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

“See who?” Elizabeth turned expectantly. “Was someone there?” She searched where Georgiana stared, but all they saw was a bare headed Murray walking toward them, slapping his jacket to keep himself warm.

Elizabeth sat next to Georgiana, and slid her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Might we take Miss Darcy home, Mr. Stalling?”

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” The driver stored the coach’s step inside before motioning Murray to climb aboard the back of the coach.

As the carriage circled to return to the house, both women stared out the opposite window, looking for something neither of them hoped to see again. “He is not there,” Georgiana whispered.

“No one is there, Georgiana.” Elizabeth let the curtain fall in place. “Would you tell me what you saw?”

“A man—all in black—wearing an unusual hat—like those in the books from America.” Georgiana’s eyes widened. “Do you believe me?”

Elizabeth tightened her hold on the girl.“Your brother thought that what I saw yesterday was a bear, but what you just described was what I saw in my mind’s eye. Except I could not make out the man’s face.”

“Neither could I,” Georgiana whispered although they were alone in the moving carriage.“What does it mean, Elizabeth?”The girl grabbed her sister’s hand.

Elizabeth did not answer; she simply pulled the blanket over both of them.“We will tell Fitzwilliam. He will know what to do.”

Adam Lawrence, the future earl of Greenwall, was traveling from London to Cheshire. Against his better judgment, he had agreed to escort his mistress, Cathleen Donnel, to her home country. Her uncle had taken ill, and the family had summoned relatives to his bedside. Cathleen had been his lover less than eight months, and Adam knew he should not cater to her, but despite his reputation as a rake, he never treated his women disrespectfully, and the news had greatly distressed her. She had considered not going, but Adam had known that she would regret it always, so he had insisted that she go and that he accompany her. His coachman, Morris Johnson, pressed the horses, as the party anticipated a winter storm, and Adam cursed himself for placing them in danger.

Green-eyed Cathleen Donnel was an actress of sorts. Actually, she had no talent in that respect, but she possessed a beautiful singing voice and previously made her living on the stage. And Cathleen was a most pleasing mistress. She had dallied with several other short-term patrons prior to Lawrence, but it was he who paid the rent on her upscale townhouse on Mayfair’s fringes. Adam preferred his women to have some experience but not be well worn, and Cathleen met those qualifications, as well as meeting his passion with her own. Besides, he thought that she possessed the greenest eyes he had ever seen this side of a spring meadow. Cathleen’s auburn Irish hair had attracted him at first, and her petite, buxom figure, pouty mouth, and mesmerizing eyes ensured that he stayed infatuated with her.

Adam glanced at Cathleen as she slept on the opposite seat. Using her cloak as a blanket, she curled up on the coach’s bench. For a brief moment, he wondered why he let her have her way. It seemed he always let other people influence him—tell him what to do, actually. His father—his tutors—his professors at the university—his mistresses—his friends—they all made decisions for him. Easier, he supposed. It was easier when others assumed the responsibility for what happened.

Adam never discussed his aversion to responsibility with anyone. At five and twenty, he accepted no real accountability. His father, Robert Lawrence, made all the decisions: where Adam lived, where he attended school, how much money he could spend, and where he bought his clothes and his horses. His father never needed Adam to do more than be his heir. Most of the time, Adam felt quite useless. However, he never let anyone see that side of his personality. To the world, he showed an aristocratic face and an inscrutable nature. He received what he wanted, when he wanted it—so why complain.

Glancing at Cathleen again, Adam saw her stir. She looked exceedingly appealing with her disheveled hair and dress. Cathleen groaned and stretched before sitting up. “Did I sleep long?” she asked huskily, sleep still lingering on her tongue.

“Less than an hour,” Adam answered before moving next to her. He quickly gathered Cathleen into his arms. “You look delicious.” Adam brushed his lips across hers.

As she should, Cathleen laced her arms about his neck.After all, Lawrence was completely masculine—narrow waist; well-formed chest and back; muscular legs and hips; dark, straight hair—actually worn a bit too long for her taste; and gray—actually, silver—eyes. He was the kind of man that women desired immediately. And he was good to her. Only recently, Adam had bought her a gold-leaf book, one she had seen in the window of an upscale bookstore and wanted immediately. A collection of fairy tales, most from the Brothers Grimm, the book was not a first edition but a limited printing, and Cathleen loved it more than many of the jewels and gowns she earned with her body. She had never owned a book—she read well, but her family lacked the wealth to own books other than the Bible.The uncle she rushed to comfort was a minor Irish nobleman—a baron, but nothing like the relatives that her handsome lover, Lord Stafford, claimed. Her uncle’s family worked the land; Cathleen was sure Lord Stafford would bolt if someone even suggested that he might dirty his hands.

“Do you desire delicious? ” she asked teasingly, sliding her tongue along the line of Adam’s lips.

“I am more than hungry,” he growled and then nibbled her earlobe to emphasize his point.

Cathleen laughed lightly. “You are always hungry, my Lord.”

“Do you object?”Adam pulled back to take in her countenance.

“Absolutely not. I am a blessed woman; you chose me.”

Lawrence knew Cathleen uttered the words he paid her to say, but a part of him wanted her to care about him simply because he was Adam Lawrence, not because he would someday be an earl. Dismissing such thoughts, he deepened the kiss.Then he said, “We will try to make it to Cheshire itself this evening, although Mobberley may be an impossibility before dark.”

She kissed along the line of his cravat. “Then we have time?”

“Plenty of time,” he murmured.

When his butler, Mr. Baldwin, announced the arrival of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Darcy shot a quick glance at Elizabeth before ordering the man to show his indomitable aunt in. He and Elizabeth were sharing time in his study, as had become their habit. In reality, Darcy did not like to be too far from his wife; they did not always talk or even keep each other company, but he liked to look up and see her in his home. Before he had won Elizabeth’s heart, he had envisioned such moments—had seen her everywhere—on the main staircase, at his table, in his garden, and in his bed. Today, Elizabeth worked at her embroidery, something not necessarily her forte. She bit her bottom lip in frustration as her thread knotted again. No matter. Darcy found contentment in the scene.

Now, Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Neither of them had seen his mother’s only sister since that day the woman had actually taken the trouble to journey from her home seat of Rosings Park in Kent to Hertfordshire for the sole purpose of breaking off Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s supposed engagement. This was before Darcy had proposed to Elizabeth Bennet a second time. She had vehemently refused him the first, and he had striven to prove himself worthy of her love. However, his aunt had held a starkly different opinion of their possible union, and she had made no bones about her objections.