Regina Jeffers: The Phantom of Pemberley: A Pride and Prejudice Murder Mystery

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.

Elizabeth scrambled from his lap when she heard the servants outside the door. “I am sure Georgiana waits for me by now. We will return in a few hours.”

“Do not go far, my Love. The winter weather looms; we are in for a bad spell.”

“Listen to you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth joked as she headed toward the door.“You sound like one of the old hags who claim they can tell the weather from their rheumatism.”