The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (30 page)

“What did you last hear of the Marquis’s activities?”

Darcy shook his head curtly, voice hollow in his abstraction. “Rumors mostly and I do not attend to gossip. I know he was ill and weak for a long time. Talk of the extensiveness of his injuries varied, many wildly incorrect, as I know since I was the one who inflicted them. No one has seen or heard from him since he left Derbyshire. He retreated to his estate on the southeastern border of Dartmoor and apparently never leaves. He has not been to London at all. I heard once… Wait!” He pivoted sharply, face gray and drawn. “Wickham lives in Devon! What part again?”

“Exeter, I believe, but that is north. It is too coincidental, William.” But the faintness of her tone belied the assertion. She suddenly recalled the vague comments by Lydia, as she and Jane had discussed just that afternoon.

“I do not believe there is anything coincidental about it. Rather, it is rational.” His voice rose, words rushing over each other. “News travels eventually over the breadth of England. Wickham hears of the incident with Orman, learns he resides miles away, and plots a course of revenge with the one man in the entire country who can not only fund it but has more hatred toward me than he does.”

Darcy was pale and rigid with rage. Wrath caused his heart to pound painfully and every muscle to ache from clenching. His voice was flat and icy cold. Lizzy jumped up, crossing to where he stood immobile, and grasped his face between her hands, forcing his darkened eyes to meet hers.

“William! Get control of yourself! You are leaping pell-mell into unfounded conclusions. No!” She interrupted his response before it was uttered. “You listen to me. All you say could, and I stress
could
, be a possibility. But my frayed vision is not proof of anything. Nor is Wickham accosting me for ludicrous maligns against you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging fiercely and pressing her warm body into his chilled skin.

“Elizabeth,” he mumbled from the depths of her neck, “I cannot ignore this.”

“I know. And you should not. But nothing has really changed. Tomorrow Kitty will be married and the day after we will leave for London. Once there you can exert all your considerable influence to discover what, if anything, is really going on with Mr. Wickham and Lord Orman.”

“We need to know for certain. You do understand this, dearest, do you not?” His eyes pleaded with hers, hands steely where they rested on her waist.

She nodded. “Of course…”

But he was already looking over her shoulder, eyes haunted as he drew inward, seemingly forgetting her presence. “I should have killed him when he was under my blade. Swift and conclusive. I was a fool to leave him alive, more dangerous than before.” He paused, inhaling expansively. His brow creases deepened, his timbre low and questioning as he asked, “What could they be planning? Orman has few friends and none who are idiotic enough to collaborate with him. Especially against me. A scheme to damage the estate? Pemberley? Wickham would love that!”

He paused again but quickly shook his head. “No, that is unfeasible. Wickham knows nothing of Pemberley finances or management and the Manor is too well protected. Orman does not have the wealth or influence to damage the estate. They cannot harm me in that way.”

Lizzy gasped, fingertips digging into his shoulders. “He would… he would not try to… injure you? William! I…”

Darcy was abruptly alert and focused, fully aware of her trembling and panicked eyes. He shook his head decisively, cupping her face within his cool but sturdy hands. “Do not fear for me, love. I can take care of myself and am extremely cautious and vigilant. Besides, that is not Wickham’s way or Orman’s for that matter.”

He wiped the tears off her cheeks with tender thumbs, studying her eyes in an attempt to convey confidence and assurance. But as he gazed into her frightened eyes his essence grew colder and an agonizing tightness banded across his chest. Neither Wickham nor Orman may comprehend love and family devotion from a personal perspective, but as a result of their individual dealings with Darcy, each was wise to the depths of his emotions for his loved ones. Memories of how Wickham plotted and attempted to destroy Georgiana in an effort to wound him flashed through his brain.

“The boys!” He pivoted so precipitously that he almost tripped over his own feet. Recovering instantly, he grabbed the carefully folded robe that Samuel always placed on the chest at the end of the bed and had one arm within the sleeve and was turning back toward Lizzy before she had taken a breath. “They are staying here, with us, tonight and tomorrow night. And you three will not be allowed out of my sight for a second. Do you understand?” The robe was on, if not yet belted, and his hands were gripping her upper arms painfully. She had rarely seen him so intense and would not have been able to disagree in the face of his exigent command if she had wanted to.

He did not wait for a reply or a nod of assent. Her consent was not necessary. He was telling her how it would be, not asking for her opinion. He strode to the door, throwing it open, and was halfway down the hall before properly concealing his nakedness. He did not care. Nor did he acknowledge or apologize for the near heart seizure he gave Mrs. Hanford when he aggressively hurtled through the nursery door. He glanced to both sleeping bodies assuring their reality and safety, crossing toward Alexander’s bed. He spared a rapid visual exchange with Lizzy, who he knew was following, and gestured curtly toward Michael.

Alexander was tight in his embrace, vibrant flesh and strongly beating heart pressed into the bare skin of his chest, before he permitted a slight easing in his coiled terror. In a coarse rumble he informed Mrs. Hanford that the boys would be sleeping in the Master’s chamber, offering no other explanation. He turned to Lizzy where she stood with Michael clutched in her arms, brushed over the baby’s plump ruddy cheek with his knuckles, and then grasped his wife’s hand, leading back to their bedchamber in as much of a whirl as the entry.

Not until the four of them were nestled snug and warm under the goose down duvet did Darcy breathe freely. Alexander had barely twitched during the relocation, now curled in a tight ball beside his father and sharing the wide pillow. Darcy closed his eyes and kissed the soft forehead, fingertips smoothing over the disorderly curls while he inhaled deeply of the fresh scent emanating from the toddler’s skin. He drew back a few inches, fingers caressing to the open mouth where a slack hand with moist thumb poised on the plump lower lip. Darcy smiled. “I love you, my son,” he murmured, bringing the chubby fist to his mouth for another kiss. “You are safe with your father.”

He rolled carefully onto his back, looking over his shoulder first to make sure there was plenty of space between his body and Michael. Lizzy’s delicate hand ran over his arm, tugging, letting him know it was safe. Naturally, Michael
had
stirred during the displacement but was easy to calm at his mother’s breast. Lizzy gently patted his back to assist the release of trapped air, but her gaze rested on her husband’s face while she continued to stroke over his arm.

Darcy captured her hand, fingers lacing with hers, and pulled it in for a lingering kiss to her knuckles and light sucks to each tip.

“Relieved, my heart?”

“Marginally,” he responded. “Tomorrow I will construct a pallet with blankets and pillows near the fire so we can place the boys there and give us more space. Darcy House is unassailable unless one mounts a siege, and I am in command and know it is secure. I doubt I shall sleep well until then. If then.”

Lizzy did not admonish him for overreacting. The incident that afternoon remained hazy at best, and her mind shrank from contemplating the potentials if Darcy’s conclusions were correct. She simply could not deal with it and shamelessly relegated the task to her vastly competent spouse. Knowing he was in absolute control, feeling the potency that radiated from every pore, hearing the sobriety in his voice, observing the steadfast reliability in his blue eyes, and having been witness time and again to his supreme dependability and keen intellect was enough to allay her fears.

“I apologize for alarming you with my melodrama, dearest. In the light of day I may feel a bit foolish for reacting so. But I confess I breathe easier knowing you are safe within my reach. I could not bear anything happening to you or our children.”

Lizzy nodded, smiling her assurance in his capabilities and understanding of his fears.

“Sleep now. Your eyes are weary.” He brushed over her cheek, fingers yet entwined with hers, and touched her eyelids until they closed. “Sleep. I will watch over our sons. I love you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, murmuring loving devotions until her respirations were regular.

He watched her sleep, eyes frequently drifting to the tiny body of Michael cradled against her breast and the long-limbed form of his firstborn sprawled to his left. Every muscle ached with fatigue, but he would not fall into a troubled sleep for a long while.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

A Wedding in Meryton

Darcy was jolted to semi-wakefulness late the next morning by a pair of soft but surprisingly heavy elbows landing square on his chest.

“Papa, wake up! We need to see my toad!”

Darcy opened bleary eyes, befuddled brain registering the anxious expression of Alexander, whose face was close enough to see two of him. Darcy blinked and groaned as remembrance seeped into fogged wits.

“Papa!” Alexander gripped his father’s chin between pudgy fingers, shaking for attention. “Hurry! What if he is hungry?”

Darcy nodded, reaching to encircle his son’s body for a squeeze while rubbing gritty eyes with the other hand. He looked to the right, but the bed was empty. “Where are your mother and Michael?”

“Gone,” the boy answered unhelpfully, unconcerned over absent mother and brother or apparently confounded by waking in a bed other than his own. The issue of toad safety was far more pressing a worry!

“Your toad is fine, I promise you. Come, let’s find your mother and attend to our own hunger. I am in need of coffee.”

“But…”

“Trust me, Son. He is just fine. Now give me a kiss.”

Lizzy and Michael were in the sitting room, both consuming a morning meal, when the elder Darcy men joined them. Thus the morning began. Darcy had lain awake theorizing until the darkest hours of the night, finally falling into a deep but nightmare-filled sleep that was far from sufficient for his needs. Being continually prodded by a flipping toddler all night long did not help either. Nonetheless, his superior perspicacity prevailed and he wasted little time before executing the necessary requirements.

He was dead serious when stating that he would not permit his three loved ones out of his sight, but of course in the light of day the realities of such a blanket statement were not as easy to arrange. Lizzy departed to bathe and prepare for her sister’s wedding, but only after being sternly reminded to keep Marguerite within shouting distance and to send for him before leaving her chambers. The nursery door was kept bolted, Mrs. Hanford instructed to open for no one other than Mr. or Mrs. Darcy. It was an odd request that baffled the nanny but was executed without question.

Darcy performed his own toilette hastily, returning to the freshly scrubbed faces of his sons with relief. He did not think that Wickham or Orman would boldly storm Netherfield to abduct or harm his family, but he was not going to slacken his defense.

With the boys clean and dressed, and Mrs. Hanford finally apprised of cursory details regarding her Master’s strange behavior, the four of them set out to check on the toad, who was fine as promised. With a contented Michael clasped to Darcy’s chest, they knelt beside the barrel and supplied the indifferent amphibian with three more fat worms. The baby was mildly intrigued by the animal, but was equally fascinated by the buttons on his father’s jacket. Darcy would not relinquish Michael from his arms to the nanny until they were safely sequestered in the library. And then it was only so he could speak to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Dr. Darcy in private, and the three were mere feet away within easy reach, if out of earshot.

“Why the long face, Cousin? Wedding days are ones of rejoicing.”

“For some perhaps.” George countered as he took the chair across from his somber nephew and smiling friend, addressing the latter with an exaggerated grimace, “I am yet mourning every bachelor I know dropping like flies in winter. Thank the Maker marriage is not a contagion.”

“Hogwash! You smiled and danced at my wedding. If you found a lady as perfect as my Simone you would embrace the infection, I assure you.”

“I would continue this argument and eloquently prove your misconceptions, however I sense that William is about to throttle us for misplaced jocularity. I deduce you have not summoned us here for a casual chat?”

“Indeed you do appear more serious than usual. Did Wickham finally cross a line? I sure hope so. With all the military men floating about it would be a spectacular brawl!”

“I fear it is worse than that.” Darcy recounted the whole tale sans any embellishments. Richard and George listened, faces growing graver by the moment.

“It does seem rather coincidental,” George said when Darcy finished. “But as you said yourself, coincidence alone is inconclusive. Devon is a large county. I have been there several times visiting Estella and have heard nothing of this Lord Orman. The odds seem slim that Wickham would stumble across him.”