The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy (2 page)

Elizabeth tilted her head to give him easier access. Under Darcy's jacket, her arms encircled his waist, and she pulled herself closer to him. “Mr. Darcy,” she murmured, “the door remains open. The servants shall see us.” Despite Elizabeth's words of protest, Darcy reveled in how she clung to him.

“The servant who dares to look upon our time together will be seeking employment elsewhere.” His lips caressed her ear lobe. “God, Lizzy,” he moaned. “You lead me to distraction.” His arms came tightly about her. Darcy cupped her nape. As he fought to control his breathing, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “You are my bane, Elizabeth Darcy.”

Elizabeth smiled secretly as she buried her cheek into his shoulder. How she had once declared that her dear husband was the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed upon to marry still dumbfounded her. He was her heart. On the day she married Fitzwilliam Darcy, she would have raced through her church's entrance if it had not been for her father's measured pace. She had been that anxious to become Mr. Darcy's wife. Throughout their short courtship, Elizabeth had had difficulty convincing herself of what Darcy had declared from the moment she had accepted his proposal: He had known no sacrifice in making her his wife—only pleasure. Yet, Elizabeth had been well aware that a man of Mr. Darcy's stature would encounter disdain when his choice became common knowledge.

Therefore, Elizabeth had made a private pledge to bring honor to the Darcy name. He had preferred her over the most beautiful and the most well-dowered young women of the
ton
. He had angered his aunt, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, by choosing Elizabeth over his cousin Anne. She would do everything in her power to make certain Mr. Darcy knew no regret in his choice.

Fortunately, her husband had never intimidated her—not the way he did most people he encountered. In fact, Elizabeth's unwavering honesty had proved the difference. She had obstinately told the world, “I could easily forgive Mr. Darcy's pride if he had not mortified mine.” She was late to admit the man had fascinated her from their first encounter.

But then, when she thought her belated hopes dashed by her sister Lydia's absconding with George Wickham, the man intent on destroying the Darcys, Elizabeth had been quick to acknowledge her wretchedness.

Although at the time, she knew nothing of Mr. Darcy's rescue of her family's reputation, Elizabeth had found herself humbled by Darcy's wish of procuring her regard and the knowledge that, rationally, his pride would never allow him to form an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with a man whom he so justly scorned. She had grieved; she had repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence.

Before she had come to know Darcy, a happy marriage had appeared out of Elizabeth's reach, and her hopes of teaching the admiring multitudes what connubial felicity really could be had faded into the wallpaper of the Lambton inn.

Too late, Elizabeth had come to the conclusion Mr. Darcy was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would answer all her wishes. It was a union that would be to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness his mind might be softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world she would receive benefit of greater importance.

Somehow they had found their way, and Mr. Darcy had proposed a second time. From that point forward, Elizabeth had set herself the task of assuring that they would become the happiest couple in the world.

Elizabeth lifted her chin to study his countenance. “As much as I enjoy your attentions, I remain certain you held a different purpose in seeking my company. Your eyes speak of affection, but these frown lines,” she teased, as her finger stroked his forehead, “know a different tale. Perhaps you should explain your earlier discontent.”

His smile became soft and encouraging. “Had I known of your ability to read me so easily, Mrs. Darcy, I would have shuttered my thoughts early on in our relationship.”

Elizabeth laughed easily. “A more indiscernible man never existed, Mr. Darcy.”

He caught her hand and tugged Elizabeth toward a nearby chaise. Darcy caught the letter up in his grasp and settled himself beside her. With a deep steadying breath, he began, “I have received a letter from a Mr. Peiffer, a solicitor in Christchurch.” Elizabeth moved closer, and Darcy appreciated how she instinctively knew her presence brought him comfort. “Mr. Peiffer reports my father's favorite cousin, Samuel Darcy, has passed.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam, I am grieved,” Elizabeth sympathized. “From your tone, I assume Samuel Darcy and your father were great friends.”

“As youths, they spent much of their time together, as did Edward and I when we were young rascals,” he explained. “Cousin Samuel spent his adult life searching for the world's hidden treasures. I fear he was a bit of an eccentric.”

Elizabeth laid her hand on Darcy's arm. He could feel her gaze sweep over him. “And your relationship with the gentleman?”

“When Father fell ill,” Darcy began, “it was Cousin Samuel who rushed to his side. He left his expedition and returned to England so he might see Father through the worst of his sickness. Samuel moved into Pemberley, where he could oversee Father's care.” Darcy looked off as if he could view the events anew. “I do not know how I might have survived those days without him. Cousin Samuel was my salvation. Although Father had groomed me to assume the role of Master of Pemberley, I was sadly lacking in how to proceed. How to become the estate's master and how to assume Georgiana's care. It was only with Samuel's sound advice that I was able to begin. And how easily Samuel led poor Georgiana through the grieving process...” Darcy's voice cracked with emotion.

“Your cousin is an acquaintance I shall regret not having,” Elizabeth said softly. She interlaced her fingers with his. “As I am certain Mr. Peiffer's letter holds more than the details of your cousin's funeral, of what did you wish to speak to me?”

Self-consciously, Darcy kissed the back of her hand. “It is true. Cousin Samuel's death came a sennight prior. The most I can offer, at this point, is my respect.”

Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “You wish to journey to Dorset?” He watched as his wife steeled her shoulders. Since their joining, they had spent but one night apart. He could almost see Elizabeth fortifying her composure. Darcy often felt foolish when he considered how much he required her in his life, but it was very satisfying to witness a like need in the woman he so dearly loved.

“I do,” he said solemnly. “But I do not wish to be parted from you, my Lizzy.” He caressed her cheek.

“Nor I, you,” Elizabeth said sweetly.

Darcy cleared his throat. “This is not the best of circumstances. A man's death should not precipitate a pleasure journey, but after receiving Mr. Peiffer's missive, I began to consider the possibilities.” He placed his arm about Elizabeth's shoulders
and pulled her closer. “The solicitor has sent a similar letter to Lady Cynthia Sanderson. She is Cousin Samuel's niece, his brother Stewart's only child. It appears Samuel has named Lady Cynthia, Georgiana, and me as his heirs. Mr. Peiffer indicates Lady Cynthia has recently delivered her third child and cannot travel for at least another month.”

“I am afraid I do not understand, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder.

“Peiffer has requested that Georgiana and I attend the reading of Samuel's will. He has scheduled that reading one month from this Friday.”

Elizabeth sighed in relief. “Then you will wait before your journey to Dorset?”

Darcy held her at arm's length from him so he might observe her reaction. “I have come upon a different plan. When we married in November, the weather did not permit us the pleasure of a celebratory journey. I am suggesting that we visit Dorset and enjoy the shore while we wait for Lady Cynthia's arrival. We may take a private cottage at Gundimore.”

“But what of Pemberley?” she protested, but he noted the excitement in her voice.

“Pemberley will survive. Mr. Steventon and Mrs. Reynolds will oversee the house and the land. No one will object to our celebrating our joining.” He gave her a thankful smile. “We could take the yacht from Liverpool to Bournemouth,” he suggested. “Mr. Stalling would bring the coach across the land route.”

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. That innocent gesture told Darcy his proposition appealed to her, but his wife wondered how enthusiastically she should react. Darcy was well aware
his
Lizzy had set herself the task of proving herself a responsible and caring mistress for the estate. Truthfully, he had never considered that she would be anything less. Yet, occasionally, he worried his wife grasped too tightly the spontaneity he so adored in her. He also privately wondered if Elizabeth's striving for perfection had been the source of their recent loss. Darcy hoped this journey would help Elizabeth forget her sorrow and would bring life to her pale countenance. “I suppose we could spend some of our time in ordering your cousin's papers. Perhaps we could even place the late Mr. Darcy's affairs in order in preparation for Lady Cynthia's arrival,” she said tentatively.

Darcy allowed Elizabeth her altruistic motives. “I believe yours is an amenable solution. We could speak to Peiffer personally. Possibly even direct the packing of Samuel's effects. I am certain his house holds many treasures. It has been several years since I spent time with my father's cousin, but Samuel was always a contributor to the British Antiquarian Society. I imagine his home is a museum dedicated to the past.”

Elizabeth smiled widely. “Then it is settled. When do you wish to depart, Mr. Darcy?”

“I thought we could travel to Liverpool on Friday and set sail on Saturday. If you are of a mind, we could stop at several of the ports along the way. Our itinerary may remain open.”

“Could we visit other parts of Dorset? I have always found the idea of walking along the Cobb at Lyme Regis a most intriguing prospect,” Elizabeth said excitedly.

“Lyme has wonderful shale beaches,” Darcy agreed. “And we could bathe in the sea at Mudeford. After all, the area is a favorite of our monarch.”

Elizabeth rose and danced lightly about a low table. “A little sea bathing would set me up forever,” she giggled.

Darcy followed her to his feet and swept her into his arms. He twirled her about the room. Elizabeth's laughter filled the air. He could not recall a time when he had known such contentment. “You are beautiful,” he said as he spun them to an intimate halt. They swayed in place. “I love your laugh,” he confessed. “Promise me you will laugh more, Lizzy. I want to know you are happy.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

Elizabeth had never seen anything so beautiful. Her senses raced from one sight to another. From a vantage point marking the harbor, she had easily found the Darcy yacht, the
Derby
. A banner bearing the family seal floated above one of the two masts, and a bright blue stripe lined the hull. Her heart skipped a beat as Darcy assisted her from the carriage.

His men had awaited their arrival along the quay, and the Darcys had been ushered aboard. Now, she and Darcy stood along the railing to look out upon the rippling waves. The ship had everything. A highly polished wheel. A sharply raked bowsprit. Glistening brass work. A dark varnished rail and two crisp, white masts. The experience filled her senses to the brim. She tasted the salty air upon on her lips, saw the sun's glare above the glassy surfaces of ship and water, and heard the squawk of the sea birds overhead.

“What do you think of her, Lizzy?” Darcy asked as his arm tightened about Elizabeth's waist.