The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (9 page)

Edward had fallen asleep at his desk. “I cannot seem to know enough of sleep,” he mumbled as he rubbed his face hard with his palms. “Too many battles. Too much blood. Too many nightmares,” he repeated. “Only Georgiana can soothe my troubled soul. I must know her presence in my arms before I will recognize that my journey has finally come to an end. If I protect her from the world's evils, I hope she will find me worthy to call husband.”

“It does not surprise,” Wickham grumbled. He caught Lydia's elbow and turned his wife toward the still-open door. However, when he reached Darcy's rigidly standing form, he mockingly said, “Please
give Miss Darcy my regards. I understand the last four years have been very good to her.” With a slight nod, he took a step to depart.

However, Darcy's anger had never receded—not today, not four years prior when Wickham had staged the elopement, which would have devastated Georgiana—not through the years of falsehoods, and not when the man had purposely ruined Lydia Bennet and had crushed Darcy's hopes of claiming Elizabeth as his wife. The memory of every degrading moment seemed to course through his veins, and without considering his actions, his right arm wound up for a perfectly executed uppercut to Wickham's finely chiseled jaw. A left jab to Wickham's nose followed the right, and the man went sprawling backward to rest at Elizabeth's feet. Blood gushed from Wickham's nose upon the man's crisp uniform.

“Bloody hell, Darcy!” Wickham exclaimed as he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. “You are bloody crazy!”

Darcy growled, “Curse in my wife's presence again, and those imprecations will be the last words that you utter.”

Elizabeth stepped around Wickham's efforts at recovery and slipped into Darcy's one-armed embrace. “Tell me you are well,” she whispered as she caressed his chin.

Darcy did not remove his eyes from the scuttled figure bleeding onto his Persian rug, but he tightened his hold. “As long as you are safe,” he said softly.

Meanwhile, Lydia's loud protestations were added to the clamor. “Lizzy, look what you have started.” She avoided her husband's bloody hands when she cuddled his head. “What kind of man have you married?” she accused.

“The best kind, Lydia.” Elizabeth looked lovingly into Darcy's eyes. “A man of honor. A man of integrity.” She turned in Darcy's embrace. “Mr. Nathan, would you ask Jasper and Thomas to
escort Lieutenant and Mrs. Wickham safely from Pemberley's grounds?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Darcy.” He snapped his fingers, and the two footmen appeared.

“I cannot believe it has come to this,” Lydia lamented. “You would turn your own sister away? Your flesh and blood?”

Elizabeth's mouth turned downward. “As my marriage vows require, I would cling to my husband above all others.” She shook her head in sadness. “I never wished it to come to this. In the future, should you choose to return to Pemberley, I shall welcome you with open arms, but I shall never subjugate Mr. Darcy's desire to sever relations with Lieutenant Wickham to my desire to maintain sisterly affection. If you cannot accept those terms, then we shall communicate through the post.”

As she supported her husband's rise from the floor, Lydia exclaimed, “You have turned Kitty against me.”

Elizabeth shot a quick glance to the downcast countenance of a sister she dearly adored, and she noted how Kitty's mouth twitched with the desire to smile. Kitty, too, found all this drama quite amusing. Miss Catherine Bennet had grown into a sage young woman. “I hope not. I would never place Kitty in a position to have to choose between us.” She silently thought,
as you have just required.
“And I hope to see you regain the family and friends you have so carelessly sacrificed. The nuptials are a public gathering. You must choose whether you shall stay until Monday for the service. Yet, Pemberley is my home, and I shall determine the events we celebrate and the guests who participate.”

“I see.” Lydia straightened her clothing. “We shall await my parents at the Lambton inn.”

Wickham staggered to his feet. “That may not be the best idea.”

“Why ever not?” Lydia demanded. “There is no coach until tomorrow.”

Darcy eyed Wickham carefully. The man's nervous mannerisms made him an open book. “If your husband's demeanor is any indication, Lieutenant Wickham expects to meet those in the area who still hold his markers.” Everyone turned to stare at the wastrel in the King's uniform.

“I simply prefer not to importune Father Bennet for the cost of our room and return passage,” Wickham said smoothly.

Darcy laughed sarcastically. “Did you hear, Mrs. Darcy? Your father's debts grow. You suggested that Mr. Bennet would assume the unexpected cost of an inn stay, but your assumption included the notion that Lieutenant Wickham had previously arranged a return journey to Carlisle. Now, we find that not to be the case. Our brother in marriage requires both passage and room, and I suspect board, as well.”

Elizabeth said accusingly, “I expect the accuracy of your words, but that is my father's issue.”

Kitty said softly. “Mr. Saunders is at Kympton. Perhaps Lydia and Lieutenant Wickham could share the curate's quarters for the evening. Should I speak to Mr. Winkler? I would not wish Lydia to know any public humiliation.”

“You do what you consider best, Kitty.” Elizabeth admired how Kitty had handled herself. Her sister had demonstrated a firm resolve, but she had also shown charity, a quality Mr. Winkler had recognized in the young Catherine Bennet—a quality he required in his wife. “Why do you not speak privately to Mr. Winkler and then ask Papa to join us here?”

“Yes, Lizzy.” Kitty dropped a quick curtsy and then disappeared from the room.

“Mr. Darcy, we shall await my father in the main foyer. Mr. Nathan shall attend Lieutenant and Mrs. Wickham. We should rejoin our guests.” She reached for Darcy's hand, and he came willingly.

Within seconds, they were at the foot of the main staircase and in each other's arms. “Thank you,” Darcy rasped as he pulled her closer.

Elizabeth clung to him. “For what? For loving you beyond reason? I fear that my heart is fully engaged, Mr. Darcy.”

“As is mine,” he whispered into her ear. “I am chagrined that my previous acquaintances have tainted your family's life.”

“I shall hear none of this regret, Mr. Darcy. You, Sir, are exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suits me. Your understanding and temper, though unlike my own, have answered all my wishes. You are as generous as the most generous of your sex.”

Before she could say more, her father appeared on the landing. “Kitty tells me that you require my assistance,” he said suspiciously.

Elizabeth blushed at having been caught in an intimate embrace, but she quickly explained what had transpired.

“And your mother never indicated to anyone that she had invited Lydia and Lieutenant Wickham?” His disbelief showed. “I tolerated her maneuverings with Mr. Grange at Christmastide because Grange is harmless and unassuming. No one could object to Grange, but Lieutenant Wickham is a different story.” He turned to Darcy. “I swear, Mr. Darcy, that I held no prior knowledge of this situation, but I will deal with the Wickhams and with Mrs. Bennet. ”

“We will escort the others to Derby while you see to your youngest child.”

With a reluctant shrug, Mr. Bennet agreed. “Mrs. Bennet will miss the journey. During your absence, my wife and I will have a serious discussion.”

Although the nightmare had returned, when a brace of candles floated into the room her eyes opened to devour the precious light. She pushed herself to a seated position and shoved several loose strands of hair behind her ears. She no longer possessed an idea of the number of days and nights she had spent curled up on the hard cot.

“I have brought you a warmer gown—one of wool,” a female voice said. “If ye will change from yer fine cloth, I'll be seeing to the stains.” The woman placed the expected food plate on the small stool. “I've brought ye a bit of cheese this time.”

She watched the movements—memorizing the actions. What would it feel like to walk across the room—to stretch her cramped muscles? By twisting awkwardly, she had managed to stand beside the cot and to mark her steps in place. To give her weakened legs some much-needed relief. But to actually take a step would be glorious. However, even the slightest shift on her part allowed the manacle to cut into her wrist.

“Come,” the woman said as she unlocked the metal cuff and helped her to her feet. “There. Does that not feel better?” The woman rubbed her hands with her own, and life rushed into the girl's fingertips. She searched the woman's face, but all she could discern was the woman's age. Likely her late fifties. Silver-gray hair. Very strong hands. Not dainty like those of a woman of good breeding. Her ministrations indicated that the woman did not readily retreat from hard work. Was she someone familiar? But the shadows robbed the girl of her savior's other features. “Permit me to assist ye with yer laces and yer stays.”

Obediently, the girl turned her back to the woman. “My, yer skin be so smooth,” her captor said. The gown slipped down her
body to the floor, and she stepped from it. A cold shiver rocked her spine, but she kept her focus on her surroundings. Where was she? Could she escape? The room resembled a cell—a place for prisoners, which is exactly what she was: someone's prisoner, and she needed never to forget that fact. Breaching the stone walls was not possible. She would need another form of flight.

“This gown should be making ye more comfortable.” The woman dropped the cloth over her head and began to lace the eyelets. Without her stays, she would be able to move more freely. “I've also brought ye some gloves, as well as this strip of cloth. I'll be keepin' the shackle from cuttin' into yer skin.”

She turned to the woman. “Must I be returned to the cuff?” She wanted to explore her options more fully, but she permitted the woman to refasten the chain.

“I've no right to order it otherwise.” Her captor's gravelly voice held sadness, but the girl wondered if the woman offered an untruth. Something did not feel right. A shiver ran down the girl's spine as she bent to accept the fastening.

“Then to whom should I plead my case?” she implored.

The woman's mouth set in a tight line. “You'll see in time.” The stranger straightened the gown's line, tugging at the seams. “It be a bit tighter than I be thinkin',” the woman said as she bent to retrieve the traveling dress from the floor.

Without thinking, the girl's hand came to rest upon her abdomen. “My family shall pay whatever you ask for my release,” she said softly.

“Not yer husband?” the woman accused as she strode toward the door.