Each person possessed a tiny covered oil lamp, the screen to be opened only if absolutely necessary. It was doubtful that the thieves would post a lookout, but then again, they might be on a higher stage of alert after depositing their friend on the surgeon's doorstep.

Darcy kept to the rear of the group, a shotgun tightly clutched in the crook of his right arm and two loaded pistols tucked into his belt. He had wisely waited until he was in the stables before loading the firearms, Lizzy already fretting enough at his involvement in the venture. She said little, but the anxiety was discernible on her lovely face. He hated worrying her, but Darcy had never been the type of Master to sit back and let his employees do all the work. Besides, this sort of adventure was simply too much fun to miss, not that he would have said that to his wife!

Colonel Fitzwilliam, naturally, had come along. His expertise was valuable, although like Darcy he hung back and allowed the gamekeeper to command. Or rather the gamekeeper and his wife, since Mrs. Burr was stationed to her husband's immediate left, shotgun at the ready and Mole protectively flanking.

Lew withdrew the bloody, crumbled garments worn by the unfortunate poacher lying in Rowsley, if he was still alive, and held them under the noses of the two hounds. They each sniffed and slobbered over the clothes, taking less than one minute to firmly and irrevocably plant the scent within their nostrils before beginning the search. Noses pressed to the rocks and dirt, their leashes given plenty of slack to scout about, the dogs led as the hunters trailed behind.

It took about fifteen minutes. The dogs searched for the one scent among all the others detected, ranging over a fifty-yard span before finally finding the poacher's scent on a narrow trail winding through a dead copse of trees at the base of a shorter cliff a bit north of the taller pike. The silent black and tan animals gave no vocal indication of their victory, merely launching purposefully forward. Once on the hunt, nothing would divert them and their handlers were forced to trot at a rapid pace in order to keep up with the relentless pursuit.

The bloodhounds did not stumble, nor did the mastiffs. Their eyesight was keen and feet surely placed. The humans struggled more, no one escaping the occasional stumble, but gradually they advanced.

The wide valley closed in as the walls grew steeper and higher. Attempts were made to be as quiet as mice, but the crumbled chunks of limestone littering the ground prevented this. Thus, everyone was wary, each sense straining and vigilant. Eyes swept the environs constantly with peripheral vision locked onto the mastiffs, who would definitely detect trouble long before the humans.

The smell of water and sound of slow trickling over rock was noted before they reached the tiny creek and moderate-sized pond. A rapid assessment determined that the pond was not natural, a crude dam stopping the natural flow down the ravine's floor. It was their second indication—after the hounds' detection of the poachers' scent—that they were on the right track. The next question was how to determine precisely where they were hiding.

“Well. Look at that! They lit the welcoming light for us. How considerate.” Richard's dry whisper reached Darcy, both men chuckling faintly at the sight of the flickering fire that answered the question.

The rock ring was located approximately four feet away from a gaping opening in the solid wall, the small fire casting uneven illumination over the clearing before the cave. But it was enough to adequately visualize the raggedly dressed man sitting in a slump before it. The sentry, presumably, although he appeared to be dozing and his rifle was lying negligently across his lap. The light was not bright enough to conclude there were no other caverns in the area, so they advanced with caution. Still, with minimal intelligence, the plan was fairly straightforward: a frontal attack.

At a hushed whistle identical to the call of an owl, Vella launched forward, her sleek body streaking across the space in a blur of motion. She leapt effortlessly over the fire, landing directly onto the chest of the sentry before he could inhale to scream a warning. Her massive weight knocked the man flat, air escaping his throat in a gush and rendering him incapable of speech. Not that he was likely to attempt it with a full set of razor sharp teeth less than an inch from his face. Vella released one short snarl, pitched low and profoundly menacing, her hot breath and saliva brushing over one cheek as she purposefully drew closer still until her wicked incisors rested against the man's jugular.

The Pemberley crew wasted no time. They moved forward, spreading in a wide arc with the dogs in front, sweeping the area visually for signs of movement or additional caves. A rapid scan confirmed two holes cut into the rock face of the cliff. A smaller opening some fifteen feet away showed no obvious tracks or signs of use, not that they would assume too much, while the one by the fire was clearly occupied. The bloodhounds were fighting the restraining leash in the mad desire to pursue their scented quarry into the large opening, and the numerous footprints and scattered debris surrounding the rough ground was further proof.

A faint light could be seen from within, but no motion or sounds were perceived. Darcy's heart beat a steady rhythm in his chest, his emotions controlled but the heat of excitement coursing through his veins. Richard's harsh respirations were an audible sign of his enthusiasm.

Vella maintained her position at the man's neck while Mrs. Burr knelt by the side of the terrified sentry, her attractive face set into a mask of fierce resolve. “How many?” she whispered, needing to repeat the question twice before the paralyzed man was able to squeak out the word “four” followed by a weak moan.

“Armed?” she asked.

“Yes… two… pistols.”

She nodded. “Don't move or speak and Vella will let you live. Understand?” His answer was another moan.

Mrs. Burr rose, signals given to convey the message. She stationed herself on one side of the cave opening, Sean on the other. Lew, Ollie, Abel, Mr. Burr, Darcy, and Richard waited several feet away in a line with firearms aimed and the four mastiffs poised. Only then were the frantic hounds released.

They dashed into the cave, finally emitting deep barks as they searched for the owners of the scent embedded in their nasal passageways. Chaos ensued. Shouts and shrieks erupted, crashes and slamming echoed. The pale light was extinguished with the sharp shattering sound of glass. The startled sleepers were completely disoriented from the abrupt awakening into pitch black darkness. Curses rent the air, followed by the unmistakable smell of spilled lamp oil and the sudden snap of flames freely fueled.

Screams pierced the air. The fire lit the walls, showing the way out to the panicked poachers who darted toward safety, only to be tripped up by the dogs who had also decided that the cave was not the best place to be at the moment. They shot out of the exit, adroitly dodging the foremost poacher, who sidestepped in surprise and stumbled into a second frenzied poacher, both of them falling down in a heap at the feet of Mrs. Burr and Sean.

The remaining two avoided the tangle of limbs blocking the exit, running to what they believed to be safety but quickly deducing was anything but at the sight of six shotguns pointed their direction and four growling, slavering dogs waiting to pounce. They skidded to a stop, hands rising in the universal gesture of surrender.

The first two, still unaware of the realities, struggled to their feet. Only one step was taken before they too noted the threat. One man mirrored the actions of the previous captives, his arms lifting as he instantly halted his forward momentum. His partner was the only one who showed the slightest sign of bravery, or stupidity depending on the point of view, by grabbing the grip of the pistol tucked into his belt. His attempt at heroics was short-lived, however, as Mrs. Burr expeditiously reversed her shotgun and smashed the stock forcefully against the man's temple. He crumpled.

“Well, that was rather anticlimactic,” Richard said to Darcy a half hour later as they mounted their horses for the ride back to Pemberley.

“Disappointed?”

Richard shrugged. “Somewhat. I haven't shot anyone in ages. I was looking forward to it.”

Darcy laughed. “Please do not tell Elizabeth you were hoping for that sort of action, or she may forbid you assisting me in the future.”

“Only if you promise that the next time will be a bit more exciting. I didn't even work up a sweat.”

“I shall do my best, cousin.”

Chapter Thirteen 

With This Ring I Thee Wed

Hardly before either Lizzy or Darcy knew it, October was ushered in and the planned second wedding loomed. Truthfully they had no serious disagreements regarding the reaffirming of their vows in the Pemberley Chapel. In fact, both would have happily planned and concluded what was essentially desired to be a simple, intimate affair within days of returning home from their seaside holiday. Lizzy theatrically teased by performing the wedding march with exaggerated waddling and thrusting her stomach out as far as possible. However, she honestly had no moral conflict with exchanging vows in a holy sanctuary with her husband, gravid state or no.

Only two elements gave them pause and delayed the exchange.

One: Georgiana, upon hearing the news, burst forth with schemes and expectations regarding everything from the gown to the flowers to the guest list. Initially both the bride and groom were flummoxed as they saw the cozy, understated affair they envisioned turning into an event. They managed to rein in the more extravagant ideas Georgiana invented, the white doves being a bit too much even for the romantic Darcy, but her enthusiasm was contagious, especially to the fore-noted hopelessly maudlin groom. Even the generally pragmatic Lizzy had to admit that a new gown was desirable.

Second: Lizzy and Darcy realized that whether modest or ostentatious, having as many family members as feasible around to witness the celebration was a pleasing prospect.

For these reasons Lizzy did lean toward waiting until after the baby was born, thinking that then her parents and Kitty would be visiting as well as the Bingleys settled nearby. Darcy pointed out that they could not count on Dr. Darcy still being in England. The truth is, he intoned with all the logic at his disposal, there would necessarily be several members of the family busy elsewhere no matter when they scheduled it, and he stubbornly persisted in his assertion that the ritual take place as soon as possible. The ultimate point of the ceremony was to please his burning need to wed in the Darcy family church.

This latter fact so moved Lizzy that she could not refuse his heart's desire had she wished it. She was well aware of the fact that the vast majority of women would be fortunate to find a man who longed to wed them once, let alone twice! The relationship they now shared meant she wholly comprehended how important being married in the Pemberley Chapel was to him. Therefore, October twelve had been set as the date.

George was in residence and Richard was an added bonus highly pleasing to them both. The elder Fitzwilliams were at Rivallain, as were Jonathan and Priscilla. A hastily scribbled note delivered on the morning of the seventh from Hasberry announced that the Bingleys had arrived the day before. Lizzy was ecstatic. She desired for them to be present but had not expected them as their last communiqué had alluded to a late October relocation. Within minutes of reading the note Lizzy rose, stating the intent to drive to Hasberry immediately. Darcy leapt to intercept her midway to the door.

“You are absolutely not driving in your condition!”

“William! That is unfair! I am perfectly capable of handling the curricle. I drove it just three days ago to Lambton!”

“Lambton is less than five miles away and a well traveled road. Hasberry is nearly fifteen and partially desolate. It is not a matter of you being unable to handle the carriage, love, as I know you proficient.”

“Then why…” Her voice caught in a sob, Darcy gathering her into a firm embrace.

“Please placate my overprotectiveness just this once. I would worry so. Allow me a compromise: I shall send one of the grooms with a letter the moment you pen one and insist he tarry pending a reply.”