The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (44 page)

“During the Festive Days.”

Darcy immediately thought of his time with Elizabeth at Pemberley and how gloriously happy he had been. Whilst he was cozy with his new wife, Robert Clarkson had been lying in a shallow grave upon Samuel Darcy's property. “Some six months,” he mused. “How did the elder Mr. Clarkson recognize his son?” Darcy recalled how quickly the body decomposed, and he grieved for a father who had to look upon his eldest son in such a state.

“The elder Clarkson had given his son five pence which Mrs. Clarkson had sewn into the lining of Robert's jacket. He had told Robbie that no matter where he found himself, the boy could come home.”

Darcy thanked the curate for his diligence in bringing a resolution to some part of the insanity in which they found themselves. He said honestly, “Your dedication to your congregation is duly noted, Mr. Williamson. I will share my praise with the Bishop when next I see him.”

With a heavy heart, Darcy said his farewells to his cousin. “Ride safely,” he admonished.

Edward glanced to the window where Darcy knew Elizabeth stood, observing his cousin's departure. The colonel raised his hand in an abbreviated wave. “Your blessings are numerous, Cousin. Do not doubt your wealth.”

Darcy's eyes followed his cousin's. As he expected, Elizabeth was turning away. “My life began the day I stepped foot in Hertfordshire.”

Edward chuckled as he reached for his horse's reins. “You give the woman too much domain over you. I never thought to see the day, Darcy,” the colonel teased.

“Some day I expect to hear you praise your own wife.”

Edward shook his head in denial. “I hold misgivings.” An unknowingly sad smile turned up his cousin's lips. “Yet, even with my doubts, I have placed my hopes in Mrs. Darcy's most capable hands.”

“Then you will know success. Whatever Mrs. Darcy touches turns to gold.”

With a brief handshake, the colonel was gone. Darcy returned to the house. He would spend the day proving his love to his wife with a walk about the grounds, a few stolen kisses, perhaps a highly contested game of chess, a few more kisses, a relaxing meal with good conversation, and a night of passion. It would be the perfect end to a very harrowing week.

Somehow, Sunday foreshadowed the upcoming week. The five days which followed the colonel's departure, had proved productive and lacking in drama. Yet, try as he might to enjoy this long-hoped-for normalcy, Darcy kept waiting for the other shoe to fall.

He had ordered wooden crates constructed to protect Samuel's treasures, and he and the three Antiquarians had transferred the first of the Darcy donations to the crates for shipment to London. As he examined each of the pieces of Samuel's collection, Darcy's enthusiasm grew by leagues. He had always held a deep-seated interest in the past, but this was different. His family—the Darcys—would present England with a grand gift from a man who Darcy revered. People would look upon Samuel's donation with awe. “Perhaps some day I can escort my son into the Society's museum and show him the greatness of his family's name,” Darcy had told Elizabeth as they cuddled late into the night. He had regaled his wife with praise for his cousin's intelligence and the magnificence of Samuel's collection.

“Shall the Antiquarians finish before the Earl of Rardin's arrival?” On Tuesday, Darcy had received word of Rardin's and the Countess's intended journey. The Rardins, with three children in tow, were expected by the end of the following week.

Darcy's lips grazed his wife's ear. “Personally, I believe Franklyn, Sedgelock, and Chetley are of the mind of an adventurous boy who has been presented with every toy of his imagination. They admire first one item and then another and another before returning to the original find. Then they start again.”

Elizabeth smiled into his chest. Darcy could feel her lips part and her light breath on his skin. A hot palm grazed his hipbone. “You paint a lovely picture, my husband. Shall our children be spoiled so?” Her voice was slowly recovering, and Darcy had thanked God it was so.

“Our children, Elizabeth, will be taught what is right. They will be given good principles, but unlike my parents, we will not leave them to follow those principles in pride and conceit.”

After a breathy hesitation, Elizabeth said, “You are too severe on your perceived flaws, Fitzwilliam.” Before he could respond, she silenced him with a touch of her fingers to his lips. “Mr. Darcy, we have agreed not to dwell in the past. What I would prefer to hear from your lips is how we shall spoil our children with books and toys and dogs and...”

“Horses,” he said into her hair. “Oh, Lizzy, how much I desire the world you describe. Before we departed Derbyshire, Sir Phillip's best filly came to foal, and I thought, if only...”

She kissed his neck and embraced him tighter. “I promise you,” she said on a sob. “I promise there shall be other foals, and our children will enjoy having their magnificent father teach them to ride. You will know such pleasures, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You were born to father a gaggle of children.”

Darcy chuckled. A teasing glint entered his eyes. “A gaggle?” He paused dramatically as if considering her words. “I shall know contentment with each one with which we are blessed.” He kissed the top of her head. “How many is a gaggle exactly?”

Elizabeth crawled up the length of his body. Propped up on one arm, she draped herself across Darcy. “I thought we might create a strong son, one who resembles his very handsome father.”

Darcy thoroughly enjoyed these private bantering moments. He would cherish them always. Darcy kissed her long and hard, with a need he could not quench. “Let us create a thoroughly independent daughter, who wraps her father about her small finger,” he said as he kissed the column of Elizabeth's neck.

Elizabeth brushed her lips across his palm before guiding Darcy's hand along her hip. “May we begin our journey, Mr. Darcy?” she murmured.

“Oh, my dearest Lizzy...”

As the woman had declared previously, Mrs. Ridgeway made her exit on Monday. The fact only Mrs. Holbrook had seen the housekeeper off spoke loudly of the lack of respect the woman had engendered in those within the household. From his chamber window, Darcy had observed the interchange between the cook and the former housekeeper. Evidently, Mr. Stowbridge had sent a small coach for the woman. “Quite luxurious for a servant—even an upper one,” Mr. Sheffield said derisively from behind Darcy.

In the privacy of his quarters, Darcy permitted Mr. Sheffield latitude in his opinions. After all, Sheffield had been with him since before the passing of Darcy's mother. In fact, it had been Sheffield to whom a distraught boy of sixteen had turned to make sense of losing a beloved parent.

“We both understand the situation the lady has accepted,” Darcy said honestly.

“I have never cared for the woman's sharp tongue,” Sheffield shared. Something in the man's tone caused Darcy to regard him closely. “Yet, no female should be made into a whore,” his valet said bluntly. Darcy gazed at his long-time companion in shock; Sheffield rarely used crude language.

“Perhaps Stowbridge means to make Mrs. Ridgeway an honest woman.” Darcy turned away as Stowbridge's servant assisted the housekeeper into the carriage.

Sheffield returned to his duties. “The woman possessed other options. It is not as if Mrs. Darcy turned the lady out without notice.”

Darcy silently agreed. When he had learned of Mrs. Ridgeway's plans, Darcy had searched for some sense behind the housekeeper's decision. The woman could have gone to London or one of the more productive centers, such as Bath or Brighton or Liverpool, and easily found employment. Even without a reference, the housekeeper could have pretended a recent arrival from the Americas and have secured a position. Or Mrs. Ridgeway could have accepted Mr. Glover. Darcy was relatively certain the surgeon possessed an affection for the woman. Instead, she had accepted a tenuous situation under the magistrate's roof. “No. Mrs. Darcy would never purposely send any woman into dire straits. My wife has a kind heart.”

“She has at that, Sir. The Mistress is of the first order.”

On Wednesday, Darcy had received an unusual message from his cousin, which stated that even his position as Matlock's son had not resolved the situation in which Cowan had placed them. Edward had sent for his brother Viscount Lindale, as well as dispatching a message to the Archbishop. Unfortunately, the colonel had offered no explanation for this unusual twist, only confiding that he and Cowan would return by week's end. “It must be of great importance for the colonel to seek the assistance of his brother,” Darcy told Elizabeth as they prepared for bed. “The only higher indignity that Edward would suffer would be if he sought the Earl's assistance.”

“Perhaps Mr. Cowan has located Mr. Crescent,” Elizabeth ventured.

Darcy's eyebrow rose in curiosity. “What is it about Mr. Crescent that has you searching for Cousin Samuel's valet at every turn?”

Elizabeth slid a gown of satin over her head, and Darcy watched as the silky fabric slid over her full curves. “Mayhap it is the man's name, which I find so fascinating. Perhaps it is that Mr. Crescent was willing to go against his Christian beliefs to prepare your cousin's body for burial. I cannot say for certain as I have never held the man's acquaintance.”

“Then I will hope Mr. Cowan has successfully found Samuel's valet and the man is safe,” Darcy declared.

From either side of the four-poster, they crawled into the bed. Darcy extinguished the last candle and then moved to embrace his wife. The calm found at Woodvine for the past three days had gone a long way in settling his nerves. Although no resolution to the mystery of the deaths associated with Woodvine Hall had been discovered, Darcy felt strangely optimistic. The house ran more efficiently without Mrs. Ridgeway's influence. Mr. Barriton had assumed several of the housekeeper's duties, and Mrs. Holbrook the others.