The men looked a bit confused so Elizabeth explained, “Some women are known to mix arsenic with vinegar and chalk. They believe that if they eat this mixture it will make their skin appear paler.Women often exposed to the sun might resort to such drastic measures to achieve a fashionably pale complexion.”

Mrs. Williams remarked, “It amazes me that a woman would consider using a wood preservative on her skin or would consume a compound used for bullets or bronzing or paints.”

Lydia Wickham finally spoke. “But how could the murderer know that Mrs. Jenkinson would choose that particular cup?”

“Maybe you can answer that question yourself,” Lawrence asserted.

Lydia turned on him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I believe that you know more than you share, Mrs.Wickham.” Again he showed his protectiveness, keeping Cathleen close to him. “First, you were the one person already in the hallway when my cousin entered it the morning of her accident. Miss de Bourgh came next, and the two of you turned back to greet Mrs.Williams. Only Cathleen continued toward the stairs. Did you plan on hurting Cathleen or was someone else your target?”

Elizabeth came to her sister’s defense. “I assure you,Your Lordship, you are in error.”

“I pray I am, Mrs. Darcy, but it seems even more of a concern when one takes into account that it was Mrs. Wickham who returned to the house to arrange for the hot cider.” Adam staunchly defended his beliefs.

“I have never heard such poppycock!” Lydia protested. “What motive would I have for hurting Miss de Bourgh’s companion?”

Lawrence countered,“Possibly, Mrs. Jenkinson was not your target.”

“And who would that be?” Lydia turned red with anger and embarrassment.

“My cousin.”

“And why, pray tell, would I wish to hurt Miss Donnel?”

“To get to me.”

Lydia charged across the room at him.“I have you know, sir, that I am a married woman!”

“You would not be the first married lady to find her way to the bed of a man not her husband.”

Darcy moved to whisper to Georgiana, excusing her from the room.

“You think a great deal of yourself, sir!” Lydia shrieked.

“It was you, Mrs. Wickham, who suggested that I send a cup of the cider to my cousin. It was you who clung to me on the hill in a most suggestive way. It was you who followed me to my cousin’s room after her accident, and it was you alone in the hallway.” His voice rose with each accusation.

Elizabeth stepped forward to insert herself between them. “Do you not think it more likely,Your Lordship, that the man Mrs. Jenkinson saw in the hallway is to blame?”

“Let me remind you, Mrs. Darcy, that Mrs. Jenkinson took the last cup on the tray, a cup she offered to you, and you adamantly refused.”

“So I am a suspect now,Your Lordship?” Elizabeth steamed with anger and contempt.

“I would say we all are, Mrs. Darcy.” Lawrence declared.

Darcy placed Elizabeth in the curve of his body. “Neither Mrs. Darcy nor Mrs.Wickham were involved.”

“How do you know?” Nigel Worth, a man used to dealing with evidence, ventured.

“I questioned my cook, Mrs. Jennings, after Mrs. Jenkinson’s death. She reported only the presence of the new footman in the kitchen after Mrs. Wickham left to find Mr. Baldwin to see that he stoked the fires in the blue drawing room.” He paused to allow that vital information to become part of the room’s collective knowledge, and then he added, “I have no new footman on my staff.” Total silence again. “My purpose this morning was not to frighten you, but to make you aware of what is happening. Unfortunately, with the storm, it is impossible to reach a magistrate to investigate the matter, so it falls to us to do our own inquiry. I will ask His Lordship and Mr. Worth to join me in my study. We will discuss this in detail, and we will ask each of you to make a statement. We will need you to bring to our attention any detail that you might have thought insignificant. Such information may lead us to our wrongdoer. Exercise care until we discover the source of this perfidy.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the group rose to their feet. No one made eye contact, but each warily watched the others from behind lowered lashes and furtive side glances. Mrs. Williams helped Cathleen, and Lydia arrogantly flounced away.

Elizabeth came to where Anne now stood. “Let me help you, Miss de Bourgh.” She slid her arm around the woman’s waist. “I have asked Mrs. Reynolds to move your personal belongings to the room next to Georgiana’s.”

“I will tend to my daughter,” Lady Catherine objected and reached for her only child, but Anne flinched at her mother’s touch.

“I will go with Mrs. Darcy,” Anne spoke softly but with determination. “Thank you, Mother.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes reflected the pain she felt, but she regained her composure before saying, “As you wish, Anne.” Slowly, she let her hand drop to her side.

Having observed her mother’s broken composure, Anne remained motionless for a long moment, but she turned to Elizabeth’s welcoming friendship. They left the room, arms encircling each other. Darcy watched as a dejected-looking Lady Catherine followed them from the room. It was a moment he had long hoped to see. He did not wish any pain on his aunt, but he had often wanted to see his cousin Anne assert herself.

Soon, only the three men remained. “Gentlemen,” he said at last, “if you will join me in my study, I will send for breakfast.”

Glumly, first Worth and then Lawrence followed Darcy from the room. Darcy was master of his estate—his staff hustled to do his bidding. But any guest who looked closely at him would see less crispness in Darcy’s step and less authority in his gaze. Darcy would see this through, but the smear to his family name physically hurt him more than anyone knew. He did not look back to see the men following him—Darcy knew they were there. A woman has died— been murdered under my roof. The thought pounded in his head. He had to find whoever had carried out mischief in his house. Darcy would not rest until then.

Chapter 8

“So what do we do now?” By consensus, the three men led a party of footmen and searched the house, looking for any clue to the culprit’s identity.

Nigel Worth, who appeared frustrated with the process, seemed inclined to believe Darcy. He knew Fitzwilliam Darcy as a man of honor—the kind of man to make good on a scoundrel’s debts to safeguard his family’s name. Plus, they questioned every servant. Many of them spoke of encounters with a new footman—a man who did menial jobs about the estate without complaint—a man who offered genial conversation as he completed his duties. These staffers described the same man: dark, wavy hair; approximately six feet in height; muscular build; clean-shaven; chocolate-brown eyes; a square jaw; and a firm jaw line. Lucinda had spoken to the man on three separate occasions. The chambermaid described him as “extremely fair of face.” The only differences in their stories were the names he had given them. They knew him as Samuel, as Giles, as Layton, and as Harry.

Viscount Stafford, on the other hand, had insisted that they satisfy their need to know the truth of Darcy’s revelations. Being young and a bit impetuous, Adam Lawrence wanted the business resolved immediately.

“I suggest we take a few hours to digest what we know and what we do not know and meet again after luncheon. I need time to rethink my way through this.” Darcy,Worth, and Lawrence stood together in a tight circle in the middle of an unused bedchamber in the east wing. Pemberley’s master absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair.

Worth jammed his hand into a side pocket, seeking a snuffbox, which he nervously opened and closed. “I do not like to walk away when answers are not readily available, but it appears we have no choice.”Viewing Mrs. Jenkinson’s body had affected him more than he cared to admit. He had taken a liking to the woman, although he suspected that she was several years older than he. They had enjoyed conversations over the past few days, and yesterday afternoon, the conversation had taken a more intimate turn. Mildred Jenkinson had told him of her late husband, and also of herself, and Nigel Worth wanted to know more. Something about the woman—probably her graciousness and her intelligence—attracted him. He grieved for something that might have been.

“I am too distracted to sit around for a few hours. Despite the snow, I will take a look outside. Maybe our reprobate does not stay in the house at all—maybe the outside sightings are the clue,” the viscount asserted.

Darcy nodded in agreement.“I was thinking something similar. Do you mind some company?”

“I would appreciate it; you know exactly where the other sightings occurred. I will meet you in the main hall in a quarter hour.” The viscount left the room immediately, agitation showing on his face and in his gait.

Darcy touched the solicitor on the shoulder.“Mr.Worth, might I prevail upon you to keep an eye on the ladies while we search the landscape? I fear their sensibilities are thinly stretched, and several may need someone with a clear head when they realize the depth of our situation.”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy.”


“It is too far to reach the field that Mrs. Darcy and I rode across on the morning of that first sighting,” Darcy explained as he and the viscount walked the main drive to the nearest hedgerow, their going laced with difficulty because of the snow accumulation. Beyond it laid the cottages that Elizabeth and Georgiana had visited. “But we will see the landscape that Miss Darcy described.”

“I do not like this business, Darcy,” Lawrence grumbled.

“None of us do, Stafford.” Darcy pointed to the copse of trees where Georgiana claimed to have seen the stranger. “With the snow and the ice, we are not likely to find anything, but it will not hurt to look around.”

They separated, each of them circling the trees, looking for broken twigs, loose threads, or anything unusual. Darcy inspected the tree against which Georgiana had sworn the man leaned. “Look here,” he called to the viscount as he bent to examine a brown smear some two feet high on the tree.

Lawrence knelt beside Darcy. “It is just a glob of mud,” Stafford intoned, his irritation evident.

“Not exactly.” Darcy removed his gloves and lightly touched the damp dirt.“My sister said the man leaned against this tree—his back along the trunk—his foot resting against the bark.” Darcy took a similar stance on the other side of the tree—mimicking the position Georgiana had demonstrated when he questioned her. In doing so, his wet, muddy boot left a similar mark along the tree. “See what I mean,” he summed up.

“Our man was here.” Stafford touched the dark smudge—this time with more interest. “Whoever he is, the man is several inches shorter than you,” he observed. “See—your mark rests higher on the tree.”

Darcy knelt to examine both marks again. “The heel of his boot,” he pointed out, “has a squareness about it.” He compared the shapes. “What kind of footwear might this be?”

The viscount stood and braced his hand against the tree for balance. He raised his foot to look at the bottom of his boot. “Like yours, mine resembles a horse’s shoe—half an oval.”

“If we decipher this clue, we might solve our mystery.” Darcy looked back toward the house.“I would prefer not to tell the others until we have more to go on.”

The viscount followed Darcy’s gaze. “You remind me of my father,” Lawrence observed. “Your passion is this estate.You can bear nothing that might tarnish Pemberley’s reputation. The earl is as obsessed with Greene Hall as you are with your home.”

Darcy turned slowly, taking in Stafford’s smirk. “There was a time, Your Lordship, that your words would have rung true. That was before Mrs. Darcy, literally, danced into my life. It would grieve me to have what my father spent a lifetime creating to go away.Yet, I would abandon it all to keep Mrs. Darcy with me.When you observe my angst, it has nothing to do with this house or the reputation of this estate; instead, it is my need to protect my wife and my sister and those people who have served me well over the years... I must protect them—all of them—from this madness.” Darcy’s gaze returned to the house. “Have you ever been in love, Stafford?”

The future earl smiled slightly. “No.”

“Someday,” Darcy mused. “Someday, it will happen to you. I attended a country assembly with my friend Charles Bingley, and my world shifted on its axis.A woman not of my society caught my eye, and I could not withdraw my attention. Much to my chagrin, Elizabeth Bennet consumed my every thought.When I returned to Pemberley, I wondered what she might think of it.”