The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (32 page)

“You are lovely,” he said softly and then looked off to the distance. “On the moors, the heather blossoms. Purple and pink. I love it, but I despise it. Does that make me a madman? It is the most beautiful land on earth, but this land is a dangerous mistress. Hard and unforgiving. A man must fight to survive.”

She followed his gaze, and although the fields were not visible, she saw what he did. “Your responsibilities must be enormous.”

He turned slowly to her. “A man makes decisions for the good of his people, but those choices can eat away at his conscience—his soul—until nothing remains. Excrement.” Domhnall caressed her cheek. “Then a brief flash of sunshine flickers, and his foolish heart takes flight.”

Esme sucked in a quick breath. What would she do if she were placed between Wotherspoon and his mother? Could she survive such a struggle of wills? And did this man speak the truth of his heart or was she a game piece in some bizarre chess match, one to be claimed by the most ruthless player? “I do not know how to proceed, m' Lord. Your mother has saved me for your younger brother.”

“My brother, Lady Esme, cannot be taught to appreciate a woman. To Aulay, you are a diversion from his games of strategy, a respite that my mother has convinced him that he would enjoy. Yet, Aulay tires of everything but his chessboard. You deserve a man who would see you as someone he could worship.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Did your husband appreciate you, m'Lady?”

Although she could not understand why she spoke so openly to this man, she confessed, “I have no memories of my husband. How shall I tell this child of his father?” Her fingers traced a small circle upon her lap. “Any details I am provided shall be slanted to Aulay's benefit. Unless my memory returns, shall I ever know the absolute truth?”

Domhnall placed her on his arm again. They stood, and he led her toward the ungroomed area beyond the gardens. “The truth may be unpleasant. Are you strong enough, Lady Esme, to learn both your secrets and mine?”

“Lieutenant Wickham,” Elizabeth whispered into the room's deadly silence. “Is it possible?”

“I will kill him,” Darcy growled. “He has taken my sister's disappearance and made it into one of his schemes to thwart this family.”

“Mrs. Jacks,” Elizabeth said firmly. “How long was this ‘Mr. Hurlbert' in residence at Alpin Hall?”

“Less than two days, Mistress.” The woman's hands visibly shook. “The gentleman seemed so familiar with the family. Knew of Lord Lindale's happiness. Of how both you and the Major General were as boys.” She swayed in place. “I be horrified, Mr. Darcy. How cud I've permitted a stranger to defile the Fitzwilliam family? I be turning in me resignation immediately, Ma'am.” Tears streamed down the woman's face.

Elizabeth caught the housekeeper's hand and assisted Mrs. Jacks to a seat. “That shall not be necessary, Mrs. Jacks. But we do require your assistance.” She shot a glance to her husband. Although she did not think herself in error, she said, “Fitzwilliam, we may be mistaken.” She had never witnessed Darcy so angry. “Might you describe Mr. Hurlbert for us, Ma'am?”

Mrs. Jacks dabbed at her eyes. With a quivering lower lip, she said, “The man has a wonderful play of feature. He possessed a most gentlemanlike appearance. Mr. Hurlbert had a certain air. He wanted nothing to make him completely charming.” The lady swallowed hard. “His appearance was greatly in his favor; he had all the best part of beauty—a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address.” Elizabeth's heart stilled. She had described Mr. Wickham in similar words when he had first come to Hertfordshire.

Her eyes continued to meet her husband's steady gaze. “Lieutenant Wickham,” he said the words with pure disgust.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “Mrs. Jacks, you will assemble the staff. Mr. Darcy shall need to speak with each individual who interacted with this fictitious Mr. Hurlbert.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“I shall examine Mr. Hurlbert's chambers, and I want you to inventory everything, especially the silver and other portable goods.”

“Does ye think the gentleman stole from the estate?” The housekeeper appeared faint again.

Darcy grumbled impatiently. “I will warrant it. I doubt Mr. Hurlbert will make another appearance at Alpin Hall.”

Wickham had ridden as far as Cumnock before he stopped for a bit of drink. On his first day in Kirkcudbrightshire, he had spent a diverting afternoon in the Cumnock inn's common room playing cards. On that particular day, he had won more hands than he had lost, and with a fresh stake, he could not quite pass the opportunity by.
Perhaps there is news of the lovely Mrs. Fitzwilliam
, he smirked to himself.
I still am uncertain whether it would be best to spend my time searching for the Major General's wife or making my way east to Edinburgh and then to ports in Northumberland
. He glanced up at the two-storey inn. “First things first,” he said as he entered the darkened room.

“And what is this area?” Esme asked as they reached a barren strip of land between the manor and the open moors.

“A fire border,” he said, while steadying her step on a low stone wall. “The heather is this area's life blood. The deer. The grouse. The cattle. Man. We all depend on it, but the heather extends no mercy. She has conquered the once-mighty forest. If a person looks closely, he might find patches of bluebells and wood anemones from when the trees outnumbered all the animals combined. But, now, only the heather remains.”

Esme looked out over the open land. If they were on a proper English country estate, the land before her would be well-manicured lawn. She had no idea how she knew such a fact, but she knew it
nonetheless. He remained by her side, but not as if he wanted to keep her in check. Instead, Lord Wotherspoon appeared to require her closeness. She said softly, “I ask again, do you despise it so?”

“I loathe how it holds me as its prisoner,” he said grudgingly, and Esme wondered whether he meant man's constant battle with the land or whether his ties to the estate had made him a different sort of prisoner.

“We are all prisoners in some form,” she observed. “I am a prisoner to my lack of memory.” She would have liked to point out that he and his family had posted a guard outside her door, but she planned to remain silent until she had determined how best to proceed.

“What if I told you my mother has sent a man—our cousin—to learn more of your life prior to your coming to Normanna Hall?” He stared out over the land.

She fought for control. What would Lady Wotherspoon do with the information, and how would she know the truth when she heard it? “Is my name Lady Esme?” she asked tentatively. Her head began to pound, and a voice warned her to beware what this man offered.

Domhnall remained steadfastly silent for several minutes. “I doubt it.
Esme
is the name my mother had chosen for Aulay, if he had been a female child. It means ‘esteemed' or ‘loved.' I am certain it would have been easier on my mother if her last issue had been an
Esme
rather than an
Aulay
. As she ages, Lady Wotherspoon must see her beloved son into another woman's care.”

“Would not Lady Wotherspoon experience the same regret for a female child with Aulay's particular eccentricities?” She walked a bold line with these questions, but she needed all the information she could muster.

“A female child could be placed in the care of the Sisters. Trained as a nun. Taught to care for her nieces and nephews. A dozen different scenarios. Aulay is a gentle soul. Too gentle for a man in this
rough, hard country. He requires a wife of very superior character to any thing deserved by his own. An excellent woman. Sensible and amiable. One who would never require indulgence after the vows were spoken. A woman to humor and soften and conceal his failings. A woman who could promote his real respectability. It is my mother's wish,” he said flatly.

She winced. Lady Wotherspoon had “chosen” her for such a life. “What is your wish, my Lord?”

“To find a woman who would share my desires and my adventures.”

It was of what every woman dreamed. Wotherspoon looked upon her with a hopeful heart. Life with Normanna's lord would not be easy, but if she were truly alone in this world, it would be better than an alliance with his younger brother. Gingerly, she lifted her hand to his cheek. “Do you consider me such a woman, my Lord?”

With a devilish smile, he said, “So much so that I have instructed my cousin that he will know my wrath if he does not bring any news he may discover of your prior life to my attention first. I would give you your past in order to claim your future.” A shiver of fear ran up her spine. What would the MacBethan cousin discover of her former life? And what of her past would have brought her to these lonely moors?

Wickham did not care for the man sitting across from him. Despite the fellow's congenial pose, he suspected the man lacked scruples. Likely lower than his own. Until this journey to Scotland, he had never done more than to cheat at cards, to walk out on a few debts, or to tell a pretty woman what she wanted to hear.

But the man with whom he shared a card table was of a different nature. The stranger turned a palm-sized glass disc in his free hand. Red-orange streaks of color met in a yellow cat's eye in the center.
The prop spoke of the hunter who had a desire for the unusual. The one known as
Munro
to the locales would be in the thick of whatever was thrown at him. In it for good or evil.

Wickham knew his own limits. His skills rested in the area of manipulation, but this stranger possessed untold skills. Like a chameleon, the man assumed the color of his surroundings. His black gaze fell on Wickham, and George shifted uncomfortably. “What be yer business in Cumnock?”