Elizabeth supported Lydia’s sagging body as they followed Wickham through the shadowy twists and turns. She would run for safety if she could simply make Lydia respond, but Elizabeth would not leave her younger sister behind. For some unexplained reason, Lydia was cowed by Wickham’s playacting. Elizabeth sometimes wondered how she and Lydia could be children of the same parents.
“Is this normal for Mr. Wickham?” she whispered close to Lydia’s ear. Lydia frowned for a moment and then nodded. “Does your husband make you call him by these silly names?”
Lydia shot a frightened glance at her husband, obviously praying he did not hear them. “You do not understand, Lizzy.” She hesitated, keeping her eyes locked on Wickham’s back. “He is not playacting. Mr. Wickham is each of those men, and you had best remember that.”
Darcy and Edward led a handful of Pemberley’s best men into the depths of the darkness. “My God,” Darcy moaned, “who would have thought?” He raised the lantern to get his bearings.“The corridors must follow the house—the T shape of the sleeping quarters. There is nothing behind us.We know from what Wickham said to Miss Darcy that some rooms provided him only a way of spying on us. Others have openings such as this one. Stay sharp—the man is dangerous—has killed three people already. I do not want Mrs. Darcy to be his next victim.”
“Slowly,” Edward cautioned. “Mr. Wickham knows these passages; we do not. Remain alert to all possibilities.”
Despite wanting to rush through the water-soaked enclosure, Darcy listened to his cousin’s advice and moved cautiously along behind Edward—his eyes and ears straining for a glimpse or a sound somewhere ahead of him.When they reached the intersecting halls, they spread out.
“Which way?” Lucas asked as he turned in circles.“Up or down?”
“God! I do not know!” Darcy ran a hand through his hair.
“Down,” Edward stated flatly.“Has to be down.” He led the way as the corridor took a sharp descent between the house’s flooring. “Be careful,” he called over his shoulder.“The steps are narrow and moldy. If your foot slips, you are dropping into the darkness.”
Darcy shadowed his cousin, unable to think for himself. Not since Elizabeth’s initial refusal had he felt such anguish—such disorientation. If he lost her now, he did not think he could survive. His eyes searched for any sign of her—and then he saw it.“Edward, look!” He pushed past his cousin to snatch up the scrap of material. “It is Elizabeth’s—from the lace on her wedding gown. See.”
“At least, we know we are going the right way. Stay close. It appears Mrs. Darcy is leaving us a trail.”
“Do you suppose?” Darcy gripped his cousin’s arm.
“Absolutely.” The colonel smiled. “You have always spoken highly of Mrs. Darcy’s intelligence—her good sense. Your wife leaves you a message, Darcy. Can you not join her in finding a way to defeat Wickham? Use your connection to the lady to find her. The two of you together can be a most powerful force.”
Darcy swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Edward was right. He was not helping Elizabeth with his panic.
“’Tis as dark as a coffin,” Lucas said from somewhere behind them.
“But it is not our coffin,” Darcy growled, “not today, not ever. This is my house, and Mr. Wickham has taken my wife. If anyone is to die in this hole, it shall be he.” Darcy nodded to his cousin. “I am with you, Edward. No more fear of losing Elizabeth. Neither she nor I will allow our separation.”
“Then let us find your lady.” Edward lifted the lantern again to take the lead. The colonel thought of what Darcy had with Elizabeth, and he nearly moaned in despair. He had spent enough years alone and enough years establishing his own good name to consider finding a wife and happiness at last. Then the image of a slender, golden-haired beauty planted itself firmly in his memory. Come back to me.
“’Tis dangerous to spe’k when ye should be verra quiet.”Wickham pulled up short, and Elizabeth staggered to keep from slamming into his backside. He caught Lydia brusquely by the arm. “Dinnae James teach ye when ye ken and cannae spe’k?”
“It is my fault.” Elizabeth tried to insinuate herself between her sister and Mr. Wickham. “I am a bit confused and asked my sister what she knew of you.” She eased his grip from Lydia’s arm.
“Ye cannae conceive of such a mon? That be it, Lass?” He actually reached out gently to caress Elizabeth’s cheek.“Ye be the smart one; I remember.”Then he caught her chin and turned it brashly to him. “I believe ye be a passionate woman, Eliza: I see it in ye eyes, and I will revel in havin’ ye.” He smashed his mouth hard against hers, kissing Elizabeth roughly. As quickly as he took her mouth, Wickham released her.Turning his back on them again, he grabbed Lydia to his side.“Come along,” he said in the voice Elizabeth now recognized as James Withey.
Without another word, she fell into step behind the couple. Surreptitiously, she used the back of her hand to wipe away Wickham’s taste from her mouth. She wondered how she could ever have preferred George Wickham to Darcy. She now fully understood, along with her Aunt Gardiner, that Darcy’s real defect of character was his obstinacy. He had been accused of many faults at different times—she had been among his greatest critics—but obstinacy was his one true one.With Wickham and Lydia, Darcy had followed them purposely to town; he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research. He had frequently met with, reasoned with, persuaded, and finally bribed the man whom he always most wished to avoid and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce—the man who had invaded their home.
For herself, she was humbled; but she was proud of him—proud that in a cause of compassion and honor, Darcy had been able to get the better of himself. Now Wickham repaid her husband’s compassion by bringing death to Darcy’s doorstep. Somehow, she would stop him—she would free Darcy of George Wickham’s malice, and she would free Lydia of her husband’s libertine ways.
When the footman stepped on the flooring of the landing, no one at first knew what happened until it happened.The wooden planks gave way under the man’s weight, and he plunged into the dry well.
“Redman!” Darcy called as he peered into the blackness.“Redman, can you hear me?”
A groan and a muffled curse told him the man lived.
“Redman!”
“Here, Mr. Darcy,” a breath-deprived voice returned Darcy’s plea.
“Can you move?” Edward knelt beside Darcy, holding a lantern over the hole, trying to determine the situation. “Looks as if he is on that shelf.” He indicated a small ledge about ten to twelve feet below them.
A scratching sound followed by another curse answered the question. “It’s me leg, Colonel.”
“Great.” Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “Now, what do we do? I am not even sure where we might be in the house.”
“We will have to send Lucas for help.” Edward assessed the situation quickly.
Darcy nodded his agreement, but before any of them could move, light bathed the space as a wall shifted, and Lord Stafford’s head appeared in the opening.
“Thank God!” The colonel exhaled the words. “Stafford, we need your help.”
Adam Lawrence squeezed through the opening, followed by two footmen. Immediately, he and the others stood beside Darcy and the colonel. “What happened?” He held the lantern aloft.
“Redman fell in,” Darcy informed him.“We need him out, and I need to find Elizabeth.”
“We have it,” Stafford took control. “Darcy, you and the colonel go after Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Wickham.” He motioned to one of the Pemberley staffers to go after a rope.“We can handle your man below.”
Edward grasped Stafford’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lawrence.” He took up the lantern. “Come along, Darcy.”
Darcy squeezed past the men. “Send one of the men to Lambton for the surgeon,” he spoke softly to Stafford.“We may need him for more than Redman.”
“I will see to it.”
Elizabeth dropped the last of her swatches when they entered the tunnel, leaving the house itself. The tunnel reminded her of a coal mine outside Scarborough she had seen as a child. The walls were shored up with large timbers, as was the ceiling, which was barely five feet high.They all walked hunched over as they made their way toward the outside. Elizabeth’s feet were as cold as she could ever remember their being—the dampness soaked her day slippers through. The melting snow trickled down the walls, heading toward an underground stream they crossed at the juncture of the house and the outside tunnel. As she blindly followed her sister, Elizabeth silently prayed Darcy would recognize the trail she had left behind. But the fact was that he had not caught up to them yet—and she was losing hope. Possibly, he had not even found Georgiana as yet. He might not know she was missing or where to find her and Wickham.
She had no idea how she might escape Mr.Wickham’s clutches on her own. Elizabeth supposed she might just run and pray the man would not shoot her from behind, but she could not assign good odds to the likelihood of the “others” not attacking. When she had left with her sister, Elizabeth assumed she could talk sense to George Wickham, and if nothing else, she could bribe her sister’s husband to go away and to leave Lydia behind. The scandal would not die easily, but somehow she would keep Lydia from her persecutory husband. However, Mr. Wickham’s counterfeit made that more difficult. She expected the man would claim some sort of lunacy as his defense if caught, so Elizabeth now needed a solid plan to protect those she loved.
“Which way?” Darcy and Edward found the antechamber and searched for the most likely way out.
Edward quietly examined the marks along the wall. “Wickham has come in and out of here quite often. Look at the muddy boot tracks.” He pointed to the dusty smears on the wooden flooring.“I suspect we will need to split up.You take the passage on the left. I will take the one on the right.” Darcy nodded his agreement. “Be careful, Darcy. We must be getting close.”
“You too, Cousin.” Darcy rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Taking the gun from his waist placket, he allowed the weapon to lead the way. They both recognized Wickham’s likely treachery, and they needed to be prepared.
Although the tunnel continued onward into the blackness, James shoved open a wooden door leading to the outside. The backside of it was covered with ivy and vines and made it easier to conceal. “Hurry!” he barked as he shoved Lydia into the open and reached for Elizabeth. “You, too, Mrs. Darcy,” he growled, throwing her forward. Elizabeth landed unceremoniously in a snow bank, which quickly soaked her gown and the blanket she clutched about her. She blinked several times—the late afternoon sun reflecting off the snow blinding her after being in the tunnels for so long.
“Get up!” he ordered as he tramped toward her. He jerked Elizabeth to her feet. “There!” he pointed to the nearby stables, thrusting her forward. He caught Lydia to him, dragging her beside him as he marched toward the structure. When she stumbled, he hissed at his wife, “Walk, bitch, or I will leave you here to freeze to death.” He pushed Elizabeth again when she stepped out of her slipper and paused to retrieve it.“Keep moving!” he propelled her forward with a powerful heave.
“Damn!” Darcy grumbled when the passage he had followed suddenly come to a dead end. He knocked the spider webs from his hair and shoulders before he began to retrace his steps to the open chamber where Wickham had spent his days and nights. He had come across the remains of a dog or a cat, the skeleton too decomposed to tell which, and of several birds. He imagined the darkened corridors held rats and mice. When he finished this death hunt, he would seal everything in—seal the latches and the spy holes. No one would use this space ever again.
If Darcy had had time, he would have reprimanded Mr. Steventon for not apprising him of the passageways. The man knew of the openings but had said nothing while they searched for their phantom. He wondered, as he worked his way through the closed passages, why his father had never made him aware of these sealed corridors. He knew his ancestors had built Pemberley upon the site of a ruined castle, something built in the time of William Peveril, but it had never occurred to him that secret channels paralleled the rooms of his everyday life. Likely, Mr. Wickham had become aware of the shrouded rooms through his father, who had once served as the steward for Darcy’s father.
Working his way cautiously forward, as he stepped into the opening anteroom, Darcy heard it—the reverberation of a gun, followed closely by another and another.
Somehow, they made it to the stables and, as cold as it was inside the barns, being out of the still foot-high snowdrifts was heaven. Elizabeth’s teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she could not stop the shivers coursing down her spine.The frozen landscape had relentlessly soaked her gown and hose and shoes, as well as her under things. The combination of the sweat from their hurried exit, the dampness of the tunnel, and the trek through the snow thoroughly drenched Elizabeth’s clothes.
“What now?” she asked through a shudder.
James threw Lydia into an empty stall and then looked around nearly in a panic.The absence of Pemberley workers bothered him. Darcy evidently wanted none of his people hurt, and he had pulled them all away. “Hopefully, you can ride astride, Mrs. Darcy,” he grumbled as he slung a saddle over the back of Demon, Darcy’s own horse.
“You cannot expect to escape with both of us.” Elizabeth determinedly challenged the man. “Let Lydia stay here.”
“I need her to keep you in line.” James put the bit in Demon’s mouth and looped the harness over the horse’s head. “Which one is your horse?” When she did not answer, he stormed toward her, pinning Elizabeth against the wall. “I asked you a question, Mrs. Darcy,” he threatened. “I am not a man accustomed to having my will denied.”
Anger filled Elizabeth, but she needed to stall until Darcy came—or, at least, until all hope of that had ended. “Are you the one who hurt Lydia?”
He lowered his head so that they were nose to nose. Elizabeth could smell the traces of stale cheese and bread on his breath. “So, she told you,” he growled. “But it is not my domain to manhandle Wickham’s wife. My domain is to make her feel the passion of the marriage bed. Any wrongdoing the lady suffers comes at the hands of our young lordship.” He brought one hand to her breast and cupped it. “Very nice, Mrs. Darcy.”
“If you think to frighten me, Mr. Withey, you must do better than that.”
“Oh, I will, Mrs. Darcy. I most certainly will.” He pressed against Elizabeth and made her aware of his masculinity. “Now, Mrs. Darcy, you must tell me which horse is yours.”
She gritted her teeth and nodded her head to a nearby stall. “Pandora is mine.”
“Very good, my lady.” James broke away and went about putting a regular saddle on Pandora.Within minutes, the horses were ready to leave. “Come!” He grabbed a nearly comatose Lydia from where he had left her. “You, my Dear, will ride with me.”
“Why cannot Lydia ride behind me?” Elizabeth charged.
“As I said before, Mrs. Wickham stays with me until we get away from Pemberley.”
Elizabeth shot a quick glance at her sister. “Then what? When we escape Pemberley? What of Lydia then?”
“Then I will have no more need of Wickham’s wife.”
Edward Fitzwilliam emerged into the daylight. He had purposely sent Darcy the wrong way: He had seen the trail Elizabeth had left and sent his cousin on a false fox hunt. He would save his cousin from harm by apprehending Wickham himself. Darcy had a wife and family on the way; Edward would not allow his cousin to lose it all. It took him but seconds to acclimate to the cold and the light and the snow and to follow the three crosscuts leading to the stables. He set off at a near run, pulling the gun from the holster under his jacket.
Wickham rewarded his efforts. Just as he reached the fence leading to the main barns, the door swung wide, and Wickham exited with two horses. He dragged Lydia Wickham beside him, and Elizabeth hurried along in their wake.
Edward hunched down, trying not to signal his presence, moving as close as he dared without endangering the ladies. When Wickham reached to lift his wife to Demon’s back, Edward knew he could wait no longer. “Wickham!” He stepped from behind the gate and into the open. “Step away from the horses.”
Elizabeth wanted to warn him—tell Edward that Mr. Withey was no gentleman—he was the despicable, corrupt part of George Wickham. No field of honor existed here. But it was too late. James grabbed Lydia around the neck, using her as a human shield, and fired on the colonel. As if in slow motion, Elizabeth saw it all—saw the bullet leave the gun—saw it travel the short distance to where her husband’s cousin stood ready to fire his own weapon—saw it hit his hand—saw the colonel’s gun explode with a puff of smoke—saw Lydia slid from James Withey’s arms—saw Withey lift the second gun from his waist and aim—saw Edward’s chest explode with the impact and Darcy’s cousin sink to his knees in the snow. A muffled cry cut the frozen air.
In no more than ten seconds, two people lay in the snow.“No!” she screamed as she tried to reach them, but Withey caught her about the waist, dragged her into the stable, and slammed the door behind him.
Adam Lawrence heard the shots and froze in anxiety. “We have him, Your Lordship,” Lucas grunted as he strained to pull Redman’s weight to the top of the well.“Mr. Darcy needs you, sir.” Another heartbeat passed before Lawrence was on the move, skidding through the shadowy passages, looking for the obvious.
It took Nigel Worth longer to find the secret passage associated with the cold cellar than he had expected. Originally, he and Darcy’s staff had moved items in the storage to look for the lock behind or under the food items. Finally, it had dawned on them to search behind and along the shelving itself. Once in the tunnels, they had followed the one, which led them to the area where they recently found Lucinda Dodd’s body.They exited the tunnel behind a frozen waterfall, fed by the river close to the house, and came out along the same row of hedges and the copse of trees.
Instead of trying to find their return through the tunnels,Worth and Darcy’s men agreed to walk the half mile to the main house via the entrance drive.As they approached the front steps of Pemberley, a shot rang out clearly from behind the house, followed by another and another.The noise set them momentarily on alert, but then the three men were on the run, Darcy’s men leading the way along the road, which circled behind the stables.
Darcy took the low-ceilinged tunnel that his cousin had used only minutes earlier, running bent over and preparing for the worst as the daylight became apparent at last. Dropping the lantern he carried into the snow, Darcy shaded his eyes from the sting of the sunlight on the frozen landscape. He did not wait to confirm the tracks ahead of him belonged to his wife and cousin—it only made sense for Wickham to seek an escape on horseback.
Taking the road leading to the forested area that surrounded his estate, Darcy circled the back of the stables—the fenced area where they trained his cattle and sheared his sheep. Following the fence line, he crept carefully along the blocked slats, seeking cover in case of an attack, but nothing before the barns and stables moved. All he observed was Demon and Pandora, standing side by side, as if waiting for Elizabeth and him to mount.
Then he saw them—his cousin and Lydia Wickham lying some fifteen feet apart, both covered in blood. Darcy’s breath caught in his chest as he hunched at the end of the fence line and surveyed the area, looking for Wickham and Elizabeth. Seeing neither, he ran to the colonel’s side, keeping the horses between him and the stable door.
“Edward.” He gently touched his cousin’s shoulder. “Edward, please.” A moan answered Darcy’s prayer. He rolled the colonel to his back and began to check for wounds. “Where?” he asked as he took a second handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the chest wound after opening his cousin’s jacket.
Edward Fitzwilliam opened his eyes tentatively and stared deep into Darcy’s. “Wickham fired…before…before I could get…get a clean shot.”
“It is well. I will take care of it. Did you see Elizabeth?” Darcy pulled a handkerchief from Edward’s own pocket and wrapped it tightly around his cousin’s wrist.
“Mrs. Darcy…behind him…in the stable.” Darcy’s eyes lifted to the building, searching for some sign of Elizabeth. “I shot…I shot Mrs.Wickham…gun went off…did not mean to.”
The sound of running feet, crunching on the icy snow, brought Darcy’s attention to the connecting roads from the main house. Darcy raised his gun, but quickly lowered it again when he saw Worth and the Pemberley livery. He motioned to them to come closer, but to keep low.
The solicitor crawled to reach him. “My God, Darcy!”
“I need your help, Worth. Elizabeth is in the stable with Wickham, and I need to see my cousin to the house.”
“I will tend the colonel. Go after your wife.” He took over the pressure that Darcy had held on the wound. “What about Mrs. Wickham?” He gestured with his head toward where the lady lay beside the horses.
Darcy’s eyes followed the man’s gaze. “I do not know. I am not sure how many or what kind of weapons Wickham has, and his wife rests close to the door. I will try, but at the moment, my first concern is with my own wife and child.”
Again, a sound coming from the direction of the tunnel opening brought all their watchfulness to the back of the building, and then Stafford appeared before them. As he hurried to where they analyzed their next move, Darcy decided on his point of attack.
“I see from where the noise came.” Stafford noted the colonel and the immobile Lydia Wickham. “What do we do now?”
“Worth and my men will take Edward to the house. I am going into the back of the stable. Once I have engaged Wickham’s attention, would you go for Mrs. Wickham? I am not sure whether the lady lives or not.”
Stafford looked carefully to where Lydia lay on her side in the snow. “It appears she breathes. See…Mrs. Wickham’s chest rises and falls.”
Darcy tried to see what the viscount noted, but his anxiety for Elizabeth blinded him to everything else. “I believe what you say.” He looked again at the forbidding building. “Give me a few minutes to take a position, and then everyone move at once.”
“We have it,” Stafford assured him. “Concentrate all your energies on saving Mrs. Darcy.”
Darcy took a determined, stabilizing breath, and then—suddenly unable to any longer control the fierce anger building inside him—he stood. Cocking the gun he carried, he moved toward the back of the building.
The muffled sound of the guns stilled the two rooms holding Pemberley’s occupants: the small drawing room occupied by the house’s current residents and the ballroom with the Pemberley staff inside.
“What was that?” Despite her aunt’s and Mrs. Reynolds’s objections, Georgiana Darcy was on her feet pacing the room. She followed Anne to a nearby window to look out.
Sir Phillip ushered them away.“It is too dangerous. Please move to a safer part of the room.”The fact that he, too, carried a gun did not ease their apprehension.
“The noise, Sir Phillip?” Anne pleaded. “Was it a gun?”
He purposely ignored her question. Instead, he slid a casual arm around her waist and guided Anne to a nearby chair. “The noise came from outside the house. It could be a tenant chasing a rabbit or even a poacher, especially after so many days of cold weather. Do not become alarmed over every sound.”
“But what if it was one of them?” Anne steadfastly insisted.
“We will know soon enough.”
A knock at the door interrupted their thoughts. Mr. Baldwin called before he entered, “Mrs. Reynolds, we need you.” The man looked grave.
“What happened?” Georgiana demanded, on her feet again.
Mr. Baldwin patiently acknowledged the girl’s anxiety. “It is Redman, Miss. He broke his leg. There was a dry well of some kind, probably from the old ruins. At your brother’s suggestion, I have sent Timmons to Lambton for the surgeon.”
“Do we know any more about my brother or sister or the colonel?”
“No, Miss Darcy. Lucas says Lord Stafford helped with Redman and then followed the Master and the colonel into the tunnels. That is all we know at this time.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baldwin.” Sir Phillip excused the man to his duties as Mrs. Reynolds rushed to the footman’s side.
Darcy lifted up on the small door used for supplies to ease the hinges and to silently enter the stables. Surrounded by tack and leather, he hunched behind the last stall and listened.
“Mr. Withey, you cannot hope to escape now.” The sound of Elizabeth’s voice calmed Darcy’s racing pulse. She was alive, and that was what was important.
“I still have you,” the man threatened.
Darcy recognized the voice, but something about it lacked a familiarity. It was as if he listened to a man with whom he had once shared intimacies, but also to a man of whom he had no knowledge. Shaking off the uncanny feeling this created in him, Darcy once again studied the area. He needed to know where Elizabeth stood in relation to Wickham—he could not let what had happened with Mrs. Wickham happen to her. As quietly as possible, he edged forward to the stall’s end, where he could see the elongated shadows cast by the two lanterns hanging on either side of the door.Wickham and Elizabeth stood several feet apart. At least, he had that.
Darcy silently sucked in another stilling breath and moved around the corner of the last stall, hoping to come as close to Wickham as possible before the man saw him. He made it past three stalls before Elizabeth’s eyes grew in recognition and past another two before Wickham turned from the door where he peered out onto the emptiness of the stable yard and brought Darcy up short.Without even looking at her, Wickham cocked his gun and pointed it at Elizabeth’s temple.
Viscount Stafford waited the required three minutes upon which they had agreed before he made his move.The colonel managed by pure will to rise first to his knees and then to his own feet. Then, with the help of Murray and St. Denis, who had managed to exit through the east wing, the Pemberley footmen partially carried and partially walked the colonel toward the servants’ entrance. Worth remained behind to help with Lydia Wickham.
“Are you a good shot?” Stafford asked as he sized up the situation.
Worth followed the viscount’s line of sight. “Fair…better than most.”
Adam Lawrence took a quick assessment of Mr.Worth’s physical strength.“Fair or not, you had best cover the door. I will retrieve Mrs. Wickham. Are you ready?”Worth swallowed nervously, but he nodded his affirmation. “We move on two. One…two.”
“Miss Darcy!” Murray tapped frantically on the drawing room door.
Sir Phillip jerked the door open, blocking the footman’s entrance to the room. “What is it, Murray?” he demanded.
The man pulled at his forelock. “Excuse me, sir. I came for Miss Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds. The colonel, sir…the colonel has been shot.”
A gasp told Sir Phillip that Georgiana stood close behind him. “How bad?” the baronet urged.
“Cannot tell, sir, but he walked part of the way to the house.We brought the colonel through the kitchen. He is on the trundle bed off the main room. He is asking for Miss Darcy.”
“I am going.” Georgiana pushed past the baronet.
“Go with her, Murray,” the magistrate called from the doorway. “I will send Mrs. Reynolds immediately.”
Georgiana rushed through the main foyer headed toward the servants’ entrance, her thoughts consumed by the possibility of losing her cousin.
Murray’s long gait caught up with her as she strode along.“The colonel, Miss—he will be fine. Trust me,” he said as he rushed forward to swing open the kitchen door. “In here, Miss Darcy.” He held a second door. “The colonel is in here.” He remained at the opening, watching over the master’s sister.
“Edward?” Immediately at his side, Georgiana knelt beside the low makeshift bed. “Edward, I am here.”Alarm coursed through her.
Slowly, the colonel opened his eyes. The weariness present there frightened her, but Georgiana caught his hand in hers and squeezed, and, thankfully, he wrapped the tips of his fingers around hers. “Closer,” he whispered.
Georgiana took a cloth from a nearby table and wet the corner and touched it to his lips. “I will take care of you.” She wet the cloth again and wiped his face clean.
Edward gave her a crooked smile and tightened his hold, giving a little tug to pull her to him. A small grimace indicated the pain coursing through him, but determination outweighed everything else. “Georgie…come closer.”
The girl surveyed his wounds before leaning across his chest. “What do you need? Just tell me, and it is yours. Anything, Edward.”
“You, Georgie…I need you,” he gasped out. Tears filled her eyes, and she did not even breathe. Her heart burst with happiness. “Tell me…it is…what…what you need, too.”
“You came back to me,” she whispered.
His grin grew, turning up the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Sweetest…I came for you.” The colonel closed his eyes, consumed by the pain, but the smile did not fade.
Unaware of the physical chemistry stirring their hearts, Mrs. Reynolds rushed into the room and took Georgiana’s shoulders and replaced the girl with her own body.“Let me have a look, Colonel,” she said, all business. She gently removed the blood-soaked handkerchief to examine the wound. Finally taking note of the girl, she ordered, “Miss Darcy, you should not be here.”
“I am staying,” Georgiana declared, moving to the other side of the bed.
A raised eyebrow spoke volumes. Mrs. Reynolds took a closer look at how the girl she had helped to raise suddenly stared at her cousin with different eyes—the eyes not of a girl, but of a woman. “Then see about cleaning the colonel’s wrist wound. It is likely that he has a fractured bone, so be careful. It will help Doctor Miller if we clean everything for him.”
Timidly, Georgiana asked, “How long before the surgeon arrives?” She untied the knot her brother had tied earlier and began to gently wash the area.
“Not long now. Within the hour, I imagine.” Mrs. Reynolds pressed another bandage to the chest wound. “This one is barely bleeding. It does not look too bad—appears the colonel’s military regalia deflected the bullet. I do not think he has more than some fragments in the wound.” She wrapped a cloth across Edward’s shoulder. “I suppose I might count on you to tend your cousin’s wounds?” she asked suspiciously.
“I would happily tend the colonel,” Georgiana declared, coming to sit by the bed.
Mrs. Reynolds took a closer look at the girl’s face, especially examining the clarity of her eyes. “Do not overdo it,” the housekeeper warned.“You took quite a blow to your head only a bit ago.”
“I will rest easier if I know my cousin is not in danger.” Georgiana moved her chair closer, where she might touch him.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled faintly. “Then I will check on Redman again.” She moved to take her leave. “I am placing Murray here in case either you or Colonel Fitzwilliam needs him. Make sure your patient does not move about.”
“Yes, ma’am.”