The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (34 page)

The girl sat to Domhnall MacBethan's right. The man's mother had excused herself from the table when she realized what her eldest son had planned. Lady Wotherspoon had taken Aulay with her, leaving her alone with Domhnall on the raised dais in the Grand Hall. Nearly two dozen family members and respected individuals on the Normanna staff sat at the tables below them. It was a scene from the fourteenth century, with the laird of the manor setting to his meal
with his men. “This is very reminiscent of an early Scottish keep,” she said softly to the man who bent his head to hear her over the boisterous voices.

Domhnall laughed easily. “It be appropriate, my Lady. Normanna is built over the ruins of a medieval monastery and my family's ancestral home.” He leaned closer to speak more intimately. “Of course, if this were a traditional lowland keep, my men would cheer if I chose to kiss you before them.”

She blushed thoroughly. “Please, my Lord. Our friendship is too new for such intimacy.”

“A man knows his heart,” he declared.

She counted to ten before responding. Part of her enjoyed this man's company and attentions. He had refined manners, but with a touch of wildness. Caution warned that this man was as dangerous as his mother, and that she was the piece of meat over which two wildcats fought. “We shall continue our acquaintance after your cousin returns to report his findings.”

“As you wish, m'Lady.”

She turned to the meal. It featured several courses. As she picked at the fish, she wondered if the household ate thus every evening. For the past few days, she had eaten hard bread and cheese and had been thankful for the offering. Now, she dined on fish and beef and fine sauces. If she were truly a guest, would she not have been afforded such food previously? Ignoring her urge to break into a run to escape the panic building in her chest, she made herself ask, “How extensive are the ruins?”

“Many of the monastery's silent passages remain,” he said as he motioned a server to remove their plates. “Quite dank and dark. The narrow passages lead to an escape into an underground karst. There are not many such structures in this part of Scotland—too far inland. There be a cave and several streams that vanish into the
rock face. I would offer to show it to you, but it is dangerous and very narrow in places.”

Wotherspoon had not noticed the perturbation spreading through her body. As soon as her host mentioned the hidden passages, she remembered her horror at being dragged into a small cell. At having fought her jailer's attempts to touch her. At begging the man not to leave her fastened to the wall. At praying for the darkness to go away.

She saw it all. As plainly as if she still remained within those walls. The heavily grated doors. No windows. A pair of long corridors. Black shadows draping every corner. And the screams! Men pleaded for their lives. “Prisoners,” Ronald had said. She had been among them, but she had been spared.
Why?
she wondered. Then the worst of the memories intruded. Blood drained under the doors of the other cells. Doors behind which no one cried for mercy. The acrid smell. Blood had stained her boots. Unconsciously, she glanced at her dress slippers.
These are not my shoes
, she recalled belatedly.

“Lady Esme?” Wotherspoon whispered in concern. “You be very pale.”

She swallowed hard, forcing air into her lungs. “I…I am well, my Lord,” she stammered. Trying to conjure up a legitimate excuse for her sudden anxiety, she glanced around quickly. Her eyes fell on the approaching servant. “I…I have eaten so little of late that the food is almost too rich.”

Lord Wotherspoon caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Although your figure is quite pleasing, m'Lady, I would not have you too thin. You must consider the bairn. Please say that you will permit me to see to your care.”

She made herself maintain his gaze. “Your tender concern is most appreciated, my Lord. You are felicitous in your attentions.”

HE HAD FOLLOWED THE MACBETHAN cousin long enough to be certain that the man planned to investigate Georgiana's disappearance. “Probably wants to warrant what I shared,” Wickham told the horse as he watched Munro cross the open area leading to the undeveloped parts of the Matlock estate. “While MacBethan verifies my honesty, I will verify his.” Wickham turned his horse away from Alpin's lands. “Let us determine if the lovely Georgiana is a ‘guest' at Normanna Hall.” As he rode away, Wickham calculated what he might earn as a reward for recovering Darcy's missing sister.

She dreamed of her favorite foods and of dining at a fine table set with polished silver and sparkling crystal. The man beside her spoke in intimate tones, and Georgiana anticipated the pleasure of knowing him better. Yet, part of her feared his regard.

“I would bind you to me forever,” he whispered in her ear, and Georgiana felt herself blush thoroughly. It was Edward's familiar accent—a mix of aristocratic exactness and merchant-class authority, but something was amiss. A Scottish brogue caressed many of his words, and her mind revolted against the incongruity. “I would wish you beside me. My future intertwined with yours.”

“Without the truth of my past, I have no future,” she said softly.

His breath caressed her cheek. “I am part of your past. The truth will never hurt us. A man knows his heart.”

“What is it?” Darcy had staggered through the unlit room to answer the persistent tapping at the exterior door. Although the Alpin staff had prepared adjoining rooms, he had been sore to leave Elizabeth's side, especially after all that had transpired. Watching her breathe the breath of a restless sleep, he had lain beside his wife for hours, but even as she thrashed and murmured through her fretful dreams, he had taken comfort from her closeness. What turn would this journey have taken had she not trailed after him? How his heart had lurched with joy at the sight of Elizabeth at the Dumfries inn! How Fate had delivered her to the safety of his arms just when he had needed her the most! Had placed Elizabeth in his path just as the Fickle Lady had done in Hertfordshire. He was nothing without Elizabeth.

Irritated, he yanked the door open to see a disheveled Mr. Jacks on the other side. “What is it?” he repeated harshly.

“A rider, Mr. Darcy,” the man said through a sleepy drawl. “Be here in a moment.”

“Maybe our Mr. Hurlbert returns,” Darcy observed cautiously. “Go admit the rider. I will be down immediately.”

Jacks bowed. “Yes, Sir.”

As he turned into the room, Elizabeth appeared beside him. “Lieutenant Wickham?” she asked hesitantly.

“Very likely.” He caressed her arm before moving to relight the candle he had blown out not thirty minutes prior. “I want to confront him if it is he.”

Fully awake, Elizabeth followed in his footsteps. “That makes little sense. Why would Lieutenant Wickham return? Surely, he realizes it is only a matter of time before someone becomes aware of his thievery.”

“How am I to understand the man? Lieutenant Wickham lacks a sense of proper decorum. He will likely try to convince me that
I owe him my continued allegiance.” Darcy pulled a shirt over his head. “You are to remain here,” he said as he slid his breeches over his hips. “One can never predict Lieutenant Wickham's behavior. Especially in desperate circumstances.”

“You shall not fight with him?” Elizabeth pleaded. “Lieutenant Wickham's volatility has led him to make poor choices. He has attacked you once, Fitzwilliam,” she warned.

Darcy looked up suddenly. “More than once,” he confessed.

“Lieutenant Wickham's actions are insuperable,” Elizabeth declared. “But please be careful. Neither Bennet nor I can survive without you.”

“Nor I you.” He kissed her forehead and left the room. He had hoped that he had hidden from her view the small pistol he normally carried in his inside jacket pocket when he traveled.

He was so exhausted, Edward nearly fell from the saddle, but he managed to hand off the reins to an equally sleepy-eyed groom. “Give him some feed and wipe him down. You can brush him in the morning. He needs some rest.” Edward patted the animal's neck. “Thank you, old friend. You have served me well.”

Edward watched the groom lead Porteus away before resignedly accepting his next task: explaining to his wife that the army had erred in reporting his death. He had considered spending the night at an inn and riding in fresh tomorrow morning, but the thought of spending another night without Georgiana in his arms had driven him to reach the estate this night. “Oh, my sweet Georgie,” he murmured as he mounted the steps.

He released the knocker and waited impatiently for someone to answer. Surprisingly, the door opened almost immediately, and a familiar face stared back into his.

Elizabeth had noted how Darcy had palmed the small pistol he had fished from his jacket pocket when he thought her mind more fretfully engaged. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I am not so easily fooled.” She reached for her most practical day dress—one she could lace herself.

Pulling the last of the laces together, she draped a shawl over her shoulders to cover any sagging of the material. Stepping into her dress slippers, she followed her husband to the main stairs. Creeping slowly down the steps to where she could spy on the encounter between Darcy and Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth's eyes fell on a most welcome face.