Sometime over the past few hours—after openly prostrating himself at Misery’s feet—he had formulated a plan—a plan to die. He knew where to find Wickham, and with the first streaks of dawn, Darcy would set out for Northumberland. For months now, he had set his estate—his papers—in order, and everything was ready for his death. Wickham had thrown down the gauntlet, and he would respond. Lydia Bennet’s seduction was a message—a warning—that George Wickham would not stop until one or both of them no longer existed. His enemy had chosen the girl as a
Responding in kind, Darcy would release Lydia Bennet from her eternal grave. He owed Elizabeth that much, and if he died in doing so, his effort would be well worth giving back to his Elizabeth the only peace he could.Then she could go on with her life—a life without him. Even if he survived—and Darcy held no illusions in that area—Elizabeth would never love him again. What woman could love the man who was the means of ruining a most-beloved sister? He wrote Georgiana a letter explaining his departure. He left specific instructions for his solicitors to execute the dictates of his will, leaving the estate and the care of his sister to Elizabeth, with Damon’s help, until Georgiana married. When Georgiana’s children came of age, Elizabeth would hold the dowager house.
Of course, the possibility existed of Elizabeth’s choosing to remarry, but he felt confident that she would not bring another man into his house. If the situation were reversed, Darcy would never have another woman at Pemberley. It would be a break in the natural order.
Reaching his quarters, he stripped down to his breeches and shirt before falling across the bed in exhaustion. Tomorrow he would leave to find his enemy. After several tomorrows, he and George Wickham would face the ultimate battle—a battle of strength, of endurance, and of fate.
The shadows draped the hedgerow surrounding the community cemetery as Darcy edged along its perimeter.The graveyard backed up to the land identified as belonging to Wickham. Hot and sweaty and dust covered from his four-day ride, he wanted a bath and a warm bed, but death waited in a place where appearance made no difference. A deep hushed silence permeated the air. Darcy would cross the cemetery to circle behind the house that Wickham occupied.
Weaving his way among the headstones, an eddy of soft mist dampened his boots. The moonlight, shredded by the bare-leafed boughs, flickered off the granite, allowing him to read bits and pieces of epitaphs: Loving Father, Angel, Dearest Child, Peace. He crept now, on all fours, to the center of the graveyard. Resting his back against the cool stone, he caught his breath. “Elizabeth,” he groaned. It was for her that he had come—for her more than anything. Closing his eyes, her tear-stained face rose in his memory. Darcy hated the fact that his last image of Elizabeth was one of her in tears—tears he had caused.
Pushing the picture of his wife back into his heart, he shoved away from the stone while allowing his fingers to trace the engraving. A cloud moved aside, and the words glowed: Ellender D’Arcy Benning. The irony of finding the stone that signaled the beginning of this madness rang wildly with mimicry.“Let us end this,” he whispered, and moved forward again.
Finally, he made his way through the hedge shrubs, moving cautiously through the shadows. He would sacrifice himself for Georgiana, for his family name, but most of all, for Elizabeth. Up until this moment, a feeling of doom had followed him, but now tranquility came. If it was his fate to die here on this day, then die he gladly would.
A window glowed faintly with light, and Darcy crawled unevenly along the ground until he crouched beneath its sill. Unsurprisingly, the house itself smelled of old blood and bones. Peering inside, Darcy thought it all looked eerily ordinary, like a country manor house, except for the fact that a phantom circle moved about the middle of the room—trancelike—maintaining their distance from one another and from a center ornate chair occupied by Wickham himself. No one spoke, yet mumbled chanting—rhythmic and haunting—filled the air.
Looking closer, Darcy could see that the throne chair was an uncommon furnishing; it was made of earth, rich with decaying matter and coated with the same grey ashes he and Elizabeth had found at Amelia Younge’s house. Wickham, intent on the display,
In a flash, the shades, which had looped around Wickham, formed a semicircle, enclosing Darcy in a ghostly prison. Pathetic monsters, they waited for him to react—to move—ready to respond with a sad compulsion not their own. Darcy recognized Lydia Bennet among them and murmured a prayer for her salvation. Among all these, she would be his target. He would use what skills he had to free Elizabeth’s sister from a macabre immortality.
Sounds and sensations came from the distance—from the graveyard behind them—a graveyard full of the same kind of souls dancing to an eerie tune.Wickham appeared on the periphery of his vision as Darcy surveyed the scene. “Ah, Darcy, you came.” He floated among those swaying in place, waiting for his command.
“You knew I would.”
Wickham nodded, a vacuous smile clinging to his face. “For you, at last, it all comes down to this. I must admit you were a worthy opponent; I almost hate to see it end.”
A loud rushing in his ears told Darcy that the chanting had increased. Riveting his attention on those closest to him, Darcy extended his arms, letting the energy flow outward, but it made no difference. His power could not stop the dead, and Wickham’s followers pushed forward, crowding Darcy against the wall.
“Farewell, Darcy.” Wickham offered a brief salute as he turned towards the cemetery.
Darcy pulled the iron crucifix from his pocket, holding it in his left hand, and he raised the silver sword in the other.A few of these apparitions would know heaven tonight, starting with Lydia Bennet. He angled his body to meet her assault first.The others did not matter.
From the right, he felt the skin along his arm tear as the claws of one of the coven slashed him, but Darcy did not even lower the sword. His attention rested purely on Lydia’s approach. He held the
Now, the others attacked him with full force. He spun and turned and twisted, fighting one after another.The sword and the crucifix took their tolls, but the combined effort was too much for him.They tore at him, blood gushed everywhere, tongues lapped at his wounds, and still they pressed him harder against the grey stone wall. Unable to see any longer, he leaned his head back and slid down the wall in defeat. The ghoulish apparitions covered him, tearing away his skin and sinking in their teeth to drain away what was left of his soul. As they smothered him, his mouth formed one last word: Elizabeth.
She bolted upright in the bed, her gown soaked with sweat. Elizabeth brought her trembling hand to her face, shoving the hair away.The image of Darcy’s blood-spattered face still hung in the air. Her jagged breath was the only sound in the inn’s small bedchamber. Elizabeth fought to control her breathing, gulping air into her lungs. A cold shiver shook her as tears erupted from the corners of her eyes. It was all so real; unable to stop herself, Elizabeth glanced at the foot of the bed, half expecting to find Darcy lying in a bloody pool at her feet. Feeling the coolness of the room, she pulled the blanket around her like a shawl and began to rock herself back and forth, in the same rhythmic swaying of the souls in her dream.The
CHAPTER 23
Streaks of sunlight cleared away clouds from the late December sky as Darcy slipped into his sister’s room. Only the dying embers of the fireplace provided warmth, and he was half tempted to stoke the fire so Georgiana might be more comfortable, but he would not wake her. Standing by her bed and looking down at her, he noted how she grew lovelier every day, looking very much like their father’s forebearers. There were portraits in the gallery of some of the earlier Darcy households, and he saw the resemblance in many of them.When he was younger, he had searched the faces, looking for someone who he resembled. He had to go back five generations to find his eyes and his chin line. These thoughts on such a day were silent ramblings, but somehow they gave Darcy a sense of completeness. He belonged to this family—to this girl—to this curse.
He gently pull
ed the bed linens over her shoulders and tucked them in about his sister before placing the letter on the nightstand. “I love you, Georgie,” he mouthed and then turned for the door.
When he was nearly out of the room, her sleepy voice stopped his progress.“Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy returned to her side.“I am sorry I woke you, Sweetling. Go back to sleep.” He moved a strand of her hair away from her eyes. “I am to be away from Pemberley for a few days; I left you a note explaining everything.”
“Will you go after Elizabeth?”
Darcy shook his head. “I cannot. Elizabeth must be with her family now.”
Georgiana struggled to sit up in bed.“Elizabeth will return?”
He looked away and forced himself to swallow the hurt. “It would be my wish, Sweetling, that you and Elizabeth share a life together…best friends.You can learn a great deal from my wife.”
“But not without you?” she insisted.
“Unfortunately, Elizabeth possesses reasons to hate me. I am not under the persuasion that she will return.” How could he explain? “Georgiana, George Wickham took Elizabeth’s youngest sister.The girl is now one of the walking dead, and Wickham did it as revenge against our family—against me, specifically, because I foolishly challenged him. How could Elizabeth forgive my arrogance?”
Realization of what he planned hit the girl full force, and she clutched at his hand. “Fitzwilliam, you cannot go off alone to find Wickham! How will I face this without your guidance?”
“It is the only thing—the only honorable thing—I can give Elizabeth…the only thing I can do for this family.”
“Elizabeth loves you, Brother; she would argue against this for you.”
Darcy caressed her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against the coolness of his palm. “Elizabeth’s loyalty remains true, which will strain her relationship with her parents and her sisters. She cannot tell them the reason for Lydia’s demise or admit her share of the blame. I know Elizabeth; she will exile herself from her family. She will need someone to whom to turn. Be that someone, Georgiana; Elizabeth will respond in kind.The two of you will be a formidable pair. I have outlined what must be done for the estate and for your future.You and Elizabeth will want for nothing; I have seen to it all.”
Georgiana’s tears escaped, although she fought to be strong for him.“Do not go,” she whispered.
Darcy wiped away her tears with his thumbs. “I will make you one promise before I leave you, my darling girl. If somehow I survive this confrontation, I will find Elizabeth, and I will beg her on bended knee to return to us. I will humble myself at her feet and not take no for an answer.”
“You do love her? I knew you did!”The tears began again.
“With all my heart.” Darcy pulled his sister to him. “With all my heart that I have not given to you.” He kissed the top of Georgiana’s head.“I will journey far and the weather may not hold, so I
Elizabeth traveled for nearly two hours, but the previous night’s rain, leaving large ruts in the road’s normally smooth surface, slowed her progress. She asked Peter to stop at the next inn; she desperately needed to stretch her legs. A dull headache remained from the nightmarish images, which had haunted her aborted sleep. She could not shake the image of a bloody Darcy speaking her name. How much of the dream is true?That question troubled her waking hours. With the other dreams, parts of them were predictions that were fulfilled, and parts were events that had already occurred. She could not bear the thought of what she had seen happening to Darcy.Yet what could she do? She needed to go to her family. Besides, her helping Darcy only put him in more danger—dividing his priorities.At least, that was what she told herself.
The carriage, thankfully, rolled to a stop. As Peter scrambled down from the seat, Elizabeth righted herself and straightened her clothing. Peter jerked open the door and let down the steps.“Here we be, Mrs. Darcy.” He offered her a hand down.
Elizabeth took a few gingerly steps, testing her legs. “Thank you, Peter.” She patted his hand before stepping away. “I promise that I will not be long. I just need some tea to settle my stomach.” She motioned to Hannah, her maid, to follow her once she checked on the belongings.
“Of course, Mrs. Darcy. I will just be tendin’ the horses.We can start out again whenever you be ready.”
“You get something, too, Peter. Tell them to put it on my account.” She walked stiffly towards the inn. Few horses or carriages were in the yard, and Elizabeth thought she might find the peace and quiet refreshing.The rattle of the carriage seemed deafening today.
A stout innkeeper rushed forward when he saw her enter.Well-dressed women tended to demand immediate attention, and the
“I just need some refreshment. Be sure that someone aids my driver and my maid, and see that they get something also.” She took off her gloves and her bonnet.“I will sit over there.” Elizabeth gestured to a table along the wall.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said and gave a thick-waisted bow. “Me wife will be right over.”
Elizabeth settled herself at the table, placing her outer garment on one of the chairs. She shrugged her shoulders several times to loosen the tension. It was not a big inn, but everything appeared clean and well polished.
A stout woman waddled towards the table.“What might we be gettin’ you, Ma’am?”
Elizabeth recognized that it was unusual for a woman to travel alone, and it was important to let everyone know with her tone that she was no fool when it came to proper service.“I would like some tea, and if you have some sweetmeats or tartlets, that would be wonderful.”
“I be findin’ you some of the best sweetmeats in the country, Ma’am.”The innkeeper’s wife took off at a trot.
Elizabeth sighed deeply. She really did not care for the sweet refreshments, but she would eat a few and box up the rest. Her maid had a sweet tooth and would appreciate the gesture. In only a few minutes, the tea arrived, and she sat stirring it mindlessly.
Engrossed in her own reflections, Elizabeth took no note of the gentleman striding purposefully towards the door upon leaving the taproom, but just as he reached the exit, he realized he had dropped one of his gloves. Turning quickly in place, the man searched the floor in the direction from which he had come.“Ah, there it is.” He bent to retrieve the item, but then his eyes drifted to the woman seated alone. Shocked to see her there, the words burst from his mouth. “Elizabeth…I mean, Mrs. Darcy?” He made a quick bow from across the room.“What in the world are you doing here?” He came forward as he spoke.
Elizabeth jumped to her feet upon hearing her name.“Colonel Fitz—Fitzwilliam!” she stammered.
Immediately, he took her hand in his two large hands and gestured to the chair.“Please be seated.” He looked around, as if expecting Darcy to come through the door.“May I join you, Ma’am?”
“Certainly, Colonel.” Elizabeth looked away in embarrassment. She would need to explain to Darcy’s cousin why she had left Pemberley without her husband.
Damon Fitzwilliam sat next to her.“I am in amazement to find you in this out-of-the-way inn, Mrs. Darcy. I would not think my cousin would allow you out of his sight so soon after your nuptials.” He gestured to the innkeeper to bring him another tankard of ale.
Elizabeth stalled; she took a sip of her tea before she answered. “My mother is ill, and my papa is distraught.We have experienced a family tragedy, Sir.”
“I offer my condolences.” She acknowledged his words with a slight nod.“Yet I am still at a loss as to why your husband does not travel with you.There are many things one might say about Darcy, but ignoring his responsibilities is not one of them.”
The reappearance of the woman with her sweetmeats and his tankard gave Elizabeth a moment to decide how to answer. The truth—as much as she could offer—seemed the best bet. Obviously, Darcy’s family would soon know of their separation. “How candid might I be, Colonel?”
“Personally, I can think of only one reason for your separation fro
m my cousin. I asked Darcy before he married if you were aware of his unique situation, and he assured me that you knew everything. Darcy loves you. Otherwise, he would not have brought you into his life.” His words demanded she speak honestly.
“My husband, I assure you, Colonel, owns my heart!”
He took a drink of the ale and studied her closely. She was not what he had considered her to be when he met Elizabeth Bennet in London.“I have all the time in the world, Mrs. Darcy, and sometimes it is best to get another opinion.”
Elizabeth nibbled on the sweetmeat, and although it had nothing to do with the woman’s cooking, it certainly tasted bitter. “May I assume, Colonel, that you know of the pox which haunts my husband?”
“As I share guardianship of Georgiana with Darcy, he confessed his concerns to me about the Darcy legacy. No one else in the family knows. My father is a Fitzwilliam, as was Darcy’s mother. The aberration travels through the Darcy line, and I doubt my father would welcome the knowledge of what James Darcy did to his sister. It would explain Lady Anne’s withdrawal from her husband and also her weakened condition.” He leaned forward to ensure secrecy.“My cousin has not infected you, Madam?”
“No…no, Colonel. My husband refuses to continue the family curse over to another generation.” She blushed thoroughly at sharing such intimacies. “Mr. Darcy is a man of honor.”
“Then you must explain what caused this sudden departure. You do sound as if you wanted this removal. I will not judge, so please be honest. I cannot imagine how both of you must suffer with such an arrangement.” He cradled her hand in both of his as he spoke.
Vampire Darcy's Desire Page 32