The Phantom of Pemberley (2 page)

Darcy’s steel gray eyes caught hers. “I thought we might spend some time in the conservatory; the temperature turns bitter.We are in for a spell of bad weather.”

“Really?” Elizabeth stood to join him.“My first winter in Derbyshire was quite mild. Should I expect lots of snow? We normally received some snow in Hertfordshire, but I was sadly disappointed with Derby last season. I had hoped for sledding and skating.”

“Well, Mrs. Darcy, I do believe you will receive your wish.” He placed her on his arm and led her away from the kitchen and toward the main part of the house.

However, when he turned to the main staircase and their private quarters, Elizabeth leaned into his shoulder. “I thought we were to enjoy the conservatory, Mr. Darcy,” she reminded him.

Darcy tilted his head in her direction to speak to her privately. “Do you object to a change in our destination, my Love?”

“Not even in the least, Fitzwilliam.” A blush betrayed her anticipation.

“I enjoy the flush of color on your cheeks, Sweetling.” He brought her hand to his lips. From the beginning, she had driven him crazy—creating a powerful yearning he controlled only with great determination.

Elizabeth tightened her hold on his arm, but she could not respond. Darcy had that effect on her. Even when she had thought that she despised him, in reality, she sought
his
attention—
his
regard—
his
approval.They made the perfect pair. Darcy gave her the freedom to have her own thoughts and opinions, something she treasured; and Elizabeth showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. She truly esteemed her husband, looked up to him as a superior. Yet, theirs was a marriage of equals in all the essentials, those that made people happy. He was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suited her. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.

“And I love you, Elizabeth.”

 

“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth sat up suddenly in the bed.

“Hear what?” Darcy groggily sat up and looked around for something out of place.

Elizabeth clutched the sheet to her. “I do not know. It was a click—like a latch or a lock being engaged.”

Darcy pulled on his breeches and began to check the room. They had locked the door when they entered their shared chambers, and it remained secure so he checked the windows and the folding screens, but found nothing.

Elizabeth’s eyes followed his progress.

Darcy released the door lock. Peering out, he nodded to someone in the hall and then closed the door again. Sliding the bolt in place, he turned toward the bed. “Murray is changing the candles in the hall sconces. Perhaps that is what you heard.”

“Perhaps,” she mumbled as she relaxed against the pillows.“It just sounded closer—as if it were in the room, not out in the hallway.”

Darcy returned to the bed and followed her down. “I believe your fright earlier today with Pandora has colored your thoughts.” He kissed Elizabeth behind her ear and down her neck to the spot where he could easily feel her pulse throbbing under her skin.“Let me give you something else upon which to dwell.”

Her moan signaled her agreement. Lost to his ministrations, neither of them heard the second click echo softly through the room.

Seventeen-year-old Lydia Bennet Wickham traveled by public conveyance to her sister Elizabeth’s Derbyshire home. It was her first trip to Pemberley, which even her husband reported to be one of the finest estates. She would rather this visit included her husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, but as Elizabeth’s husband, Mr. Darcy, refused to accept Wickham in his home, that was not possible. The men had a long-standing disagreement, of which Lydia generally made no acknowledgment. In Lydia’s estimation, Mr. Darcy should do as the Good Book says and forgive. However, men were stubborn creatures who neither forgave nor forgot, and Mr. Darcy and her husband continued their feud.

Lydia found the whole situation disheartening. Even Elizabeth had taken offense at her congratulatory letter, although Lydia did not know why. She had spoken the truth, and she had lowered herself to ask for Elizabeth’s help. All that she had asked was a place at court for Wickham and three to four hundred a year to make ends meet. She had even told her older sister not to mention it to Mr. Darcy if Elizabeth thought it might upset him.

To Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, it seemed that Mr. Wickham held out some hope that Darcy might be prevailed on to make his fortune; and in Lydia’s mind, this all made perfect sense. Darcy had the means to help Wickham. She hoped on this visit to soften Mr. Darcy’s feelings about her husband. Lydia recognized her strength: She could charm any man. Of course, she hated wasting her talents on such a prideful and conceited man as Fitzwilliam Darcy, but she would prevail on him in order to help her husband. Maybe then, their marriage might be saved. Wickham would stop thinking her such a poor choice if somehow she could sway the great Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Not many young women—married or not—traveled alone. But
Wickham had bought her the ticket to visit Elizabeth because he had been ordered to Bath for the following month. He had seen her to Nottingham before they parted. Now, she traveled unaccompanied.

“What is a fine young lady such as yourself doing traveling alone?” A man in his thirties, who smelled of stale cigars and boiled turnips, leered at Lydia. He glanced quickly at the matronly woman riding beside her. The woman’s eyes remained closed, and she breathed deeply.

Lydia recognized the man’s intentions, and although she would never consider such an alliance, she welcomed the conversation. Sitting quietly for long periods was not part of her makeup. Most acquaintances thought her chatty—boisterous even. Her husband often ordered her silence, claiming that she
chattered on like a magpie
. “I am going to visit my sister, who is near Lambton.”

“I know Lambton well, Miss. Your sister is well placed, I assume.” He noted Lydia’s stylish traveling frock, one of three new pieces she had insisted she needed for this trip, despite her husband’s declaration that they could not afford the additional expense.

“Very well placed.” Lydia puffed up with his notice. “Do you know Pemberley?”

The man’s initial tone changed immediately. “Pemberley? Everyone for miles around knows Pemberley,” he asserted. “Might your sister be associated with such a great estate?”

His words brought satisfaction to Lydia; she liked the idea of people admiring her, even if by association. In that way, she and Wickham were very much alike. Sometimes she dreamed of what it might be to have her own home—her own estate. And sometimes she regretted having not set her sights on Mr. Darcy herself, although Lydia supposed the man preferred Elizabeth because her older sister devoured books—just like their father. Lydia preferred fashion to Faust and society to Shakespeare. In all considerations, Elizabeth definitely better suited the man. If Mr. Darcy treated everyone as he did her Wickham, she would disdain his company in a heartbeat.“My sister is Mrs. Darcy; she is the mistress of Pemberley.”

“The mistress of Pemberley?”The man let out a low whistle. “I am duly impressed.”

“Mrs. Darcy is one of my older sisters,” Lydia babbled, “but my eldest is Mrs. Bingley of Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley counts Mr. Darcy as his best friend. My husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, grew to adulthood on Pemberley. We three sisters remain connected, even though we find ourselves scattered about England. My dear Wickham serves his country:We reside in Newcastle.”

The man tried not to betray his amusement at the situation’s irony but there was a glint of laughter in his eyes at the folly of this pretty, voluptuous, empty-headed girl marrying George Wickham. The girl offered nothing: no substance upon which a man might really build a relationship.“I know of George Wickham,” he mused. “Even in Cheshire, your husband has female admirers.” He chuckled. “It will break many hearts when I spread the story of your marriage, Mrs. Wickham. Are you newly wed?”

“Lord, no. In fact, I was the first of my sisters to marry, although I am the youngest of five. Mr. Wickham and I have been married nearly two years.”

“Two years?” The man looked amused again. He said, “I suppose it too late then to offer my best wishes?” His eyebrows waggled teasingly; yet, he thought,
I cannot imagine the George Wickham I know tolerating such an immature girl, nor would he practice fidelity.

Lydia swatted at his chest with her fan. “I am an old married woman, sir.”

Knowing she expected a compliment, he murmured,“You may be married, ma’am, but you most certainly are not old nor are you the picture of matronliness.” He nodded in the direction of the sleeping woman and then winked at Lydia.

Lydia giggled, suddenly aware of the privacy of their conversation. She turned her attention to the coach’s window. “I certainly do not enjoy traveling in winter. The roads in the North were abhorrent—so many ruts and holes. Passengers could barely keep their seats. Thankfully, my husband kept me safe, but a lady we left in Lincolnshire tumbled most unceremoniously to the floor.”

The man’s eyes followed hers. “The farmers at home—in Cheshire—would probably say we are in for some bad weather. See how the line of dark clouds hug the horizon.” He pointed off to a distance. “I simply hope we make it to Cheshire before the storm hits. I prefer not being upon the road when Winter blasts us with her best.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.“We will stay in Matlock this evening.You should be in Lambton by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

“I will be pleased to be away from this coach,” Lydia murmured as she settled into the well-worn cushions.

As the man drifted off to sleep, he managed to say, “You will have the best that money can buy at Pemberley.”

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said. She had found her husband in his study.“Georgiana and I plan to call on some of the cottagers today.” She stood before his desk, looking down at the stack of ledgers piled five high. “I thought you might care to join us, but I see that you are busy.”

“I am afraid this business cannot be postponed.” He gestured to the many letters lying open before him.

Elizabeth moved to stand behind him. She snaked her arms over the chair back and around Darcy’s neck. She kissed his ear and then his cheek. “You will miss me, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired, her breath warm against his neck as she continued to kiss along his chin line. Unable to ever resist her, Darcy reached up to catch her arm. In one smooth motion, he shoved his chair away from the desk, making room for her on his lap, and pulled Elizabeth to him. She rested on his legs before sliding her arms around his neck.“I love you, my Husband.” She laid her head against his shoulder.

Darcy used his finger to tilt her chin upward so he might kiss her lips. “So nice,” he murmured. He deepened the kiss. “I could drown in your love,” he whispered to her ear.

“You are so not what the world expects.” Elizabeth ran her fingers through his hair.

Darcy chuckled, “I am exactly what the world expects: I serve this estate well and my sister well.” Elizabeth envied his confidence and the deep respect he inspired in the community.

“And me well.” Elizabeth moaned as his lips found the point where her neck met her shoulder.

Darcy pulled her closer. “That is what is unexpected—how much I love you—how I can give myself over to you so completely.”

“You have no regrets about aligning yourself with a woman without family, connections, or fortunes?” It was a question she asked often, although his answer remained the same each time.

It amazed Darcy that she could continue to doubt his loyalty—his love. “Elizabeth, you possess me body and soul. Do you not know how much I need you in my life?”

“I know,” she admitted.“It is just that I need to hear it regularly. I realize it is foolish of me, but it is my weakness, I fear.”

“Then I will resolve to tell you more often, my Love.” He kissed her tenderly.