade involving the man’s ruination of Lydia Bennet. Mr. Wickham, at the time, was in debt to every tradesman in Meryton, and it took more than a thousand pounds to clear his expenses in Brighton. The British military, Darcy mused, seemed the place to hide a gamester.
“My poor darling could never quit a card table while he was ahead.” Mrs. Harwood shook her head in sad memory. “Then he stumbled across an opportunity two years ago, and everything changed.A gentleman’s daughter outside Stratford found my Robert most attractive. My husband convinced me to remain quiet, and our first profit became a reality. The baron paid two thousand pounds for Robert to disappear from the lady’s life and to secure his silence.
“Robert tasted success twice more: in Berwick and in Hull. Yet, neither was enough. The amount he won from the scam—and more—was the amount my dear husband lost at the tables. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam introduced Robert to Anne de Bourgh. When we considered the possibility, we thought ten thousand pounds was assured.”
Sir Phillip asked quietly, “And your role in the lieutenant’s perfidy?”
“I was to discover Miss de Bourgh in Robert’s company—the outraged wife—a role I could play easily. I hated every minute Robert spent with another. Unfortunately, Mother Nature played a hand neither of us had expected.When I joined Mr.Worth on the public coach outside Nottingham, I planned to go to Liverpool. Robert had sent word that Miss de Bourgh had arrived and that he would move her to the Salty Sailor, but the storm waylaid me at Pemberley. How was I to know that Anne de Bourgh would be here also?”
Behind her, Mr. Worth asked, “When did you realize the lieutenant was in the area?”
Mrs. Harwood glanced over her shoulder at him. “When Robert walked into the morning room with Mr. Darcy. From my first introduction to the de Bourghs, I assumed that Robert nursed a bruised ego because his plan had fallen through. I had no idea he had followed the lady to Pemberley.”
“Could the lieutenant have been in the house without your knowledge?” Darcy moved where she might see him.
“Do you mean could Robert be your murderer, Mr. Darcy?” Her tone became defensive again.
Darcy nodded.
“No…Robert had many faults…gambling chief among them… but except on the battlefield, Robert would never take another’s life.”The lady paused, looking off to the left as if seeing something only she could know. “To do so…to take another’s life, one must have known pain and love and passion. Robert knew none of those. He would chase a scheme only if it had a quick ending and a decent monetary outcome. Robert never knew hard times—even in debt, he still lived as if each day belonged to him. And Robert never truly loved anyone but himself. No…no, Mr. Darcy, Robert was not your killer.”
Sir Phillip gently squeezed the lady’s hand; he waited patiently for her eyes to meet his.“And you, Mrs. Harwood, have you known pain and love and passion?”
The woman knew she could hide her secrets no longer.“I have, Sir Phillip,” she said flatly.
“And Mrs. Jenkinson? Were you the source of the dear lady’s demise?”
Silence boomed through the small room—no one breathed—no one blinked. “They all thought it was the cup of tea. The remains of the arsenic on my fingers rested on the rim of the cup, but it was really the last of the broken pieces of ice Mrs. Jenkinson consumed. I broke them from the tree and offered them to her after spreading the arsenic up and down the icy surface.The lady herself placed the flavoring over the frozen powder, thinking it was sugar. Mr.Worth was correct; the ice deadened Mrs. Jenkinson’s taste.We all know the poison can be easily mixed with water, and several drops in a glass of wine or water might kill a person. So why not freeze the deadly liquid?”
“Why ever for?” Worth could not control the question. “Why Mildred Jenkinson? What did the lady do to earn such a fate?”
Mrs. Harwood still stared into Sir Phillip’s eyes. “That day on the sledding hill, she thought she recognized me from Kent—asked if I had not been often at Colonel Cavendish’s table. Twice, Mrs. Jenkinson had accompanied Miss de Bourgh to one of the colonel’s weekly dinners. As an officer in the colonel’s unit, Robert was expected to attend, and as his wife, I was part and partial to the Regulars. Of course, society never seats a man and his wife near each other, but Mrs. Jenkinson noticed me just the same. As plain as I am, I still caught the lady’s eye. She asked if I had been at Dover, and even though I denied it, Mrs. Jenkinson kept staring at me. I knew it was only a matter of time before she said something to Miss de Bourgh, and then Robert’s plans would be for naught. I could not let that happen; I loved Robert too much for that. I could never bear to see him disappointed. I knew from the tidbits I overheard, mostly from the servants, that Miss de Bourgh had been found by her mother in Liverpool and brought to Pemberley. Her ruination was obvious.That was why I objected to Mr.Worth’s attentions to the lady. If she accepted Mr. Worth, Miss de Bourgh’s reputation would no longer be an issue. Robert’s big pay day and our ability to leave for Italy would be lost. You must understand; Robert and I planned to see Florence—to leave England. A person can live cheaply abroad. Mrs. Jenkinson stood in our way.”
“And so you planned to eliminate the lady?” Sir Phillip asked quietly.
Evangeline Harwood looked shocked by his accusation. “Planned…planned?” she asked. “I planned nothing…truly, it was never my intention.” She stared past the magistrate—through him actually. “The situation simply developed. My petticoat, you see… the lace pulled loose when we came down the hill the last time—hung below my clothing—and I asked Mrs. Darcy for help. I did not think I could reach the house without someone seeing. Mrs. Darcy suggested a nearby tool shed. While the men climbed the slope for the final ride of the day, I slipped into the building to repair my undergarment. And once I finished pulling the thread to free the lace trim, I realized what the building held—shovels and hammers and spades and other gardening tools—and of course, the fertilizers and other compounds. I wrapped the lace into a tight ball and thought to place it in my outerwear pocket, but when I tucked it away, I found a letter from Robert there, and a plan developed before my eyes. It was as if Robert told me what to do. I took the paper from my inside pelisse pocket and put some of the powder in my husband’s message to me. It seemed only appropriate, after all. I did not know how I would use it, but the arsenic was there for the taking; and it was as if I could not resist it.
“Again, I thought of nothing but repairing my clothing when I entered the building.When I left the building, I thought of nothing but the poison. The opportunity seemed to present itself. When I returned to claim my spot among Mr. Darcy’s party, I still held no scheme, but when Mrs. Jenkinson herself suggested the frozen sticks, everything fell into place. Providence sent me to the tool building, and Providence gave me the means by which to remove Robert’s obstacle, without his approval or even his knowledge. I quite imagined my dear husband would congratulate me for my ingenuity.”
“So you offered Mrs. Jenkinson the icicle that you had laced with arsenic?”
Mrs. Harwood grimaced. “The powder clung to my hands and gloves—it was very difficult to use. Later, I burned the gloves and dumped the extra powder from the packet out my window into the snow. Mr. Darcy’s roses should do well in the spring.” She laughed as she gazed at her hands. “No matter how often I wash them, my hands still feel gritty.” She raised her hands to carefully inspect them. “Do you suppose it will ever go away, Sir Phillip?”
“I cannot say, Mrs. Harwood.”
“Might I see my husband, sir?” she asked suddenly.
Sir Phillip looked about uncomfortably. “I do not think that prudent, madam. The scene is not fit for a lady’s eyes.”
“I must say farewell—I never knew where Samuel Whitmore found his grave—buried at sea in the West Indies, but I can offer Robert my final prayers and see to his burial.”
The magistrate reluctantly nodded his agreement. He stood and offered the lady his arm. Motioning for Darcy and Worth to lead the way, he squired the two-time widow from the room.
Sir Phillip motioned for the footman to unlock the door.The magistrate caught the lady’s hand before they entered. “I must caution you against this once more, Mrs. Harwood.The lieutenant’s condition is quite repugnant.”
“I understand your concern, Sir Phillip, but I must see Robert for myself.” She seemed unusually composed.
Resigned, Sir Phillip reached for the door handle. He swung the door wide and stepped inside. Reaching back, he caught Mrs. Harwood’s arm at the elbow to support her weight, expecting the woman to collapse as soon as she saw her husband’s bloody body.
Instead, Evangeline Harwood calmly entered the room, her eyes resting on the lieutenant, fixing a glassy stare on the bloody wound—no longer red, turning black in the stifling air. Her husband’s body had begun to stiffen—the skin hardening and becoming inflexible—but she knelt beside it and took his pale fingers in her warm hands. Emotion choked her. Evangeline had known Robert Harwood for five years—he barely past his majority when they had met and her a widow of six and twenty. Her knees had trembled when he touched her hand the first time, and Evangeline had known that she would give him whatever he wanted. She supposed it was why he had chosen her: She had allowed him a certain freedom to flirt with other women as long as he returned to her. She had given Robert Harwood her heart, but he had never reciprocated. Evangeline had never understood why he married her—maybe he had thought her widow’s pension would see them through the worst of those early days of their relationship.
His handsome face had often unnerved her, but now dried blood framed it, and a grimace of pain held the muscles taut. Evangeline’s fingers touched the furrowed lines. She would have liked to smooth the expression, but his skin’s hardness prevented that act of compassion. “I am sorry, my Love,” she whispered as she traced his bottom lip. “You deserved better than this.”
She rested Harwood’s hand across his waist before rising to her feet.“I thank you, Sir Phillip,” she murmured, “for allowing me this moment.”
“Of course, Mrs. Harwood.” The woman’s strength amazed him—he admired her courage, although the magistrate was now aware of the extent of her participation in the scheme the lieutenant had practiced on the de Bourghs. She had certainly planned to advance the claim he made and to create the image of ruination. Add to that perfidy a crime far worse—the death of an innocent—and he should find it impossible to offer the lady admiration, but he did. She had survived an abusive husband and a philandering one, and despite the evil she had brought to Darcy’s house, Spurlock saw the woman her late husband had described. Sir Phillip saw an angel. Not an angel of death, as he had once assumed, but an angel of love—twisted though it might be—one of love.
“Come,” he said softly as he placed the woman’s hand on his arm once more. Darcy and Worth waited barely inside the door, but they stepped aside to allow Sir Phillip to lead the woman away. “You will be confined to your quarters,” he explained as he conducted her along the corridor to her restored room. The baronet had set Darcy’s staff to organizing the disarray of their earlier search of the room. “A maid will attend you as is necessary, ma’am.Your meals will be brought to you, but other than those few moments, you will remain in isolation until I can arrange your transportation. Do you understand, Mrs. Harwood?”
“As you wish, Sir Phillip.” The lady turned to her jailer and offered him a polite bow of her head.“I shall await your pleasure, sir.” Evangeline Harwood entered the room—never looking back.
Behind her, Sir Phillip pulled the door closed and locked it from the outside. He motioned a footman forward. “No one is to enter this room unless Mr. Darcy or I give the order to do so.”
“Yes, sir.”
James hated the darkened passages and the stale air and the musty smell of mold and decaying animals. He would be happy to leave Pemberley’s dust-filled enclosure behind. Coming here had seemed a good idea when his friend had suggested it, but he preferred brightly lit parties with ladies in fine silks sporting low décolletages to decay and dampness. “Damn!” he cursed softly when he banged his knee against a jutting support beam, which had broken away from a cornice. “I am tired of being cold,” he grumbled. “Tired of cobwebs in my hair—tired of hiding away—tired of being absolutely quiet—tired of the sound of rats in the dusky shadows.”
He checked the openings to the many rooms accessible from the passageway. With the appearance of the magistrate and of Darcy’s cousin this morning, the activity in the house had increased. The men searched each room, and the women clustered together in tight-lipped pockets of dread.
Shoulders rigid, he made his way to the nearest peephole, a blur of unreality resonating through his mind. A flurry of color caught his immediate attention. Lydia Wickham swirled in place. “It is the most glorious of moments, Miss Donnel,” she declared boldly. “The officers choose their partners, and a kaleidoscope of colors unfolds as each lady’s skirts swirl in the dance—a continual swish to the quartet.”
Cathleen Donnel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Wickham took great pleasure in frivolity. “It sounds delightful. Now, if you will excuse me, I promised His Lordship I would begin to gather my things. He hopes to make his departure tomorrow.” Cathleen curtsied and left the room.
“But I did not tell you about the promenade,” Lydia called softly to Cathleen’s retreating form. She collapsed dejectedly on a nearby bench.“No one seems to care.” She understood how others might see her life as superficial, but it was the life she had. “I know nothing else,” Lydia whispered to the empty room—the depth of her ignorance and shallowness evident. Suddenly, tears of loneliness—held in check for months—welled up in her eyes. “George,” she moaned. “I wish you were here.”
James watched and listened. A bitter laugh bubbled in his chest, but he pushed it away.The irony of the situation played through his head. A man of improper title might have the lovely Mrs.Wickham with a wink.The girl was so one-dimensional that she would never recognize the man’s true intentions—would actually follow him without question. Noting her vulnerability, James imagined himself stalking toward her—a seductive determination his only weapon. He could easily tempt Mrs.Wickham now; she would take no care to note the difference. James would have to be willing to pay the price for interfering in his friend’s affairs, but triumphing over her would give him pleasure in more than one way.
James reached for the latch, but a slight movement stayed his fingers. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Wickham, but the Mistress wishes you to join her and Miss Darcy in the music room.” The maid dropped a belated curtsy.
Lydia Wickham shoved lazily out of the chair. “What could Lizzy want in the music room? She certainly knows I possess no such talent.”
“I no be knowin’, ma’am. Mrs. Darcy just be sendin’ me to find ye.”
“Oh, all right. I will go.”
“What do we do about Mrs. Harwood?” Darcy sat in the chair before the desk, a feeling of déjà vu returning. He had often sat there when his father still lived. At the moment, he wished for the peace he had known then even as his father had lectured him regarding his obligations. He ached to recapture those moments, but then he thought of Elizabeth—of the goodness of her heart—and of how she had made things right with Georgiana—and of how only in this time had he truly been happy. And he realized he never wanted to be anywhere but in this place—even with the evil, which surrounded him.
“When I leave, I will transport the lady to the nearest gaol.” A tone of resignation coloring his words, Sir Phillip added, “It is a crying shame that a woman might love a man to such a degree of distraction that she justifies an unjustifiable act in her own mind.”
“People have given themselves up to such perversions since the beginning of time—from the Bible to Shakespeare to our country’s history, we observe tragedy in everything we do. Only those few moments of love allow us to travel on in life; otherwise, we would all run screaming into the nearest mire—allowing the quicksand to suckle us into its darkness.”
The baronet scowled; the morass surrounding Pemberley went straight to its roots, and Sir Phillip wondered if the tree might finally be uprooted. At the moment, it appeared the Darcys were in way over their heads. The magistrate’s eyes burned with curiosity. “You must know, Darcy, that Mrs. Harwood is not your Pemberley phantom. Her demented reasons for doing away with Mrs. Jenkinson have nothing to do with the murders of your staff members, nor of the lieutenant. First, those were acts of force and of might. Neither of those words describes the lady. Pity, maybe. Shame, most definitely. Passion, absolutely. But not violence. Mrs. Harwood is simply a hard survivor of a difficult life.”
“Will the lady hang for this?” Darcy saw what the older man saw—a life to be pitied.
“More than likely.” Sir Phillip shifted uncomfortably. “I despise this part of my duties. Give me a rousing argument between neighbors over sheep in the garden, and I go happily into the fracas, but this type of matter is not open to human reason. No logic lingers in such cases—no one can explain the enigma of murder.”
Darcy pushed forward, banishing the maudlin atmosphere filling the room. “Yet, we must solve that puzzle, Sir Phillip, and we must do so before someone else in this house meets his Maker. I sent for you—for your expertise in this matter. I need your level-headed, no-nonsense reasoning to rid Pemberley of this pox.”
The baronet looked about shamefacedly. “Of course, Darcy. We must put our heads together to clear your name of this blight. Let us summon the viscount and your cousin.We will need all the raison d’être and common sense to be found in this house to create understanding out of iniquity.”
“If we want reason, then we should send for Mrs. Darcy also,” Darcy declared.
The corner of the magistrate’s mouth turned up in amusement. “You believe your wife capable of handling herself in a man’s domain?”
“Mrs. Darcy has at least as fine a mind as many of the men of my acquaintance, but my wife possesses something more important. She has a strong intuition—a way of choosing the right course—except where I am concerned, that is.” Darcy chuckled.
An eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Mrs. Darcy did not readily succumb to your many charms?” The baronet gestured to the room’s accoutrements.
“The lady also had the acquaintance of one Lieutenant George Wickham,” Darcy admitted. “It took her some months to see past the man’s natural affability and perceive his lies for what they were.”
The baronet nervously shuffled the papers he had left on Darcy’s desk. “Evidently, Mrs. Darcy’s sister lacks your wife’s ability to see beyond a handsome countenance. I noted a bit of melancholy in the lady’s demeanor.”
Darcy would not share Lydia Wickham’s story, but he said, “I cannot imagine living with Mr. Wickham to be an easy task for any woman, especially one of Mrs. Wickham’s exuberant nature. The lady’s husband, as you well know, is one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain.”
“I do not believe I have heard you speak so openly of Mr.Wickham’s wickedness before, Darcy. When he was a boy, I knew that he was a bad seed, although your dear father tried—supporting him at school, and afterward at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman’s education. And the elder Mr. Wickham…he never knew how to handle the boy. Whether to use the cane or offer a pat on the back.”
Darcy added to the story. “My father was not only fond of the younger Mr. Wickham’s society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and, hoping the Church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it.”
“How might one imagine a man such as George Wickham taking to the church?” The baronet took a sip of the tepid tea he nursed.
“As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner.The vicious propensities, the want of principle, which Mr.Wickham was careful to guard from my father, could not escape the observations of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which my father could not have.”
“Mr. Worth seemed chagrined to have brought news of Mr. Wickham’s continued debasement,” Sir Phillip added cautiously.
Darcy picked at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve. “Mr. Wickham appears determined to bring shame to his own name.”
“And to yours, Darcy,” his father’s long-time friend cautioned.
“Elizabeth and I will distance ourselves from the connection by remaining in Derbyshire and by not acknowledging the connection unless absolutely necessary. We have discussed it and are in accord. Yet, I fear Mrs. Bennet will not be so astute. My wife’s mother is singular in her devotion to her daughters, especially to Mrs.Wickham.”
The baronet frowned. “And the lady’s husband? What of Mr. Bennet?”
“Elizabeth’s father will see the folly of supporting Mr. Wickham’s reputation, but he is not likely to rein in his wife. He prefers to take refuge in his library and to allow the world to pass by unbridled.”
“I pray for your wife’s sake that you are wrong, sir.”
Before Darcy could respond,Worth tapped on the door.“Might I rejoin you?”
Darcy motioned the man forward. “How is my cousin?” Unsurprisingly, Worth had excused himself when Sir Phillip escorted Mrs. Harwood to her chamber. He had privately asked permission to apprise Anne of the news, knowing she would need comfort when she discovered what they had all suspected.
“I left her in Miss Donnel’s care. Anne took the news better than I had expected. Of course, we all knew the truth before the lady’s confession. Miss de Bourgh insisted on speaking with her mother privately.”
“Anne has matured from this experience although I would have her learn less harsh lessons in the future.” Darcy’s gaze swung back to the baronet, relief spreading across his face. “You recall, Sir Phillip, how belabored Anne was as a child.”
“The girl withdrew under Her Ladyship’s ministrations, very much as Sir Lewis did. If Miss de Bourgh has opened herself to a touch more of society’s polish because of Lieutenant Harwood’s attentions, then I will find it in my heart to forgive him some of his sins.” He sighed deeply.
A quiet stillness surrounded them as the three men digested the ramifications of their discoveries. “I wish for my cousin to make a match—a love match—with a man whom she truly deserves and who truly deserves Anne. I wish her the same type of happiness I have found with Mrs. Darcy.” Fitzwilliam Darcy set his shoulders with determination.“Speaking of my wife, let me send for the lady, along with the viscount and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” He forced his voice to sound calm, but an agitation remained that shook him to his core.
“You sent for me, Lizzy?” Lydia Wickham breezed into the music room, bringing annoyance with her.
Elizabeth ignored her sister’s petulant attitude. “Yes, Lyddie. Please come join us. Allow me to pour you tea.” Elizabeth gestured toward a nearby chair and waited for her youngest sister to settle herself before she continued. “Miss Darcy and I slipped in here to be away from the baronet’s investigation. Truthfully, we have been having a serious discussion, and I had hoped to recruit you to our efforts.We need desperately to return a sense of normalcy to Pemberley as soon as it is possible to do so.We have allowed the bleakness of the storm and the mystery of the deaths to blacken our days. I will not permit evil to take over my household,” Elizabeth asserted.“Georgiana and I have decided to attend the Midwinter Celebration in Bakewell next week.We will make new gowns for the assembly and enjoy a day of winter crafts at the church. I know how you so love a social, and we must plan our lives after these days.”
Lydia’s disposition brightened immediately. “You were always one, Lizzy, to quickly revive your spirits. I remember how all the young ladies in the neighborhood were drooping apace with the removal of the regiment from Meryton.You and Jane were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of your employments, while for us the dejection was almost universal.” Elizabeth wished Lydia would speak of something besides the time when Mr. Wickham resided in Meryton, especially for Georgiana’s sake, but a quick glance at Darcy’s sister showed an unexpected detachment. “So very frequently Kitty and I reproached your insensibility.”
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight inclination of the head.
Before Lydia could take up her tale again, Georgiana interrupted. “Do you suppose, Elizabeth, that you might prevail upon our cousin Edward to stay long enough to join us at Bakewell?” The girl spoke with a calm confidence.“It would be advantageous to have an additional dance partner. Fitzwilliam does not care for my dancing with strangers.”
Elizabeth watched with amusement as Georgiana manipulated the situation. Darcy’s sister was taking on the hopes of every young lady. Elizabeth knew she would have to teach her formidable husband to release his tight grip on his sister’s future. “I most certainly will apply to the good colonel for the pleasure of his company. Perhaps if Miss de Bourgh tarries with us, we might also encourage Mr.Worth to attend. I suspect we will see a great deal of the man if Anne remains at Pemberley.”
“I think it romantic.” Georgiana sighed and flushed with color.
Lydia perked up with the prospect. “As a married lady, I can avoid society’s mandates for dancing with strangers.”
Recalling her sister’s poor behavior at the Netherfield Ball, Elizabeth cautioned, “We—none of us—will do anything that might bring shame on Pemberley or the Darcy name.” She took Georgiana’s hand in hers. “Yet, as your sister, I will see that you have an abundance of partners, and that your brother takes a less rigid stance.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Georgiana squeezed her sister’s hand. She looked about shyly before whispering,“I have been to only one assembly, and I danced only twice, both times with Fitzwilliam.”
“Well, I promise a more pleasant evening this time.You have a big sister now, and I know what young girls like.”
“Plus, as a married woman, I, too, can serve as your chaperone,” Lydia offered.
“Thank you,” Georgiana said, covering the shock of Lydia Wickham being her chaperone. “Do you think, Elizabeth, with all that has happened at Pemberley that it might be a bit presumptuous of us to attend and make merry?”
“On the contrary,” Elizabeth asserted. “We will demonstrate quite impressively to Derbyshire for what Pemberley stands—for what the Darcys stand. None of what has happened here is our fault, and I will not have us hiding away as if we had guilty consciences.”
“There are times, Lizzy, when you sound very much like your husband!” Lydia exclaimed.
Elizabeth smiled broadly. “I take that as the highest of compliments.” She placed her teacup on a nearby plate. “Now, Georgiana, I want you to fetch those new fashion plates from your dresser. Lydia, you are to bring the color board from the bottom of your wardrobe. It is my old one; I placed it there some time ago with other mementos from Longbourn.We will meet in Miss Darcy’s room in five minutes. Now, hurry, girls, we have party dresses to design.”
James’s fears raced as he observed the Pemberley staff hurrying about the halls, seeing to Darcy’s orders. He would leave the estate tonight, under disguise of darkness. A thunderous scowl crisscrossed his face. Just like young Peter Whittington, he wanted to be a part of this world—wanted acceptance. It was truly all he had ever wanted. However, fighting the system tired him, and at moments such as these, he simply wanted to run away—to escape to his self-imposed penal compliancy.
“These passageways are not your only prison,” he mumbled. “Your soul will rot in hell,” he mimicked what Father Bertram had told him only a few weeks earlier.“Damned for all time.” He hated the priest, but he religiously attended the man’s mass, drawn to the belief of redemption, but never finding it.
He chastised himself for the blind rage that often controlled his actions—the beast he could not tame. They brought it out in him—his mother—her extravagant ways—his father—a weak man. People, especially those at the university who thought him an abomination—the joke of his graduating class—some thought him a rich man’s bastard. He had tried to keep Peter from the same stigma, but the boy insisted upon pomposity to still the unspoken threats; yet, all Peter’s indulgent ways did was to irritate respectable society.
Because of the intended and the unintended snubs, James had developed his own defenses, so in many ways he understood the boy’s manipulations. He supposed his hardness and his foul temper were no more effective. He bit back an oath as he considered the futility of coming to Pemberley.
The sound of the turning latch set his pulse pounding. He stepped behind the screen as the door swung open. Georgiana Darcy crossed to her dresser and pulled open a drawer. She removed a large book and then stopped to look into the mirror.
“You!” she gasped before springing for the door.
James remained frozen, praying she would not see him, but as she stood, he knew the moment that Miss Darcy obviously recognized him. In the reflection of the mirror, the girl could see him standing not ten feet behind her.
Fear and panic followed the recognition, and she bolted to escape; but he reached her before she could signal the others. He caught her possessively around the waist, clamping his free hand over her mouth to squelch her scream. “Lovely Georgiana,” he whispered huskily into her hair as she squirmed against him to set herself free. “You are coming with me, my Dear.”
His words sent her into stupefied terror; she kicked and twisted and pushed with all her might, but James easily handled her alarm with brute force. “Play nicely, Georgiana,” he hissed roughly in her ear. “Do not make me do something we will both regret.”
James began to drag the girl toward the secret opening. Using his weight to press her against the wall, he quickly released her mouth long enough to flick the U-shaped lever locking the passageway.
Yet, before he could catch her mouth again, the room’s door flew open, and he knew he was in trouble.