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

Nigel Worth, a second son of a minor nobleman, was an affable man and loved to talk to anyone who would listen. He had flirted with Lydia periodically, especially when Mrs.Williams slept, although he held no illusions of her finding him appealing. It was just his nature. He actually did know of the girl’s husband indirectly. As a solicitor in a neighboring county, he had once represented a man in court trying to recover the gambling debt that George Wickham owed him. Of course, Worth had not disclosed to Lydia the fact of his dealings with the girl’s husband. From what Nigel had discerned Mrs. Wickham held no real knowledge of her husband’s base nature. The man had left several residents in Middlewich holding his gambling blunt. “Close to an hour, Mrs. Wickham—should not be much longer than that.” He looked at his pocket watch before depositing it in a side pocket of his waistcoat.

“My Lord.” Cathleen’s voice disturbed Adam’s sleep. He had taken pleasure in her body along the winding roads from Nottingham and then contentedly nodded off, allowing the coach to rock him to sleep.

Adam slowly opened his eyes to find his mistress looking distressed. “What is it?”

“Listen,” she instructed.

Fully on alert now, Lawrence sat up, straightening his clothes as he did. “It sounds menacing.” He moved the shade from the window to have a look for himself.The rain came down like liquid bullets tapping out an incessant rhythm on his coach. He considered speaking to Mr. Johnson through the trap, but he doubted that his coachman could hear him over the rain’s pounding.“You might move closer to the strap,” he cautioned, trying to keep his voice even. “We may be in for a bumpy ride.”

“Will we have trouble?”

“Mr. Johnson can handle the coach,” Adam declared. “We will have no problems. I have complete confidence in the man, but you should understand that such conditions may affect whether we reach Mobberley in time for you to see your uncle before his passing.” Adam touched her hand in sympathy. “I am sorry.”

“You have done more than most men, my Lord. Even if we are too late to give my family comfort, I will cherish your kindness.” Cathleen dropped her eyes; she did not often speak so personally to her benefactor. “You truly are the best of men.”

“There are many who would disagree with you, my Dear.”

Cathleen looked him in the eye. “That is because they do not know you as I do.” And in her opinion, Adam Lawrence was truly everything she said. A kind and generous man, he held a reputation as a rounder, but she saw none of that. Often she wished she could have known him as his social equal—where he might actually love her—where she might help him become the man he wanted to be—a man quite different from the façade he presented to the world. But she knew she was not the woman to bring Adam Lawrence such love—such contentment. Cathleen would give him what she could while they shared their time together.

Reluctantly, she wondered what her family would think when she arrived in Mobberley unchaperoned and in Adam’s carriage. His livery would announce their relationship. She would bring shame to her mother and father, as well as her younger sisters, and for that, Cathleen despaired. Perhaps Adam might allow her to return home alone. When they reached Mobberley, she would ask him to leave her and move on to Manchester or even to Warrington. She would take a public conveyance and follow him there. At least,Viscount Stafford cared enough for her not to allow her to travel a great distance alone.

“Elizabeth, are you ready to be to Lambton?” Darcy had found his wife in their joint sitting room. “Mrs.Wickham’s coach should arrive within the hour.”

“I worry for the roads.” She sat on a window box, looking out across the formal garden. “The rain has turned icy.”

Darcy came to where she sat. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he peered through the fogged-up glass. “All the more reason to take our leave now—to give Mr. Stalling extra time to negotiate the roads. Your sister will have no transportation… if we do not venture forth.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.“I could go alone,” he volunteered.

Elizabeth turned to gaze into the face she found most comforting in the world. “No.…no…I will bring Lydia here. I shall not send you alone to bring Wickham’s wife to Pemberley. You show me a kindness, my Husband, by tolerating my sister’s intrusion upon your life and your home.” She stood and caressed his cheek.

“Our home,” he corrected. “Pemberley is our home, and Mrs. Wickham is your sister—and mine, too. If you must endure my aunt’s intrusion, then I can allow Lydia’s naïve exuberance to permeate the hallowed walls of Pemberley. As long as I sleep with you in my arms, I am a happy man.Very little else matters in the scheme of things.” He bent his head to brush his lips across hers.

“I love you, my Husband,” she whispered close to his mouth, “with all my heart.”

Darcy smiled mischievously.“I surely hope so, Mrs. Darcy, as we are about to be snowed in with Attila the Hun and Kathryn Howard. If nothing else, the mixture should be entertaining: our own little circus—it will be a juggling act, keeping them apart.”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a wretched man!” she chastised him.

“I know you, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy,” he scolded. “You take as much pleasure as I in observing the foibles of our neighbors and family.”

Elizabeth chuckled as her arms encircled his neck. “You may be right, my Love. I just wish we had married sooner, so that we could compare our appraisals of those we found most entertaining.” She judiciously omitted the fact that for a time, he had been among those she found amusing.

Darcy drank slowly from her lips. Breaking contact, he inquired, “And who might that be?”

Elizabeth pressed herself closer to him and rained kisses across his face as she recited the names. “Caroline Bingley.” Kiss. “Louisa Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Collins.” Kiss. “Sir William Lucas.” Kiss. Kiss. By then, Darcy had forgotten both the question and Lydia’s impending arrival. All he wanted was her— his Elizabeth. “Do we have time?” she whispered as he edged her toward a nearby chaise.

“Not to sleep in each other’s arms,” he groaned, “but enough for me to show how much I desire you, my darling Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth lowered herself to the sofa, taking Darcy down with her. She knew him—knew the true Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man who would move heaven and earth for those he loved, but also a man one did not want to cross. He passionately protected those he loved. And he loved Elizabeth most of all.

Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth rushed through their private quarters, knowing that Darcy waited for her in the main foyer. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her new fur-lined pelisse, one of Darcy’s Christmas gifts. As she walked, she tried adjusting the fit without tripping on the hem. She had descended the first two steps when she heard one of the maids call out to her.

“What is it, Megs?” she asked, a bit annoyed. Darcy disliked being kept waiting.

“Pardon, Mrs. Darcy.”The maid bobbed a curtsy.“I be wondering, ma’am, if ye knew the whereabouts of the candelabra, the one we keep on the table by Miss Darcy’s room.”

Without thinking, Elizabeth stepped to the hallway and glanced in the direction of the table, almost expecting to see the candelabra in its usual place.“I am afraid I have no idea, Megs,” she murmured. “Did you ask Miss Darcy?”