The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (37 page)

The woman beside him stumbled, and he automatically caught her to him. “Thank you, my Lord,” she whispered hoarsely.

He realized belatedly that he had been walking too quickly for her. Startled by the loss of his flawlessly varnished control, Domhnall glanced down at her flushed face. He studied her shadowed profile. “I apologize,” he said contritely. “I allowed my anger to set a punishing pace. I have neglected the fact that for a woman the steps are difficult to negotiate. They are steep and uneven in spots.” Her liquid blue eyes held him.

“The steps were steep, but I did not object to the ascent,” she said with a frown.

She was like no woman of his acquaintance, and Domhnall was sore to explain his attraction to her. To touch her would be overwhelming pleasure. Every time he looked at her, he approached a fever point. He tightened his grip on her hand. “Then let us finish our climb.”

Domhnall had brought her here because to him this was the most romantic place in the keep. Standing on top of the battlements, he could imagine reaching up and catching a shooting star as it flashed overhead. “This is magnificent,” she said softly as they stepped into the open. Her head tilted backward to absorb the view.

Unable to control his desire for her, Domhnall encircled the girl with his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her back
plastered his chest with her warmth. “You make it magnificent,” he whispered in her ear. A long silence ensued. Finally, he felt the sobs shaking her shoulder. “Tell me,” he said as he brushed the hair from her face.

She turned her head into his palm and brushed her lips across his hand. Her tenderness rocked his composure. He had to protect her at all costs, even if it meant choosing her over his flesh and blood. “I saw…saw the cells…heard the screams. I…I remember,” she sniffed. “The cold…the smell of blood…the prayers…” Her voice broke on a sob. Domhnall turned her in his arms and pulled her closer. His hand stroked her back, and he whispered endearments. “How can…how can a man…a man of your tenderness… keep prisoners in his home?” She clutched his shirt as if holding on to her only lifeline.

“I never knew,” he rasped. “You must understand. I never knew. I should have. It was my responsibility. As Normanna's lord, I should have known.” He cupped her face in his large palms. “My wife. My child. They were taken from me. And then my Da passed. I was thrust into a life I was not ready to live. She be my mother. I trusted her. I thought she had found a solution to my father's growing debts. I never questioned her methods.” He searched her eyes for understanding. For empathy. A moment of breathless anxiety followed.

“What do we do?” she whispered. Strain showed in her eyes.

The lady's use of the word “we” had delighted Domhnall. It meant that she would not run from him. “I have taken steps to deal with the chaos, but, Esme, I cannot see her in prison. Despite everything she has done, she is still my mother. I will send her away, where she can never hurt another.”

With a tightening of her shoulders, she sought to rationalize his motives. “I wish I could say something that would relieve your anguish, my Lord, but I fear that I cannot reconcile myself with your
tolerance of what Lady Wotherspoon has done, even in the name of love.”

Domhnall shivered as apprehension ran up his spine. He had spoken to no one else of the horrors he had discovered under his roof. He wanted Esme to understand how he had made great strides to correct the wrongs. “We will speak of this in detail tomorrow. It is late, and we cannot reason without proper rest.”

She shrugged from his grasp. “As you wish, my Lord.”

Domhnall brought the back of her hand to his lips. “I told my mother that your door was to remain unlocked, but promise me you will lock it from the inside, and you will keep the key with you.”

“I promise.”

With the break of dawn, Darcy and Edward prepared to ride out; Elizabeth had insisted that both men have a proper breakfast, and to ensure their doing as she asked, she had filled their plates and had sat beside them to encourage their appetites.

“You did not say what has happened to Mrs. Wickham,” Edward remarked as he consumed the ham Elizabeth had placed on his plate. Although both he and Darcy had argued against the necessity of the meal, they each ate heartily.

“My mother has escorted Lydia to Carlisle. Of course, we all assumed Lieutenant Wickham had returned to their let rooms. As we erred in that assumption, I am certain Mama and Lydia are at their wits' end.” Elizabeth placed preserves on her toast. She had begun to think with assurance that her pregnancy was real. Of late, the smell of certain foods affected her hunger or lack thereof.

“Perhaps you should send Mrs. Wickham news of her husband's true nature,” Darcy observed with bitterness.

Elizabeth scowled. “Neither Lydia not Mrs. Bennet deserve our censure. Let us please direct our disdain to my sister's husband. I certainly cannot send word of the man's attack or of his thievery without bringing on a case of the vapors. What would you have me say, Fitzwilliam? Instead, I think it best that I send word to Papa. He should travel to Carlisle and speak to Mama and Lydia personally. Someone must take control of the hysterics that are likely to follow. We would not want news of the man's perfidy to become common knowledge.”

Darcy said flatly, “For my satisfaction, I would not mind seeing Lieutenant Wickham receive his due.”

Elizabeth set her teacup down with emphasis. “Fitzwilliam, despite your contempt for Lieutenant Wickham and despite Lydia's naïveté, it would not serve either the Darcys or the Bennets to have the situation become a court issue. You have fought for over a decade to protect the Darcy name from Lieutenant Wickham's schemes and prevarications. You may have washed your hands of the man, but the Darcy family has not. Bennet's name and the names of any future children with which we may be blessed shall not be associated with that of a convicted criminal. I shall not have it. You must set your mind to a solution.”

Darcy's lips turned up in amusement. “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.”

Elizabeth sighed impatiently. “I despise how easily you read me, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy placed his napkin on the table, stood, and then leaned down to kiss the top of his wife's head. “Not easily enough, my dear, but I am very aware of your familial loyalty and am blessed by it.”

Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Be off with you.” She stood as the Major General finished his meal. “Ride safely, Fitzwilliam. Please bring Georgiana home to those who love her.”

Darcy caught her hand and tugged Elizabeth along behind him. “Kiss Bennet for me.”

“And me, as well,” Edward added as he accepted his hat and gloves from Mr. Jacks.

“Send word if you are delayed,” Elizabeth ordered.

Darcy kissed her fingertips. “You will know what we discover.”

The early morning light had invaded the space, and although she had fought for sleep, the day brought her a flicker of hope. Would this be the day? The day someone would find her? The day someone would rescue her, and she could return to her family's bosom?

During the night, she had dreamed of a dark evil chasing her through the blackness. Georgiana had never felt such fear, but then Edward had stepped from the shadows and had taken her into the safety of his embrace. The alarm had not disappeared, but with her husband's acceptance, she had known love.

“It is time to escape from the confines of these walls,” she chastised herself. “Edward would expect it, Fitzwilliam would require it, and Elizabeth would challenge me to follow through. Yet, where do I begin?”

Wickham had found a secluded setting where he could observe the comings and goings of those residing at Normanna Hall. He had observed a young man, likely the one known as Aulay, depart with an elderly lady in a farmer's wagon covered with a heavy canvas. From the descriptions Kerr had provided him, Wickham recognized the woman as the MacBethan mother. Strangely, rather than the young man, the woman picked up the reins. “Namby pamby,” Wickham grumbled. “What man permits a woman to handle a ride? Maybe if he is wooing her, but never otherwise. And why does the
lady of the house drive a farmer's wagon—one meant to carry supplies?” The lack of reasonable answers to his many questions draped heavily about his shoulders.

After the wagon's departure, for the next hour he simply watched the staff going about its business, but finally a man and woman appeared on the upper ramparts. Wickham sat back against the rock cropping so the pair could not observe his presence. He would like to know of what they spoke, but he could not safely move in closer to listen. Instead, he drew from his pocket a small spyglass he had taken from the blue bedroom at Alpin Hall. At the time, he had removed the glass on a whim, but now he was pleased with his choice in doing so. Bringing the glass to his eye, he focused his attention on the woman.

He could not decipher many details regarding the woman's appearance, but he could see her face. He recognized the golden blonde hair and striking facial features of Kerr's earlier description. “Well, well,” he said to himself as the man bent his head to kiss the woman's lips. “Not what I had expected, but perhaps there is a way to profit from this information.” Closing the glass, he eased backward to hide more completely from view. “Who might be interested in a man stealing a woman away from her family? And who might be interested in recovering their loved one? I suspect I know the answer to both of those questions.”

“Thank you for agreeing to walk with me,” Domhnall said as they reached the lowest level of the house's parapet. He had thought to revisit the upper floors where last evening she had accepted his comfort after the confrontation with his mother.

“It is my pleasure, my Lord.” She had yet to look at him, and Domhnall feared he had lost her.