Stepping through the opening, James reached for the familiar lever to close off the passage. He heard Elizabeth Darcy gasp at the sight of Georgiana’s body lying motionless on the floor as the wall sconce swung into place. “Mr. Darcy’s sister will have a headache, but that will be the worst of it,” he asserted. He stared at her mockingly. He reached for the shuttered lantern he had left in the wall’s recessed niche. Opening the light, he ordered, “This way, ladies.” He began to traverse a narrow, damp corridor. He did not look back to see if they followed; James realized they had no idea where they were—a fact he would use to his advantage.
“George Wickham,” Darcy mumbled with recognition. “In my house—in Pemberley?” His eyes darted about the room in terror. “The deaths? Wickham caused the deaths.”The words
Georgiana—lovely Georgiana
echoed in his memory, and suddenly pure panic
shook him. “Georgiana.” He grabbed Edward’s hand as he started toward the door. “He has been in Georgiana’s room!”
Darcy took off at a run, mounting the steps to the private quarters two at a time—Colonel Fitzwilliam and the viscount closely on his heels. He caught the arm of the footman standing post in the hallway. “My sister?” he pleaded.
“Her room, sir,” the man called to Darcy’s retreating form. “With Mrs. Darcy and the mistress’s sister.”
Darcy did not knock before entering the room; he would apologize later if he was wrong. Coming to a sudden halt, taking stock of the room, the other two men flanking him. Darcy felt a prick of alarm. “Georgiana!” he called, but was greeted only with silence. “Georgiana!” He clenched his lips together, trying not to draw conclusions.
“The footman said she was here, as were Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Wickham.”Adam Lawrence started toward the open sitting room door.
Edward walked slowly in the direction of the screen, carefully surveying every corner of the room. The eerie silence made him think of the absolute quiet before a battle, and the thought nearly shook his resolve. Finally, a low moan signaled his find. “Here!” he called as he knelt to Georgiana’s side. “Easy, Sweetling.” He turned her carefully in his embrace, not wishing to injure her further. “Easy,” he cautioned again as he cradled Georgiana’s head in his lap.
Darcy was immediately beside him—on his knees checking for other injuries besides the gaping gash behind her ear. He handed Edward his handkerchief to stop the blood. “Stafford, send a man for Mrs. Reynolds,” he snapped. He ran his hands quickly up and down his sister’s arms and legs, searching for other wounds. Other than a few obvious bruises he saw nothing else.
“Here.” Stafford thrust a glass of water into Edward’s hands.
The colonel took it, placing only a few drops on Georgiana’s swollen lip.“She is coming around.” Edward carefully pushed Georgiana’s tresses from her face. “I have you,” he whispered huskily. “Do not try to move.”
“Georgie.” Darcy caught her hand. “Can you hear us?”
Georgiana stirred again—her eyes fluttering open and then closing slowly as she fought her way to consciousness. “Fitzwilliam?” she whispered.
“I am here.” He squeezed his sister’s hand. “As is Edward.”
Georgiana’s eyes opened—searching her cousin’s face for familiarity. Her hand lifted for his mouth. “Edward,” she murmured.
“We are all here, Love,” he whispered as he caressed her jaw.
“Georgie,” Darcy’s anxious voice pleaded,“where is Elizabeth?”
His sister fought for lucidity. “Elizabeth?” She took a steadying breath.
“Yes, Sweetheart,” Darcy coaxed. “Where is Elizabeth?”
Turning her head too quickly, Georgiana cringed with pain. “She left with Mr.Wickham.”
“What do you mean?” Pure panic set Darcy ablaze.“Left
where?
”
“Through the wall.” Georgiana tried desperately to explain. “He was…he was in my room. I tried…tried to get away…caught me…Mrs.Wickham came…then Elizabeth…his wife agreed to go with him…said he came for her…wanted to take me, but Elizabeth…she said she would go instead…said you would not forgive her for the deaths.You will, Fitzwilliam…you will forgive her, will you not? You must bring Elizabeth back to us.”
“Tell me where!” he demanded. “I must stop him!”
“Through the wall.” Her left hand gestured toward the wall sconce. “They walked through the wall.” Georgiana pushed her way to a seated position. “Somehow through there.The wall shifts open…it is dark and cold.”
Darcy was on his feet immediately, pushing against plaster and wood, trying to move the immovable.
“There must be a secret handle or latch.” Stafford’s fingers ran along the baseboard trim and other fixtures.
Without thinking, Darcy followed the viscount’s example, searching frantically with his fingers in every crack and crevice. Deep in thought—thoughts of his brave wife and of what revenge
he would exact on George Wickham—Darcy nearly missed the metal tip of the latch. “Found it!” He fumbled with the U-shaped hook, sliding his finger under it to lift it perpendicular to the wall. Then he took a step back as the brick and mortar shifted, spinning in on itself.
“Lord!” he gasped as he gaped into the blackness. “We need lanterns and men.”
“Right.” Stafford rushed out of the room as Mrs. Reynolds rushed in.
Edward lifted Georgiana from the floor. “Bring her this way, Colonel.” Mrs. Reynolds cleared a path to the adjoining room.
“Wait!” Georgiana called as her cousin caught her to him.“Fitzwilliam.” She reached for her brother.
Darcy came to her side. “What is it, Georgie?”
“He has been watching us,” Georgiana whispered. “Watched you and Elizabeth . . . alone.” Her ears pinked in discomfiture….
Darcy recognized the meaning of her embarrassed words. “I understand.”
“No, you do not. He wants her…wants Elizabeth…to take revenge on you. She went with him to ensure my safety.”
“I will get her back, Georgiana. Never fear. Today will be the last day George Wickham haunts our lives.”
She dropped the first of the swatches from her pocket when the movable door closed on Georgiana, hoping to help Darcy find them. Now, Elizabeth clung to her youngest sister. They followed the pale light as it made its way along the damp corridor. “Where are we going?” she demanded of their captor.
“You will see, Mrs. Darcy,” he mocked over his shoulder, refusing to slow down, often leaving them stumbling through the shadows. Yet, finally, he paused and waited on the women. “This way.” He gestured to the left.
Elizabeth planted her feet and caught Lydia’s arm. “We go nowhere until you tell us where we are.”
“You forget, Mrs. Darcy; I am not enthralled with you. I am not that wisp of a husband you took to your bed,” he asserted.
“Then tell your wife of our destination,” Elizabeth ordered. She shoved Lydia forward.
“My wife?” he incredulously stormed.“You think this tart is my wife?” He knocked Lydia out of his way as he closed the distance between himself and Elizabeth. “I have known Mrs. Wickham in the Biblical sense of the word, but I am most certainly not this woman’s husband.” He caught Lydia’s wrist and bent it backward. “I would suggest that you clarify the difference for your sister, Mrs. Wickham.”
Lydia winced from the pain he inflicted. “James is not my husband.”
Elizabeth physically pried his fingers from her sister’s arm. “Leave her alone, you brute!” she warned.
“Or what, Mrs. Darcy? What will you threaten? Will you banish me from Pemberley as your husband once did, or will you have me whipped before the stable hands as my dear father once saw fit to do?”
Elizabeth stood straight and defiant. “I agreed to come with you only on the premise that you would not hurt an innocent, Mr. Wickham.”
“As I just told you, I am not that wheyface George Wickham.” He hovered over her, using his size to try to intimidate her.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation.“Then tell me, kind sir, who are you?” she said sarcastically.
“I am an associate of Mr. Wickham. James Withey. At your service, madam.” He mockingly offered Elizabeth a low bow. However, as he rose, he pointed a gun at her forehead, and he cocked it. “I would strongly suggest, Mrs. Darcy, you ask no more questions and simply move along the passage. I have killed one man already; they can hang me only once for the offense.”
Lydia caught Elizabeth’s arm. “Come, Lizzy.” She lowered her eyes to James’s glare. “I know what is best with Mr.Withey.”
“Lydia, you cannot be serious?” Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “He is Mr.Wickham.”
“No…no, he is not.” Lydia tugged on her sister’s hand.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed her younger sister to pull her along the gloomy channel. A second swatch of delicate lace drifted to the shadowy floor.
Edward gently placed Georgiana on Anne’s bed. “Here, Sweetling.” He caressed her cheek. “Mrs. Reynolds will tend to you, Love.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she grabbed his hand. “You will go with Fitzwilliam? You will safeguard him?”
“Do not worry, Darling. I will let nothing happen to that brother of yours.” He squeezed her hand and started to take his leave.
“I want nothing to happen to you either.” She caught his hand in her two smaller ones. Edward noticed the elegant, long fingers as they wrapped around his. Georgiana interlaced their hands.“Come back to me.”
A realization struck him—recognition of what he had said when he had seen her earlier that day. His cousin’s gangly girlish-ness no longer existed: He supposed he had seen her with a guardian’s eye before.Yet, even at Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding, though she had been little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful, and although he inherently knew those facts, until that moment, Edward had not truly seen Georgiana—not looked at her as a man does a woman.
“I will be back.” He squeezed her hand.“Listen to Mrs. Reynolds. I want you up and ready for a game of lottery tickets when I return.” He brought the back of Georgiana’s hand to his lips. Something magical shot through him. Edward forced himself away from the image of Georgiana lying in bed and looking a bit disheveled.
Georgiana’s eyes followed his form as he disappeared through the dressing room connection. She scanned his back with pleasure. “My cousin is a handsome man,” she remarked as Mrs. Reynolds took a clean cloth and water to the blood matted in her hair.
The housekeeper glanced over her shoulder, but she did not see what the girl saw. “The colonel is of the finest cut; you are fortunate, Miss, to have him as one of your guardians.”
Georgiana closed her eyes to keep an image of him in her memory. “I suppose…suppose you are correct, as usual, Mrs. Reynolds.”
My cousin is not for me.
“Murray!” Darcy called from his sister’s bedroom door. “Bring Mr. Steventon here at once.”
“Right away, Mr. Darcy.”The footman took off at a run.
Darcy returned to stare into the gaping hole.“My God, Edward. How did I not know about this?” He gestured toward the blackness.
Edward Fitzwilliam tried to keep his focus, but his cousin’s words echoed through his mind:
Come back to me.
When had Georgiana turned into a woman? And why had he not seen it before? He purposely gave his head a good shake to clear his thinking.“We need to send some men to search for the other openings. Where might they be?”
Darcy looked anxiously toward the emptiness, wanting to take action—fearing the worst for Elizabeth—but knowing he needed weapons and lights before he and the others plunged into the darkness. He prayed for Elizabeth’s safety and that of their child. His impetuous wife had placed herself in danger to save his sister. “I cannot lose her,” he whispered as he stared into the murky darkness. Elizabeth had taken matters into her own hands, as she often did.
“You will not,” Edward’s hand grasped his shoulder. “Help me find Mrs. Darcy. Tell me where you have seen or have suspected your intruder to be.”
Darcy shot a quick glance toward the open bedroom door, expecting the others to appear any second. “I cannot think straight, Edward,” he muttered. “What if he has hurt her?”
“Listen to me, Darcy. Wickham needs Mrs. Darcy if he expects to get away from here. He will intimidate her, but he will not hurt her. What we need now is a plan. I suggest we send Stafford and
Worth with some men to find the other openings and to enter the tunnels at those points.You and I will take weapons and follow this trail.The man will not get away with this. Murder is quite different from womanizing and gambling.”
“Can she be well? I mean, in there with him?” Darcy chastised himself for allowing Elizabeth to be in danger. “I should have realized…”
“Mrs. Darcy is a resourceful woman.A scoundrel such as George Wickham will not defeat her.”
“Come along,” the man Elizabeth knew as George Wickham squeaked like an adolescent schoolboy. “James wants the two of you by the forest opening.”
“It is cold in here,” Lydia whimpered, “and my slippers are getting wet.”
Peter whipped around to face her. “Are you complaining again? Nothing is ever good enough for you.” He raised his hand to strike her, but Elizabeth’s reprimand brought him up short. “Stop!”
Peter turned on her. “Who do you think you are to give me orders, madam?” His voice popped and cracked as if he was a boy of fourteen or fifteen. “My father taught me how to treat those below me, and Mrs. Wickham needs a lesson or two on gratitude and condescension.”
Elizabeth looked at the young man, confusion lacing her voice. “Mr.Withey?”
The boy snarled his nose in disgust. “Withey will return. He always returns at the least opportune time. He asked me to escort you to the forest.”
Elizabeth spoke softly, edging closer to Lydia. “May I ask your name, sir?” Elizabeth noted the open area—an antechamber of sorts, containing the missing bedding and candelabra.