Chapter Eighteen #3
“William.” Elizabeth kissed his ear to wake him.
Darcy knew he should open his eyes, but having Elizabeth seek his affection was exhilarating.
He slowed his breathing. She pulled on the lobe with her lips, sucking, the way he taught her.
His shaft grew as she blew lightly upon his ear.
“William.” This time she slid her tongue in his ear.
A jolt of desire shot through him. He had not taught her that!
Unable to withstand her seduction, Darcy pulled her atop him and captured her lips with his.
When he finally released her, she giggled. “Good! You are awake.”
“Did you think I could sleep through such an enticing good morning?” he protested.
“It is snowing,” she declared. “There are several inches on the ground.”
“Welcome to Derbyshire winters.” Darcy pulled the blankets tighter to keep them both warm.
Elizabeth pushed the hair from his eyes. “I love it when it snows. It rarely snows this early in Hertfordshire.” She rolled from his embrace. “Shall we go for a walk in the snow?”
“We have not yet broken our fast, Elizabeth,” Darcy grumbled.
“I do not want breakfast.”
Darcy laughed. “I cannot recall the last time I wished to walk in the snow.”
“Then it is about time you did so again,” she reasoned.
“As you wish,” he said and reluctantly threw the blankets aside. “You win, my love.”
“Oh, good, I almost never win.”
Twenty minutes later, they crossed the south lawn.
The snow was a hand deep and still coming down steadily.
A few lonely blades of grass poked through the smooth surface sloping away from the house, and a few tracks of rabbits and squirrels touched the fluffy white covering, but new flakes quickly filled in the indentations.
“I love it when the snow is so smooth.” Elizabeth stood wrapped in Darcy’s arms, looking out over the lawn’s coating. “It was so beautiful from our bedroom window I could not resist experiencing it firsthand.”
“It is as if God is wiping everything clean,” Darcy said, looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder at Nature’s perfect portrait. “Pemberley is beautiful in the spring and summer, but newly fallen snow has its appeal as well.”
“Mr. Wickham told me it would be so.” The words appeared to escape involuntarily.
“When did Mr. Wickham offer such observations?” he demanded.
Elizabeth faced him. “I forgot the conversation. It was after you shunned him in Meryton and before he attacked me. Wickham said terrible things about you. Things I knew to be false. Wishing to know if Wickham was in Derbyshire when you were, I asked about his time in Bakewell, where he said he resided for some time.” Elizabeth stepped away to gather her thoughts.
“I asked Wickham what he knew of Derbyshire. I explained that the shire was Aunt Madelyn’s childhood home.
He told me the terrain was more rugged, with thicker vegetation, colder winters, and milder summers.
He said he preferred the wildness of the Peak District because it reminded him of Scotland.
Other than Northumberland, he preferred the Peak District to the rest of England. ”
“Could Wickham still have a home in Bakewell?” Darcy mused aloud.
“It is possible—or even in Northumberland.”
Yesterday in their readings, they uncovered the mystery of the dirt in Wickham’s bed.
One text claimed a vampire could only sleep if he had his coffin.
The account said the beast transported the coffin loaded with dirt from his homeland.
A similar report said the earth was more important than the coffin itself.
If so, finding Wickham’s home would aid in their pursuit.
“Should we consider that part of Northumberland was once part of Scotland?”
“All I know of Northumberland is that our breakfast kippers come from Craster. What did you learn of it at the university?” Elizabeth walked in a circle, scraping the snow with the toes of her half boots.
Meanwhile, Darcy attempted to recall his history lessons.
“The area came under English rule with King Edwin. Northumberland stretches from Newcastle upon Tyne to Tynemouth. Much of it is quite undeveloped—sparse high moorlands. There were famous battles, such as when Malcolm II annihilated the Northumbrian army at Carham on the Tweed, but under James I and VI, the Scottish and English claims were united. However, even as late as the early 1700s, there was trouble during the Jacobite rebellion.” He recited the lines as if he were back in school and studying for an exam.
“A house in Northumberland would fit in with Wickham’s need for isolation,” Elizabeth reasoned. “Could we discover where Lady Ellender and Lord Thomas lived? It would tell us from where Wickham originally came—where he was buried—from where he derives his home earth.”
“We can check Dugdale’s catalogue or Debrett’s Baronetage of England or even the Doomsday Book. Surely one of them lists Lord Arawn Benning.” Darcy’s excitement grew. They had their first real lead.
“William, do you realize what this means? Wickham’s hold on the family could be coming to an end.” In complete happiness, Elizabeth turned in a circle, arms spread wide and face raised to meet fresh flakes of newly fallen snow. “I have never felt freer!”