The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (30 page)

Elizabeth smiled brightly. “You will notice, Mrs. Prulock,” she said in that familiar teasing tone he so adored. The one which had disappeared from his wife's personality after her previous miscarriages. It was as if Bennet's birth had given him back the woman Darcy loved with every fiber of his being. “That Mr. Darcy relishes holding
his
son when Bennet sleeps. Yet, let the boy kick up a fuss, and the child is instantly
my
son, not
our
son.”

“Wait until the young master be cutting his teeth. He be keeping the household awake with his temper,” Mrs. Prulock predicted.

With his fingertips, Darcy traced his child's jaw line. “Even a case of the Darcy stubbornness will not deter my joy at looking at this angelic countenance.”

“At least Mr. Darcy did not blame said stubbornness on my side of the family,” Elizabeth countered as the carriage lurched into motion.

Darcy did not remove his eyes from his son's face, but he said, “I have learned, Mrs. Darcy, to accept that all Bennet's failings lie
at
my
feet while
our
son's more magnanimous qualities are a direct result of
your
influence.”

Elizabeth suppressed her grin. “You were difficult to bring to the bit,” she teased. “But I am quite content with the end result.” They sat in silence for several minutes while each contemplated his own tumultuous part in their coming together as man and wife. Finally, she asked, “How long before we reach Alpin Hall?”

“Seven to eight hours depending on the roads,” he said softly.

“I am most anxious to settle what has transpired with Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said.

He nodded as he sat back into the soft squabs. “As am I. I have missed Georgiana.”

“Shall you sleep the day away?” the voice asked in concern.

She turned over to look at the room's ceiling and once more to count the knots in the wood. “Two and twenty,” she said to test her voice.

“Yes, two and twenty,” the voice spoke with a bit of irritation. “What else shall you do today?”

She said defensively, “What else would you have me do?”

The voice “tutted” her disapproval. “Find a way out of this dilemma. You are a brave, intelligent woman.”

“I would beg to differ. If I were brave and intelligent, I would not have succumbed to my doubts, and I would not be at another's beck and call.”

“Shall ye sleep the day away?” Lady Wotherspoon said close to the girl's ear. A splitting headache had driven her to her bed several hours prior. She had searched her memory for details of her life
before coming to Normanna Hall, as well as what had happened to her since arriving at the estate. The process had left her exhausted and suffering with a megrim.

The girl shoved herself to a seated position. “Forgive me, Lady Wotherspoon. I thought it best to channel my energies to recovering fully. If I am to accept Aulay, then I must be at my best.”

“Of course, ye shall accept Aulay,” the woman declared as she began to brush Esme's hair to remove the tangles.

“Esme” frowned deeply. “I have thought much of what is best. I recall…” she paused. “I recall few details of my life prior to my time in this room.” She sat quietly for several minutes before saying, “Before I could accept Aulay, I would need to learn more of my child's father.” Her fingers splayed protectively across her abdomen.

Her request had, evidently, surprised Lady Wotherspoon. The woman's eyes flared with incredulity, but she quickly masked her true response. “A woman should have pleasant memories to share with the bairn.” She braided Esme's hair. “I think it best if ye remember on yer own, but if'n ye kinnae I kin tell ye more of yer life.”

“You know of my lost memories?” Esme returned the woman's earlier surprise.

“I's know some of it. Enough to know yer husband be gone. Ye do not wish the child to be barn without a lovin' father. Aulay would be a good companion.”

“If I cannot remember on my own, you will tell me what you know?” The girl insisted.

“I shall share it all.”

Lady Wotherspoon rushed through Normanna's intricate passageways until she reached the Grand Hall. Finding Munro, her husband's nephew, drinking with several of the other cousins and
distant relatives, with a tilt of her head, she motioned him to follow her into the chapel. Although he was of the MacBethan clan, the man had proved resourceful when she had sent him on previous tasks.

“What be it?” he grumbled when he sat behind her on one of the few pews within the circular room.

“Ye shud not be afeared of God's hand,” she said coldly.

He warned, “Tell me what ye need, Aunt, and leave off worryin' fer me soul.”

Dolina glanced around to assure their privacy. “I require information on the girl Blane found in the moor. Who might she be? Ride out and check the inns. See if'n anyone be lookin' fer her.”

“Why? What hive ye in mind for the lass?”

“Jist do as I say,” she instructed. “What I've planned be none of yer doings.”

“Mr. Hurlbert,” Mr. Jacks cornered Wickham in the morning room. “I be pleased that I find ye before ye ride out, Sir.”

Wickham stiffened. He had loaded a flour sack with several pieces of silver and other valuables and had earlier stashed the items in an arbor in the lower gardens. Immediately, he wondered if someone had discovered his hiding place. As he turned slowly to face the Fitzwilliam caretaker, Wickham consciously placed a smile on his face and began to construct an excuse for the find. “How may I serve you, Mr. Jacks?” he said congenially.

“I have news, Sir,” Jacks said hopefully. “A rider has brought word of Mrs. Fitzwilliam's horse.”

“Really?” Wickham's curiosity piqued. “Where has the animal been spotted?”

“In Ayr, Sir. In the next shire. A trader says he observed a horse with Bracken's markings on the Normanna estate.”

“Where exactly is this estate? On the coast or inland?” Wickham could not control the spark of interest he experienced.

Jacks mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. “On the moor. It be dangerous. I kin't imagine Mrs. Fitzwilliam being so far from the manor house, but we shud see if it be true. We kin send our men.”

Wickham quickly sized up the situation. “It may be best if I call at Normanna first. Perhaps my cousin is injured, and the Normanna household has offered her sanctuary. Or perhaps they simply found the horse on the moor and possess no knowledge of its owner. We would not wish to offend a neighbor.”

“Yes, Sir. Shud I see to a mount?”

“I will ride out after I break my fast.” After dismissing the man, Wickham sat heavily.
I wonder
, he said to himself.
If I could find Georgiana, then Darcy would be honor-bound to forgive me. Mayhap, even reward me. If Mrs. Fitzwilliam is still alive, I could be a hero. Darcy would no longer turn me away from Pemberley. And, if I cannot find the lady, I can always continue on to Edinburgh as planned. It is worth a few hours of actual searching for the long-term familial benefits.

Finishing off his meal, Wickham strode toward the house's rear. He would take the mount the groom had provided him and then circle the orchard to reach the lower gardens and his hidden treasure.
With that, I will journey into the next shire and see what secrets it holds
.

“Where dost thou ride?” Domhnall had cornered his cousin on the path leading to the stables.

“Aunt Dolina has an errand for me,” Munro said nonchalantly.

Domhnall realized that Munro remained uncertain as to whether Domhnall could handle the family matriarch. His cousin was in for a big surprise. He demanded, “What type of errand?”

Munro smiled purposely, “Nothin' important. Just requires me to speak to her brother on her behalf. They must have had another spat.”

Domhnall stepped menacingly closer. “Somehow I do not believe you.” He paused. “I would hate to think that you had taken my mother's side against me,” he hissed.

Munro retreated a step, bringing him against the stone retaining wall. “Me loyalty lies with the laird of Normanna,” he said tentatively.

“Prove it.” He paused. “Tell me in truth what game Lady Wotherspoon plays,” he insisted.

Munro ran his finger under his tight neck cloth. “Me aunt desires news of the girl Blane brings in. Her name. Something of the woman's family. Aunt Dolina wants the girl for yer brother.”

Domhnall's frown lines met. He had other ideas for the woman. Certainly not as a token wife for his puppet of a brother. “Ye'll discover what Lady Wotherspoon wants to know, but you'll report to me first upon yer return. Is that understood?”

“Certainly, Cousin. I wud never step 'tween you and Aunt Dolina.” Munro swallowed hard.