The Guardians of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #3)

Chapter 1

Darcy sank into his familiar leather chair and rubbed his hands over the worn edge of his desk.

It was real, down to the scent of beeswax and old books he remembered from childhood, when this had been his father’s study.

He was back at Pemberley, after those painful months in France.

The room was unchanged, as if no time at all had passed.

As if he had not gone through a harrowing, terrifying experience, and barely made it back alive. As if he had not, only three days ago, miraculously transformed from a man into a father. As if he had not nearly lost his daughter.

Yet every book was in its place, there was fresh ink in the inkwell and a pen which indubitably was sharpened to perfection, simply awaiting his convenience. Exactly as it had always been.

He rubbed his hands over his face. Why did it feel so strange to slip into his old life, like clothes that no longer fit? He had so much to be thankful for.

And a mountain of correspondence to tackle.

He had not even made a dent in it when the butler appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Hobbes?”

The old butler inclined his head. “A runner has come from the gate, sir, reporting a caller for Mrs. Darcy. He claims to be a relation. He was reluctant to give his name at first, but finally said it was Mr. Bingley. Mr. Roderick wishes to know if he should be admitted.”

Bingley, here at Pemberley - and asking for Elizabeth? Of course, he must think Darcy was still in France, if not dead. “Is he alone?” Elizabeth would be thrilled to see her sister, Mrs. Bingley; she had missed her desperately.

“All alone, sir, on horseback. No valet or carriage.”

Not only disappointing, but downright odd. Why would Bingley come all this way if he were not planning to stay? “Pray let him in immediately. Why was he stopped? Our gates have never been closed to callers.”

Hobbes gave a soft cough. “I am sorry to report there has been some fae trickery in your absence, sir. High Fae disguising themselves as our tenants to test the wards. In the interest of caution, Mr. Roderick instructed us that all visitors would require approval.”

Fae trickery? That was disturbing, and it must have been serious to provoke such a response. “I see.” He would ask Roderick about this later.

Darcy reached the shadows of the portico just as Bingley dismounted. He rubbed his arms to ward off the late autumn chill.

“Walk her and give her just a little feed,” Bingley instructed the groom as he handed over the reins. “Do not unsaddle her, for I must leave in an hour.”

“So soon?” Darcy asked, startled.

Bingley jumped and paled as if he had seen a ghost. Then, with a broad, stunned smile, he bounded up the stairs. “Darcy!” he cried, shaking his hand vigorously. “Is that truly you? Not in France, and still alive? I never thought to see you again!”

“I just arrived a few days ago.” Could it possibly have been so little time when so very much had happened? “Come in, come in. This is a fleeting call?”

New lines suddenly appeared on his friend’s forehead, and he lowered his voice. “I do not want anyone to know I am here. I would not have given my name at the gate if I could have been admitted otherwise.”

This was not good. What could make Bingley want to hide his identity? Darcy hurried him into his study and closed the door. “Why the secrecy?”

“Because of the French surveillance, of course. Did you not know? Napoleon is out for your blood. Soldiers, assassins, spies – they are all out there, seeking the enormous price on your head, or for the capture of any of your family. His men have even been asking questions in Meryton, and my dearest Jane dares not go past the garden walls for fear of them. If they discover I have been to Pemberley, she would be even more of a target. But Jane is desperate for news of her sister, so I publicly planned this trip to my family in Scarborough. I sneaked off from a coaching inn to come here.”

“Good God, I had no idea!” Or had he? Elizabeth had mentioned something about Frenchmen at Pemberley when they were together in France, but it had seemed so far off then.

Were they truly surrounded, even here at his home? It must be true. Bingley had worked briefly for the War Office, and he would know. Suddenly the room seemed a little colder.

“What is wrong with Elizabeth?” Bingley demanded.

“Jane has heard nothing from her for months and is making herself ill with worry. A brief note from Lady Frederica Fitzwilliam saying Elizabeth was safe but having a difficult time in her pregnancy, and that was all. No responses to any of Jane’s letters! ”

Of course, Darcy was completely ignorant of that, along with everything else that had happened in England for the last four months.

He bought himself a moment by pouring a glass of port and handing it to Bingley.

“Elizabeth is much improved now. Our daughter was born three days ago. I understand her situation was quite bleak before that. I returned just hours before the birth.”

A broad smile broke over Bingley’s face, and for the first time, he looked like his old self. “Already? I am beyond glad to hear it! This is a day of miracles!” Then he hesitated, the lines of worry coming back. “And the child...is she well? I thought she was not expected for some time.”

“Our Jenny is the tiniest mite you have ever seen, but healthy.” At least she was now. At first no one had expected Jenny to live, and he had feared his heart would shatter. But he could hardly tell Bingley that a dragon from India had done a magical healing so the baby would survive.

So many secrets he would have to find a way to explain!

And so much he did not yet understand. There had been one young dragon at Pemberley when he left on his near-fatal mission to France, and now there were three companion dragons, a nestling, and the mysterious Rana Akshaya, whom he had believed to be human.

Apparently that had only been shape-changing, though, and she was a dragon, too.

Bingley said, “Excellent news! I still cannot believe you are alive and safe!”

“I sent a note to Cattermole at the War Office as soon as I returned, but it might not have arrived before you left.”

“I would not have heard about it anyway. I broke with the War Office when they declared they had nothing to do with your mission, denouncing you for the assassination attempt –”

The words were like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. “What?” Darcy cried.

Bingley stiffened. “Did you not know? This was weeks ago.”

Of course he had not known. He had been on the run in France, fleeing for his life, with no news from England. “Are you certain?”

“Without a doubt. I argued with them about it, and when they would not budge, I resigned.”

Nausea churned his stomach. He had known the War Office could not admit they had sent him to help the assassins, but to denounce him? After everything he had suffered, the many risks he had taken, all because the War Office had asked it. “Who knows about this?”

“The censure has mostly been in private communications with the French government, but the War Office told the papers here they never heard of you.”

“Never heard of me.” As expected, but still he tasted bile. What would people think of him now? That he was a madman? “Why denounce me, though?”

Bingley leaned back in his chair. “They hope to appease Napoleon, to slow the invasion. I am sorry; I thought you knew all this already, old chap.”

“I have seen no news in weeks, and before that, it was only an occasional French newspaper.” Then Bingley’s words sank in, and ice ran up his spine. “An invasion?”

“Without question.” He held out his empty glass. “I need more port if we are going to speak of this.”

Darcy refilled it and gave it back, forcing himself not to demand an immediate answer. What in heaven’s name had happened, all those weeks when he had been out of touch in France?

Bingley took a sip. “Ah, yes, that is better. The port, not the news. Napoleon is building a flotilla and gathering troops in Boulogne, a hundred thousand already and growing every day. Just simple barges to carry soldiers and cannons, since there is no British Navy to stop them from crossing the Channel wherever they please, thanks to the sea serpents sinking all our ships. They are working at top speed, and the War Office thinks they will be ready by summer. Six months, perhaps.”

“Good God,” Darcy muttered. “That soon?”

“It would have been sooner, since Boney is in a great hurry for vengeance, but there has been another uprising in the Tyrol. He will have to put that down before he comes here, but that will not take long.”

It was still terrifyingly little time. And then he could be on the run again. “Who knows about the invasion?”

“The government has managed to keep it quiet so far, but once people find out, there will be panic. Deservedly so; this is going to be a disaster.” He set down his glass.

“That was my other reason for coming North – I must speak to my family in Scarborough to see if they will give my dear wife refuge there, where no one knows her family background. Napoleon plans to execute every Englishman with mage blood.”

Cold washed over him. That meant Elizabeth, Frederica, Richard – all his family, and baby Jenny, too. “Because of me, I suppose,” he said heavily.

“God alone knows why Napoleon does anything,” Bingley said, but he obviously knew the truth. He was not prone to panic, and no doubt he still had contacts at the War Office. If he was making plans to flee the invasion, it was for good reason.

“If your family in Scarborough will not serve, you are both always welcome here at Pemberley.”

Bingley gave a harsh laugh. “There is no place more dangerous for her than here! This whole area is crawling in spies, and you are a prime target.”

Darcy’s chest tightened. “Are they sure of that?”