Page 71 of Midnight at Pemberley

Darcy laughed. “I cannot recall the last time I wished to walk in the snow.”

“Then it is about time you did so again,” she reasoned.

“As you wish,” he said and reluctantly threw the blankets aside. “You win, my love.”

“Oh, good, I almost never win.”

Twenty minutes later, they crossed the south lawn. The snow was a hand deep and still coming down steadily. A few lonely blades of grass poked through the smooth surface sloping away from the house, and a few tracks of rabbits and squirrels touched the fluffy white covering, but new flakes quickly filled in the indentations.

“I love it when the snow is so smooth.” Elizabeth stood wrapped in Darcy’s arms, looking out over the lawn’s coating. “It was so beautiful from our bedroom window I could not resist experiencing it firsthand.”

“It is as if God is wiping everything clean,” Darcy said, looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Nature’s perfect portrait. “Pemberley is beautiful in the spring and summer, but newly fallen snow has its appeal as well.”

“Mr. Wickham told me it would be so.” The words appeared to escape involuntarily.

“When did Mr. Wickham offer such observations?” he demanded.

Elizabeth faced him. “I forgot the conversation. It was after you shunned him in Meryton and before he attacked me. Wickham said terrible things about you. Things I knew to be false. Wishing to know if Wickham was in Derbyshire when you were, I asked about his time in Bakewell, where he said he resided for some time.” Elizabeth stepped away to gather her thoughts. “I asked Wickham what he knew of Derbyshire. I explained that the shire was Aunt Madelyn’s childhood home. He told me the terrain was more rugged, with thicker vegetation, colder winters, and milder summers. He said he preferred the wildness of the Peak District because it reminded him of Scotland. Other than Northumberland, he preferred the Peak District to the rest of England.”

“Could Wickham still have a home in Bakewell?” Darcy mused aloud.

“It is possible—or even in Northumberland.”

Yesterday in their readings, they uncovered the mystery of the dirt in Wickham’s bed. One text claimed a vampire could only sleep if he had his coffin. The account said the beast transported the coffin loaded with dirt from his homeland. A similar report said the earth was more important than the coffin itself. If so, finding Wickham’s home would aid in their pursuit. “Should we consider that part of Northumberland was once part of Scotland?”

“All I know of Northumberland is that our breakfast kippers come from Craster. What did you learn of it at the university?” Elizabeth walked in a circle, scraping the snow with the toes of her half boots.

Meanwhile, Darcy attempted to recall his history lessons. “The area came under English rule with King Edwin. Northumberland stretches from Newcastle upon Tyne to Tynemouth. Much of it is quite undeveloped—sparse high moorlands. There were famous battles, such as when Malcolm II annihilated the Northumbrian army at Carham on the Tweed, but under James I and VI, the Scottish and English claims were united. However, even as late as the early 1700s, there was trouble during the Jacobite rebellion.” He recited the lines as if he were back in school and studying for an exam.

“A house in Northumberland would fit in with Wickham’s need for isolation,” Elizabeth reasoned. “Could we discover where Lady Ellender and Lord Thomas lived? It would tell us from where Wickham originally came—where he was buried—from where he derives his home earth.”

“We can check Dugdale’s catalogue or Debrett’s Baronetage of England or even the Doomsday Book. Surely one of them lists Lord Arawn Benning.” Darcy’s excitement grew. They had their first real lead.

“William, do you realize what this means? Wickham’s hold on the family could be coming to an end.” In complete happiness, Elizabeth turned in a circle, arms spread wide and face raised to meet fresh flakes of newly fallen snow. “I have never felt freer!”

Chapter Nineteen

DARCY WATCHED HER SPIN AROUND AND AROUND, PURE JOY CROSSING her features. Suddenly, he felt the weight lift from his shoulders, and it was all because of Elizabeth. Therefore, he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. “Elizabeth!” he called out.

She recognized the warning in his voice and turned to him. He stood playfully tossing a snowball into the air and catching it once again. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “William, you would not.” She backed away, a hand held out as protection.

“I would, my dear.” He lifted his arm as if to toss the snow at her, and she broke into a run in the direction of the tree line.

His long strides covered the distance faster than did she. With carefree abandon, he launched a snowball, which smacked her shoulder, spraying icy streams down her neck.

He noted when she scooped a handful of snow, but in his chase, Darcy did not expect the densely packed ball that blistered his ear and spattered across his cheek. “You dare …!” he threatened, still advancing.

Catching her in his arms, he swung Elizabeth around. He pretended to drop her just to hear her cry of alarm, and when he set her down, he scooped an armful of snow and dumped it over her head, covering her with frozen flakes.

Elizabeth flicked the cold away from her face with snow-covered gloves and came at him, bent on revenge. Darcy sprinted to the safety of a copse of trees, darting behind one to hide from her onslaught of poorly formed snowballs. She circled the tree. “Come, William, we will call a truce,” she enticed.

“Why is it I do not believe you?” He switched directions to escape.

“William, I am getting cold,” she said at last, and dropped the snowballs to the ground in defeat.

Darcy caught her to him, opening his greatcoat to wrap her in his arms. “I apologize. I should have considered as such. I will warm you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, tasting Elizabeth and snow and happiness. At length, she loosened her grasp and stepped back. Then he felt it. Snow rained down on his bare head, sinking into his shirt and sliding down his back. He looked up to see the last of the flakes cascading from a low-hanging bough. Elizabeth’s laughter taunted him as she sprinted away.

“I will have you, Mrs. Darcy,” he warned.