To write “Mr. Darcy and the Designing Woman,” I had to learn the “technical” architectural terms for many architectural effects I enjoy viewing in historic houses and buildings. Two such terms are “trompe L’oeil,” and the other is “grisaille.”
Trompe-l’œil (French for ‘deceive the eye’) is an artistic term for the highly realistic optical illusion of three-dimensional space and objects on a two-dimensional surface. Trompe l’œil, which is most often associated with painting, tricks the viewer into perceiving painted objects or spaces as real. Forced [Forced perspective is a technique that employs optical illusion to make an object appear farther away, closer, larger or smaller than it actually is.] perspective is a related illusion in architecture. If you have ever seen one of those pictures of a person “supposedly” holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, then you have experienced “forced perspective.”
The John Canning Perfect Preservation website tells us, “The technique to develop seemingly three-dimensional objects with paint requires information from the room itself and skill from years of experience. The shadows simulated in the paint composition must mirror the real shadows in the room. The shadow itself must be unique to the object. For instance, colored glass transmits a shadow diffused with colors of the glass where as an opaque object will create grey shadows. This use of shadow, color, and light is called chiaroscuro. Proper perspective in the composition is required if the painted object is going to appear real. Shadows are composed of primary characteristics: the shape following the object; the most direct light source, and the closer the shadow to the object, the greater detail. The rules of perspective apply, meaning; the horizon line of the composition is most convincing at the eye level of the viewer. Trompe l’oeil often fails because the improper attention to dimensions and to the real shadows in the space. But knowing when to add in highlights and mid-tones in the illusionistic painting process is just as important as adding shadows. The most effective trompe l’oeil compositions are convincing from many perspectives in the space, not just at close distance or straight on.
Widewalls goes on to tell us, “Originating from the French word “gris” meaning “gray”, the term grisaille stands for a monochrome painting or underpainting usually created in shades of gray or neutral grayish colors. These ash tone values can range from dark to light, transparent to opaque, flat to reflective, and sometimes from warm to cool. This method is commonly used in oil and acrylic painting.”
“Grisaille has two primary uses. When properly master, the technique might be used to imitate sculpture and architectural details making it the most complex form of trompe l’oeil. Grisaille may also be used during the preparation and planning stages of a mural. To create a three-dimensional illusion, very much the same as trompe l’oeil, light and shade are painted into the composition utilizing different shades of grey. The shadows of a real object in the same place must be thoroughly studied in order to properly convey truth in the shadows. When grisaille is intended as trompe l’oeil, the simulated form is usually that of an architectural element.” [John Canning Perfect Preservation]
Robert Campin – Altar des Stabwunders und der Vermählung Mariae, Rückseite Der Hl. Jakob der Ältere und die Hl. Klara, circa 1420. Captions, via Creative CommonsGrisaille painting at Basilica St. John the Evangelist, Stamford, CT. ~ from John Canning Perfect Preservation
Book Blurb:
“You do not know your place!” Elizabeth Bennet had heard those words time and time again from every man she encountered, with the exception of Mr. Thomas Bennet. Her dear father encouraged her unusual education, especially her love of architecture.
Fitzwilliam Darcy finally could name the day his beloved Pemberley would know its renewal. For five years, he had denied himself the pleasures afforded the landed gentry in order to view Pemberley House rebuilt after a questionable fire had left it in ashes. He would now choose a wife as the next mistress of Pemberley and raise a family.
When Darcy hires Elizabeth’s relation as his architect, they are thrown together in unexpected ways. He requires a proper Georgian manor to win the hand of an equally proper wife, but Elizabeth is determined only the house she has designed will do. The house of her heart for the man of her heart, even though she will never spend a day within.
Excerpt from the latter part of the book where Elizabeth and Darcy discuss these techniques:
The following day, they gathered with Jacob Ericks and Mr. Campbell around the supper room table in the dower house so they might spread out Ericks’s original drawings, as well as Elizabeth’s larger version of her sketch in order to mull over what was and was not possible. “We all are still in agreement to keep the ground floor rusticated, while the upper floors are of smooth dressed stone?” Ericks asked.
Darcy nearly laughed when all three men looked to Elizabeth to lead. It was quite ironic considering how Ericks initially set Elizabeth’s ideas aside. Last evening, in preparation for an argument, Darcy had had an honest talk with his wife, suggesting she would be called upon to know compromise on some points of her house’s design. “Any successful negotiation requires a person to stand firm on essential points, but be more adaptable on others.”
“It would be frivolous of us to choose a different stone at this point,” Darcy declared. “Do you not agree, my dear?”
“I adore the possibility of the grey bricks,” Elizabeth announced. Both Ericks and Campbell breathed easier. She pointed to the central and most imposing block on her drawing and then to Ericks’s plan. “The central corps de logis will be the center of entertaining. Mr. Darcy has said the formal supper room and ballroom will ‘lead’ into this wing.” She traced the lines on the paper. “Could not either the supper room or the ball room extend into this wing? Because of lighting issues, there will be no interior guest rooms. Does this not become wasted space? From what I can perceive by studying this diagram is some space is not designated. Storage? Large sitting for each guest quarters? To me, a larger sleeping quarters and storage for a lady’s gowns and so forth is more important than sitting rooms. Will not guests spend the majority of their spare time with their hosts or others of their party? Mark my words, Jacob, within a dozen or so years, women will again be wearing larger skirts. Women’s fashions, like that of gentlemen, runs in cycles.”
Darcy watched as Ericks and Campbell exchanged skeptical looks, but Darcy lightened the mood by saying, “I may again accept laces on my sleeves, but never again will I wear a powered wig.” He looked to Ericks. “Is Mrs. Darcy’s suggestion not feasible?”
“Absolutely, I can make the necessary adjustments. Doing so means only the large rooms, meaning the drawing rooms or suites with a sitting room, will have more than one hearth.”
“Thank you, Jacob,” Elizabeth said. “I am fully aware you cannot divide a room with two hearths into three rooms without creating a useless space, but it seems foolish to have a three-storey open space in this wing. Even with the hallways for the guest rooms, there is more than enough space for a ballroom. Perhaps a portrait gallery on the third floor and a games room for Mr. Darcy and, later, the children.” She reached for his hand, and Darcy accepted it in solidarity.
“Neoclassical, do you not think, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked.
“The entrance and the accents throughout the house, but not everywhere,” Elizabeth agreed with a happy smile.
“I knew you would bring Robert Adam into your design,” Ericks said with a matching grin. “What think you of niches in the wall of the grand hall or the entranceway to house the statues?”
“With grisaille panels,” his wife said, “where the simulated form is part of the architectural element. Capture the shadows and the light to imitate the sculpture. A complex form of trompe l’oeil. We could also include a mural sometime in the future and use the technique there also.”
“None of my men can create what you describe,” Campbell admitted. “I must see whether such an artist can be located in the area. It would be unique and breath-taking, ma’am, if it can be done.”
A moment of respect passed between Campbell and Elizabeth, before Darcy asked, “Can we keep the marble floor already in the main hall?” Darcy asked. “It is marked by generations of Darcys. I wish some traditions to remain intact. Mine and Elizabeth’s names will complete the first circle of the hall, and our children’s names and their mates will begin the second row.”
Tears rushed to Elizabeth’s eyes. “How wonderful,” she murmured as a few tears trickled down her cheeks. “If someone means to destroy the Darcy tradition, they must come through me. You are on notice, Mr. Campbell.”
“I understand, Mrs. Darcy. When Mrs. Campbell permits others to view her tears, I know not to cross or disappoint her. I imagine you are much of the same nature.”
Ericks suggested. “Instead of four, we will require at least six, perhaps eight, columns for support.”
“You have our permission to make the necessary adjustments,” Darcy guaranteed Mr. Ericks. “Elizabeth and I have agreed we would keep the former majesty of Pemberley, while softening the stark lines to demonstrate that the house is not only the manor of a grand estate, but also the ‘home’ of the Darcy family.”
Ericks smiled. “I owe you a great debt, sir. I expected our Elizabeth and I would require fisticuffs to settle our differences.”
Darcy jovially slapped Ericks on the back. “I have the advantage of being the lady’s husband, but she did demand that I remind you if you had previously agreed to consider her suggestions, mind you, with an open mind, rather than to assume a woman had no place in architecture, we might now be anticipating the end of Pemberley’s repairs, rather than restarting the project.” He grinned at Elizabeth. “Did I say it correctly, my dear?”
His wife playfully shook her finger at both him and Ericks. “You forgot to mention my brilliance, sir.”
“Duly noted, Mrs. Darcy.” He looked at Ericks’s plans. “Now that we have begun so well, we should settle other matters so you might draw up new plans.” He consulted Elizabeth, “I pray you do not object to the two sets of steps leading to the front door, my dear? I am one who believes in a balance of form.”
She frowned, “I suppose as Lord and Lady Parrish approved of the dual stairs,” she said with a lift of her brows, “I must agree. After all, the aristocracy possesses a refined taste we in the gentry do not.” One evening recently, Darcy had described the house party and his misery.
“It also had Lady Ester’s approval,” he teased before his wife pinched the back of his hand. To Ericks and Campbell, he said, “My favorite fishwife agrees. A large recessed arch over the entrance door to keep out the weather. Perhaps some sort of garland or a Latin phrase carved over the door.”
“Would you like to provide the quote?” Ericks asked.
“I must think upon it,” Darcy said.
“Something you learned at university which impressed you,” his wife suggested.
“What makes you think anything at university impressed me?” Darcy challenged. He could not say why he felt so lighthearted, but he suspected the woman beside him had something to do with it. He now understood why his father was a much easier man with which to live when Lady Anne was still alive.
“I was not there,” his wife countered, “but I know you to be a learned man, Mr. Darcy.”
“Really?” he asked. “How so?
“You were intelligent enough to realize how important I could be to your existence,” she answered smartly.
Both Campbell and Ericks broke into laughter. “Walked into that one, Darcy,” Ericks said. “You must recall you married a woman who adores verbal swordplay.”
Elizabeth handed her original sketch to Jacob. “Such is enough for today. Either Mr. Darcy or I will be available when you reach a point where our input is required. We are calling on the tenants and such, and I am hiring several seamstresses to create drapes and bed clothing and the like. When you are finished, we wish to be prepared to occupy the house.”
Adelphi is a district in the City of Westminster. The Adelphi Buildings, a block of 24 unified neoclassical terrace houses, between The Strand and the River Thames in the parish of St Martin in the Fields, was named “Adelphi,” for it the Greek word meaning “brothers.” The Adam brothers (John, Robert, James, and William Adam) were the masterminds of this development in the late 1700s. Robert Adam in my new story “Mr. Darcy and the Designing Woman” is the architect of choice of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. But who was he?
The Adelphi forms one of the most notable works of the brothers Adam. The design of the buildings was, for the most part, the work of Robert Adam, though his brothers, James and William, were also concerned with the scheme.
After being educated at Edinburgh University, Robert Adam visited Italy and other countries and was greatly influenced by the architecture he observed. He, therefore, developed his own unique style of architectural design based on Classic domestic architecture, not he severe temple architecture which inspired the Renaissance. “The light and elegant treatment thus evolved resulted in a decorative manner that has come to be considered typical of the Adam style. The characteristic qualities of Robert Adam’s method of working were well illustrated in the Adelphi group of buildings and the attractive forms of decorative design developed by him appear, externally, in doors and door-cases, in the flat but richly ornamented pilasters, entablatures, string courses, medallion ornaments, etc., applied to the various facades, and, internally, in door-cases, columned screens, fireplaces, and delicately ornamented ceilings.
Robert Adam ~ Wikipedia
Whereas, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth’s relation prefer the more “traditional” designs of Sir William Chambers. The Royal Academy and Sir William Chambers essentially ignored the “Adam designs,” though a few imitations were exhibited. To say Chambers and Robert Adam did not get along well would be an understatement. [Sir William Chambers was an eclectic architect of the Georgian period. who was one of the leading Palladian-style architects of his day and a founding father of the Royal Academy. Chambers’s best-known works are Somerset House (1776–86) in London, now home of the Courtauld Institute Galleries; the casino at Marino (c. 1776), near Dublin; Duddingston House (1762–64) in Edinburgh; and the ornamental buildings, including the Great Pagoda (1757–62), at Kew Gardens, Surrey (now in London). In the last he went as far in the direction of Romantic eclecticism as any architect of his time. In general, however, he was an architectural conservative who used a profound knowledge of European (especially French) architecture to give a new look to the accepted motifs of Palladianism. His books, notably A Treatise on Civil Architecture (1759), had widespread influence. (Britannica)
Sir William Chambers ~ Wikipedia
Book Blurb:
“You do not know your place!” Elizabeth Bennet had heard those words time and time again from every man she encountered, with the exception of Mr. Thomas Bennet. Her dear father encouraged her unusual education, especially her love of architecture.
Fitzwilliam Darcy finally could name the day his beloved Pemberley would know its renewal. For five years, he had denied himself the pleasures afforded the landed gentry in order to view Pemberley House rebuilt after a questionable fire had left it in ashes. He would now choose a wife as the next mistress of Pemberley and raise a family.
When Darcy hires Elizabeth’s relation as his architect, they are thrown together in unexpected ways. He requires a proper Georgian manor to win the hand of an equally proper wife, but Elizabeth is determined only the house she has designed will do. The house of her heart for the man of her heart, even though she will never spend a day within.
Excerpt:
The lady nodded her head in affirmation before asking, “What was your intended destination, Mr. Darcy?”
“I was considering Leeds or Leicester or perhaps York,” he explained. “My uncle, Lord Matlock, provided me the names of several architects with whom he was familiar. I fear my manor house suffered fire damage and requires repairs.”
“I fire can be so devastating,” Mrs. Bingley said in sympathy.
“I was not at home at the time. My beloved father lost his life in the tragedy. I will forever regret my absence when both he and my sister required me,” he admitted.
Miss Bennet said, “I know you think you could have prevented what occurred, but I have sadly learned God often has alternate plans for us.”
“I appreciate your kind words, Miss Bennet.”
“Would you mind calling me ‘Miss Elizabeth’? I know Miss Bennet is the proper form of address, but every time someone says those words, I look around for Jane.”
“As you wish,” he said.
“In speaking of your home and your family, I heard real pain in the tone of your words,” she said softly. “I shall add you to my prayers this evening.”
Darcy felt his heart warm to the woman. Few had spoken of the sacrifices he had known to bring Pemberley back. “My family will tell you I am singular in my desire to secure my family’s legacy.”
“Such is admirable,” Mrs. Bingley assured him.
Meanwhile, Miss Elizabeth asked, “Must you level the remains of the manor house or is it possible some of it can be salvaged?”
“I cannot speak to what is best,” Darcy confided. “Obviously, I wish to save as much of the beauty of Pemberley House as possible; yet, I also realize it would be foolish not to invest in some much-needed improvements so the house can survive for future generations. I owe as much to my family name. Because of a lack of foresight on the part of many of my ancestors and even my father, the fire spread quickly. All that being said, I hope to soon take a wife. The house must be repaired before we marry. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, tells me I cannot think to bring my new wife into such conditions.”
“If she really loved you, she would adapt to the chaos about her,” Mrs. Bingley said, and Darcy imagined the lady would have done so for Mr. Bingley’s sake. “Surely some of the house is livable, for you have been residing there, have you not?”
“Do not allow an architect to thrust upon you and your future lady too much pomp,” Miss Elizabeth declared in authoritative tones. “You must remember just because Vitruvius was the grandfather of architecture, all the venerable gentleman purported—all his ancient trumpery—they are not required in the design of every house.”
Darcy smiled upon her, but he had a desire to dismiss her enthusiasm. “All I have considered is I wish for a house with a certain dignity in its design—one easily recognizable with a simple glance.”
“A Roman basilica possesses dignity,” Miss Elizabeth argued, “but I cannot imagine a sensible woman wishing to be mistress of a basilica.”
“Should not a woman be happy with the dwelling her husband provides?” he countered.
“Certainly, if the house has stood for several centuries, such is true, but, in my most humble opinion, a wife would wish to be consulted regarding the style of architecture of her future home, especially one to be rebuilt, specifically the arrangement of the rooms.”
“Would the lady not wish a home similar to her father’s?” Darcy knew something of homes in the Midlands and thought his future bride would approve of such a style.
“What does her father’s house have to do with a woman’s preferences?” Miss Elizabeth asked in testiness. Her question made Darcy wonder if he had committed some great sin in thinking any woman would be satisfied with whatever he presented her. “Our father’s house has been standing since the 1500s. Though parts have been redesigned and repaired, overall, it can be most disjointed—parts never conforming to a modern house.”
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Bingley warned. “Mr. Darcy should be permitted his taste in architectural style.”
Giveaway!!! Leave a comment below to be in the mix for a Giveaway of TWO eBooks of Mr. Darcy and the Designing Woman. Winners will be contacted by email,
Back in 2017, when I wrote Pride and Prejudice and a Shakespearean Scholar, an idea occurred to me, but I kept pushing it to the side, thinking I could not manage it. You see, in P&P&SS, Mr. Bennet is a scholar on Shakespeare and means to refute claims that Frances Bacon wrote Shakespeare’s play. Do you recall this scene:
“I would be perfectly content to remain at Netherfield. You do not need to alter your plans simply because I have appeared upon your doorstep,” Darcy assured his friend. “I do not expect you to cry off at such short notice nor should you inconvenience Mr. Bennet’s cook by adding another to her preparations.”
“Nonsense,” Bingley declared good-naturedly. “If worse comes to worse, we will split the portions between us. You know I could never abandon you to a house with which you are unfamiliar. The library here is sadly lacking. Moreover, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn is Mr. Thomas Bennet.”
“Thomas Bennet?” Darcy asked. “The Thomas Bennet? The man who is both a Shakespeare and a Bacon expert and who means to refute claims Francis Bacon wrote Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets? The one our professors at Cambridge so often quoted?”
“The very man,” Bingley said with a wide smile. “Bacon made this part of Hertfordshire his home, thus Mr. Bennet’s interest in the man. Bennet and a group of scholars have been trying to refute Wilmot’s research claiming Bacon is the true author of Shakespeare’s plays.”
Anyway, in Pride and Prejudice and a Shakespearean Scholar, Darcy, Mr. Bennet, and Elizabeth visit Old Gorhambury House. The remains of the house are situated just outside St Albans in Hertfordshire. It was once an immense mansion constructed in 1563-8 by the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Sir Nicholas Bacon. A prolific builder, Sir Nicholas spent many years expanding and adapting the residence. In the tale, Elizabeth rattles off some impressive observations about the structure of the house and the newer Gorhambury House, built in the late 1700s. Now there is the rub! What if instead of Shakespeare, Mr. Bennet had taught her something of architecture? Do you see where this story is heading?
One of the more famous houses in “Pride and Prejudice” fame is Kedleston Hall, a neo-classical house in Kedleston, Derbyshire. The current house was commissioned by Nathaniel Curzon and designed by Robert Adam (whose name you will hear mentioned often in the novel). If you have seen the 2005 movie version of Pride and Prejudice, Kedleston Hall serves as Pemberley in the film. Wikipedia’s article on the house provides a nice description of the interior, as well as the garden and grounds.
“You do not know your place!” Elizabeth Bennet had heard those words time and time again from every man she encountered, with the exception of her father. Mr. Thomas Bennet had encouraged her unusual education, especially her love of architecture.
Fitzwilliam Darcy finally could name the day his beloved Pemberley would know its renewal. For five years, he had denied himself the pleasures afforded the landed gentry in order to view Pemberley House rebuilt after a questionable fire had left it in ashes. He would now choose a wife as the next mistress of Pemberley and raise a family.
When Darcy hires Elizabeth’s relation as his architect, they are thrown together in unexpected ways. He requires a proper Georgian manor to win the hand of an equally proper wife, but Elizabeth is determined only the house she has designed will do. The house of her heart for the man of her heart, even though she will never spend a day within.
Excerpt:
“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana called from the open door, and Darcy forced the memory of his dream to the recesses of his mind. “You were not gone so long,” his sister announced as he approached. “Hopefully, you knew success.” She slid her hand about his arm.
“I made definite progress, which I will gladly share with you and the others,” he told her as he escorted her towards his aunt’s favorite sitting room. “I am hoping you and Fitzwilliam will join me at Pemberley on Monday to take the acquaintance of the architect I have employed.”
“Employed an architect?” the colonel asked as he stepped into the foyer to extend his hand to Darcy. “Did you travel to Nottingham or Birmingham?”
“Neither,” Darcy confided. “Let us go inside, and I will share it all.”
The colonel presented Darcy an elegant bow. “As you say, Cousin. Georgiana and I are all ears.”
Once they three were settled and refreshments delivered, Darcy began his tale of encountering Charles Bingley, the man’s wife, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The colonel interrupted, as was his habit, to relate a few of his own stories for Georgiana’s amusement about how naïve Bingley had been at university.
Georgiana was laughing so hard during the colonel’s retelling, Darcy simply sat back into the chair and enjoyed the sound of his sister’s happiness. He had made the correct decision to send her to live with the Matlocks, though his Aunt Catherine had volunteered to take Georgiana in, his sister had always been a bit frightened of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He made a mental notation to warn Lady Matlock not to mention the possibility of his taking a wife. Otherwise, Lady Catherine would again be purporting a match between him and his cousin Anne.
“And so, you delivered Mr. Bingley’s family to safety?” his sister questioned.
“Yes, to Sheffield,” he assured, “where, ironically, I encountered Albert Sheffield and his new wife Hannah,” Darcy confirmed. “Sheffield assisted me in ordering new clothes. I have asked him to return as my valet once Pemberley is restored and have promised to discover a position for Mrs. Sheffield in the household also.”
“In the new Mrs. Darcy’s employ?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy’s first thought was of Miss Elizabeth. When he had taken Mrs. Sheffield’s acquaintance, he had considered how easily it would be for Hannah Sheffield and Miss Elizabeth to become friends. “Such would be the most practical solution,” Darcy said evenly, attempting not to relay how his mind had again returned to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, “but, more likely, whomever I choose to extend my hand will already have a lady’s maid to attend her.”
“Such may be determined once other issues are addressed,” the colonel responded. “By the way, her ladyship has accepted an invitation to a house party in your name and ours three weeks removed. She says such will signal to others you are in the market for a wife.”
Darcy frowned. “I had not thought to begin such negotiations until I knew the fate of Pemberley House. I certainly cannot bring a wife to my ancestral home in its present condition, and Mr. Ericks and I have yet to agree on a set of plans. Once we do, it could be anywhere from three to six months before Pemberley is again livable enough for a woman of society.”
“So long?” Georgiana asked. “I know the repairs are likely to be extensive; yet, I had hoped you would soon be relieved of such depressing conditions. I often feel quite guilty enjoying the fare of Lady Matlock’s table when I know there is not a proper kitchen at Pemberley. You must eat whatever one of the cottagers supplies you.”
“It is not so ill,” he told her, although often he did without, for the lack of even a bit of taste in the food. “And, soon I will know something of the time it will take to make Pemberley livable for a family. The architect is to come to Pemberley on Monday to view the conditions of the house and to determine if any of it can be saved. He will also examine the location, create a list of required materials and determine how many storeys would be safe. I have told him I would prefer three storeys as we have had previously, but doing so might complicate the plans if I choose to add water closets and different lighting, especially as such options will be the way of the future. Chimneys and fireplaces for each room will be expensive, if necessary.
“We also spoke of two wings in the beginning around the central corps de logis for entertaining and so forth,” Darcy explained.
The colonel nodded his approval. “It sounds as if you and this architect have had several serious conversations. What did you say his name might be? Erickson, was it?”
“Ericks,” Darcy confided. “Jacob Ericks. Ironically, he is brother to Samuel Ericks, the man who is the new rector in Lambton. Remember, the father was a surgeon when we were young.”
“The one who died in the flood?” the colonel asked.
“Yes, Samuel Ericks is the one who held the curacy at Kympton before the vicarage opened in Bakewell.” Darcy said as he eyed his sister, hoping his comment would not remind her of George Wickham and their father’s death. Georgiana had been hard-pressed to speak of the events of that evening to anyone, even him. At one time, she had trusted Mr. Wickham, perhaps thought herself in love with him, or so Darcy had suspected, but the death of George Darcy and Wickham being the last man to see him alive had soured Georgiana on the man. He continued, “I had hoped you two could travel to Pemberley on Monday and take Mr. Jacob Ericks’s acquaintance,” he said to the colonel and Georgiana. “Your mind, Colonel, for logistical matters would be of great service to me. Would greystone or some other Derbyshire stone be more practical? Those types of decisions.”
“I am often called upon in my service to England to fit a square peg into an oddly-shaped hole, so to speak. One can imagine how often that square peg is shaped into a round one,” the colonel observed.
“Exactly,” Darcy confirmed. “A different perspective.”
“And what of me?” Georgiana asked.
Darcy sucked in a quick breath so as not to relay his earlier musings on the lady. “Traveling with Mr. Jacob Ericks on Monday will be the man’s family. They hope to join their brother Samuel at the rectory for a short visit after Jacob completes all his measurements.”
“That is wonderful for them,” Georgiana said. “Yet, do you expect me also to visit the vicarage?”
Darcy knew he was making more of this situation than he should, but he did not wish to provide his family false hopes. “I have not explained all which occurred as well as I should have done. When I transported Mr. Bingley’s family to Sheffield, I delivered Bingley’s wife and Mrs. Bingley’s sister to Mr. Ericks’s house. The ladies’ maternal uncle is married to the Ericks brothers’ sister. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner reside in London. Mr. Gardiner owns Mayo’s Imports and Exports.”
“One of the largest such businesses in London,” the colonel observed. “Her ladyship has dealt with Mr. Gardiner often in that capacity. Several rooms at our London home were exclusively furnished by the gentleman. My mother swears by his taste in custom-made furniture. I believe there are several pieces at Darcy House purchased from Mayo’s.”
Darcy was a bit surprised to learn his own parents had presented Mr. Gardiner their patronage. “I was not aware of all you have shared, Cousin.” He paused briefly before saying, “The Bingleys traveled on to the northern shires. Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained with Mr. and Mrs. Ericks. She will be in Sheffield for some six weeks. Therefore, she will likely visit Pemberley with the Ericks family. The lady knows a great deal of architecture: Her father has provided her an unusual education. You should hear her, Fitzwilliam. She recites Shakespeare and Greek philosophers and translates Latin, and she possesses ‘very’ strong opinions and does not mind defending them.”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “Do you admire the woman or fear her, Darcy?”
“In truth, I am not assured which,” Darcy admitted.
Giveaway!!!! Leave a comment below to be entered into the giveaway of TWO eBooks of Mr. Darcy and the Designing Woman.Winners will be contacted by email. Good Luck!
First, and foremost, one must understand the creation of peerages is a royal prerogative. Letters patent are used exclusively now for this task, but this was not always so. Letters patent are a form of open or public proclamation and a vestigial exercise of extra-parliamentary power by a monarch. Prior to the establishment of Parliament, the monarch ruled absolutely by the issuing of his personal written orders, open or closed. They can be contrasted with an Act of Parliament, which is in effect a written order by Parliament involving assent by the monarch in conjunction with its members. However, we must understand, there is no explicit government approval contained with letters patent, only a seal or signature of the monarch.
Parliament today tolerates only a very narrow exercise of the royal prerogative by issuance of letters patent, and such documents are issued with prior informal government approval, or indeed are now generated by government itself with the monarch’s seal affixed as a mere formality. In their original form they were simply written instructions or orders from the sovereign, whose order was law, which were made public to reinforce their effect. For the sake of good governance, it is of little use if the sovereign appoints a person to a position of authority but does not at the same time inform those over whom such authority is to be exercised of the validity of the appointment.
Wikipedia provides a chart as to the wording of a letters patent for dukes/duchesses, marquesses/marchionesses, earls/countesses, viscounts, hereditary barons, life barons, etc., for those who are interested in the subject.
The patent bears the Great Seal but no signature. It describes how the title may descend after the death of the person who has been ennobled. This is called the “remainder.”
“. . . unto him and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten and to be begotten. Willing and by these Presents granting for Us Our heirs and successors that he and his heirs male aforesaid and every of them successively . . .”
Customarily, the title is limited to the male heirs of the body, legally begotten, but some patents contain what is known as a “special remainder,” meaning other members of the family (daughters, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, etc.) may inherit the title.
Usually there is a limitation on the remainder, i.e. the title is limited to the male heirs of the body, legally begotten (i.e. legitimate), but some patents contain a special remainder, whereby other members of the family (for example, daughters, brothers or sisters or their children) may inherit the title.
The letters patent created for Charles Portal, 1st Viscount of Hungerford, Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, Louis Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma (Prince Philip’s uncle), Edmund Allenby, 1st Viscount Allenby, and the like were all created peers with a special remainder as none had male issue to inherit. Having the letters patent worded, as such, allowed the peerage to survive beyond the peer’s life span.
In contrast to letters patent, the earliest peerages, meaning the English baronies, were created by writ of summons to Counsel or Parliament. Successors of the more important baronies received a like summons, creating what we now know as a hereditary barony, rather than a life baron.
Life peers are appointed to the peerage, but their titles cannot be inherited. Modern life peerages, always given the rank of “baron,” are created under the Life Peerage Act 1958. They provide the holder a seat in the House of Lords, as long as the person meets the qualification of age and citizenship. Their children cannot inherit a Life Peerage, but they can style themselves with the prefix “The Honourable.”
“The remainders of baronies by writ, having no patent, are not limited to ‘heirs male’, but to heirs-general. So, for instance, if such a baron died without leaving a male heir, but leaving a sole daughter, this daughter would be permitted to inherit the barony.
“Should there be more than one daughter, the title will fall into abeyance between the co-heirs. The co-heirs should come to an honourable agreement (ie without bribery or corruption) as to which of them is to claim the title, and then the claimant may petition The Crown to have the abeyance terminated. A claimant must represent at least a third share of the abeyant title, and the title must not have been in abeyance for more than a hundred years. The Sovereign may terminate an abeyance by exercise of the royal prerogative.
“If, in the fullness of time, the co-heirs to an abeyant peerage diminish to a single heir, the claimant may assume the title without petition to The Crown. Recent examples of peerages being called out of abeyance include Strange 1986, Grey of Codnor 1989, Berners 1995, Arlington 1999 and Howard de Walden 2004.
“Historically, there was also a doctrine of baronies by tenure. These were feudal titles which were held by possession of land and castle (most famously Fitzalan of Arundel Castle, who successfully petitioned to be considered Earl of Arundel in 1433). Most claims to baronies by tenure, however, were challenged in the House of Lords and, in 1861, the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords decided that, irrespective of whatever might have been the position in the past, baronies by tenure no longer existed.” [Creation and Inheritance of the Peerage]
Keep in mind the Peerage of Scotland and the Peerage of Ireland do not follow the same rules. There are variations, dictated by the “limitation.”
The legal definition of peerage is an artificial dignity associated with nobility, in accordance to the words of limitation contained in the grant (of peerage).
Another kink not mentioned previously is the idea of “dissenters.” In the Regency, in which I write, any one who had the right pedigree could inherit a title. However, not every peer could sit in Parliament. Those who had an English or UK peerage, not being female or under age, had to take an oath, essentially swearing they abjured the Pope. Catholics peers, therefore, could not sit in the House of Lords.
For example, the Duke of Norfolk, is the premier duke in the peerage of England and the premier earl as the Earl of Arundel. In addition to the ducal title, the dukes of Norfolk also hold the hereditary position of Earl Marshal, which has the duty of organizing state occasions such as coronation and the opening of Parliament. For the last five centuries, save some periods when it was under attainder, both the dukedom and earl-marshalship have been in the hands of the Howard family. Even today, due to the duties of Earl Marshal, Norfolk is one of two hereditary peers automatically admitted to the House of Lords, without being elected by the general body of hereditary peers.
Additionally, in the State of Opening of Parliament, the Duke of Norfolk is one of four individuals who precede the monarch and one of the two who walk facing backwards, meaning facing the monarch (although in recent years, we have not seen this tradition carried forward). The Duke of Norfolk also is head of the College of Arms, through which he regulates all matters connected with armorial bearings and standards. He is one of three claimants to the title of Chief Butler of England
Charles Howard, 11th Duke of Norfolk by Thomas Gainsborough ~ Public Domain
The Duke of Norfolk (1746 – 1815) for a time had to do his ceremonial duties as Earl marshal of England through a Protestant because he was a Catholic. One of the Dukes became a Protestant until the law changed. That duke was Charles Howard, 11th Duke of Norfolk. Norfolk renounced his Catholicism to start his political life, but remained a staunch supporter of Catholic Emancipation, as well as opposing the war with the American colonies. He sat in Parliament from 1780 to 1784 and became a lord of the treasury in the Portland cabinet in 1783. He succeeded to the title of 11th Duke of Norfolk in 1786 upon the death of his father. Eventually he was dismissed from the lord lieutenancy of the West Riding in 1798 for toasting “Our sovereign’s health—the majesty of the people” in terms displeasing to George III. [Charles Howard, 11th Duke of Norfolk]
Charles Howard was followed by his cousin. Bernard Howard, 12th Duke of Norfolk, was an ardent Roman Catholic, like most of his family. He strongly supported Catholic Emancipation, giving offence to his Protestant neighbours by hosting a banquet to celebrate the passage of the Roman Catholic Relief Act 1829.
After the English Reformation, from the 16th to the 19th century those guilty of such nonconformity, termed “recusants”, were subject to civil penalties and sometimes, especially in the earlier part of that period, to criminal penalties. Catholics formed a large proportion, if not a plurality, of recusants, and it was to Catholics that the term initially was applied. Non-Catholic groups composed of Reformed Christians or Protestant dissenters from the Church of England were later labelled “recusants” as well. Recusancy laws were in force from the reign of Elizabeth I to that of George III, but not always enforced with equal intensity. However, if a Dissenter could take the oath and the 39 articles, he could take a seat in Parliament. If he objected, depending upon the time period in which he lived, he could be charged with treason.
To become more familiar with the Oath of Supremacy – quick overview from Wikipedia.
Today, one of my “partners in Austen,” so to speak is paying us a visit and promoting her latest Austen-inspired book. Let us all welcome Amanda Kai, who also provides my readers a chance at a giveaway.
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Regina, thank you so much for inviting me to join you at Every Woman Dreams to celebrate the release of Miss Bingley and the Baron. You’ve been such an inspiration to me in my writing career that it’s really an honor to partner with you in the JAFF community.
Miss Bingley and the Baron is a companion to my novel Not In Want of a Wife: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, but it can be enjoyed as a standalone.
I love Regency romances where somebody falls in love under false pretenses or under some sort of disguise. So, when I had the idea to make Caroline Bingley fall in love with somebody who she thought was a gardener, but was actually a baron in disguise, I thought to myself “this is exactly the sort of story I would gobble up!” My hope is that my readers will like it too.
This novella takes place in the spring and summer of 1812. Caroline goes up to Scarborough with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst just after Bingley and Jane’s wedding. Almost immediately, she sets her sights on capturing the wealthy baron next door. She meets a man on the baron’s estate whom she presumes to be one of his gardeners, not knowing that he is actually the baron himself.
Lord Theodore Connally has been leery of fortune hunters ever since an overzealous lady tried to trap him into marriage. Worried that Miss Bingley will be the same, Theo decides to test her by trading places with his best friend, the gardener’s son, who is to become a clergyman. Of course, we all know, he’s setting himself up for disaster by doing this. 😊
So excited to share this story with you! Here’s a teaser excerpt:
The sun was still low when Theo began work on the pear orchard. He knew that his two under gardeners ought to be doing this sort of thing, but as usual, they were slacking off, nowhere to be seen on the grounds, and he had no inclination to bang on their cottage doors and wake them. He meant to replace Bill and Jack soon, and hire additional men to assist Mr. Hodge with the restorations to the grounds. He had plans to design a country garden like those he had seen in Ireland, and to add a water feature. Additionally, he hoped to manage the orchard and harvest a good crop this year. Too long had it lain overgrown, bearing almost no fruit, and what little fruit it bore left to rot on the trees. With proper care, he knew he could make it beautiful and fruitful again. This was the first order of business, to ready the trees for a summer harvest before they blossomed.
Theo was up on a ladder, pruning a pear tree, when he spotted a glimpse of yellow coming towards him. The lady seemed exhausted and wet.
Did she come from the beach?
He had already been down to the beach earlier that morning, and knew it must be about high tide by now. He wondered what a lady might be doing all alone on such a morning, and where she could have come from. She did not seem to notice him as she pecked her way through the rows of pear trees, trying to avoid being scratched. He watched her remove her cap in frustration after it got caught on a particularly long branch. A tumble of red curls fell out of her coif. Theo felt his breath hitch.
Miss Bingley! At least, he presumed her to be Miss Bingley. He supposed it could be her sister, or perhaps even her maid- which might account for her state of dress- but it was clearly the redheaded woman he had seen in the carriage the day before. As she passed by his ladder, he called out. “I say there, what are you doing here?”
Startled, the woman looked around, then up into the tree, where she finally spotted him.
“Sir! You gave me a fright. What do you mean by hiding up in that tree?”
“I am pruning it. But you have yet to answer my question. Why are you trespassing?”
She pushed her shoulders back and stuck her chin out indignantly. “I am merely passing through. I was walking along the beach, but got caught by the tide, and so was forced to seek higher ground for my safety. I had no choice but to trespass. I am sure that your master would not deny a lady safe passage through his land in such an instance.”
“My master?”
“Yes, the man who owns this land. Lord Conrad, or whatever his name is. The baron.”
She thinks I am a servant, Theo realized. He supposed, dressed as he was and performing a servant’s work, he should expect nothing less.
“Do you think that your master would want his gardener scaring a lady off of his land when she needed safety?”
Theo descended the ladder to face her. “Madam, you are welcome to pass through Lord Connally’s land.” He looked to see if her cheeks would redden at his correction, but her face remained as proud as ever. “You were down by the beach, you say? You must have walked a long way. Where are you headed?”
“I seek the lane, that I might find my way back to Fairclough Hall.”
“If it is Fairclough you are bound for, then that way would be more direct.” He pointed. “The lane is long and indirect. It will take you two miles to return by that route. If you cut through the orchard, you will find yourself in the moors which border Fairclough in half the time. A small gate exists between the properties, built some generations ago as a mark of friendship between the two families.” He neglected to tell her that the gate was long in disuse, had been locked, and that she would probably have to climb the wall to get over it.
“Thank you, sir. Pass on my regards to your master, and thank him for allowing me to trespass. I can assure you, it will not happen again.”
“Take care, Madam, should you find yourself walking the beach again. As you have seen, the tides here can be dangerous.”
He expected some reply, but she had already set off in the heading he had given. It was only after she was too far to see that he realized she had not even given him her name.
Miss Bingley and the Baron is now available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.
Amanda Kai’s love of period dramas and classic literature inspires her historical romances and other romances. She is the author of several stories inspired by Jane Austen, including Not In Want of a Wife, Elizabeth’s Secret Admirer, and Marriage and Ministry. Prior to becoming an author, Amanda enjoyed a successful career as a professional harpist, and danced ballet for twenty years. When she’s not diving into the realm of her imagination, Amanda lives out her own happily ever after in Texas with her husband and three children.
THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF MR. DARCY was originally published on February 18, 2013. It is a cozy mystery set in Dorset, and it is a real thriller. There are witches and resurrectionists and a mass murderer, oh my!!! I hope you enjoy the excerpt below.
A thrilling story of murder and betrayal filled with the scandal, wit and intrigue characteristic of Austen’s classic novels
Fitzwilliam Darcy is devastated. The joy of his recent wedding has been cut short by the news of the sudden death of his father’s beloved cousin, Samuel Darcy. Elizabeth and Darcy travel to Dorset, a popular Regency resort area, to pay their respects to the well-traveled and eccentric Samuel. But this is no summer holiday. Danger bubbles beneath Dorset’s peaceful surface as strange and foreboding events begin to occur. Several of Samuel’s ancient treasures go missing, and then his body itself disappears. As Darcy and Elizabeth investigate this mystery and unravel its tangled ties to the haunting legends of Dark Dorset, the legendary couple’s love is put to the test when sinister forces strike close to home. Some secrets should remain secrets, but Darcy will do all he can to find answers—even if it means meeting his own end in the damp depths of a newly dug grave.
With malicious villains, dramatic revelations and heroic gestures, The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy will keep Austen fans turning the pages right up until its dramatic conclusion.
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Augusta Literary Festival ~ 2014 Yerby Award for Fiction Finalist
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8th Annual Dixie Kane Memorial ~ SOLA Finalist
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2014 Yellow Rose Romance Writers ~ 2nd Place Romantic Suspense
Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep with her head resting on her folded arms on the small escritoire in her chambers. She had removed Samuel Darcy’s journals from the hiding place among her most intimate wear to return to the coded passages. With Darcy searching for Mr. Barriton, it became more vital for her to solve the mystery of his cousin’s words. Steadfastly, she had manipulated the possible dates for Perdita Sanderson’s birthday, for Elizabeth was certain, after learning something of Samuel Darcy’s history with the child’s grandmother, it seemed only natural for Darcy’s cousin to hold a perverted heightened interest in the girl named for Samuel’s great love.
It had taken Elizabeth thirteen attempts before she had come across the correct combination. “14 September 1808,” she had announced to the empty room. “Fitzwilliam shall will be surprised to learn Perdita Sanderson is a year older than my dear husband recalled.”
Diligently, she had translated several related passages. She found with gratitude that Samuel had used the same coded pattern for the entries. In his own words, Darcy’s cousin spoke of contacting a gentleman in a newly minted state in what was once known as the Northwest Territory in America. According to the late Mr. Darcy, Ohio had become a state in 1803. Surprisingly, Samuel spoke of having explored several sections of the land beyond the mountains of Virginia some fifteen years prior, and having made the acquaintance of a Giles O’Grady. The gentleman of Samuel’s acquaintance had passed some ten years prior, but Samuel had maintained his correspondence with Mr. O’Grady’s son, Peter.
Three years prior, the younger O’Grady had contacted Samuel Darcy with news of an invention Peter thought would awaken Samuel’s scientific hunger. Samuel and the younger O’Grady had corresponded regularly, and Darcy’s cousin Samuel had offered financial support for the man’s efforts.
Samuel Darcy had traveled to America twice in the past eight years. The earlier of the journeys had served as a duty call on the O’Grady’s, for Cousin Samuel had held a great affection for the elder. Samuel had written, “Giles O’Grady had saved my life when I foolishly stumbled into a bear trap. Giles nursed me to health over a six-weeks’ period. In gratitude, I had made O’Grady a gift of a loan so Giles could purchase his homestead. A proud one, Giles refused my thanks, but I finally convinced O’Grady to accept my money. I held no doubts of Giles’ success. My friend repaid me every penny.”
Elizabeth enjoyed reading of the O’Grady family, but when Samuel Darcy began to speak of the likelihood of the young O’Grady’s creation exploding if not handled properly, she had ceased her translation and had studied the sketches Samuel had made in the margins. “Fitzwilliam referred to this device as some sort of torpedo.” Elizabeth turned the sketch on its side, and upside down. “I have not the right of it,” she grumbled as she compared one sketch to another. Each drawing displayed more details than the previous one. “I can give no account of what I have read,” Elizabeth said in frustration. “Perhaps Fitzwilliam or the colonel will understand these notations.”
She had left the pages behind to stand and stare out the window. Heavily, she leaned against the frame. Elizabeth’s cheek rested against the cool pane. “Protect him, God,” she whispered to the night sky. She said no more. God would know her sentiments regarding the probability of Darcy’s demise.
There she stood from three to five of the clock, staring out the window, gazing at the road, but seeing nothing. She kept an anxious vigil awaiting Darcy’s return. As dawn’s fingers broke through the blackness, her anxiety increased. “Where is he?” she whispered as she searched the outline of trees and shrubbery on the horizon. Elizabeth reasoned, “If he were injured, Mr. Holbrook would have brought word.” For a brief moment, she felt the satisfaction of Darcy’s continued health, but the dread Elizabeth had forcibly placed aside reared its ugly head. “But if Darcy were dead…” She stared intently at the narrow path leading to the main road, the same road her husband would ride upon his return. Hot tears pricked her eyes, and Elizabeth could not catch her breath. “Would …would they not inform me?” she sobbed. “Would they not permit me to comfort Fitzwilliam in his last hours? His last minutes?”
A figure appeared at the far end of the path, and for the pause of three heartbeats, hope swelled in Elizabeth’s chest. She clung to the sash and watched as the figure moved closer. Her heart lurched. “Not Darcy,” she whispered. The figure belonged to a woman. “Too spry for Mrs. Jacobs,” she reasoned.
Whoever she was, Woodvine was the female’s destination. Elizabeth turned from the window. She quickly gathered Samuel’s journals and shoved them from view between the mattresses of her bed. She would hide them more carefully upon her return. Elizabeth shed the satin robe she had worn over a simple chocolate-brown day dress. She had donned the robe to fight the night’s chill. She had chosen the brown dress for its warmth when she had hoped to accompany Darcy to the field. When her husband had refused, Elizabeth had remained dressed for an impending emergency.
Now, she caught up a heavy wool shawl before rushing toward the servants’ stairs. Elizabeth meant to meet their visitor and learn news of her husband. Surely, a woman would not be on the road at this hour without words of pressing importance.
Elizabeth burst into the kitchen just as the door opened quietly upon the room. Few servants were about at this hour, and other than a scullery maid filling a kettle with water at the well, no one stirred. The familiarity of the visitor’s countenance subtracted from the surprise Elizabeth might have felt otherwise.
“Mrs. Ridgeway?” Elizabeth hissed. “What has brought you to Woodvine at this hour?”
The woman glanced to where the door to Mrs. Holbrook’s small room was propped open with a broom. She stilled, her features, initially, going flat. With a grimace, the housekeeper caught Elizabeth’s arm and tugged her in the direction of an alcove that served as a stillroom. “I came to fetch you, Mrs. Darcy,” she whispered.
“Why all the secrecy?” Elizabeth asked.
“Mr. Stowbridge did not want the others to know what happened in Mr. Rupp’s field.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She let out a long exhale. It was her impatience showing, but Mrs. Ridgeway appeared to ignore Elizabeth’s exigency. “You have word of my husband.” The housekeeper nodded curtly. “Is Mr. Darcy in health?” Elizabeth asked through trembling lips.
Mrs. Ridgeway tugged Elizabeth along a passage to a side entrance. “I cannot say for certain,” she said seriously. “For I have not seen Mr. Darcy personally. Mr. Stowbridge thinks such matters are not in the realm of a lady’s disposition.”
Elizabeth could hear the strained words, a sound of contention between the housekeeper and the woman’s new employer, but she had more pressing concerns. “Speak to me of Mr. Darcy.” She rushed to keep pace with the housekeeper. They had exited Woodvine and had set off across the well-tended lawns.
Mrs. Ridgeway spoke over her shoulder at the trailing Elizabeth. “I possess only the knowledge of second tongue and in what I overheard Mr. Holbrook tell Mr. Stowbridge.”
Elizabeth caught the housekeeper’s arm and dragged the woman to a halt. For a discomfiting moment, neither of them moved. “I understand,” she said with more calm than she possessed, “that Mr. Stowbridge did not confide in you. Yet, if you possess any knowledge of Mr. Darcy, I demand you speak of it immediately.”
Mrs. Ridgeway’s eyes appeared distant, and Elizabeth could not read the woman’s true intentions; yet, she would let nothing stand between herself and her husband. The lady paused for what seemed forever, but was likely only a handful of seconds. Finally, Mrs. Ridgeway said, “If you will accompany me, I shall explain what I have learned. I think it best if we speak while we walk. It will save time, and, as I am certain you will wish to reach Mr. Darcy’s side as soon as possible, we should hurry our steps.”
Elizabeth offered, “Should I have someone saddle horses or bring around a gig?”
Mrs. Ridgeway tutted her disapproval. “By In the time it would take to rouse one of Captain Tregonwell’s men to assist us, and then have the gentleman find us appropriate transportation, you could be reunited with your husband. That is assuming you do not mind a walk across a country lane.”
Elizabeth despised the challenging tone in the woman’s voice, but she hesitated only a moment to glance toward the house before making her decision. “Lead on, Mrs. Ridgeway,” she said with determination.
The housekeeper strode toward the line of trees, and Elizabeth quickened her step to keep abreast of the woman. “This is what I overheard when Mr. Holbrook came to Stowe Hall in the early hours.” Their pace slowed when they reached the rough terrain of the wooded area. “Mr. Samuel’s groom called at the squire’s house at a little past four of the clock. He told Mr. Stowbridge a most astounding tale.”
Elizabeth and the housekeeper climbed a stile and emerged on the other side. Mrs. Ridgeway set a diagonal path across the field. “Mr. Holbrook spoke of discovering a coven celebrating Beltane under the stars where the old monoliths are found. Do you know the field, Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth wished the woman would speak of Darcy’s condition, but she understood the housekeeper’s perverseness. Mrs. Ridgeway held all the high cards, and Elizabeth was a mere player. She said encouragingly, “I am familiar with Mr. Rupp’s land.”
The housekeeper continued her tale and the punishing exercise. When they exited the field over a like stile, Elizabeth realized this was a part of the estate with which she was unfamiliar, but she brushed the thought aside as she hiked her skirt to maintain her gait. If Mrs. Ridgeway thought her a pampered lady of the ton, the housekeeper was in for a surprise. Elizabeth was not afraid of a long walk or a steady stride.
“Apparently, Mr. Barriton had taken Mrs. Jacobs prisoner and threatened to kill the woman.”
Elizabeth heard the derision in Mrs. Ridgeway’s voice. She supposed the woman thought Mrs. Jacobs deserved part of her punishment. Elizabeth said cautiously, “Mr. Darcy and Mr. McKye journeyed to Mr. Rupp’s field to stop Mr. Barriton.”
“Well, they certainly managed to accomplish their task,” the housekeeper declared. “One of Mr. Tregonwell’s men shot Mr. Barriton after the man shoved Mrs. Jacobs into the fire the coven had built in Mr. Rupp’s field.”
Elizabeth offered up a silent prayer that it had not been Darcy who had dispatched Mr. Barriton. She thought such an act would lie heavily on her husband’s conscience. “Was Mrs. Jacobs injured badly?”
The housekeeper led Elizabeth deeper into the woods. Elizabeth supposed this was the shortcut to Stowe Hall. She glanced around to learn her bearings.
“According to Mr. Holbrook, he was to seek the services of the junior surgeon Mr. Glover had once trained,” Mrs. Ridgeway shared.
“Mr. Newby,” Elizabeth provided the name.
Mrs. Ridgeway confided. “If Geoffrey Glover trained the man, Mr. Newby will serve this community well. Mr. Glover was a man of science.”
Elizabeth’s patience had worn thin. She had thought to permit Mrs. Ridgeway her moment. In some ways, she supposed she owed the housekeeper that much, for Mrs. Ridgeway’s forced exit from Woodvine had placed the woman in an untenable position. In truth, Elizabeth felt a bit of guilt for having dismissed the woman, but she could no longer tolerate the lack of news of her husband. “Please,” she said as she came to a halt. “I beg of you; speak to me of Mr. Darcy. I cannot bear not knowing.”
The housekeeper came to an abrupt standstill. She turned to Elizabeth, and with a smile of what appeared to be satisfaction, she said, “Mr. Holbrook was to fetch the surgeon to tend your husband. It appears Mr. Darcy fought with the kidnapper. Your husband was stabbed with some sort of ceremonial knife. Mr. Holbrook says Mr. Darcy has lost a significant quantity of blood.”
Elizabeth felt her legs buckle, and she could do little to prevent herself sinking to her knees. Darcy had been seriously injured. While she slept at her small desk, her husband had lain in a field, possibly bleeding to death. “Dear God,” her trembling lips offered in supplication. “Do not take him from me.” She swayed in place as the darkness rushed in.
“Mrs. Darcy,” the housekeeper said brusquely. “We have no time for histrionics. Your reaction is why I have waited to speak of your husband.”
Despite wishing to rock herself for comfort, Elizabeth gave herself a sound mental shake. She bit her lip to prevent the cry of anguish on the tip of her tongue. She looked up into the disapproving countenance of the housekeeper. However, she did not apologize; instead Elizabeth managed to stagger to her feet. “What else should I know?” Elizabeth asked fearfully.
“Mr. Stowbridge sent word of his late return to Stowe Hall. In the message, he indicated the surgeon had seen to your husband and had advised Mr. Darcy to permit Mrs. Rupp to nurse him until a coach could be sent from Woodvine. However, Mr. Darcy insisted on returning to your side.”
Elizabeth thought how like Darcy it was to recognize her concern and, therefore, place himself in danger in order to relieve Elizabeth’s anxiety. “Where is my husband now? At Stowe Hall?”
“They found him on the road after he could not sit his horse. Mr. Newby is treating Mr. Darcy in a small tenants’ cottage while Mr. Holbrook escorts Mrs. Jacobs to Woodvine and returns with a wagon. Tregonwell’s men assist Mr. Stowbridge with the investigation and the prisoners.” The woman turned back to the path, and Elizabeth fell in step beside her. “It was thought that Mr. Darcy would prove a better patient with you in attendance.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a smile shaped Elizabeth’s lips. She could easily imagine aristocratic Darcy barking orders to the young surgeon. That is if he were able, Elizabeth cautioned herself. “Where is this cottage?” she asked in concern.
“One more field to cross,” Mrs. Ridgeway said confidently. “See.” The woman pointed to where a thatched roof could be seen behind an overgrown hedgerow.
Elizabeth quickened her stride. “Why in the world would they have taken shelter in such a deserted area?”
The housekeeper shrugged her shoulders. “It is the way of men to make women’s lives complicated.” The woman looked off in the opposite direction. “If you have no other need of my time, Mrs. Darcy, I will leave you to tending to your husband. I am certain Mr. Darcy has no desire for my presence.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement and watched as the woman turned her steps toward Stowe Hall. Alone in the early morning hours, she rushed across the field, which now stood in fallow. Her heart pounded in her ears from the speed of their journey and from the all-encompassing fear which surrounded her. Would she be in time? Mr. Holbrook said Mr. Darcy had lost a significant quantity of blood. Men did not normally worry so unless danger existed. Was Mr. Newby skilled enough to stop the bleeding? What of infection? She lifted her skirts higher and quickened her pace. Soon she was running, needing to reach Darcy before it was too late.
Gasping for air, Elizabeth burst into the small cottage, nothing more than a one-room sanctuary from the cold, to discover a profound silence. Nothing moved within. Her chest heaved from her run and from the heart heart-stopping realization that Mrs. Ridgeway had erred somehow. She caught at the stitch of pain in her side. “Where is he? Where is my husband?” she croaked.
An arm caught her across the neck while another hand placed a large damp handkerchief over her mouth and nose. “Dead,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear. ”Mr. Darcy is dead.”
When writing any mystery, the author cannot just have a murderer and a victim. He/She must also have suspects, red herrings (false clues), motives, and deception. There must be a balance between the suspense and the story’s pace must be maintained. The red herrings must lead the reader (and likely the hero/heroine) astray, but they cannot hijack the story line. Then one must mix in the subplots without destroying the purpose of solving the crime. In addition, a cozy mystery has other distinct qualities.
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1. The murder is either bloodless or committed before the story begins.
2. Violence, sex, and coarse language are held to a minimum or referenced off scene.
3. The villain is apprehended and punished at the end of the story.
4. The amateur sleuth who solves the crime is an upstanding person with good values and minor faults.
5. The amateur sleuth has an “occupation” unrelated to detective work. He/she is remarkably capable in deciphering clues and making connections.
6. Standard cozies involved greed, jealousy, or revenge as the motive.
7. The setting is limited in its pool of suspects (likely a small town, neighborhood, an English manor, etc.)
8. Investigating the crime makes the amateur detective the target of the murderer.
9. The cozy is designed for a gradual revelation of clues, which lead to a surprise ending.
10. A bit of romance parallels the main story line in the subplots.
Among my Austenesque works, Colonel Fitzwilliam remains my favorite. Although Austen provides us so little information on the good colonel, I have my own opinions of the man, and in Christmas at Pemberley and The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy, I have discovered a gentleman I really liked. (Actually, for me, defining Colonel Fitzwilliam in Vampire Darcy’s Desire opened up new possibilities. I was not truly satisfied with my characterization of the Colonel in my earlier works.) He has more layers in Christmas at Pemberley and TheDisappearance of Georgiana Darcy – was more than just Darcy’s sidekick. Readers will find him defined by his actions and his code of conduct.
Unlike some other Austenesque authors, I have called my Colonel Fitzwilliam “Edward” because “Edward” is my father’s name. In my later works, the Colonel has become a bit more of an alpha male, meaning he is successful in his chosen field. Although far from perfect, Edward Fitzwilliam acts from honor. He does not rest upon his laurels nor does he use his position as an earl’s son to bend people’s wills for his own benefit. The colonel possesses integrity; there are unwritten laws he will not violate. He is masculine, charismatic, and sensual. In each of my cozy mysteries and in my vampiric tale, Colonel Fitzwilliam does not simply rationalize what is best to solve Darcy’s dilemma, he acts to resolve the situation, and in a reversal of plots, it is Darcy who solves Fitzwilliam’s dilemma in The Prosecution of Mr. Darcy’s Cousin.
To provide you an opportunity to explore The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy, I thought I might provide you a taste of the story with three short excerpts and a bit about the historical setting. The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy begins some three months after the close of Christmas at Pemberley. At the end of Christmas at Pemberley, Georgiana Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam have married in a rush before he must join Wellington at Waterloo. At the beginning of The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy, Georgiana, in anticipation of her husband’s return to England, has traveled to Galloway in Scotland to prepare the Fitzwilliam property for their “honeymoon.” Alone on the Scottish moors, Georgiana receives word her beloved Edward has died on the battlefield. Distraught, she races from the home she had set in preparation for celebrating their joining.
Back at Pemberley, Darcy and Elizabeth are told in a hastily written letter from the Fitzwilliam housekeeper how the staff have conducted a search for Darcy’s sister on the Merrick moor, and Georgiana is presumed dead.The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy is a cozy mystery based on the Scottish legends of the Merrick Moor and of Sawney Bean.
EXCERPT #1 (A girl has been found upon the moors and placed in a prison cell.)
Although the nightmare had returned, when a brace of candles floated into the room her eyes opened to devour the precious light. She pushed herself to a seated position and shoved several loose strands of hair behind her ears. She no longer possessed an idea of the number of days and nights she had spent curled up on the hard cot.
“I ‘ave brought ye a warmer gown—one of wool,” a female voice said. “If ye will change from yer fine cloth, I’ll be seeing to the stains.” The woman placed the expected food plate on the small stool. “I ’ave brought ye a bit of cheese this time.”
She watched the movements—memorizing the actions. How would it feel to walk across the room—to stretch her cramped muscles? By twisting awkwardly, she had managed to stand beside the cot and to mark her steps in place. To provide her weakened legs some much-required relief. But actually to take a step would be glorious. However, even the slightest shift on her part allowed the manacle to cut into her wrist.
“Come,” the woman said as she unlocked the metal cuff and assisted her to her feet. “There. Doest that not feel better?” The woman rubbed her hands with her own, and life rushed into the girl’s fingertips. She searched the woman’s face, but all she could discern was the lady’s age. Likely her late fifties. Silver-gray hair. Very strong hands. Not dainty like those of a woman of good breeding. Her ministrations indicated the woman did not readily retreat from hard work. Was she someone familiar? She could not be certain for the shadows robbed the girl of her savior’s other features. “Permit me to assist ye with yer laces and yer stays.”
Obediently, the girl turned her back to the woman. “My, yer skin be so smooth,” her captor said. The gown slipped down her body to the floor, and she stepped from it. A cold shiver rocked her spine, but she kept her focus on her surroundings. Where was she? Could she escape? The room resembled a cell–a place for prisoners, which is exactly what she was: someone’s prisoner, and she need never to forget that fact. Breaching the stone walls was not possible. She would require another form of flight.
“This gown should be making ye more comfortable.” The woman dropped the cloth over her head and began to lace the eyelets. Without her stays, she would be able to move more freely. “I ’ave also brought ye some gloves, as well as this strip of cloth. It’ll be keepin’ the shackle from cuttin’ into yer skin.”
She turned to the stranger. “Must I be returned to the cuff?” She wanted to explore her options more fully, but she permitted the woman to refasten the chain.
“I ’ave no right to order it otherwise.” Her captor’s gravelly voice held sadness, but the girl wondered if the woman offered an untruth. Something did not feel right. A shiver ran down the girl’s spine as she bent to accept the fastening.
“Then to whom should I plead my case?” she implored.
The woman’s mouth set in a tight line. “You’ll see in time.” The stranger straightened the gown’s line, tugging at the seams. “It be a bit tighter than I be thinkin’,” the woman said as she bent to retrieve the discarded traveling dress from the floor.
Without considering the gesture, the girl’s hand came to rest upon her abdomen. “My family shall pay whatever you ask for my release,” she said softly.
“Not yer husband?” the woman accused as she strode toward the door.
“My husband is dead,” the girl said softly into the empty room.
EXCERPT #2 (When Elizabeth Darcy discovers the news of Georgiana’s disappearance, she chases her husband into the Scottish countryside. She refuses to permit Darcy to face the possibility of Georgiana’s death alone.)
“How much farther, Mrs. Darcy?” Ruth Joseph asked as she shifted in the coach’s seat.
“Mr. Simpson reports we should be in Gretna Green within the hour. We shall spend the night. I would like to share some time outdoors with Bennet. I miss walking about with my son in my arms.”
“From Gretna, where to next?” Mary asked as she searched the landscape.
“Tomorrow, we shall turn toward Dumfries and then onto Thornhill. The next day we shall arrive at Kirkconnel.” Elizabeth, too, stared at the changing scenery. “The land seems so hard,” she said as she thought of her home. “I once considered Derby and the Peak District quite savage, especially as compared to Hertfordshire. Yet, it was not wild, but wonderfully majestic and as old as time. Now, I look at this rugged terrain and wonder about those who live in the Scottish Uplands.” Elizabeth sighed deeply. “Will these people have nurtured Mr. Darcy’s sister? Is she safe among those who eke out a living in this rocky soil? Will such people treat kindly a girl who until not two years prior shrank from her own shadow?”
EXCERPT #3 (When the girl who was held prisoner falls and strikes her head upon the harden floor, she is moved to a room where her captors can tend her.)
“There. There.” The woman patted the back of her hand. “Ye be safe. We let nothin’ happen to you.”
The girl opened her eyes wider. The room was cleaner and larger than she had expected. “Where am I?” She attempted to sit up, but the woman pressed her back.
“Might be best not to move too quickly,” she said.
The girl sank into the soft cushions. “I am thankful for your consideration, but I would know the name of my rescuers and of my current direction.”
The woman captured her hand. The warmth felt comforting against her chilled fingers; yet, a warning rang in her subconscious. She could not pinpoint the exact moment betrayal manifested itself upon the woman’s countenance, but it had made a brief appearance. The girl’s breathing shallowed in response. “We be the MacBethan family, and you be a guest at our home in Ayr. Me oldest son is the current laird. Of course, ye know me youngest Aulay.” She gestured to a young man in his twenties waiting patiently by the door. “One of arn men found ye and brung ye to arn home. Do ye remember any of wot I tell?”
The girl’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I recall a different room, and I remember your presenting me with a fresh gown.”
“And that be all ye remember?” The woman asked curiously. “Nothin’ of yer home? Yer family befoe ye came to Normanna Hall?”
The lines of the girl’s forehead met. A figure stroking her hair softly fluttered at the edges of her memory. And another of water sucking the air from her lungs. Tentatively, she said, “Only what I have previously said.” She would not speak more of the comfort the figure had given her until she knew what she faced in this house. The woman shot a quick glance at her son. Soothing the hair from her face, she told the girl, “The room must ’ave been the sick-room. Ye be lost on the moor for some time and be in despair. We not be knowin’ if’n ye wud live. The family be thankin’ the gods for yer recovery.”
The girl stared at the woman who tenderly stroked her arm; nothing of what this woman spoke rang true; yet, she could not dispute the obvious. She had suffered, and she was a stranger at Normanna Hall. “May I know your name?”
“Dolina MacBethan. Me late husband, may he rest in peace, and now me son be Wotherspoon.”
“Dost thou raise sheep?” The girl inquisitively asked before she could resist the urge to know more of her surroundings. She knew something of the derivation of the family’s peerage.
The woman pointedly dropped her hand. “The family surname comes from those who tend sheep. It be an honest trade. Although our fortunes are now tied to Galloway cattle. The land be not so fit for farmin’.”
The girl shoved herself to her elbows. “I meant no offense.” The woman’s tone reminded her that she would need to guard her impulsive tongue.
As she watched, her hostess purposely smiled; yet, the gesture did not appear genuine. “Of course, ye not be offering an offense. ye be part of the family. Or very near to being so.”
Suspicion returned, but the girl schooled her tone. “I am a part of the MacBethan family? When did that happy event occur?”
“It not be official.” The woman straightened her shoulders. “Ye have accepted Aulay’s plight, and we be planned a joinin’ in a week or so. As soon as ye be regainin’ yer strength.”
“I am to marry Aulay?” she said incredulously. “How can that be? Until a few hours ago, I held no memory of your son. He is a stranger to me.”
The woman turned quickly toward the door; she shooed her son from the room. “I be givin’ ye time to remember yer promise to this family, Lady Esme, and yer lack of gratitude for our takin’ ye to our bosom.”
“Lady Esme?” The girl called after her. “Is that my name?”
The woman turned to level a steady gaze on her. “Obviously, it be yer name. Ye be Lady Esme Lockhart, and ye be Aulay’s betrothed.
***
“Mam?” Aulay whispered in concern once they were well removed from the closed doorway. “Wot have ye done? She not be Lady Esme Lockhart.” he gestured toward the room where they detained the girl. “She no more be Lady Esme than I be Domhnall.”
Dolina shushed his protest. “Didnae ye hear the gel? She cannae remember her own name. We kin create the perfect mate fer ye. Do ye not comprehend? I knows ye be slow, but it must be as plain as the lines on me face. She cannae rescind her agreement without just cause. It not be the ’onorable thing to do. Besides, when the gel recalls the bairn she carries, then she’ll be glad to ’ave a man who’ll accept another’s child.”
“But we be tellin’ her the truth?” he insisted. “We tell the gel of ’er real family?”
His mother rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Certainly, we’ll tell the gel of ’er roots. But for now, she be Lady Esme.”
This is the infamous “Murder Hole.” Legend has it many years ago weary travelers were robbed and their bodies dumped in the hole never to be seen again. In summer. there is a ring of reeds growing around the hole but none grow in it. It’s also rumored in even the coldest winters, the centre never freeze.
Book Blurb:
Shackled in the dungeon of a macabre castle with no recollection of her past, a young woman finds herself falling in love with her captor–the estate’s master. Yet, placing her trust in him before she regains her memory and unravels the castle’s wicked truths would be a catastrophe.
Far away at Pemberley, the Darcys happily gather to celebrate the marriage of Kitty Bennet. But a dark cloud sweeps through the festivities: Georgiana Darcy has disappeared without a trace. Upon receiving word of his sister’s likely demise, Darcy and wife, Elizabeth, set off across the English countryside, seeking answers in the unfamiliar and menacing Scottish moors.
How can Darcy keep his sister safe from the most sinister threat she has ever faced when he doesn’t even know if she’s alive? True to Austen’s style and rife with malicious villains, dramatic revelations and heroic gestures, this suspense-packed mystery places Darcy and Elizabeth in the most harrowing situation they have ever faced – finding Georgiana before it is too late.
ALL BOOKS FEATURED THIS MONTH ARE ON SALE IN THE eBOOK VERSION FOR $1.39. GRAB THEM WHILE THE PRICE IS RIGHT. THE SALE ENDS SUNDAY, 5 NOVEMBER, 2023.
In late 2009, at the height of the Twilight mania, Ulysses Press (my traditional publisher at the time) approached me regarding my writing a vampiric version of Pride and Prejudice. [Each book in the Twilight series was inspired by and loosely based on a different literary classic: Twilight on Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, New Moon on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Eclipse on Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (which is ironic because most critics consider Heathcliff’s digging up Catherine’s grave a form of vampirism), and Breaking Dawn on a second Shakespeare play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream [with a bit of A Merchant of Venice).] I will tell you upfront I lodged my initial objection to the idea of mixing my Jane Austen with the paranormal. Eventually, though, I succumbed to my friends’ advice. If you know anything of me, you know I jumped into the research of vampires with both feet.
The problem with writing about vampires in the Regency is the idea of vampirism was still much in a legend rather than in literature. One must recall Dracula was not released until 1897, some 80+ years after the tale found in Pride and Prejudice.
Therefore in my tale, I depended heavily on the legends of vampires, Celtic gods, and the baobhan sith (Scottish female vampires). I mixed those with a traditional Scottish ballad, the tale of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellender. The story within the ballad likely dates back to the time of Charles II, and the ballad probably dates back further. It is still popular in England, Ireland and Scotland. There are similar stories in Norse and other European ballads. It is also found in the Appalachian Mountain region in the U.S.
Unfortunately, the original book I wrote for Ulysses Press is now out of print. Problem Resolved. I can self publish the book. So I rereleased Vampire Darcy’s Desirewith a flashy new cover from Chris Kudi. The story is essentially the same as the one from before. However, if you have never read it, what better month than October and Halloween to take on a paranormal version which includes our favorite couple?
Book Blurb: Vampire Darcy’s Desire presents Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice as a heart-pounding vampire romance filled with passion and danger.
Tormented by a 200-year-old curse and his fate as a half human/half vampire dhampir, Fitzwilliam Darcy vows to live a solitary life rather than inflict the horrors of his life upon an innocent wife and his first born son. However, when he encounters the captivating Elizabeth Bennet, his will is sorely tested.
As a man, Darcy yearns for Elizabeth, but as a vampire, he is also driven to possess her. Uncontrollably drawn to each other, they are forced to confront a different kind of “pride” and his enemy’s “prejudice,” while wrestling with the seductive power of forbidden love. Evil forces, led by George Wickham, the purveyor of the curse, attack from all sides, and Darcy learns his only hope to survive is to align himself with Elizabeth, who is uncannily astute is how to defeat Wickham, a demon determined to destroy each generation of Darcys.
Vampire Darcy’s Desire retells Austen’s greatest love story in a hauntingly compelling tale. Can love be the only thing that can change him? Check out these Reviews: JustJane1813 and The Royal Reviews
Excerpt:
Elizabeth thumbed through the book she found on the floor as the clerk totaled her purchases and prepared them for shipping to Derbyshire. She noted references to the crucifix, the rosary, and holy water, as well as beliefs regarding mirrors. She remembered Wickham’s blurry reflection in the window in Meryton, and suddenly things made sense. Darcy told her of using the vial of holy water when Wickham approached Georgiana at Ramsgate. On another page, she discovered that Germans believed the head should be buried between the feet to release the soul. It seems as though Darcy was right on that point, she thought.
Flipping the page again, her eyes fell on a sketch of a woman holding a crucifix and a vampire retreating. She thought how foolish the drawing appeared until she read the caption: “Say the vampire’s name backwards as you bring forth the crucifix.” Well, she thought, I wonder if that would do the trick? Elizabeth closed the book and slid it toward the clerk.
“This is quite an agglomerate,” the old man said with amusement.
“My father reads everything having to do with Scottish beliefs, folklore, and customs,” she declared. “I thought to share these with him after I learn more about the beginnings of the well-dressing ceremonies. I understand them to be based on ancient pagan customs. Mr. Darcy and I only recently married, and I have yet to see his estate. I do not want the villagers to judge my ignorance on such traditions as being a poor reflection on my husband. Moreover, I have a cousin who leaves for Jamaica soon. I thought he would find the books on spirits and such amusing.”
“Your thoughtfulness is admirable, Mrs. Darcy,” the man observed as he stacked the items. The shopkeeper picked up the last two books. “And these are to be delivered to Darcy House?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I require.”
* * *
Stepping from the bookstore, Elizabeth found neither her husband nor the carriage. “Where can they be?” she mused aloud. “Surely Georgiana and Belton are at the coach by now.” Impatient, as usual, she paced along the walkway. It was not like Darcy to be late. Never had she known him to be tardy for anything. Agitated, she searched both sides of the street for her husband, Georgiana, or even one of the servants in the Darcy livery. Reaching the alley, a flash of color along a row of boxes caught her eye, and, intuitively, Elizabeth turned toward the bright object. It is Georgiana’s slipper!How did it get there? And where is she? Impulsively, she rushed forward to retrieve it.
The overhang of the buildings blocked the little winter sun the day offered, and the alley itself, although not totally black, was heavily draped in shadows. “Georgiana?” she called, and then listened before stepping further into the opening. Nothing moved, and Elizabeth turned to leave, but then a muffled whimper froze her in place.
“Georgiana!” she yelled louder, before charging into the dusky obscurity.
As if a theatrical light were thrown on the scene, Elizabeth stared in horror at the tableau playing out before her. Georgiana, wide-eyed, stood in the narrow, gloom-filled street. Wickham held one hand over her mouth and the other wrapped around her waist, and her hands were tied behind her back. Georgiana struggled to free herself, but Wickham’s mouth remained poised above the indentation of her neck.
“Step away, Wickham!” Elizabeth’s voice rebounded off the brick walls.
“Mrs. Darcy.” He raised his head but did not release his captive. “You may be next, but you must wait your turn, my dear. Your lovely sister is ahead of you.”
Elizabeth squared her shoulders. If she could delay the wretched creature who was hovering over Georgiana, mayhap Darcy would arrive in time to assist her. She spoke slowly and loudly: “I said to release her!”
“If you insist, Elizabeth,” Wickham said with a laugh, but he did not slacken his hold on Georgiana. “You may go first.”
“I am not Elizabeth to you,” she insisted. She lifted the chain from about her neck, exposing the jeweled cross. “You will release Mr. Darcy’s sister.”
He challenged, “Do you think that pitiful crucifix has any effect on me?”
“Actually, I believe it does,” she asserted. “If not, you would have claimed me at the Netherfield Manor House.” She extended the cross before her for protection. “I think, Mr. Wickham, the reason Georgiana is still alive is because she wears a similar crucifix.”
“This thing?” Wickham used his hand to flick at the chain, but Elizabeth noted he did not touch the cross.
Realizing Georgiana required hope if they stood a chance of surviving this encounter, Elizabeth addressed Darcy’s sister directly: “Georgiana, you must believe in your brother. The crucifix protects you as long as you wear it.” She watched with satisfaction as the terror on the girl’s face diminished. “Your brother does all to protect you. Continue to believe in him.”
Wickham jerked Georgiana closer, but Elizabeth noted a bit of confusion cross his expression.
“Why do you care if I take her?” Wickham countered. “Why not claim the freedom you will earn with her death?”
“Because we all swore to end the curse that our ancestors began,” Elizabeth said coolly.
“Our ancestors?” Wickham repeated sneeringly.
Elizabeth smiled. “Do you really not know that Arawn Benning, the Lord Thomas of the tale, was my ancestor, just as Ellender D’Arcy was William’s? How ignorant you are! It is Fate that brings my dear husband and me together. You cannot defeat us, Wickham,” she insisted.
“Yet I can still exact my revenge.”
Elizabeth attempted to think of something to frighten Wickham away. She still clutched the crucifix before her. Then she thought of the diagram from the book. “Wickham George!” she called out as she took a step forward.
Wickham did not turn a hair. “My followers call me My lord. You may do so when you join me.”
“Pigs will sprout wings first.” Elizabeth’s mind raced. If Darcy were coming, he would be here. Reverse the letters. Visualize Wickham’s name and reverse the letters. It was a silly thought, but she was desperate. “Mahkicw Egroeg!” she tried.
“Gibberish, Mrs. Darcy?” Wickham inquired mockingly. “You are grasping at straws, my dear.” He lowered his voice and spoke in an intimate tone, “Taking you will double my pleasure. Revenge on both the D’Arcys and the Bennings in one fell swoop.”
For October, I thought to highlight some of my mysteries and suspense novels. Heck, it is the time for ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the dark.
ALL BOOKS FEATURED THIS MONTH ARE ON SALE ON FOR $1.39. GRAB THEM WHILE THE PRICE IS RIGHT. THESE BOOKS IN eBOOK FORMAT ARE AVAILABLE UNTIL NOVEMBER 5.
Today, I bring you The Phantom of Pemberley.
In 2010, Ulysses Press released The Phantom of Pemberley: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery. It was the first of my cozy mysteries, and it remains a favorite. Two years ago, I received the rights to all my Ulysses Press titles back from the company. I have slowly been rereleasing them with new covers and to new readers. I would love to share something of the historical tidbit that is the key to solving the mystery, but, as I skipped kindergarten (and a few other grades), I never learned to share properly. LOL! The whole “solving the mystery thing” revolves around one key clue all the characters miss. Will you be wiser than they are?
One idea I will share with you is the legend of “Hat Man.” The legend of the Hat Man plays a large role inThe Phantom of Pemberley.
Shadow People are supernatural shadow-like humanoid figures that, according to believers, are seen flickering on walls and ceilings in the viewer’s peripheral vision. They are often reported moving with quick, jerky movements, and quickly disintegrate into walls or mirrors. They are believed to be evil and aggressive in nature, although a few people consider them to be a form of guardian angel.
Reportedly, Wes Craven based Freddy Krueger on an experience Craven had as a young boy. He once saw a scary looking man wearing a bowler hat. The man had scars all covering his face. People who reportedly come across a “hat man” usually claim to feel a frightening feeling, as if they are being threatened. While some ghosts do not seem aware of the presence of the living, it appears shadow people do. Witnesses claim, despite not seeing his face, they have a sense the hat man is staring right at them.
Furthermore, it would seem this entity’s sole purpose in visiting people is to make them as uncomfortable and frightened as possible. The apparition normally does not try to communicate, except for the fact he is emitting bad vibes. His mere presence alone is enough to make someone feel extremely uncomfortable and even threatened.
Today, I will simply tempt you with the opening of the story, and the last line of the tale: “Then I suppose we will go down in local lore: Bungay has its Black Shuck; Cornwall, the Well of St Keyne; Somerset, the Witch of Wookey; and Cheshire, the Red Rider of Bramhall Hall. We will be known for the house populated by shadow people—the home of the Phantom of Pemberley.” Enjoy!
HAPPILY MARRIED for over a year and more in love than ever, Darcy and Elizabeth can’t imagine anything interrupting their bliss-filled days. Then an intense snowstorm strands a group of travelers at Pemberley, and terrifying accidents and mysterious deaths begin to plague the manor. Everyone seems convinced it is the work of a phantom—a Shadow Man who is haunting the Darcy family’s grand estate.
Darcy and Elizabeth believe the truth is much more menacing and someone is attempting to murder them. But Pemberley is filled with family guests as well, as the unexpected travelers—any one of whom could be the culprit—so unraveling the mystery of the murderer’s identity forces the newlyweds to trust each other first and last and to work together.
Written in the style of the era and including Austen’s romantic playfulness and sardonic humor, this suspense-packed sequel to Pride and Prejudice recasts Darcy and Elizabeth as a husband-and-wife detective team who must solve the mystery at Pemberley and catch the murderer—before it’s too late.
“WE SHOULD TURN BACK,” Fitzwilliam Darcy cautioned as they pulled their horses even and walked them side-by-side along the hedgerow. They explored the most removed boundary of the Pemberley estate, near what the locals called the White Peak.
“Must we?” Elizabeth Darcy gave her husband an expectant look. “I so enjoy being alone with you—away from the responsibilities of Pemberley.”
Darcy studied her countenance. Hers was a face he had once described as being one of the handsomest of his acquaintance, but now he considered his previous compliment a slight to the woman. Her auburn hair, her fine sea-green eyes, her pale skin, kissed with a brush of the sun, her delicate features, and her heart-shaped face made her a classic beauty, and Darcy considered himself the luckiest of men. “For a woman who once shunned riding for the pleasure of a long walk, you certainly have taken to the saddle,” he taunted.
“I have never said I preferred riding to walking. Most would think me an excellent walker,” she insisted. “It is just that when I sit atop Pandora’s back and gallop across an open field, I feel such power—as if Pandora and I were one and the same.”
Darcy chuckled. “Do you call how you ride ‘galloping,’ my love?”
“And what would you call it, Fitzwilliam?”
Even after fourteen months of marriage, he could still stir her ire, though she now understood his love for twisting the King’s English and his dry sense of humor. It had not always been so. Elizabeth had told her friend Charlotte Lucas that she could easily forgive Fitzwilliam Darcy his pride if he had not mortified hers. And Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Bennet, had once described Darcy as “a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.” Yet, none of that mattered now that he and Elizabeth were a couple, for a better understanding existed between them.
Darcy’s eyebrow shot up in amusement: He recognized the tone his wife used as one of a “dare.” They had certainly challenged each other often enough during their up and down courtship. Actually, shortly after their official engagement, Elizabeth declared it within her province to find occasions for teasing and quarreling with him as often as may be. She had playfully asked him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. The scene, so familiar now, played in his mind as if it were yesterday.
“How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning, but what could set you off in the first place?”
It was a time for honesty between them, so he told her, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.” He laced his fingers through hers.
“My beauty you had early withstood.” She teased him by running her hand up his jacket’s sleeve, and Darcy could think of nothing but the natural ease of her touch. “And as for my manners,” Elizabeth continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “my behavior to you was at least bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere, did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” he said diplomatically. He did not—could not—admit to her his dreams of making love to her. A gentleman never spoke thusly to a lady, even a lady to whom he was betrothed.
“You may as well call it impertinence at once; it was very little less.” In retrospect, Darcy silently agreed. He had often found himself lost in his fantasies of her; so much so he did not always recognize Elizabeth’s disputation as impertinence, but more of flirtation. “The fact is, you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you because I was so unlike them. You thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you.”
Startled by this revelation, Darcy had to admit Elizabeth was correct. She caught his attention because she was his complete opposite, even while she perfectly complemented his nature. With her, he had become freer. And he had come to think less poorly of the world.
Elizabeth cleared her throat, signaling to Darcy that she awaited his response. “I believe, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he said as he winked at her, “I must call it a breakneck ride from hell.”
Elizabeth glared at him for but a split second, and then she burst into laughter. “You know me too well, my husband. Most assuredly, you must take the blame. It was you who taught me to ride to the hounds.”
“Why is it, Mrs. Darcy, all your ill-habits are derived from my influence?”
“It is the way of the world, Fitzwilliam. Because God created Eve from Adam’s rib and breathed life into her form, a woman is a vessel for her husband’s generosity, but also his depravity.”
“Depravity?” He barked out a laugh. “I will show you depravity, Mrs. Darcy.” He reached for her arm, threatening to pull her from Pandora’s back to his lap.
However, Elizabeth anticipated his move, and she kicked her horse’s flank, bolting away, across the open field toward the tree line. She urged her mount faster, as her laughter tinkled in the crisp morning air, drifting back to where Darcy turned his horse to give chase.
He flicked Demon’s reins to send his stallion barreling after his wife. Although Pandora was as excellent a mare as he had ever seen, Elizabeth’s horse stood no chance of beating Demon in an out-and-out race. As he closed in on her, he admired how his wife handled her animal—how she gave Pandora her head, but still knew when to exercise control over the horse. Elizabeth was a natural, as athletic as the animal she rode.
Darcy pressed Demon a bit harder, and the distance between them shortened. As he accepted his success as inevitable, horror struck. From nowhere and from everywhere all at once, sound exploded around him. Pandora bucked and then stood upright, pawing the air. Elizabeth’s scream filled him, as her horse whipped Elizabeth backward. His wife’s leg, the one wrapped around the pummel came loose, but not the one is the stirrup until she kicked free to slide off the animal’s rump, smacking her backside hard against the frozen ground. From the tree line, the screech of an eagle taking flight set Darcy’s hair on end as he raced to her side.
Sliding from his horse’s back, he was on the ground and running to reach her. “Elizabeth,” he pleaded, “tell me you are well.” He brushed her hair from her face as he gently lifted her head in his hands.
She groaned, moving gingerly at first. “I am most properly bruised.” She brushed the dirt from her sleeve. “And I fear my pride is permanently damaged.”
Darcy kissed her forehead, relief filling his chest, as he assisted her to stand. “Are you certain you can make it on your own?” He steadied her first few steps.
Elizabeth walked with care, but with determination Darcy could admire. “Did you see him?” she asked cautiously.
“See who?” Darcy instinctively looked toward the tree line. “I saw no one, Elizabeth; I was concentrating on you.”
“The man … I swear, Fitzwilliam, there was a man … there by the opening between the two trees.” She pointed to a row of pin oaks. “A man wearing a cloak and carrying a hat.”
“Stay here,” Darcy ordered as he walked toward the copse, reaching for the pocket pistol he carried under his jacket.
* * *
Elizabeth watched him move warily to inspect where she had indicated. “Be careful, Fitzwilliam,” she cautioned as he disappeared into the thicket.
Nervously watching for his return, Elizabeth caught Pandora’s reins as her horse nibbled on tufts of wild grass. After securing her horse’s bridle, she led Pandora to where Demon waited. “Easy, boy,” she said softly as she took Demon’s reins, but she never removed her eyes from where Darcy had vanished into the shadows.
After several long moments, he emerged from behind an evergreen tree, and Elizabeth let out an audible sigh of relief. As he approached, Darcy gestured toward where he had searched. “I apologize, Elizabeth. I found nothing—not a footprint or any other kind of track. Nothing unusual.”
“Are you certain, Fitzwilliam?” Still somewhat disoriented, she anxiously looked about her. “It seemed so real.”
“Allow me to escort you home.” He moved to assist her to her mount.
“Might I ride with you, Fitzwilliam? At least, until we reach the main road again. I would feel safer in your arms. Moreover, I do not think my backside cares to meet Pandora’s saddle at this moment.”
Darcy’s smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “You cannot resist me, can you, Mrs. Darcy?”
“It is not within my power, my husband.” Despite her nervousness, she attempted to sound normal so as not to alarm Darcy.
He slid his arms around her and brushed his lips over hers.
Elizabeth’s arms encircled his neck. She lifted her chin to welcome his kiss. “You are indeed irresistible, my love.”
* * *
“I was simply uncomfortable,” Elizabeth told Mrs. Reynolds, Pemberley’s long-time housekeeper. They sat at the kitchen’s butcher-block table; they had spent the past hour going over the coming week’s menus and now shared a cup of tea.
“Ye be seein’ one of the shadow people, mistress,” Mrs. Jennings, the estate cook, remarked, although she had not been part of the initial conversation.
Elizabeth hid her smile behind her teacup; but her voice betrayed her skepticism. “Shadow people, Mrs. Jennings?”
“Yes, mistress.” The woman wiped her floured hands on her apron. “People be seein’ shadow ghosts ’round these parts for years. It be a man. Am I correct, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Yes, I believe whatever I observed was a man, although Mr. Darcy thinks it might have been some sort of animal—maybe even a bear.”
Mrs. Reynolds attempted to downplay Mrs. Jennings’ fear of the unusual, a fear apparently shared by many Derbyshire residents. “I am certain it was a bear, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy would not minimize your concerns by placating to you.”
“Most assuredly, you are correct, Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Darcy would never ignore a possible danger to anyone at Pemberley.”
Mrs. Reynolds said the words Elizabeth had heard repeated often. “Mr. Darcy is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better.”
The very man of whom they spoke strolled through the doorway. “There you are, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth offered up a bright smile: Her husband’s masculine appearance always made her heart catch in her throat. Broad shoulders—slim waist—muscular chest and back—well defined legs and buttocks—no extra padding found on the man. And Elizabeth relished the idea he had chosen her. “I apologize, Fitzwilliam; I was unaware you sought me out.”
Darcy’s steel gray eyes caught hers. “I thought we might spend some time in the conservatory; the temperature turns bitter. We are in for a spell of bad weather.”
“Really?” Elizabeth stood to join him. “My first winter in Derbyshire was quite mild. Should I expect lots of snow? We normally received some snow in Hertfordshire, but I was sadly disappointed with Derbyshire last season. I had hoped for sledding and skating.”
“Well, Mrs. Darcy, I do believe you will receive your wish.” He placed her on his arm and led her away from the kitchen and toward the main part of the house.
However, when he turned to the main staircase and their private quarters, Elizabeth leaned into his shoulder. “I thought we were to enjoy the conservatory, Mr. Darcy,” she reminded him.
Darcy tilted his head in her direction to speak privately. “Do you object to a change in our destination, my love?”
“Not even in the least, Fitzwilliam.” A blush betrayed her anticipation.
“I enjoy the flush of color on your cheeks, my sweet one.” He brought her hand to his lips. After all these months together, she now understood the powerful yearning for her that her husband had controlled only with great determination when they were together at Netherfield. If she had known then what she knew now, Elizabeth might have been frightened of Mr. Darcy, instead of thinking he disliked her. Her husband was a very passionate and loving man, something she had never considered knowing in marriage, but knew, instinctively, she could never live without.
Elizabeth tightened her hold on his arm, but she could not express her thoughts aloud. Darcy had that effect on her. Even when she had thought she despised him, in reality, she sought his attention—his regard—his approval. They made the perfect pair. Darcy provided her the freedom to have her own thoughts and opinions, something she treasured; and Elizabeth showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. She truly esteemed her husband, looked up to him as a superior. Yet, theirs was a marriage of equals in all the essentials that made people truly happy. He was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suited her. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.
“And I love you, Elizabeth.”
* * *
“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth sat up suddenly in the bed.
“Hear what?” Darcy groggily sat up and looked around for something out of place.
Elizabeth clutched the sheet to her. “I do not know. It was a click—as if a latch or a lock was being engaged.”
Darcy pulled on his breeches and began to check the room.
They had locked the door when they entered their shared chambers, and it remained secure so he examined the windows and the folding screens, but found nothing.
Elizabeth’s eyes followed his progress.
Darcy released the door lock. Peering out, he nodded to someone in the passageway and then closed the door again. Sliding the bolt in place, he turned toward the bed. “Murray is changing the candles in the hall sconces. Perhaps that is what you heard.”
“Perhaps,” she mumbled as she relaxed against the pillows. “It just sounded closer—as if it were in the room, not in the hallway.”
Darcy returned to the bed and followed her down. “I believe your fright earlier today with Pandora has colored your thoughts.” He kissed Elizabeth behind her ear and down her neck to the spot where he could easily feel her pulse throbbing under her skin. “Allow me to provide you something else upon which to dwell.”
Her moan signaled her agreement. Lost to his ministrations, neither of them heard the second click echo softly through the room.
* * *
Seventeen-year-old Lydia Bennet Wickham traveled by public conveyance to her sister Elizabeth’s Derbyshire home. It was her first journey to Pemberley, which even her husband reported to be one of the finest estates in all of England. She would rather this visit included her husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, but as Elizabeth’s husband, Mr. Darcy, refused to accept Wickham in his home, such was not possible. The men had held a long-standing disagreement, of which Lydia generally made no acknowledgment. In Lydia’s estimation, Mr. Darcy should do as the Good Book said and forgive. However, men were stubborn creatures who neither forgave nor forgot, and, much to her dismay, Mr. Darcy and her husband continued their feuding.
Lydia found the whole situation disheartening. Even Elizabeth had taken offense at her congratulatory letter, although Lydia did not understand why. She had spoken the truth, and she had lowered herself to ask for Elizabeth’s assistance, something she had once sworn she would never do. All she had asked of her sister and new brother-in-marriage had been a place at court for Wickham and three to four hundred pounds a year so she and Wickham might make ends meet. She had even told her older sister not to mention it to Mr. Darcy if Elizabeth thought it might upset him.
As far as Lydia had determined, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy appeared to think her dearest Wickham held out some hope Darcy might be prevailed on to make Wickham’s fortune; and, in Lydia’s mind, she could not see a reason the Darcys should not assist them. It all made perfect sense. Darcy had the means to assist Wickham, without damaging his own wealth. Moreover, was that not what family did for each other? If it were she and Wickham who held the wealth, they would certainly be generous to others. She hoped on this visit to soften Mr. Darcy’s feelings about her husband. Lydia recognized her strength: She could charm any man. Naturally, she despised wasting her talents on such a prideful and conceited man as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, but she would prevail on him in order to aid her husband. Mayhap then, their marriage might be saved. Wickham would stop thinking her such a poor choice if, somehow, she could sway the great Fitzwilliam Darcy.
As she bounced along the country road in a public coach, Lydia attempted to appear assured of her self-worth. She knew not many young women—married or not—traveled alone. However, Wickham had insisted. He had bought her the ticket to visit Elizabeth because he had been ordered to Bath for the upcoming month; therefore, this was Lydia’s perfect opportunity to plead their case. Her husband had seen her to Nottingham before they parted. Now, she traveled unaccompanied.
“What is a fine young lady such as yourself doing traveling alone?” A man in his thirties, who smelled of stale cigars and boiled turnips, leered at Lydia. He glanced quickly at the matronly woman riding beside her. The woman’s eyes remained closed, and she breathed deeply.
Lydia recognized the man’s intentions, and although she would never consider such an alliance, she welcomed the conversation. Sitting quietly for long periods was not part of her nature. Most acquaintances thought her chatty—boisterous even. Her husband often ordered her silence, claiming she chirped on like a magpie. “I am visiting my sister, who is near Lambton.”
“I know Lambton well, miss. Your sister is well placed, I assume.” He noted Lydia’s stylish traveling frock, one of three new pieces she had insisted she required for this journey, despite her husband’s declaration they could not afford the additional expense.
“Very well placed.” Lydia puffed up with his notice. “Do you know Pemberley?”
The man’s initial tone changed immediately. “Pemberley? Everyone for miles around knows Pemberley,” he asserted. “Might your sister be associated with such a great estate?”
His words brought satisfaction to Lydia; she thoroughly enjoyed the idea of people admiring her, even if by association. In that manner, she and Mr. Wickham were very much alike. Sometimes she dreamed of what it might be to have her own home—her own estate. And sometimes she regretted having not set her sights on Mr. Darcy herself, although Lydia supposed the man preferred Elizabeth because her older sister devoured books—just as did their father. Lydia preferred fashion to Faust and society to Shakespeare. In all considerations, Elizabeth definitely better suited the man. If Mr. Darcy treated everyone as he did her Wickham, she would disdain his company in a heartbeat. “My sister is Mrs. Darcy; she is the mistress of Pemberley.”
“The mistress of Pemberley?” The man let out a low whistle. “I am duly impressed.”
“Mrs. Darcy is one of my older sisters,” Lydia babbled, “but my eldest is Mrs. Bingley of Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley counts Mr. Darcy as his most loyal acquaintance. My husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, grew to adulthood on Pemberley. We three sisters remain connected, even though we find ourselves scattered about England. My dear Wickham serves his country: We reside in Newcastle.”
She noted how the man attempted to disguise his amusement at the situation’s irony, but there was a glint of laughter in his eye. “I know of George Wickham,” he mused. “Even in Cheshire, your husband has female admirers.” He chuckled. “It will break many hearts when I spread the story of your marriage, Mrs. Wickham. Are you newly wed?”
“Lord, no. In fact, I was the first of my sisters to marry, although I am the youngest of five. Mr. Wickham and I have been married nearly two years.”
“Two years?” The man appeared amused again. He said, “I suppose it is too late then to offer my best wishes?” His eyebrows waggled teasingly. Lydia was confused as to his reaction.
She swatted at his chest with her fan. “I am an old married woman, sir.”
As she hoped, the man provided her a compliment. “You may be married, ma’am, but you most certainly are not old nor are you the picture of matronliness.” He nodded in the direction of the sleeping woman and then winked at Lydia.
She loved flirting, even with someone who would not interest her otherwise. Wickham despised how easily men hung on her every word. She giggled, suddenly aware of the privacy of their conversation. She turned her attention to the coach’s window. “I certainly do not enjoy traveling in winter. The roads in the North were abhorrent—so many ruts and holes. Passengers could barely keep their seats. Thankfully, my husband kept me safe, but a lady who traveled with us to Lincolnshire tumbled most unceremoniously to the floor.”
The man’s eyes followed hers. “The farmers at home would probably say we are in for some bad weather. See how the line of dark clouds hug the horizon.” He pointed off to a distance. “I simply hope we make it to Cheshire before the storm hits. I prefer not being upon the road when winter blasts us with her best.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “We will stay in Matlock this evening. You should be in Lambton by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”
“I will be pleased to be away from this coach,” Lydia murmured as she settled into the well-worn cushions.
As the man drifted off to sleep, he managed to say, “You will experience the best money can purchase at Pemberley. You shall enjoy your stay, I am certain.” As she sat alone in the silence of the coach, Lydia consoled herself with the man’s words. If Mr. Darcy was as wealthy as all said, surely he could spare a bit for her and Wickham. Then, her husband would view her with respect instead of disdain.
* * *
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said. She had found her husband in his study. “Georgiana and I plan to call on some of the cottagers today.” She stood before his desk, looking down at the stack of ledgers piled five high. “I thought you might care to join us, but I see you are excessively busy.”
“I am afraid this business cannot be postponed.” He gestured to the many letters lying open before him.
Elizabeth moved to stand behind him. She snaked her arms over the chair back and around Darcy’s neck. She kissed his ear and then his cheek. “You will miss me, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired, her breath warm against his neck as she continued to kiss along his chin line. As she hoped he would act, Darcy reached up to catch her arm. In one smooth motion, he shoved his chair back, making room for her on his lap, and pulled Elizabeth to him. She rested on his legs before sliding her arms around his neck. “I love you, my husband.” She laid her head against his shoulder.
Darcy used his finger to tilt her chin upward so he might kiss her lips. “So nice,” he murmured. He deepened the kiss, and Elizabeth gloried in their closeness. “I could drown in your love,” he whispered near her ear.
“You are so not what the world expects.” Elizabeth ran her fingers through his hair.
Darcy chuckled, “I am exactly what the world expects: I serve this estate well and my sister well. Such is my role in life.”
Elizabeth envied his confidence and the deep respect he inspired in the community.
“And me well.” Elizabeth moaned as his lips found the point where her neck met her shoulder.
Darcy pulled her closer. “That is what is unexpected—how much I love you—how I can give myself over to you so completely.”
“You possess no regrets about aligning yourself with a woman without family, connections, or fortunes?” It was a question she asked often, although his answer remained the same each time.
“It amazes me you can continue to doubt my loyalty—my love. Elizabeth, you possess me body and soul. Do you not know how thoroughly I require you in my life?”
“I know,” she admitted, feeling foolish for asking the question again. “It is just that I desire to hear your professions with regularity. I realize it is foolish of me, but it is my weakness, I fear.”
“Then I will resolve to speak the words more often, my love.” He kissed her tenderly.
Elizabeth scrambled from his lap when she heard the servants outside the door. “I must leave.” She straightened the seams of her day dress. “I am certain Georgiana waits for me by now. We will return in a few hours.”
“Do not go far, my love. The winter weather looms; we are in for a bad spell.”
“Listen to you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth teased as she headed toward the door. “You sound like one of the old hags who claim they can tell the weather from their rheumatism.”
Darcy cleared his throat, stopping her exit. “Elizabeth, I have lived my whole life in Derbyshire. I understand the harshness of the winters. Trust me, my dear.”
She stopped in her tracks. “If you are serious, Fitzwilliam, I will follow your lead,” she assured him, before turning pensive. “Do you suppose Lydia will arrive before this weather changes?” She now expressed the same concern as he.
Darcy stood and came to where she waited. “A rider brought me some papers from Liverpool today, and he said the weather turned bad quickly. If he is correct, the storm is at least a day out, but it is likely to be here by early in the day tomorrow. Mrs. Wickham’s coach will be driving into the storm. Your sister may have some uncomfortable hours, but I am relatively certain she will arrive safely.”
“You will go with me to Lambton—I mean to escort Lydia to Pemberley?” Elizabeth inquired.
“I will not leave you to your own devices.” Darcy kissed her fingers. “Have a good visit with the tenants.”
“Mrs. Hudson requires someone to repair her window,” Elizabeth reminded him as she prepared to leave.
Darcy followed her to the door. “I will see to it immediately.”
* * *
Elizabeth and Georgiana took Darcy’s small coach for their visits. Often, they made their rounds on horseback or in an open curricle, but Georgiana still suffered from a head cold, and Elizabeth would take no chances with Miss Darcy’s health in the bitter weather. “We have only two more baskets,” Elizabeth said. She accepted Murray’s hand as she climbed into the coach. He closed the steps, setting them inside. “Thank you, Murray. Tell Mr. Stalling we will see the Baines and the Taylors.”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.”
Mr. Stalling turned the carriage toward the hedgerow leading to the main drive. “We will keep our visits short,” Elizabeth told Darcy’s sister. “I can tell you are not at your best today.”
“My head feels so full. Perhaps I should remain in the carriage. Both the Baines and the Taylors have a houseful of children. It would not be the Christian thing to share my illness.” Georgiana sniffed and reached for her handkerchief.
“I think only of you, Georgiana,” Elizabeth assured. She glanced out the coach’s window, noting the sun was well-hidden behind the clouds. “Such might be best. I shall make the call; you shall stay in the carriage and keep your feet on the warming brick. Then I will see you home. I am certain Mrs. Reynolds has a special poultice to make you feel better.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Georgiana sniffed again.
Elizabeth adjusted the blanket across Georgiana’s lap. “Fitzwilliam will be distressed to know you feel poorly.”
“He does worry about me.” Georgiana Darcy leaned back into the thick squabs of the carriage, adjusting the blanket tighter about her.
Elizabeth recalled the first time she had seen the girl, who had been little more than sixteen at the time. Darcy had brought his sister to the inn in Lambton to take Elizabeth’s acquaintance after discovering Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle visiting Pemberley on holiday. It had been the beginning of their life together.
Although Elizabeth was four years Georgiana’s senior, Darcy’s sister was taller and on a larger scale. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humor in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. Everyone who knew Georgiana Darcy esteemed her for her compassion and her goodness. Elizabeth treasured having Georgiana in the household. Having left a houseful of sisters in Hertfordshire, she appreciated having female companionship.
“Your brother has spent his adult life caring for you.”
Georgiana closed her eyes, a noticeable shiver shook her body, and Elizabeth knew real concern. “I will be happy to claim my bed.”
Elizabeth gently touched the girl’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You are not warm—no fever.”
“I simply ache all over, and my head is so tight with pressure,” Georgiana rasped.
Before Elizabeth could express further concern, the carriage came to a bone-jolting halt. “I will be only a few minutes.” Elizabeth opened the door. Murray assisted her to the ground before handing Elizabeth one of the two remaining baskets he carried.
“Murray, I want to see Miss Darcy to the house as quickly as possible. Would you mind delivering the basket you carry to the Taylors? Provide them our regards and explain the situation. I will call on Mrs. Baine.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Darcy.” The footman headed toward the Taylors’ cottage, less than a quarter mile down the main drive.
Elizabeth glanced quickly at Georgiana to assure herself the girl would be well while alone in the coach. Then she strode toward the small, white-washed cottage. Before she reached the door, it swung open, and a burly-looking man greeted her.
“Mrs. Darcy, let me be helpin’ ye with that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baine.” Elizabeth entered the house and glanced around quickly to inspect how well the Baines maintained their home. Darcy did well by his tenants, but he expected the cottagers to keep the property in good repair and not to destroy what he provided them.
“Ye be alone, Mistress?” Mrs. Baine looked to the threshold.
Elizabeth gestured toward the coach. “Miss Darcy feels poorly. We both thought it best not to bring an illness into your house. In fact, I only have a few minutes. I wish to see Mr. Darcy’s sister in the comfort of her own bed.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Darcy.” Mr. Baine set the basket on the table.
“There is flour, sugar, some potatoes, ham, and turnips in the basket.”
“We be thankin’ ye, ma’am,” Mrs. Baine said and lifted the cloth to peer at the things the Great House had sent to them.
“Naturally, there are sweets for the children.” Elizabeth touched a tow-headed boy of four. “You may dole them out when you deem appropriate.”
Mr. Baine picked up a blonde girl of two. “The little ones be our greatest gift.”
The Baines had six children, and Elizabeth chuckled at the irony of the statement. “Then you are indeed blessed, Mr. Baine. Mr. Darcy says the weather will turn dangerous, so be certain everyone is inside. Perhaps you should bring in some extra wood for the fire.”
“We be thinkin’ the same, Mistress.” Baine stroked the child’s head as it rested on his shoulder. “We be well, ma’am.”
“You must surely know if you require anything, just send someone to Pemberley. Mr. Darcy will assist you if he is able.”
“We be knowin’ it, ma’am.” Mrs. Baine joined them as they stood by the door.
Elizabeth glanced toward the carriage. She worried for Georgiana. “I really must see Miss Darcy home. Please pardon me; we will visit longer the next time.”
“You see to the master’s sister,” Mrs. Baine said as she reached for the door handle. “We be puttin’ Miss Darcy in our prayers.”
“My sister will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
* * *
Georgiana Darcy pulled the blanket closer. She hoped Elizabeth would not be long. She really just wanted to be in her own bed where she might sleep for a few hours—mayhap even have Mrs. Jennings heat up some chicken broth.
Reluctantly, she sat forward to determine whether Elizabeth had exited the cottage, but saw no one. Georgiana scooted the warming brick closer; it had quickly lost its heat in the chilly air. She reached out and slid the curtain aside to look for Elizabeth again. Then she saw him, and a different kind of shiver ran down her spine. He just stood there in the tree line. A blond-haired man, wrapped in a black cloak and wearing a floppy-brimmed hat, leaned against a tree. Georgiana felt her heart skip a beat, and her breathing became labored.
The sound of Elizabeth’s approach drew the girl’s attention for a fraction of a second, and when her eyes returned to the trees, the man was no longer there.
“Did you see him?” she pleaded as Mr. Stalling assisted Elizabeth into the coach.
“See who?” Elizabeth turned expectantly. “Was someone there?” She searched where Georgiana stared, but all they saw was a bareheaded Murray walking toward them, slapping his coat to keep himself warm.
Elizabeth sat beside Georgiana and slid her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Might we escort 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 allowed the curtain to 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 what I saw yesterday was a bear, but what you just described is exactly 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 Elizabeth’s hand, holding on for dear life.
Elizabeth did not answer; she simply pulled the blanket over both of them. “We will tell Fitzwilliam. He will know what to do.”
Chapter 1
“WE SHOULD TURN BACK,” Fitzwilliam Darcy cautioned as they pulled their horses even and walked them side-by-side along the hedgerow. They explored the most removed boundary of the Pemberley estate, near what the locals called the White Peak.
“Must we?” Elizabeth Darcy gave her husband an expectant look. “I so enjoy being alone with you—away from the responsibilities of Pemberley.”
Darcy studied her countenance. Hers was a face he had once described as being one of the handsomest of his acquaintance, but now he considered his previous compliment a slight to the woman. Her auburn hair, her fine sea-green eyes, her pale skin, kissed with a brush of the sun, her delicate features, and her heart-shaped face made her a classic beauty, and Darcy considered himself the luckiest of men. “For a woman who once shunned riding for the pleasure of a long walk, you certainly have taken to the saddle,” he taunted.
“I have never said I preferred riding to walking. Most would think me an excellent walker,” she insisted. “It is just that when I sit atop Pandora’s back and gallop across an open field, I feel such power—as if Pandora and I were one and the same.”
Darcy chuckled. “Do you call how you ride ‘galloping,’ my love?”
“And what would you call it, Fitzwilliam?”
Even after fourteen months of marriage, he could still stir her ire, though she now understood his love for twisting the King’s English and his dry sense of humor. It had not always been so. Elizabeth had told her friend Charlotte Lucas that she could easily forgive Fitzwilliam Darcy his pride if he had not mortified hers. And Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Bennet, had once described Darcy as “a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.” Yet, none of that mattered now that he and Elizabeth were a couple, for a better understanding existed between them.
Darcy’s eyebrow shot up in amusement: He recognized the tone his wife used as one of a “dare.” They had certainly challenged each other often enough during their up and down courtship. Actually, shortly after their official engagement, Elizabeth declared it within her province to find occasions for teasing and quarreling with him as often as may be. She had playfully asked him to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. The scene, so familiar now, played in his mind as if it were yesterday.
“How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning, but what could set you off in the first place?”
It was a time for honesty between them, so he told her, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.” He laced his fingers through hers.
“My beauty you had early withstood.” She teased him by running her hand up his jacket’s sleeve, and Darcy could think of nothing but the natural ease of her touch. “And as for my manners,” Elizabeth continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “my behavior to you was at least bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere, did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” he said diplomatically. He did not—could not—admit to her his dreams of making love to her. A gentleman never spoke thusly to a lady, even a lady to whom he was betrothed.
“You may as well call it impertinence at once; it was very little less.” In retrospect, Darcy silently agreed. He had often found himself lost in his fantasies of her; so much so he did not always recognize Elizabeth’s disputation as impertinence, but more of flirtation. “The fact is, you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you because I was so unlike them. You thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you.”
Startled by this revelation, Darcy had to admit Elizabeth was correct. She caught his attention because she was his complete opposite, even while she perfectly complemented his nature. With her, he had become freer. And he had come to think less poorly of the world.
Elizabeth cleared her throat, signaling to Darcy that she awaited his response. “I believe, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he said as he winked at her, “I must call it a breakneck ride from hell.”
Elizabeth glared at him for but a split second, and then she burst into laughter. “You know me too well, my husband. Most assuredly, you must take the blame. It was you who taught me to ride to the hounds.”
“Why is it, Mrs. Darcy, all your ill-habits are derived from my influence?”
“It is the way of the world, Fitzwilliam. Because God created Eve from Adam’s rib and breathed life into her form, a woman is a vessel for her husband’s generosity, but also his depravity.”
“Depravity?” He barked out a laugh. “I will show you depravity, Mrs. Darcy.” He reached for her arm, threatening to pull her from Pandora’s back to his lap.
However, Elizabeth anticipated his move, and she kicked her horse’s flank, bolting away, across the open field toward the tree line. She urged her mount faster, as her laughter tinkled in the crisp morning air, drifting back to where Darcy turned his horse to give chase.
He flicked Demon’s reins to send his stallion barreling after his wife. Although Pandora was as excellent a mare as he had ever seen, Elizabeth’s horse stood no chance of beating Demon in an out-and-out race. As he closed in on her, he admired how his wife handled her animal—how she gave Pandora her head, but still knew when to exercise control over the horse. Elizabeth was a natural, as athletic as the animal she rode.
Darcy pressed Demon a bit harder, and the distance between them shortened. As he accepted his success as inevitable, horror struck. From nowhere and from everywhere all at once, sound exploded around him. Pandora bucked and then stood upright, pawing the air. Elizabeth’s scream filled him, as her horse whipped Elizabeth backward. His wife’s leg, the one wrapped around the pummel came loose, but not the one is the stirrup until she kicked free to slide off the animal’s rump, smacking her backside hard against the frozen ground. From the tree line, the screech of an eagle taking flight set Darcy’s hair on end as he raced to her side.
Sliding from his horse’s back, he was on the ground and running to reach her. “Elizabeth,” he pleaded, “tell me you are well.” He brushed her hair from her face as he gently lifted her head in his hands.
She groaned, moving gingerly at first. “I am most properly bruised.” She brushed the dirt from her sleeve. “And I fear my pride is permanently damaged.”
Darcy kissed her forehead, relief filling his chest, as he assisted her to stand. “Are you certain you can make it on your own?” He steadied her first few steps.
Elizabeth walked with care, but with determination Darcy could admire. “Did you see him?” she asked cautiously.
“See who?” Darcy instinctively looked toward the tree line. “I saw no one, Elizabeth; I was concentrating on you.”
“The man … I swear, Fitzwilliam, there was a man … there by the opening between the two trees.” She pointed to a row of pin oaks. “A man wearing a cloak and carrying a hat.”
“Stay here,” Darcy ordered as he walked toward the copse, reaching for the pocket pistol he carried under his jacket.
* * *
Elizabeth watched him move warily to inspect where she had indicated. “Be careful, Fitzwilliam,” she cautioned as he disappeared into the thicket.
Nervously watching for his return, Elizabeth caught Pandora’s reins as her horse nibbled on tufts of wild grass. After securing her horse’s bridle, she led Pandora to where Demon waited. “Easy, boy,” she said softly as she took Demon’s reins, but she never removed her eyes from where Darcy had vanished into the shadows.
After several long moments, he emerged from behind an evergreen tree, and Elizabeth let out an audible sigh of relief. As he approached, Darcy gestured toward where he had searched. “I apologize, Elizabeth. I found nothing—not a footprint or any other kind of track. Nothing unusual.”
“Are you certain, Fitzwilliam?” Still somewhat disoriented, she anxiously looked about her. “It seemed so real.”
“Allow me to escort you home.” He moved to assist her to her mount.
“Might I ride with you, Fitzwilliam? At least, until we reach the main road again. I would feel safer in your arms. Moreover, I do not think my backside cares to meet Pandora’s saddle at this moment.”
Darcy’s smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “You cannot resist me, can you, Mrs. Darcy?”
“It is not within my power, my husband.” Despite her nervousness, she attempted to sound normal so as not to alarm Darcy.
He slid his arms around her and brushed his lips over hers.
Elizabeth’s arms encircled his neck. She lifted her chin to welcome his kiss. “You are indeed irresistible, my love.”
* * *
“I was simply uncomfortable,” Elizabeth told Mrs. Reynolds, Pemberley’s long-time housekeeper. They sat at the kitchen’s butcher-block table; they had spent the past hour going over the coming week’s menus and now shared a cup of tea.
“Ye be seein’ one of the shadow people, mistress,” Mrs. Jennings, the estate cook, remarked, although she had not been part of the initial conversation.
Elizabeth hid her smile behind her teacup; but her voice betrayed her skepticism. “Shadow people, Mrs. Jennings?”
“Yes, mistress.” The woman wiped her floured hands on her apron. “People be seein’ shadow ghosts ’round these parts for years. It be a man. Am I correct, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Yes, I believe whatever I observed was a man, although Mr. Darcy thinks it might have been some sort of animal—maybe even a bear.”
Mrs. Reynolds attempted to downplay Mrs. Jennings’ fear of the unusual, a fear apparently shared by many Derbyshire residents. “I am certain it was a bear, Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy would not minimize your concerns by placating to you.”
“Most assuredly, you are correct, Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Darcy would never ignore a possible danger to anyone at Pemberley.”
Mrs. Reynolds said the words Elizabeth had heard repeated often. “Mr. Darcy is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better.”
The very man of whom they spoke strolled through the doorway. “There you are, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth offered up a bright smile: Her husband’s masculine appearance always made her heart catch in her throat. Broad shoulders—slim waist—muscular chest and back—well defined legs and buttocks—no extra padding found on the man. And Elizabeth relished the idea he had chosen her. “I apologize, Fitzwilliam; I was unaware you sought me out.”
Darcy’s steel gray eyes caught hers. “I thought we might spend some time in the conservatory; the temperature turns bitter. We are in for a spell of bad weather.”
“Really?” Elizabeth stood to join him. “My first winter in Derbyshire was quite mild. Should I expect lots of snow? We normally received some snow in Hertfordshire, but I was sadly disappointed with Derbyshire last season. I had hoped for sledding and skating.”
“Well, Mrs. Darcy, I do believe you will receive your wish.” He placed her on his arm and led her away from the kitchen and toward the main part of the house.
However, when he turned to the main staircase and their private quarters, Elizabeth leaned into his shoulder. “I thought we were to enjoy the conservatory, Mr. Darcy,” she reminded him.
Darcy tilted his head in her direction to speak privately. “Do you object to a change in our destination, my love?”
“Not even in the least, Fitzwilliam.” A blush betrayed her anticipation.
“I enjoy the flush of color on your cheeks, my sweet one.” He brought her hand to his lips. After all these months together, she now understood the powerful yearning for her that her husband had controlled only with great determination when they were together at Netherfield. If she had known then what she knew now, Elizabeth might have been frightened of Mr. Darcy, instead of thinking he disliked her. Her husband was a very passionate and loving man, something she had never considered knowing in marriage, but knew, instinctively, she could never live without.
Elizabeth tightened her hold on his arm, but she could not express her thoughts aloud. Darcy had that effect on her. Even when she had thought she despised him, in reality, she sought his attention—his regard—his approval. They made the perfect pair. Darcy provided her the freedom to have her own thoughts and opinions, something she treasured; and Elizabeth showed him how insufficient were all his pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. She truly esteemed her husband, looked up to him as a superior. Yet, theirs was a marriage of equals in all the essentials that made people truly happy. He was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, most suited her. “I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered.
“And I love you, Elizabeth.”
* * *
“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth sat up suddenly in the bed.
“Hear what?” Darcy groggily sat up and looked around for something out of place.
Elizabeth clutched the sheet to her. “I do not know. It was a click—as if a latch or a lock was being engaged.”
Darcy pulled on his breeches and began to check the room.
They had locked the door when they entered their shared chambers, and it remained secure so he examined the windows and the folding screens, but found nothing.
Elizabeth’s eyes followed his progress.
Darcy released the door lock. Peering out, he nodded to someone in the passageway and then closed the door again. Sliding the bolt in place, he turned toward the bed. “Murray is changing the candles in the hall sconces. Perhaps that is what you heard.”
“Perhaps,” she mumbled as she relaxed against the pillows. “It just sounded closer—as if it were in the room, not in the hallway.”
Darcy returned to the bed and followed her down. “I believe your fright earlier today with Pandora has colored your thoughts.” He kissed Elizabeth behind her ear and down her neck to the spot where he could easily feel her pulse throbbing under her skin. “Allow me to provide you something else upon which to dwell.”
Her moan signaled her agreement. Lost to his ministrations, neither of them heard the second click echo softly through the room.
* * *
Seventeen-year-old Lydia Bennet Wickham traveled by public conveyance to her sister Elizabeth’s Derbyshire home. It was her first journey to Pemberley, which even her husband reported to be one of the finest estates in all of England. She would rather this visit included her husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, but as Elizabeth’s husband, Mr. Darcy, refused to accept Wickham in his home, such was not possible. The men had held a long-standing disagreement, of which Lydia generally made no acknowledgment. In Lydia’s estimation, Mr. Darcy should do as the Good Book said and forgive. However, men were stubborn creatures who neither forgave nor forgot, and, much to her dismay, Mr. Darcy and her husband continued their feuding.
Lydia found the whole situation disheartening. Even Elizabeth had taken offense at her congratulatory letter, although Lydia did not understand why. She had spoken the truth, and she had lowered herself to ask for Elizabeth’s assistance, something she had once sworn she would never do. All she had asked of her sister and new brother-in-marriage had been a place at court for Wickham and three to four hundred pounds a year so she and Wickham might make ends meet. She had even told her older sister not to mention it to Mr. Darcy if Elizabeth thought it might upset him.
As far as Lydia had determined, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy appeared to think her dearest Wickham held out some hope Darcy might be prevailed on to make Wickham’s fortune; and, in Lydia’s mind, she could not see a reason the Darcys should not assist them. It all made perfect sense. Darcy had the means to assist Wickham, without damaging his own wealth. Moreover, was that not what family did for each other? If it were she and Wickham who held the wealth, they would certainly be generous to others. She hoped on this visit to soften Mr. Darcy’s feelings about her husband. Lydia recognized her strength: She could charm any man. Naturally, she despised wasting her talents on such a prideful and conceited man as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, but she would prevail on him in order to aid her husband. Mayhap then, their marriage might be saved. Wickham would stop thinking her such a poor choice if, somehow, she could sway the great Fitzwilliam Darcy.
As she bounced along the country road in a public coach, Lydia attempted to appear assured of her self-worth. She knew not many young women—married or not—traveled alone. However, Wickham had insisted. He had bought her the ticket to visit Elizabeth because he had been ordered to Bath for the upcoming month; therefore, this was Lydia’s perfect opportunity to plead their case. Her husband had seen her to Nottingham before they parted. Now, she traveled unaccompanied.
“What is a fine young lady such as yourself doing traveling alone?” A man in his thirties, who smelled of stale cigars and boiled turnips, leered at Lydia. He glanced quickly at the matronly woman riding beside her. The woman’s eyes remained closed, and she breathed deeply.
Lydia recognized the man’s intentions, and although she would never consider such an alliance, she welcomed the conversation. Sitting quietly for long periods was not part of her nature. Most acquaintances thought her chatty—boisterous even. Her husband often ordered her silence, claiming she chirped on like a magpie. “I am visiting my sister, who is near Lambton.”
“I know Lambton well, miss. Your sister is well placed, I assume.” He noted Lydia’s stylish traveling frock, one of three new pieces she had insisted she required for this journey, despite her husband’s declaration they could not afford the additional expense.
“Very well placed.” Lydia puffed up with his notice. “Do you know Pemberley?”
The man’s initial tone changed immediately. “Pemberley? Everyone for miles around knows Pemberley,” he asserted. “Might your sister be associated with such a great estate?”
His words brought satisfaction to Lydia; she thoroughly enjoyed the idea of people admiring her, even if by association. In that manner, she and Mr. Wickham were very much alike. Sometimes she dreamed of what it might be to have her own home—her own estate. And sometimes she regretted having not set her sights on Mr. Darcy herself, although Lydia supposed the man preferred Elizabeth because her older sister devoured books—just as did their father. Lydia preferred fashion to Faust and society to Shakespeare. In all considerations, Elizabeth definitely better suited the man. If Mr. Darcy treated everyone as he did her Wickham, she would disdain his company in a heartbeat. “My sister is Mrs. Darcy; she is the mistress of Pemberley.”
“The mistress of Pemberley?” The man let out a low whistle. “I am duly impressed.”
“Mrs. Darcy is one of my older sisters,” Lydia babbled, “but my eldest is Mrs. Bingley of Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley counts Mr. Darcy as his most loyal acquaintance. My husband, Lieutenant George Wickham, grew to adulthood on Pemberley. We three sisters remain connected, even though we find ourselves scattered about England. My dear Wickham serves his country: We reside in Newcastle.”
She noted how the man attempted to disguise his amusement at the situation’s irony, but there was a glint of laughter in his eye. “I know of George Wickham,” he mused. “Even in Cheshire, your husband has female admirers.” He chuckled. “It will break many hearts when I spread the story of your marriage, Mrs. Wickham. Are you newly wed?”
“Lord, no. In fact, I was the first of my sisters to marry, although I am the youngest of five. Mr. Wickham and I have been married nearly two years.”
“Two years?” The man appeared amused again. He said, “I suppose it is too late then to offer my best wishes?” His eyebrows waggled teasingly. Lydia was confused as to his reaction.
She swatted at his chest with her fan. “I am an old married woman, sir.”
As she hoped, the man provided her a compliment. “You may be married, ma’am, but you most certainly are not old nor are you the picture of matronliness.” He nodded in the direction of the sleeping woman and then winked at Lydia.
She loved flirting, even with someone who would not interest her otherwise. Wickham despised how easily men hung on her every word. She giggled, suddenly aware of the privacy of their conversation. She turned her attention to the coach’s window. “I certainly do not enjoy traveling in winter. The roads in the North were abhorrent—so many ruts and holes. Passengers could barely keep their seats. Thankfully, my husband kept me safe, but a lady who traveled with us to Lincolnshire tumbled most unceremoniously to the floor.”
The man’s eyes followed hers. “The farmers at home would probably say we are in for some bad weather. See how the line of dark clouds hug the horizon.” He pointed off to a distance. “I simply hope we make it to Cheshire before the storm hits. I prefer not being upon the road when winter blasts us with her best.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “We will stay in Matlock this evening. You should be in Lambton by mid-afternoon tomorrow.”
“I will be pleased to be away from this coach,” Lydia murmured as she settled into the well-worn cushions.
As the man drifted off to sleep, he managed to say, “You will experience the best money can purchase at Pemberley. You shall enjoy your stay, I am certain.” As she sat alone in the silence of the coach, Lydia consoled herself with the man’s words. If Mr. Darcy was as wealthy as all said, surely he could spare a bit for her and Wickham. Then, her husband would view her with respect instead of disdain.
* * *
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said. She had found her husband in his study. “Georgiana and I plan to call on some of the cottagers today.” She stood before his desk, looking down at the stack of ledgers piled five high. “I thought you might care to join us, but I see you are excessively busy.”
“I am afraid this business cannot be postponed.” He gestured to the many letters lying open before him.
Elizabeth moved to stand behind him. She snaked her arms over the chair back and around Darcy’s neck. She kissed his ear and then his cheek. “You will miss me, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired, her breath warm against his neck as she continued to kiss along his chin line. As she hoped he would act, Darcy reached up to catch her arm. In one smooth motion, he shoved his chair back, making room for her on his lap, and pulled Elizabeth to him. She rested on his legs before sliding her arms around his neck. “I love you, my husband.” She laid her head against his shoulder.
Darcy used his finger to tilt her chin upward so he might kiss her lips. “So nice,” he murmured. He deepened the kiss, and Elizabeth gloried in their closeness. “I could drown in your love,” he whispered near her ear.
“You are so not what the world expects.” Elizabeth ran her fingers through his hair.
Darcy chuckled, “I am exactly what the world expects: I serve this estate well and my sister well. Such is my role in life.”
Elizabeth envied his confidence and the deep respect he inspired in the community.
“And me well.” Elizabeth moaned as his lips found the point where her neck met her shoulder.
Darcy pulled her closer. “That is what is unexpected—how much I love you—how I can give myself over to you so completely.”
“You possess no regrets about aligning yourself with a woman without family, connections, or fortunes?” It was a question she asked often, although his answer remained the same each time.
“It amazes me you can continue to doubt my loyalty—my love. Elizabeth, you possess me body and soul. Do you not know how thoroughly I require you in my life?”
“I know,” she admitted, feeling foolish for asking the question again. “It is just that I desire to hear your professions with regularity. I realize it is foolish of me, but it is my weakness, I fear.”
“Then I will resolve to speak the words more often, my love.” He kissed her tenderly.
Elizabeth scrambled from his lap when she heard the servants outside the door. “I must leave.” She straightened the seams of her day dress. “I am certain Georgiana waits for me by now. We will return in a few hours.”
“Do not go far, my love. The winter weather looms; we are in for a bad spell.”
“Listen to you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth teased as she headed toward the door. “You sound like one of the old hags who claim they can tell the weather from their rheumatism.”
Darcy cleared his throat, stopping her exit. “Elizabeth, I have lived my whole life in Derbyshire. I understand the harshness of the winters. Trust me, my dear.”
She stopped in her tracks. “If you are serious, Fitzwilliam, I will follow your lead,” she assured him, before turning pensive. “Do you suppose Lydia will arrive before this weather changes?” She now expressed the same concern as he.
Darcy stood and came to where she waited. “A rider brought me some papers from Liverpool today, and he said the weather turned bad quickly. If he is correct, the storm is at least a day out, but it is likely to be here by early in the day tomorrow. Mrs. Wickham’s coach will be driving into the storm. Your sister may have some uncomfortable hours, but I am relatively certain she will arrive safely.”
“You will go with me to Lambton—I mean to escort Lydia to Pemberley?” Elizabeth inquired.
“I will not leave you to your own devices.” Darcy kissed her fingers. “Have a good visit with the tenants.”
“Mrs. Hudson requires someone to repair her window,” Elizabeth reminded him as she prepared to leave.
Darcy followed her to the door. “I will see to it immediately.”
* * *
Elizabeth and Georgiana took Darcy’s small coach for their visits. Often, they made their rounds on horseback or in an open curricle, but Georgiana still suffered from a head cold, and Elizabeth would take no chances with Miss Darcy’s health in the bitter weather. “We have only two more baskets,” Elizabeth said. She accepted Murray’s hand as she climbed into the coach. He closed the steps, setting them inside. “Thank you, Murray. Tell Mr. Stalling we will see the Baines and the Taylors.”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.”
Mr. Stalling turned the carriage toward the hedgerow leading to the main drive. “We will keep our visits short,” Elizabeth told Darcy’s sister. “I can tell you are not at your best today.”
“My head feels so full. Perhaps I should remain in the carriage. Both the Baines and the Taylors have a houseful of children. It would not be the Christian thing to share my illness.” Georgiana sniffed and reached for her handkerchief.
“I think only of you, Georgiana,” Elizabeth assured. She glanced out the coach’s window, noting the sun was well-hidden behind the clouds. “Such might be best. I shall make the call; you shall stay in the carriage and keep your feet on the warming brick. Then I will see you home. I am certain Mrs. Reynolds has a special poultice to make you feel better.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Georgiana sniffed again.
Elizabeth adjusted the blanket across Georgiana’s lap. “Fitzwilliam will be distressed to know you feel poorly.”
“He does worry about me.” Georgiana Darcy leaned back into the thick squabs of the carriage, adjusting the blanket tighter about her.
Elizabeth recalled the first time she had seen the girl, who had been little more than sixteen at the time. Darcy had brought his sister to the inn in Lambton to take Elizabeth’s acquaintance after discovering Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle visiting Pemberley on holiday. It had been the beginning of their life together.
Although Elizabeth was four years Georgiana’s senior, Darcy’s sister was taller and on a larger scale. She was less handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good humor in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle. Everyone who knew Georgiana Darcy esteemed her for her compassion and her goodness. Elizabeth treasured having Georgiana in the household. Having left a houseful of sisters in Hertfordshire, she appreciated having female companionship.
“Your brother has spent his adult life caring for you.”
Georgiana closed her eyes, a noticeable shiver shook her body, and Elizabeth knew real concern. “I will be happy to claim my bed.”
Elizabeth gently touched the girl’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You are not warm—no fever.”
“I simply ache all over, and my head is so tight with pressure,” Georgiana rasped.
Before Elizabeth could express further concern, the carriage came to a bone-jolting halt. “I will be only a few minutes.” Elizabeth opened the door. Murray assisted her to the ground before handing Elizabeth one of the two remaining baskets he carried.
“Murray, I want to see Miss Darcy to the house as quickly as possible. Would you mind delivering the basket you carry to the Taylors? Provide them our regards and explain the situation. I will call on Mrs. Baine.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Darcy.” The footman headed toward the Taylors’ cottage, less than a quarter mile down the main drive.
Elizabeth glanced quickly at Georgiana to assure herself the girl would be well while alone in the coach. Then she strode toward the small, white-washed cottage. Before she reached the door, it swung open, and a burly-looking man greeted her.
“Mrs. Darcy, let me be helpin’ ye with that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baine.” Elizabeth entered the house and glanced around quickly to inspect how well the Baines maintained their home. Darcy did well by his tenants, but he expected the cottagers to keep the property in good repair and not to destroy what he provided them.
“Ye be alone, Mistress?” Mrs. Baine looked to the threshold.
Elizabeth gestured toward the coach. “Miss Darcy feels poorly. We both thought it best not to bring an illness into your house. In fact, I only have a few minutes. I wish to see Mr. Darcy’s sister in the comfort of her own bed.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Darcy.” Mr. Baine set the basket on the table.
“There is flour, sugar, some potatoes, ham, and turnips in the basket.”
“We be thankin’ ye, ma’am,” Mrs. Baine said and lifted the cloth to peer at the things the Great House had sent to them.
“Naturally, there are sweets for the children.” Elizabeth touched a tow-headed boy of four. “You may dole them out when you deem appropriate.”
Mr. Baine picked up a blonde girl of two. “The little ones be our greatest gift.”
The Baines had six children, and Elizabeth chuckled at the irony of the statement. “Then you are indeed blessed, Mr. Baine. Mr. Darcy says the weather will turn dangerous, so be certain everyone is inside. Perhaps you should bring in some extra wood for the fire.”
“We be thinkin’ the same, Mistress.” Baine stroked the child’s head as it rested on his shoulder. “We be well, ma’am.”
“You must surely know if you require anything, just send someone to Pemberley. Mr. Darcy will assist you if he is able.”
“We be knowin’ it, ma’am.” Mrs. Baine joined them as they stood by the door.
Elizabeth glanced toward the carriage. She worried for Georgiana. “I really must see Miss Darcy home. Please pardon me; we will visit longer the next time.”
“You see to the master’s sister,” Mrs. Baine said as she reached for the door handle. “We be puttin’ Miss Darcy in our prayers.”
“My sister will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
* * *
Georgiana Darcy pulled the blanket closer. She hoped Elizabeth would not be long. She really just wanted to be in her own bed where she might sleep for a few hours—mayhap even have Mrs. Jennings heat up some chicken broth.
Reluctantly, she sat forward to determine whether Elizabeth had exited the cottage, but saw no one. Georgiana scooted the warming brick closer; it had quickly lost its heat in the chilly air. She reached out and slid the curtain aside to look for Elizabeth again. Then she saw him, and a different kind of shiver ran down her spine. He just stood there in the tree line. A blond-haired man, wrapped in a black cloak and wearing a floppy-brimmed hat, leaned against a tree. Georgiana felt her heart skip a beat, and her breathing became labored.
The sound of Elizabeth’s approach drew the girl’s attention for a fraction of a second, and when her eyes returned to the trees, the man was no longer there.
“Did you see him?” she pleaded as Mr. Stalling assisted Elizabeth into the coach.
“See who?” Elizabeth turned expectantly. “Was someone there?” She searched where Georgiana stared, but all they saw was a bareheaded Murray walking toward them, slapping his coat to keep himself warm.
Elizabeth sat beside Georgiana and slid her arm around the girl’s shoulder. “Might we escort 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 allowed the curtain to 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 what I saw yesterday was a bear, but what you just described is exactly 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 Elizabeth’s hand, holding on for dear life.
Elizabeth did not answer; she simply pulled the blanket over both of them. “We will tell Fitzwilliam. He will know what to do.”
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One of the issues I encountered in creating my tale for The Tragic Characters in Classic Lit Series was moving the scandalous Sheriff of Nottingham into the Regency Era. How do his “deeds” in the original folktales translate into a Regency era novel? As most of us are familiar, the Sheriff of Nottingham is the main antagonist in the legend of Robin Hood. He is generally depicted as an unjust tyrant who mistreats the local people of Nottinghamshire, subjecting them to unaffordable taxes. Robin Hood fights against him, stealing from the rich, and the Sheriff, in order to give to the poor; a characteristic for which Robin Hood is best known.
However, in my tale, William de Wendenal, the Sheriff of Nottingham, is far from angelic, but, he has turned over a “new leaf,” so to speak. He has a reputation based on his youthful exploits and one major mistake that has kept him, a baron, from court for many years. In the original tales, the Sheriff is an agent of Prince John against King Richard. I needed to discover an equally “scandalous” event to which many could point to in disapproval. I decided my character would align himself with those involved in “The Delicate Investigation” of Princess Caroline of Brunswick. Prince George, then the Regent for his father King George III, wished to be rid of his bride, Princess Caroline. They were never a good fit, but she was popular among the British people, making it more difficult for Prince George to be rid of her.
In my tale, I make the Sheriff one of those who had sided with Caroline in her legal actions, his being friends with both Thomas Manby and George Canning, both of whom were named in the investigation.
Manby, in real life, was a British naval officer, who rose to the rank of rear admiral, but, in 1806, he became the chief suspect in the investigation of the morals of Princess Caroline of Wales. In that year, George III “ordered an inquiry into rumours that the Princess of Wales had given birth to a child. A number of men were suspected of having had a relationship with the princess (which was grounds for a charge of high treason), but it was Manby against whom the evidence was “particularly strong”. Manby was called before the commissioners of the inquiry and swore on oath that he never did “at Montagu House, Southend, Ramsgate, East Cliff, or anywhere else, ever sleep in any house occupied by, or belonging to, HRH the Princess of Wales”. The commissioners concluded that the main accusation against the princess was unfounded, but nevertheless they criticised her behaviour. The princess was defended by former attorney-general and future prime-minister Spencer Perceval, who dismissed the evidence of the princess’s servants as ‘hearsay representations’. The gifts and letters from the princess to Manby were evidence only of her gratitude for Manby having taken two of her charity boys on board the Africaine, and his frequent visits were to keep the princess informed of their progress. If jugs of water and towels were left in the passage when Manby visited it was proof, Perceval argued, of the servants’ slovenliness and not of high treason. Perceval was ready to publish his defence in the form of a book when there was a sudden change of government, the princess was accepted at court, and the book was suppressed. After Perceval’s assisination in 1812, the book was published and extracts, including Manby’s testimony, were published in the Times.” [Thomas Manby]
The other prominent figure of the time to whom I fictionalized a relationship for Lord de Wendendal was George Canning, a prominent politician of the era. I used this “tidbit” as part of my plot line: “In April 1796, [Prince] George wrote to [Princess] Caroline, ]We have unfortunately been oblig’d to acknowledge to each other that we cannot find happiness in our union. … Let me therefore beg you to make the best of a situation unfortunate for us both.’ In June, Lady Jersey resigned as Caroline’s Lady of the Bedchamber. [Prince] George and Caroline were already living separately, and in August 1797 Caroline moved to a private residence: The Vicarage or Old Rectory in Charlton, London. Later, she moved to Montagu House in Blackheath. No longer constrained by her husband, or, according to rumour, her marital vows, she entertained whomever she pleased. She flirted with Admiral Sir Sidney Smith and Captain Thomas Manby, and may have had a brief relationship with the politician George Canning.” [“Caroline of Brunswick“]
George Canning
I Shot the Sheriff: Tragic Characters in Classic Lit Series
How does one reform the infamous Sheriff of Nottingham? Easy. With Patience.
William de Wendenal, the notorious Sheriff of Nottingham, has come to London, finally having wormed his way back into the good graces of the Royal family. Yet, not all of Society is prepared to forgive his former “supposed” transgressions, especially the Earl of Sherwood.
However, when de Wendenal is wounded in an attempt to protect Prince George from an assassin, he becomes caught up in a plot involving stolen artwork, kidnapping, murder, and seduction that brings him to Cheshire where he must willingly face a gun pointed directly at his chest and held by the one woman who stirs his soul, Miss Patience Busnick, the daughter of a man de Wendenal once escorted to prison.
I Shot the Sheriff is based on the classic tales of Robin Hood, but it is given a twist and brought into the early 19th Century’s Regency era. Can even de Wendenal achieve a Happily Ever After? If anyone can have the reader cheering for the Sheriff of Nottingham’s happiness, it is award-winning author Regina Jeffers.
As foolish as it would sound to admit it aloud, William missed Patience Busnik’s company, and the image of her soft body beneath his haunted his dreams, as well as many of his waking hours. The day following the incident at the park, he had purchased a bouquet of mixed flowers to present to her, just as would any legitimate caller upon a lady, but as he stood across the street from her brother’s house, he thought again upon why he was calling upon her.
“She is an agent for the Home Office,” he murmured, a frown taking up residence on his forehead. “What she did for you yesterday was not an action based upon her affection, but rather one of duty. Quit being foolish. A lady of quality wants nothing to do with the likes of you.”
Frustrated that he had again bought into the idea of discovering someone with whom to share his life, he had paid a street urchin two pence to deliver the flowers, while William returned home, where he had remained, refusing to venture out and turning away the few callers who had dared to disturb him. Feeling guilty for abandoning her, he had sent a second bouquet later in the day, but William had not included any words of encouragement with either arrangement of flowers. First, he did not know exactly what to say to someone who was essentially “hired” to be his love interest, and, moreover, he had never seriously wooed a woman of Miss Busnik’s nature, and he knew nothing of how to go about it.
“My lord.” His butler bowed from the open door.
“Yes, Mr. Cedric.”
“A message from Busnik House. The servant from there was instructed to wait for your response.”
Despite William’s best efforts to the contrary, his heart hitched in anticipation. He extended his hand to accept the message from his servant and walked away to read the note. Turning his back on Mr. Cedric, William examined the elegance of her script, for certainly the handwriting displayed on the front of the folded over page did not belong to her brother. Men tended to scratch out their words, rather than to treat them as something special. Breaking the seal, he opened the flaps of the page to read…
My lord, please accept my gratitude for the lovely flowers. They have brightened my favorite drawing room at Busnik House, and I think kindly upon you when I look upon them.
It did him well to know someone in this world thought of him in terms less than derogatory. Certainly he had, in his younger years, aligned himself with the wrong sect, womanizing, gaming and dancing on the edge of committing fraud, but he had abandoned that lifestyle nearly a decade earlier when he had found one of his cottager’s families, all, literally, starving to death because of his profligacy. The image of two children and their mother quite ravished by his obvious deprivation of assistance had shattered his soul, making him promise, “Never again.” He had not been taught his responsibilities in those terms, but he had learned quickly, finally seeing to his estate and duties as the Crown’s Sheriff, a legacy he hoped to leave to his child, if he would ever be so blessed. Yet, his earlier mistakes continued to plague his days and ruined every opportunity he had to choose a woman of quality.
When he had turned his life about, he had done so in hopes of courting Miss Marian Fitzwater. Where he held the reputation for depravity and evil, Miss Fitzwater held one based in virtue, although he had learned, after the fact, the lady’s reputation was wrapped in falsehoods, ones she and Sherwood and her father had carefully concocted.
Unfortunately, for him, in his rush to alter his path, he had convinced himself if he could make Miss Fitzwater his wife, the world would view him in a different light. However, the lady had her sights set upon Robert de Lacy, a man who had walked a path similar to William’s, only de Lacy had been smart enough to fall in with those supporting Prince George’s plea for a divorce from Princess Caroline of Brussels, while William had been slow to cut ties with Thomas Manby and George Canning, both of whom were named in Parliament’s secret investigation of Princess Caroline’s relationship with those two men and a few others.
Like many of the time, William had thought Prince George’s extravagant lifestyle detrimental to the war cause. Despite what others may think, before he passed, William’s father had instilled a sense of duty in him. William had often said, “My days as the Sheriff of Nottingham would have had the late baron crowing with pride, but not so much my personal behavior.”
“That is if Father had viewed my performance since the ‘Delicate Investigation,’” he murmured. He had made the foolish assumption the Crown Prince should know something of duty to the land. Moreover, like many of the day, he considered Princess Caroline wronged by Prince George’s cronies, until he had joined Manby at one of the princess’s gatherings. The entertainments, that particular evening, had not been to William’s tastes. Certainly, he had known his share of women, especially, as he “sowed his oats,” but he had never lain with another man’s wife, nor would he tolerate his wife doing so. Although his was not a fashionable idea, William believed in the sanctity of marriage. He wanted his blood running through each of his children.
Glancing again to the note, he continued to read:
…and I think kindly of you when I look upon them.
That being said, I know sadness at your withdrawal. I thought—
William frowned. “Thought what?” He flipped the sheet of foolscap over, but her note stopped with those words. Only his name and directions were on the back.
William barked a laugh. “Demme her! The lady be not only beautiful, but intelligent enough to tempt a man from his doldrums.”
Every Woman Dreams... 
