Working his way cautiously forward, as he stepped into the opening anteroom, Darcy heard it—the reverberation of a gun, followed closely by another and another.


Somehow, they made it to the stables and, as cold as it was inside the barns, being out of the still foot-high snowdrifts was heaven. Elizabeth’s teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she could not stop the shivers coursing down her spine.The frozen landscape had relentlessly soaked her gown and hose and shoes, as well as her under things. The combination of the sweat from their hurried exit, the dampness of the tunnel, and the trek through the snow thoroughly drenched Elizabeth’s clothes.

“What now?” she asked through a shudder.

James threw Lydia into an empty stall and then looked around nearly in a panic.The absence of Pemberley workers bothered him. Darcy evidently wanted none of his people hurt, and he had pulled them all away. “Hopefully, you can ride astride, Mrs. Darcy,” he grumbled as he slung a saddle over the back of Demon, Darcy’s own horse.

“You cannot expect to escape with both of us.” Elizabeth determinedly challenged the man. “Let Lydia stay here.”

“I need her to keep you in line.” James put the bit in Demon’s mouth and looped the harness over the horse’s head. “Which one is your horse?” When she did not answer, he stormed toward her, pinning Elizabeth against the wall. “I asked you a question, Mrs. Darcy,” he threatened. “I am not a man accustomed to having my will denied.”

Anger filled Elizabeth, but she needed to stall until Darcy came—or, at least, until all hope of that had ended. “Are you the one who hurt Lydia?”

He lowered his head so that they were nose to nose. Elizabeth could smell the traces of stale cheese and bread on his breath. “So, she told you,” he growled. “But it is not my domain to manhandle Wickham’s wife. My domain is to make her feel the passion of the marriage bed. Any wrongdoing the lady suffers comes at the hands of our young lordship.” He brought one hand to her breast and cupped it. “Very nice, Mrs. Darcy.”

“If you think to frighten me, Mr. Withey, you must do better than that.”

“Oh, I will, Mrs. Darcy. I most certainly will.” He pressed against Elizabeth and made her aware of his masculinity. “Now, Mrs. Darcy, you must tell me which horse is yours.”

She gritted her teeth and nodded her head to a nearby stall. “Pandora is mine.”

“Very good, my lady.” James broke away and went about putting a regular saddle on Pandora.Within minutes, the horses were ready to leave. “Come!” He grabbed a nearly comatose Lydia from where he had left her. “You, my Dear, will ride with me.”

“Why cannot Lydia ride behind me?” Elizabeth charged.

“As I said before, Mrs. Wickham stays with me until we get away from Pemberley.”

Elizabeth shot a quick glance at her sister. “Then what? When we escape Pemberley? What of Lydia then?”

“Then I will have no more need of Wickham’s wife.”


Edward Fitzwilliam emerged into the daylight. He had purposely sent Darcy the wrong way: He had seen the trail Elizabeth had left and sent his cousin on a false fox hunt. He would save his cousin from harm by apprehending Wickham himself. Darcy had a wife and family on the way; Edward would not allow his cousin to lose it all. It took him but seconds to acclimate to the cold and the light and the snow and to follow the three crosscuts leading to the stables. He set off at a near run, pulling the gun from the holster under his jacket.

Wickham rewarded his efforts. Just as he reached the fence leading to the main barns, the door swung wide, and Wickham exited with two horses. He dragged Lydia Wickham beside him, and Elizabeth hurried along in their wake.

Edward hunched down, trying not to signal his presence, moving as close as he dared without endangering the ladies. When Wickham reached to lift his wife to Demon’s back, Edward knew he could wait no longer. “Wickham!” He stepped from behind the gate and into the open. “Step away from the horses.”

Elizabeth wanted to warn him—tell Edward that Mr. Withey was no gentleman—he was the despicable, corrupt part of George Wickham. No field of honor existed here. But it was too late. James grabbed Lydia around the neck, using her as a human shield, and fired on the colonel. As if in slow motion, Elizabeth saw it all—saw the bullet leave the gun—saw it travel the short distance to where her husband’s cousin stood ready to fire his own weapon—saw it hit his hand—saw the colonel’s gun explode with a puff of smoke—saw Lydia slid from James Withey’s arms—saw Withey lift the second gun from his waist and aim—saw Edward’s chest explode with the impact and Darcy’s cousin sink to his knees in the snow. A muffled cry cut the frozen air.

In no more than ten seconds, two people lay in the snow.“No!” she screamed as she tried to reach them, but Withey caught her about the waist, dragged her into the stable, and slammed the door behind him.


Adam Lawrence heard the shots and froze in anxiety. “We have him, Your Lordship,” Lucas grunted as he strained to pull Redman’s weight to the top of the well.“Mr. Darcy needs you, sir.” Another heartbeat passed before Lawrence was on the move, skidding through the shadowy passages, looking for the obvious.


It took Nigel Worth longer to find the secret passage associated with the cold cellar than he had expected. Originally, he and Darcy’s staff had moved items in the storage to look for the lock behind or under the food items. Finally, it had dawned on them to search behind and along the shelving itself. Once in the tunnels, they had followed the one, which led them to the area where they recently found Lucinda Dodd’s body.They exited the tunnel behind a frozen waterfall, fed by the river close to the house, and came out along the same row of hedges and the copse of trees.

Instead of trying to find their return through the tunnels,Worth and Darcy’s men agreed to walk the half mile to the main house via the entrance drive.As they approached the front steps of Pemberley, a shot rang out clearly from behind the house, followed by another and another.The noise set them momentarily on alert, but then the three men were on the run, Darcy’s men leading the way along the road, which circled behind the stables.


Darcy took the low-ceilinged tunnel that his cousin had used only minutes earlier, running bent over and preparing for the worst as the daylight became apparent at last. Dropping the lantern he carried into the snow, Darcy shaded his eyes from the sting of the sunlight on the frozen landscape. He did not wait to confirm the tracks ahead of him belonged to his wife and cousin—it only made sense for Wickham to seek an escape on horseback.

Taking the road leading to the forested area that surrounded his estate, Darcy circled the back of the stables—the fenced area where they trained his cattle and sheared his sheep. Following the fence line, he crept carefully along the blocked slats, seeking cover in case of an attack, but nothing before the barns and stables moved. All he observed was Demon and Pandora, standing side by side, as if waiting for Elizabeth and him to mount.

Then he saw them—his cousin and Lydia Wickham lying some fifteen feet apart, both covered in blood. Darcy’s breath caught in his chest as he hunched at the end of the fence line and surveyed the area, looking for Wickham and Elizabeth. Seeing neither, he ran to the colonel’s side, keeping the horses between him and the stable door.

“Edward.” He gently touched his cousin’s shoulder. “Edward, please.” A moan answered Darcy’s prayer. He rolled the colonel to his back and began to check for wounds. “Where?” he asked as he took a second handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the chest wound after opening his cousin’s jacket.

Edward Fitzwilliam opened his eyes tentatively and stared deep into Darcy’s. “Wickham fired…before…before I could get…get a clean shot.”

“It is well. I will take care of it. Did you see Elizabeth?” Darcy pulled a handkerchief from Edward’s own pocket and wrapped it tightly around his cousin’s wrist.

“Mrs. Darcy…behind him…in the stable.” Darcy’s eyes lifted to the building, searching for some sign of Elizabeth. “I shot…I shot Mrs.Wickham…gun went off…did not mean to.”

The sound of running feet, crunching on the icy snow, brought Darcy’s attention to the connecting roads from the main house. Darcy raised his gun, but quickly lowered it again when he saw Worth and the Pemberley livery. He motioned to them to come closer, but to keep low.

The solicitor crawled to reach him. “My God, Darcy!”

“I need your help, Worth. Elizabeth is in the stable with Wickham, and I need to see my cousin to the house.”

“I will tend the colonel. Go after your wife.” He took over the pressure that Darcy had held on the wound. “What about Mrs. Wickham?” He gestured with his head toward where the lady lay beside the horses.

Darcy’s eyes followed the man’s gaze. “I do not know. I am not sure how many or what kind of weapons Wickham has, and his wife rests close to the door. I will try, but at the moment, my first concern is with my own wife and child.”

Again, a sound coming from the direction of the tunnel opening brought all their watchfulness to the back of the building, and then Stafford appeared before them. As he hurried to where they analyzed their next move, Darcy decided on his point of attack.

“I see from where the noise came.” Stafford noted the colonel and the immobile Lydia Wickham. “What do we do now?”

“Worth and my men will take Edward to the house. I am going into the back of the stable. Once I have engaged Wickham’s attention, would you go for Mrs. Wickham? I am not sure whether the lady lives or not.”

Stafford looked carefully to where Lydia lay on her side in the snow. “It appears she breathes. See…Mrs. Wickham’s chest rises and falls.”

Darcy tried to see what the viscount noted, but his anxiety for Elizabeth blinded him to everything else. “I believe what you say.” He looked again at the forbidding building. “Give me a few minutes to take a position, and then everyone move at once.”

“We have it,” Stafford assured him. “Concentrate all your energies on saving Mrs. Darcy.”

Darcy took a determined, stabilizing breath, and then—suddenly unable to any longer control the fierce anger building inside him—he stood. Cocking the gun he carried, he moved toward the back of the building.


The muffled sound of the guns stilled the two rooms holding Pemberley’s occupants: the small drawing room occupied by the house’s current residents and the ballroom with the Pemberley staff inside.

“What was that?” Despite her aunt’s and Mrs. Reynolds’s objections, Georgiana Darcy was on her feet pacing the room. She followed Anne to a nearby window to look out.

Sir Phillip ushered them away.“It is too dangerous. Please move to a safer part of the room.”The fact that he, too, carried a gun did not ease their apprehension.

“The noise, Sir Phillip?” Anne pleaded. “Was it a gun?”

He purposely ignored her question. Instead, he slid a casual arm around her waist and guided Anne to a nearby chair. “The noise came from outside the house. It could be a tenant chasing a rabbit or even a poacher, especially after so many days of cold weather. Do not become alarmed over every sound.”

“But what if it was one of them?” Anne steadfastly insisted.

“We will know soon enough.”

A knock at the door interrupted their thoughts. Mr. Baldwin called before he entered, “Mrs. Reynolds, we need you.” The man looked grave.

“What happened?” Georgiana demanded, on her feet again.

Mr. Baldwin patiently acknowledged the girl’s anxiety. “It is Redman, Miss. He broke his leg. There was a dry well of some kind, probably from the old ruins. At your brother’s suggestion, I have sent Timmons to Lambton for the surgeon.”

“Do we know any more about my brother or sister or the colonel?”

“No, Miss Darcy. Lucas says Lord Stafford helped with Redman and then followed the Master and the colonel into the tunnels. That is all we know at this time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baldwin.” Sir Phillip excused the man to his duties as Mrs. Reynolds rushed to the footman’s side.


Darcy lifted up on the small door used for supplies to ease the hinges and to silently enter the stables. Surrounded by tack and leather, he hunched behind the last stall and listened.

“Mr. Withey, you cannot hope to escape now.” The sound of Elizabeth’s voice calmed Darcy’s racing pulse. She was alive, and that was what was important.