cover. I cannot allow the sun to color
“I have always preferred a healthy flush upon a woman’s cheeks,” Darcy interjected urbanely, “but have no fear, Caroline. We have these two large tented areas in a perfect location to observe the children during their games, and that smaller pavilion is for the babies. Will you be assisting young John hunt eggs? Several will be placed in plain view for the younger children to easily pick up.”
“Lady Blaisdale,” the Earl responded with emphasis, “will stay covered. Our nurse will lead John, although why a one-year-old needs to grab eggs off the grass is beyond my comprehension.”
“You will be pleasantly surprised then, my lord, to see how delighted even the youngest are at finding hidden eggs and watching them roll down the slope. It is a joy, I assure you.”
He smiled faintly, green eyes doubtful. “I shall take your word for it, Mrs. Darcy, and hope I am delighted by the spectacle.”
“Speaking of spectacles,” Richard murmured, nudging Darcy and grinning.
George joined them, long limbs effortlessly crossing the field in a handful of strides. “If I could bottle the mysterious elixir that bestows unlimited energy to children I would be a rich man.”
“You are a rich man.”
“True, Colonel, true. But then I would live far longer and have more stamina to enjoy those riches! Lord and Lady Blaisdale”—he bowed—“welcome to our intimate Easter gathering. We attempted to rent the entire park for ourselves but alas the crown would not comply. I see Master Clay-Powell is anxious to exhibit his dose of childish vigor.”
Caroline turned toward the trailing nurse, her face softening at the wiggling impatience of her son, who was frantically trying to escape the woman’s firm hold. Even the icy Lord Blaisdale chuckled under his breath.
“Poor dear!” Lizzy laughed, linking her arm with Caroline’s and gesturing toward the tent. “We have the babies together, Caroline. Come, let’s sit in the shade and drink our cool tea while the young ones exhaust themselves. Tell me, how long has John been walking?”
The antics of the children occupied the bulk of the afternoon. All jesting aside, the number of offspring just from the couples in some way related to Darcy and Elizabeth numbered over twenty! Oliver Pomeroy, the Earl of Fotherby, was the eldest at seventeen, and probably would not have been considered in the list of children if not for his frail, immature appearance and delight in playing the games with them. The remainder ranged from ten years to infancy, all but the tiniest joining other children in the park to partake of the varied entertainments.
Every parent, relative, and nanny lent a hand in supervising the fun and controlling the army of younglings hunting, rolling, and cracking eggs in an assortment of games. Eventually the bunnies brought as a traditional part of Easter celebrations circulated to their section, the children freshly squealing in glee at the sight of rabbits jumping and frolicking in the grass. A few found new homes, including a fluffy gray one that Alexander fell in love with and who evoked a string of babbled
As the sun crept toward the horizon, tired tempers flared and irritable cries grew more prevalent. Then Deborah Daniels stopped mid-step, crumpling into a heap onto the grass soundly asleep with thumb in mouth, leaving no doubt it was time to retire to Darcy House!
The Easter week festivities of 1820 ended minutes before midnight when Darcy bid farewell to Gerald Vernor and Albert Hughes after winning the last billiards game. He joined his sleeping wife in bed, the beautiful and fragrant white lilies not put to use that night, and his sleep was not darkened by unpleasant dreams. Attentiveness to any possible threat was instinctual, so he was not lax during the week. Yet the best diligence in the world may not successfully halt a threat that comes from within.
***
With an evil grin marring his handsome face, the reader of the hastily scribbled note reached for the candle, applied the flame to the scrap of paper, and watched as it caught fire and burned down to ash.
It is almost too easy, and exceedingly pleasurable, he thought.
He sat back in the hard, wooden chair, eyes staring sightlessly at the roughly hewn wooden rafters of his rented rooms. Clamor from the streets bustling with Easter revelers drifted to his ears, but he paid no heed. His thoughts were consumed with weightier musings.
For too long he had been thwarted in improving his prospects and gaining the respectability he was due. His charm and education gave him an advantage for periods of time, but inevitably something went amiss. Numerous times he came close to winning fortunes while gambling or in a business proposition. His military career had crumbled and prestigious employment eluded him.
The source of all his woes traced directly to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
George Wickham grabbed the bottle of wine, lifting it into the air as if toasting. “To Darcy, my former playmate once as close as a brother. Soon you will be repaid for your envy of me and the spiteful treatment in the wake of your father’s death.”
He drank deeply while thinking of the past and the future.
While Darcy inherited Pemberley and everything that came with the estate, Wickham was purposefully thwarted and left to rot in mean conditions. Darcy seemed protected by angels, increasing in affluence and felicity, whereas Wickham grew despondent. His hatred grew exponentially with the disappointments.
After his discharge from the army, he wandered aimlessly and accepted any available job that provided for their needs. Oddly his only contentment was Lydia. She was a receptive wife, easily controllable and willing to do his bidding as long as he reaffirmed his undying love thirty times a day. Her housekeeping skills were nonexistent, but her personality did entertain and lighten his mood. Mostly she was as sexually insatiable as he, so the need to seek pleasure elsewhere did not drain their fragile finances.
Finally, he manipulated his way into a middling position of power at the inn in Devon. It was a comfortable situation and he almost forgot to be angry with Darcy.
Until he crossed paths with the Marquis of Orman.
Naturally he had heard of the duel and Orman’s humiliation. Gossip of such magnitude reaches even the dregs of society, but military personnel especially hold duels in high esteem no matter how loudly the Church cries out. Yet aside from shaking his head in disgust at Darcy escaping injury or justice once again, he dwelt upon it no further. He had no idea that Lord Orman had settled in Devon.
A purchasing trip to Newton Abbot for the annual cheese fair and a necessary visit to a local brothel led to a chance remark. His paid bed partner, a delicious young trollop not a day over sixteen, commented on the “relief in entertaining a nice gentleman whose parts work like they should, and body isn’t a mass of scars and twisted bones.” He had found the comment amusing, then intriguing as the girl continued to chatter, and finally breathlessly exciting as a wealth of possibilities flew through his devious mind.
Overnight Wickham’s resentment regenerated and he was alive with seething ire ready for an outlet. The mystery of why Devon, a part of the country he had no previous connection with, suddenly made sense. It was meant to be. Finally, he believed the fates were aligning in his favor. The threads of serenity gained in the previous months frayed beyond repair and his despair transmuted into euphoria.
Gaining an audience and earning the trust of the Marquis took months. Wickham learned patience as plot upon plot formed in his mind. Eventually, through constant persistence born of faith, he weaseled his way into Orman’s presence and a mutual partnership of hatred and revenge was forged.
That Orman was on the fringes of insanity was obvious from the outset. But this was to Wickham’s advantage. He immediately comprehended the possibility of a future beyond dealing with Darcy, and an unstable, crippled, and debilitated man of riches was a gift from God to his way of thinking. Wickham’s duplicitous nature and scheming intellect quickly laid the foundation for indispensability, embezzlement, and, if necessary, blackmail. Yes, indeed, his future was secure.
Once he dealt with Darcy, of course.
Orman simply wanted Darcy dead and did not care how it was done. Storming Pemberley with shotgun blazing was his initial idea, one that took Wickham weeks to rebut. He argued for restraint and the need to learn
