“She has at that, Sir. The Mistress is of the first order.”
On Wednesday, Darcy had received an unusual message from his cousin, which stated that even his position as Matlock’s son had not resolved the situation in which Cowan had placed them. Edward had sent for his brother Viscount Lindale, as well as dispatching a message to the Archbishop. Unfortunately, the colonel had offered no explanation for this unusual twist, only confiding that he and Cowan would return by week’s end. “It must be of great importance for the colonel to seek the assistance of his brother,” Darcy told Elizabeth as they prepared for bed. “The only higher indignity that Edward would suffer would be if he sought the Earl’s assistance.”
“Perhaps Mr. Cowan has located Mr. Crescent,” Elizabeth ventured.
Darcy’s eyebrow rose in curiosity. “What is it about Mr. Crescent that has you searching for Cousin Samuel’s valet at every turn?”
Elizabeth slid a gown of satin over her head, and Darcy watched as the silky fabric slid over her full curves. “Mayhap it is the man’s name, which I find so fascinating. Perhaps it is that Mr. Crescent was willing to go against his Christian beliefs to prepare your cousin’s body for burial. I cannot say for certain as I have never held the man’s acquaintance.”
“Then I will hope Mr. Cowan has successfully found Samuel’s valet and the man is safe,” Darcy declared.
From either side of the four-poster, they crawled into the bed. Darcy extinguished the last candle and then moved to embrace his wife. The calm found at Woodvine for the past three days had gone a long way in settling his nerves. Although no resolution to the mystery of the deaths associated with Woodvine Hall had been discovered, Darcy felt strangely optimistic. The house ran more efficiently without Mrs. Ridgeway’s influence. Mr. Barriton had assumed several of the housekeeper’s duties, and Mrs. Holbrook the others.
Elizabeth had suggested that the earl should consider replacing the cook with one accustomed to more fashionable dishes and promote Mrs. Holbrook to the housekeeper’s position. “It seems Mrs. Ridgeway frequently consulted with Mrs. Holbrook regarding household duties. Mrs. Holbrook’s mother was a maid-of-all-work for a local family, and the Woodvine cook assisted her parent with the household duties before assuming the position of cook for Samuel Darcy. The late Mr. Holbrook held his son’s present position. He brought his young wife to Woodvine some thirty years prior.”
Darcy promised to speak to Rardin on Mrs. Holbrook’s behalf. He also would speak to the earl about the possibility of Rardin purchasing Darcy’s share of the property. Lord Rardin and his countess could then designate Woodvine as an inheritance for one of the minor children, and Darcy could use the funds from the sale as an investment for his own future family.
With the lights extinguished and his wife close, Darcy ventured, “Mrs. Darcy, we came to Dorset with two purposes in mind. However, having to put Samuel’s affairs in order, one goal has superseded the other. Unfortunately, in the chaos in which we arrived, I have neglected a promise to see my wife enjoying Dorset’s societal pleasures.”
As she walked her fingers across Darcy’s bare chest, Elizabeth asked playfully. “What did you have in mind, Sir?”
“Sea bathing.” Darcy steeled himself for her reaction. He had considered his suggestion for the past several days and had come to the conclusion that it was best for his wife to return to the water soon. If not, she might never swim again.
Elizabeth shoved hard against his chest. “Sea bathing!” She spit the word into the empty room. “Do not ask it of me, Fitzwilliam. I am not certain I can bear even to walk along the shore.”
Elizabeth made an anguished, barely audible sound as Darcy sat beside her. He eased his wife to a reclining situation. “Listen to my reason, Lizzy,” he said calmly. When his wife did not respond, Darcy continued cautiously. “Although I did not experience what you did, I was there—at the lake—and I knew my own horror. But throughout your ordeal, I thanked God Mr. Bennet had seen fit to teach both you and Mrs. Bingley to swim. If he had not, we might not be sharing this moment.”
Darcy could hear her soft sobs. He knew them as tears of healing so he purposely did not rush to shush them away. “Someday, if God wills it, we will have our own children. You have seen the number of lakes on our property. I cannot believe you would wish to spend a lifetime in fear that one of our children had wandered into the waters and was in danger.”
She rasped, “You could teach them to swim.”
Darcy stroked the hair from her cheeks. “I could, and I will. Yet, that pleasure would be easier if their mother could sanction the skill as necessary, and it would be a pleasurable activity on a hot summer afternoon.”
“I promise to encourage them,” Elizabeth declared.
“Children know the truth of false platitudes, Lizzy. They will sense your fear and make it their own.” He brought her cold fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly. “Is that what you wish for our children? To know fear in one area is to practice it in another.” He felt his wife’s body stiffen in disapproval. Darcy offered his final persuasion, “And Heaven forbid any of our children would wander in too far, and have no one to save him but his mother, a woman afraid of going into the water’s depths.”
“If my child needed me, I would be able to reach him,” she said defiantly.
Darcy said, “I am certain you would attempt it, but I would prefer for you to have the confidence to know success. I hold no desire to bury my wife and my child.”
Hope laced Elizabeth’s tone. “Could we not wait a bit longer?”
Darcy kissed her palm and pressed her hand to his heart. “The longer you delay...”
Her voice caught on a sob. “Mr. Darcy, you do not play fair.”
“True, my Lizzy,” he said sympathetically. “Yet, as you are a sensible woman, I place the decision in your hands.”
Irritation had arrived, and despite the fact Elizabeth had given an angry tug on his chest hair, Darcy smiled. She would concede. “Do not present me that hackneyed speech about a horse throwing a person,” she protested.
Darcy rubbed where her anger still stung his chest. “Then I will bow to your wishes and say no more. Just think on it, Lizzy.”
She had complained of every rut in the road, the possibility of rain in a cloudless sky, and the lack of summer flowers on the new bonnet Darcy had purchased for her at the village’s millinery and dress shop. However, none of those were at fault, and Elizabeth knew it as truly as did he: His wife questioned her sanity for agreeing to his previous argument. Keeping his eyes on the passing scenery, Darcy judiciously did not comment.
He would have liked to be the one to coax Elizabeth into the water, but Darcy realized his wife must face her worst nightmares without his assistance, so he would leave Elizabeth in Hannah’s capable hands. Besides bringing a towel and a dry chemise for her mistress, the maid would take every opportunity to minister to Elizabeth’s frayed nerves.
When they debarked close to the shore, Darcy breathed in the clean sea air. He loved the feel of the salt on his cheeks, and the sound of the gulls as they circled overhead. As an untested youth, Darcy had dreamed of living like Defoe’s Crusoe on his own small island. The idea was quite impractical, but an unspoken reality for a boy with a very large imagination. Mudeford was no Bath, but there were still many couples promenading along the narrow streets, while vendors hocked meat pies and pastries. “Would you care to walk along the shore, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked politely.
Her mutinous expression spoke volumes. “Do not Mrs. Darcy me,” she said tersely. “You brought me to this place,” Elizabeth gestured wildly, “to bury my fears. Let me be about it.” His wife’s choice of the word bury did not escape Darcy’s notice. The gypsy’s death would haunt Elizabeth forever.
Darcy bowed elegantly. There would be no point arguing over something in which they were essentially in agreement. Elizabeth was an intelligent woman. She would see the reason behind his insistence. “As you wish, my dear.” He pointed
off to the right. “The gentlemen’s beach is farther on. I will await you at the carriage. Say in an hour.”
“One hour.” Elizabeth grumbled and started across the sand, with Hannah on her heels. Darcy smiled at the determination in his wife’s steps. She would know success today.
Knowing she could return to the coach and Darcy would never criticize her decision, Elizabeth counted each step and each breath that accompanied it. The brightly colored bathing machine reminded her of the ribbons and paint she had observed upon the gypsy wagons in the Woodvine clearing. All of which reminded Elizabeth of her gypsy attacker and made this task more difficult than it was. The image of Vandlo Pias’s countenance brought her steps up short. Hannah skidded to a stop beside her. “No one would think poorly of you, Mistress, if you decided not to do this,” the maid whispered.
“I would,” Elizabeth admitted. She waited for the skittish beat of her heart to settle before she replied, “I would question my abilities for the remainder of my days.” The wind dried her lips further. “I would give my assailant domain over every breath I take in the future.”
Hannah caught Elizabeth’s elbow. “Pardon my saying so, Ma’am, but you must have your freedom.” The maid gave a little tug, and Elizabeth’s feet moved forward. “I have always admired your spirit, Mrs. Darcy, and I shan’t have you forfeit it to the likes of Mr. Gry’s family.”
Despite the terror clutching her chest, Elizabeth chuckled. Her instincts had proved sound when she had asked the young maid from the Lambton inn to join her at Pemberley. “Your loyalty honors me, Hannah.”
Wooden huts with tented sides, each painted with the colors of the British flag and emblems of the sovereignty, rested upon large wheels. A huge horse was hitched to the wagon’s tongue, with a pixie-sized urchin upon his back.
Hannah approached the owner of one of the smaller machines and made arrangements for Elizabeth to use it. With a deep sigh of resignation, Elizabeth climbed the steps and entered through the draped opening.
The carriage was larger than she expected. A wooden seat ran along each side of the wagon. Hannah assisted Elizabeth from her gown and corset. Dejectedly, Elizabeth sat on the bench to remove her stockings and slippers. “Would you care to join me?” she asked Hannah. A thread of desperation laced her words.
“Oh, no, Ma’am,” the maid protested. “It would not be correct as I’m no lady. Besides, you must recognize your demons alone.”
“You sound very much like Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth hissed.
The maid stored Elizabeth’s clothing in an overhead box. She laughed familiarly. “Himself be correct in this matter.”
Elizabeth shooed Hannah from the space. Her maid would wait obediently on the beach until Elizabeth’s wagon returned to shore. With a lurch and a shriek she could not stifle, the machine rolled forward across the shale and into the water.
Her white knuckles gripped the bench as she fought to keep her balance. The wagon rolled deeper into the water, and the sea began to seep though the tied-down cloth of the tented side and the slats between the boards.
Elizabeth purposely blew out short whoot’s of air to steady her breathing. The wagon made its required turn in the water so the door would face the open sea and her presence would be blocked from prying eyes on the shore by the wagon itself. Finally, the movement ceased.
She released the breath she had held for what seemed forever, but, in reality, had been only several elongated seconds. She waited in the silence. Her stomach pitched. The sea gently slapped the wagon’s sides, but Elizabeth did not move. Could not move. Outside the wagon, someone splashed and grunted, but Elizabeth remained on the hard bench. Shivering from the cold water, which splashed about her ankles, she stared at the closed door and wondered how she was to make her way to the stairs and the water on legs as stiff as the concrete pond on Pemberley’s land.
Someone called from the other side of the portal, “The umbrella and tent are in place, Ma’am. Do ye require me hep?”
Elizabeth’s mind searched for the identity of the voice before settling on the idea that it was the dipper, a woman who would dip her in the cold water. It could be that easy. She could open the door, and the stranger would assist her on the steps and into the water. Then it would be over, and she could return to the shore. Yet, Elizabeth could not permit herself to know such manipulations. Instead, she said, “I shall tend to my own needs. I shall raise the flag when I am prepared to return to shore.”
“As ye wish, Ma’am.” Then the stranger withdrew.
Elizabeth was alone with her anxiety, and she had yet to move. Swallowing hard, she pushed against the bench and stood in the wagon’s center. Still staring at the door, which led to the sea, Elizabeth reached for it, but her feet remained locked in place. The cold water sloshed against her ankles and calves, but, other than her hand, nothing moved. She was caught by her inability to will her legs to freedom. She was just about to reject her attempts and order the wagon to shore when the door was pulled from its closed position to frame her husband’s fine form with daylight.
“Fitzwilliam?” her trembling lips formed the word, but no sound filled the air.
Like a guardian angel, he extended his hand to her. “Come, Lizzy. I will protect you.” With his dark gaze penetrating hers, Elizabeth felt warmth spread through her veins.
Elizabeth’s eyes drifted over his body. Rivulets of water trailed down his chest and arms from where Darcy had brushed his hair from his face. If the gods had seen her husband, they would consider him the male equivalent of Aphrodite rising from the sea foam. He wore nothing but a smile, and suddenly Elizabeth’s mouth was dry for another reason. “How did you come to be here?” she rasped.
“You did not think I would abandon you when you most needed my assistance, did you?” he asked soothingly. She shook her head in the negative, but her heart had held such thoughts. She had wondered if Darcy had realized how hard this need to prove her determination really was. “Come, Sweetheart,” he coaxed. “I have paid the wagon owner not to bring anyone near, but the man can only stall for so long. I assume you would not wish for another lady to see me dressed thus.” Darcy’s smile widened as he gestured to his state of undress.
With some feelings of resentment and mortification, Elizabeth rolled her eyes in supplication. “How did I not recognize how incorrigible you truly were, Sir? And here I had thought you the model of propriety.” As if they had a mind of their own, her feet, surprisingly, moved toward him. Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and followed.
Darcy caught her close. “My lack of attire is model propriety for gentlemen when they sea bathe,” he teased. Darcy braced her steps as Elizabeth weakly descended toward the dark liquid death.
She gave a restless wave of her trembling hands. “It is cold,” she protested weakly.
Darcy assured, “Your body will become accustomed to it.” Elizabeth remained unimpressed by Darcy’s guarantees. On the last step, her husband turned to her. “Do you trust me?” he demanded.
Elizabeth looked deeply into his eyes. “With my life,” she murmured.
Darcy kissed her then. Kissed her long and hard. Kissed her until Elizabeth slumped heavily against his strong body. His tongue claimed hers, and she gave herself up to the passion they shared.
Darcy adjusted his mouth against hers before stepping backward into the water, taking her with him. Warmed by his hands upon her curves, it took Elizabeth’s mind several additional seconds before it realized she was under the water. Instantly, she thought to fight him, to free herself from the all-encompassing fear, which coursed through her veins. Yet, her husband held her close. They shared the same breath. Darcy’s arms tightened about her as he kicked hard to bring them to the surface.
Elizabeth sputtered and spit as her husband released her; but her instincts took hold, and her feet fluttered to keep her afloat. She spun around to face her husband. “You are beyond irredeemable, Sir,” she accused.
Darcy remained near, and she realized he would
protect her. With a sheepish grin, he said, “My means may lack finesse, Lizzy, but they obviously proved true.”
“I shall never hear the end of this, shall I?” she asked brusquely, but her condemnation had little effect on her husband. “You shall take great pleasure in reminding me of your dominance in this matter.”
Darcy caught her about the waist. No one could see them under the umbrella tent, so Elizabeth went willingly into his arms. They kicked together to stay afloat. “I could be persuaded,” he said as he lifted her braid across Elizabeth’s shoulder, “to forget your weakness in this matter, if we replace it with a more memorable one.” He kissed Elizabeth’s ear. “I have never known a woman in the water,” he said seductively.
Her body reflexively pushed against him. “We were intimate at the lake when we picnicked at Pemberley,” she countered. “Beside, I do not care to dwell on the thought of you with another.” In the modesty of her nature, Elizabeth immediately felt she had been unreasonable for expecting Darcy to never have known another, but her heart and her mind showed themselves independent of this great irreconcilable difference. She frowned deeply before pushing against his chest to free herself.
Darcy towed her closer to the wagon’s steps. “You know I meant no offense. I never knew my heart until you entered my life, Lizzy.”
She stepped upon the lowest step. He reached for her, but she avoided his touch. “The moment has passed, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly. Elizabeth could not look at him. She was being foolish, but the pain she always experienced when she imagined Darcy enjoying intimacies—the same type of intimacies they shared—with another had taken hold of her heart. “I suspect it is past time for your return to the men’s beach. I shall wait five minutes before I raise the flag.” She took another step away from him. “I shall meet you at the carriage.” Her slight had been most determined.
Darcy reached for her. “Do not do this, Lizzy. You knew I came to our marriage bed having known others. Most men have.”
The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy Page 29