Page 85 of Midnight at Pemberley

“My cousin was groomed from an early age to be the Master of Pemberley.” Elizabeth listened for three quarters of an hour as the colonel lovingly shared anecdote after anecdote about a young Darcy and the mischief the two of them often created. “Unfortunately, much of that carefree youthfulness left him at sixteen. My aunt, Lady Anne, never recovered from giving birth to Georgiana, and when the girl was but age four, Lady Anne passed. Darcy felt the loss deeply. He promised his mother on her deathbed to protect Georgiana. Filled with guilt, Lady Anne begged Darcy’s forgiveness for permitting the curse to continue—for plaguing him with such a blighted future—for permitting her weakness to ruin her son’s life. It was the moment the epiphany came—the moment all those misgivings about his own sanity—about any deviation he might possess—became clear.

“Darcy’s life changed with her words. He was no longer free to consider a life every other man might choose. There would be no wife— no children—no future. Everything he did would be for Georgiana. Shortly after that, he withdrew from Society as much as his duties would permit. He thought only to provide Georgiana a passage into a world he would never know. He swore on all that is holy, he would never bring a child of his own into this world. For twelve years, he adhered to that promise, but then you entered his life.” He cast Elizabeth a glance.

“I am confident my husband explained how we were caught in a compromising situation.” Elizabeth blushed with her admission.

“Mrs. Darcy, you fool only yourself if you believe your situation would have forced my cousin to do something he did not want to do. He could easily have thrown enough money at the debacle to make the rumors go away. You were not ruined in the worst sense. There was something more, and Darcy knew it.”

“Would you not consider, Colonel, the possibility Mr. Darcy married me simply to protect me from a danger he brought into my life?”

“I have no doubt Darcy pondered that fact when he first considered your union, but he could have protected you by simply withdrawing, taking Wickham’s interest with him. Darcy married you because he saw hope for his life in your eyes. With you, he knew some sort of unvarying viability.” He leaned closer to say, “You should have seen Darcy’s hot-blooded reaction when my father questioned his motivation for marrying you. Truthfully, Darcy’s reaction delighted my parents and me. We watched him become more and more reticent. Finally, Darcy became the passionate, although a bit selfish, man we all knew he could be if given a chance to love, and his family rejoiced for the possibilities.”

His honesty disturbed her, and Elizabeth stood upon this proclamation. “You provided me with much upon which to think. If you will excuse me, Sir, I will prepare for sleep.” She leaned in, as if to make a private remark. “I will make you a proper pallet before the fire if you provide me a few extra minutes.”

“With pleasure, my dear.”

Thirty minutes later, the colonel slipped into their room, and Elizabeth burrowed under the blankets. Only the fire in the hearth provided light. She had moved the furniture to build a wall between them—to maintain privacy. Although she did not look upon him, she knew he undressed. At length, he wrapped himself in the blankets and nestled into the makeshift bed.

“We will leave early tomorrow. I told Mr. Peters to be prepared by seven.” He spoke to the darkness surrounding them.

Elizabeth pushed herself up on one arm. “Colonel, will we arrive in time to assist William?” It was the question for which she wished no answer, but one she could not deny.

“I assuredly hope so, Elizabeth, for I fear Darcy’s recklessness could have dire consequences otherwise.” She sucked in a steadying breath. Attempting to change the serious atmosphere, he teased, “Mrs. Darcy, are there others like you in Hertfordshire?”

Elizabeth relaxed into the bed, recognizing the ploy. “Your cousin thinks I am unique—more adventurous than the proper young ladies of the ton.”

“Then I dare say, Darcy chose the best of the litter.” With that, he pulled the blankets around his ears to claim sleep.

Four hours north of where they slept, Darcy settled onto a lumpy mattress in an attic room of a cheap country inn. He had ridden across back roads most of the day, angling his way from the westernmost part of Derbyshire towards the Lake District and then still north and east. As he forced sleep to his exhausted frame, he imagined the sweet countenance of Elizabeth on the day of the snowstorm when she told him she loved him. Because I did not have the opportunity to tell my husband I am completely and hopelessly in love with him. “Ah, Elizabeth,” he whispered. Within a few days, she would be free of him forever.

Chapter Twenty-Four

FOR THREE DAYS, ELIZABETH TAUGHT EDWARD FITZWILLIAM EVERYTHING she knew of George Wickham and how to vanquish vampires. At each of the stops, they accumulated silver and iron and staves of ash and white thorn, bundling the items into blankets and tying them securely to the Darcy carriage. In small villages, they purchased several crucifixes, cloves of garlic, sacks of salt, and wooden stakes, even purchasing bags of millet at one such stop. By silent agreement, they prepared for war, knowing if Darcy failed, only they stood between Wickham and a continuation of evil.

Depending on the weather, they expected to be in the area described in Bramwell’s report by late the next afternoon or early evening. It was significantly colder than in Derbyshire, but to their surprise, they met no snow or rain. The colonel and Mr. Peters kept a steady pace with the horses, not pressing them too strenuously, knowing Northumberland and the shires surrounding it to be some of the least-populated in England. Inns were fewer and farther apart, and the opportunities for changing the horses for fresh ones were scarce. Their destination was between Alnwick and Berwick.

“A stake through the heart, a coin in the mouth, decapitation with an ax, boil the head in vinegar, chain to the grave with wild roses, bury at a cross-roads—my God, the list goes on and on. How will we ever know what to do?” The colonel began to feel the frustration she had known weeks earlier.

“We will listen to our intuition. Actually, I have a theory. Our action depends on when the person died. What I mean is, different generations placed their trust in different symbols. Afterwards, we will coauthor a vampire hunter instruction book,” she said with the first moment of levity she had permitted herself since she had departed Pemberley.

The colonel laughed easily. “Do you suppose there is a market for one?” He settled back into the cushions of the carriage. “Perhaps it is the nationality difference of which you speak, rather than a generational one,” he mused. “It seems many of the items have some relationship to purifying wounds or curing illnesses.”

Elizabeth weighed what the man said. Over the past few days, she had developed a real respect for her husband’s cousin. If she had met the colonel first, she might have set her sights on him. Shorter than Darcy, but not by much, the colonel was well made. Long, dark lashes capped dark brown eyes, which matched his head of thick brown curly hair. He possessed a compelling, almost sensual, masculinity. She appreciated his logic and his amiability and his arresting wit. Edward Fitzwilliam was not as intense in his interactions as her husband, but he was attractive. By silent assent, they had avoided speaking of the possibility of Darcy’s presence already in Stanwick. She and the colonel would either find Darcy a victor or find Darcy dead or find the battle still in progress. They would react accordingly.

“One of the things of which I am relatively confident is that Wickham does not believe in the Trinity. I have witnessed how he retreats from symbols of Christianity, but they do not destroy him. William threw holy water on him during their confrontation over Georgiana. Darcy’s efforts resulted only in a scream, the smell of burning flesh, and a short-lived withdrawal on Wickham’s part. I had more success with the name reversal in London than my husband did with his attempts at Ramsgate. The crucifix will work on my sister, but not on Wickham.”

“Is Wickham so close to the Devil to be immune to symbols of God?”

“Wickham is closer to his own gods. Mrs. Annesley discovered the god Cernunnos, a classic stag-horned, pagan god of Celtic origin. The crown everyone describes as a mark on Wickham’s hand resembles the ram-horned serpent of the Meigle stone in Perthshire. Some believe Cernunnos is the figure encountered in the tale of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. Even Shakespeare mentions Cernunnos as Herne the Hunter. However, the ash stakes should be effective in that realm.”

Peters had turned off the main road towards the inn they had discussed previously. “What will you do if we discover Darcy did not survive?” The words hung in the air, a curtain of doubt between them.

“I will attempt to recover both my husband’s and my sister’s bodies and put them at rest. Then I will return to Longbourn.”

“You will not return to Pemberley?” He turned his head to study her expression.

“Pemberley belongs to Georgiana,” she argued.

The colonel returned his gaze to the window. “Darcy would provide for you. I am confident he would want you to be a part of his sister’s life.”