Adam slowly opened his eyes to find his mistress looking distressed. “What is it?”

“Listen,” she instructed.

Fully on alert now, Lawrence sat up, straightening his clothes as he did. “It sounds menacing.” He moved the shade from the window to have a look for himself.The rain came down like liquid bullets tapping out an incessant rhythm on his coach. He considered speaking to Mr. Johnson through the trap, but he doubted that his coachman could hear him over the rain’s pounding.“You might move closer to the strap,” he cautioned, trying to keep his voice even. “We may be in for a bumpy ride.”

“Will we have trouble?”

“Mr. Johnson can handle the coach,” Adam declared. “We will have no problems. I have complete confidence in the man, but you should understand that such conditions may affect whether we reach Mobberley in time for you to see your uncle before his passing.” Adam touched her hand in sympathy. “I am sorry.”

“You have done more than most men, my Lord. Even if we are too late to give my family comfort, I will cherish your kindness.” Cathleen dropped her eyes; she did not often speak so personally to her benefactor. “You truly are the best of men.”

“There are many who would disagree with you, my Dear.”

Cathleen looked him in the eye. “That is because they do not know you as I do.” And in her opinion, Adam Lawrence was truly everything she said. A kind and generous man, he held a reputation as a rounder, but she saw none of that. Often she wished she could have known him as his social equal—where he might actually love her—where she might help him become the man he wanted to be—a man quite different from the façade he presented to the world. But she knew she was not the woman to bring Adam Lawrence such love—such contentment. Cathleen would give him what she could while they shared their time together.

Reluctantly, she wondered what her family would think when she arrived in Mobberley unchaperoned and in Adam’s carriage. His livery would announce their relationship. She would bring shame to her mother and father, as well as her younger sisters, and for that, Cathleen despaired. Perhaps Adam might allow her to return home alone. When they reached Mobberley, she would ask him to leave her and move on to Manchester or even to Warrington. She would take a public conveyance and follow him there. At least,Viscount Stafford cared enough for her not to allow her to travel a great distance alone.

“Elizabeth, are you ready to be to Lambton?” Darcy had found his wife in their joint sitting room. “Mrs.Wickham’s coach should arrive within the hour.”

“I worry for the roads.” She sat on a window box, looking out across the formal garden. “The rain has turned icy.”

Darcy came to where she sat. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he peered through the fogged-up glass. “All the more reason to take our leave now—to give Mr. Stalling extra time to negotiate the roads. Your sister will have no transportation… if we do not venture forth.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.“I could go alone,” he volunteered.

Elizabeth turned to gaze into the face she found most comforting in the world. “No.…no…I will bring Lydia here. I shall not send you alone to bring Wickham’s wife to Pemberley. You show me a kindness, my Husband, by tolerating my sister’s intrusion upon your life and your home.” She stood and caressed his cheek.

“Our home,” he corrected. “Pemberley is our home, and Mrs. Wickham is your sister—and mine, too. If you must endure my aunt’s intrusion, then I can allow Lydia’s naïve exuberance to permeate the hallowed walls of Pemberley. As long as I sleep with you in my arms, I am a happy man.Very little else matters in the scheme of things.” He bent his head to brush his lips across hers.

“I love you, my Husband,” she whispered close to his mouth, “with all my heart.”

Darcy smiled mischievously.“I surely hope so, Mrs. Darcy, as we are about to be snowed in with Attila the Hun and Kathryn Howard. If nothing else, the mixture should be entertaining: our own little circus—it will be a juggling act, keeping them apart.”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a wretched man!” she chastised him.

“I know you, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy,” he scolded. “You take as much pleasure as I in observing the foibles of our neighbors and family.”

Elizabeth chuckled as her arms encircled his neck. “You may be right, my Love. I just wish we had married sooner, so that we could compare our appraisals of those we found most entertaining.” She judiciously omitted the fact that for a time, he had been among those she found amusing.

Darcy drank slowly from her lips. Breaking contact, he inquired, “And who might that be?”

Elizabeth pressed herself closer to him and rained kisses across his face as she recited the names. “Caroline Bingley.” Kiss. “Louisa Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Hurst.” Kiss. “Mr. Collins.” Kiss. “Sir William Lucas.” Kiss. Kiss. By then, Darcy had forgotten both the question and Lydia’s impending arrival. All he wanted was her—his Elizabeth. “Do we have time?” she whispered as he edged her toward a nearby chaise.

“Not to sleep in each other’s arms,” he groaned, “but enough for me to show how much I desire you, my darling Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth lowered herself to the sofa, taking Darcy down with her. She knew him—knew the true Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man who would move heaven and earth for those he loved, but also a man one did not want to cross. He passionately protected those he loved. And he loved Elizabeth most of all.


Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth rushed through their private quarters, knowing that Darcy waited for her in the main foyer. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her new fur-lined pelisse, one of Darcy’s Christmas gifts. As she walked, she tried adjusting the fit without tripping on the hem. She had descended the first two steps when she heard one of the maids call out to her.

“What is it, Megs?” she asked, a bit annoyed. Darcy disliked being kept waiting.

“Pardon, Mrs. Darcy.”The maid bobbed a curtsy.“I be wondering, ma’am, if ye knew the whereabouts of the candelabra, the one we keep on the table by Miss Darcy’s room.”

Without thinking, Elizabeth stepped to the hallway and glanced in the direction of the table, almost expecting to see the candelabra in its usual place.“I am afraid I have no idea, Megs,” she murmured. “Did you ask Miss Darcy?”

“Yes, ma’am. Miss Darcy—she likes having it close by. When Miss Georgiana cannot sleep, she goes to the music room and plays until she feels more peaceful like. That be why we leave it there for her. Even when Miss Darcy returns to her room, she leaves the candle stand in the hall so we can change out the wax for the next time. Miss Darcy says she has not used the candleholder for nearly a fortnight. It be there earlier today.”The woman looked frightened of being accused of taking the item.

“I am sure there is a logical reason.” Elizabeth reached out and lightly touched the woman’s arm.“When do you recall seeing it last?”

Meg closed her eyes to remember. “I suppose it be when I first came on—before I changed the bed linens.”

Elizabeth heard Darcy’s footsteps on the lower level.“Megs, Mr. Darcy waits for me. We must retrieve my sister at the Lambton inn. I will make it part of my afternoon duties to help you locate the holder. Possibly, Mr. Darcy’s aunt or his cousin took it to their rooms without realizing Miss Darcy’s nocturnal habits. We will laugh when it reappears in some very obvious place.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied again. “You be right about that.” The maid glanced toward the stairs. “Mr. Darcy seems impatient, ma’am,” Megs ventured.

Elizabeth chuckled. “What man is not so?”

“None I know of, Mrs. Darcy, but ye better hurry. I would not want to be the source of Mr. Darcy’s fluster.”

“Neither would I, Megs.” Elizabeth smiled as she slipped her left hand into her muff.Then she hurried down the stairs to meet her husband.

Chapter 3

The five miles from Pemberley to the Rose and Crown took much longer than either she or Darcy had anticipated. The earlier pounding rain had turned bitter cold and become icy. Small pellets were accumulating in the ditches and on the dried grassy patches. The temperature had dropped quickly, and a thin layer of ice skimmed the tops of the mud holes.

Darcy kept the information to himself, not wishing to alarm Elizabeth, but he could not remember conditions ever changing so suddenly.The coach’s wheels still easily broke the icy crusts over the brown puddles, but if they had to wait long for Mrs.Wickham’s coach, the return trip could be a different story. Instead of sitting across from Elizabeth in the rear-facing seat he usually occupied, Darcy chose to sit beside her—to keep her warmer and to protect her if Mr. Stalling lost control of the coach.


Adam Lawrence’s temper rose quickly. He and Cathleen had made it to Lambton’s inn, but found it full because of the quickly deteriorating road conditions. “And where do you suggest I find a room for the evening?” he demanded in his best aristocratic voice.

“I am most apologetic,Your Lordship.”The innkeeper mopped his brow.“I have already doubled people in rooms. I suppose that I could convince some of our more esteemed citizens to offer you a room, my Lord.” Cautiously, the man shot a glance at Cathleen. “I might have more difficulty convincing them to also accept your cousin.”

Adam hissed, “So you would send my cousin and me back out into the storm?”

“I would not wish to do so, Your Lordship.” However, before the innkeeper could continue his back-door apology, Darcy and Elizabeth entered to look for Lydia Wickham. Leaving Adam with a swallowed curse still on his lips, Mr. Lawill quickly greeted Darcy. Most of those in town depended on Pemberley directly or indirectly for their well-being.The inhabitants of a small market town knew to whom they owed allegiance.

“Mr. Darcy, sir,” the man said as he offered a bow, “how may I serve you?” The first time Elizabeth had stayed at this inn, she had discovered Darcy’s true value. Now, entering on his arm, she appreciated how people admired and respected him.The locals knew her husband to be a liberal man, one who did much good among the poor, and they rushed to meet his needs.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lawill.We were to meet Mrs. Darcy’s sister on the afternoon coach.” Darcy purposely did not refer to Lydia Bennet Wickham by her name. He wished to keep the memory of her husband, George Wickham, at a psychological distance. The man had left a trail of bad debts in the area when he had suddenly left Pemberley with three thousand pounds, a pecuniary advantage in lieu of the preferment of taking his orders. Like so many other times, Darcy had covered the debts rather than have the Pemberley name besmirched by association.