“I suppose, although it seems rather distasteful to consider it at this juncture. The man is barely cold in his grave. Besides…” He stopped, lips pressed together and face filled with a rare bitterness.
“What? Do you judge there no chance she may return your interest?”
“Difficult to ascertain, under the circumstances. We spoke a few times at various functions in Town. Lord and Lady Fotherby were everywhere, to my dismay. She was polite and proper, our conversations always restrained and in the presence of others. It was probably just my romantic fancy overwhelming me, but I sensed a current between us. Fills me with guilt even to contemplate the subject! Lord, Darcy, I am not capable of judging! I am a soldier. How can I compare to a man of Lord Fotherby’s caliber?”
“Oh, nonsense! You are a nobleman’s son, an officer of His Majesty’s army, young and dashingly handsome, rich, charming. Need I go on? You have far more to offer than even the famous Lord Fotherby, no matter how virile he may have been in his seniority.” He sat back and picked up his glass. “I really cannot tell you precisely how to proceed. I believe in fate, but also think one needs to encourage it along.”
Silence descended yet again, plates cleared by servants, and the dessert course served before either man spoke. Darcy was shaken by the atypical expression of sadness on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face, having come to rely on his irrepressible affability. When he broke the quiet, his voice was husky with emotion.
“I saw her a couple of weeks ago. Mother insisted on diverting northwest to pay her respects as friend to her mother. We only stayed the afternoon, had teas and cakes. Father related fond memories of Lord Fotherby in action during sessions of the House of Lords. Lady Fotherby smiled kindly, but did not seem comfortable with the topic. Even in the black of mourning she was beautiful.” He sighed deeply. “How can you judge a woman’s face, William? Especially when so controlled?”
Darcy shrugged and shook his head. “I am not the one to ask, I am afraid. I can read Elizabeth perfectly now, but assuredly misconstrued horribly early in our acquaintance. Even when love was apparent on her face, I refused to embrace it out of fear. Did you sense anything from Lady Fotherby? Any hope?”
“Perhaps. She looked at me quite a bit, but maybe that is because I kept staring at her! When we said our good-byes and I kissed her fingers, I swear she pressed against my lips and she definitely squeezed my hand. I was shocked at the boldness—too flummoxed to make sense of it and do more than stammer something stupid.” He laughed faintly and shook his head. “Go ahead and laugh, Cousin, I deserve it!”
Darcy was grinning, an amused twinkle in his eyes. “I have not seen you so flustered since Miss Susanne Carmichael kissed you under the mistletoe when you were fifteen! What a joy! The particularly amusing part of it all is that you are far more worldly than I, yet here you sit, as affected by a woman as all the rest of us mortals. Refreshing, actually.”
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely!”
“No further sympathy for the man of constant sorrows? The broken-hearted romantic fool doomed to traverse the earth in pitiful loneliness? The woeful puppy with hanging tail and ears?”
“Pah!” Darcy interrupted. “I am as pathetically inept as they come when pertaining to divining romantic clues. However, even I can determine there is hope. Give it time, Richard. I am convinced I shall be raising a glass at your wedding ere the year is out. Worse come to worst, you can enlist Aunt Madeline’s aid. She would do anything to see you married and bringing more grandchildren her way.”
Richard cringed, and Darcy laughed as he bit into his apple pie.
The conversation turned to unrelated business and political topics as they finished their brandies. Finally, Darcy said, “Well, I think I shall retire, my friend. Sooner I am asleep, the sooner tomorrow will arrive.”
“You sound like a child awaiting Christmas.”
“Ah, but this is far superior. My wife’s arms and son’s grasping hands transcend any gift delivered. Remember this, Cousin. It will keep you motivated in your pursuit.”
Chapter Five
Shrieks in the Night
Honestly, Darcy, we can manage matters from here on. I was going to be tarrying hereabouts with my wife’s family for a couple of weeks anyway. Frankly, this will give me something to occupy my time besides pretending to enjoy their chatter.” Kinnison grinned. “Go home to your new wife and child. We will send regular dispatches, I promise.”
“You and Mr. Keith are far more proficient at the paperwork and financial issues,” Shultz grumbled from where he reclined and fanned his perspiring face. He was covered with soot and grime, having spent the past three hours revamping several of the damaged spinning mules. It was actually very cold outside, clouds gathering rapidly and darkening threateningly by the moment. “You better get a move on if you want to beat the storm. I think it bodes to be a bad one.”
He was right. Flurries were already falling by the time Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy mounted their stallions and headed out of town. Richard was questioning the wisdom in riding through what promised to become a blizzard before it was over. Darcy, however, refused to discuss waiting. His prescient prediction of Derbyshire weather was not failing him; he simply ignored it in the urgent need to be home. It would prove to be a horrible mistake, one that he was rapidly recognizing before they were three miles north of town.
It was miserable. Snow fell in thick sheets, wind hitching furiously and driving the increasingly solidified ice into their faces, cold seeping through the layers of thick woolens they wore, and visibility falling to near zero. The horses plodded along slowly, riders bent double over their backs. It was when they passed the barely seen sign for “Belper, 2 miles” that Richard grabbed Darcy’s arm.
“William, we have traveled eight miles in nearly an hour, with twenty more to go! We cannot do this. I say we stop in Belper for the night.”
Darcy nodded, heart sinking; with the storm raging, he would have no method of alerting Elizabeth. Being comfortably settled at the small but hospitable carriage inn in Belper, dry and warm in front of the blazing fire with steaming mugs of coffee and a platter of roasted lamb with sautéed vegetables did little to ease the ache in his heart. Richard prattled on in his typical humorous fashion, the room was lively with other waylaid travelers and a country fiddler in the corner, but Darcy volunteered little. Eventually he would relax, make the best of a troublesome situation, and even join in a game of darts that Richard won, naturally.
The bed was comfortable and clean, welcomed by a weary Darcy even if it was the fourth night of sleeping alone. He tossed a bit, always finding it difficult to settle now that he was so dependent on his wife’s warm and soft body molded into his, but finally drifted asleep. He dreamt happily, confident that he would see their beloved faces, kiss their beloved lips, and hold their beloved bodies close on the morrow.
He had no way of knowing that he was wrong.
The blizzard raged all through the dark hours of the night. Wind screeched wildly in tones reminiscent of fighting tomcats or a woman in pain. It was one of those rare storms that old men would talk about in decades to come: “Remember the blizzard of 1817? Ushered in the new year with a vengeance, that one!” Temperatures dropped to alarming levels, with negative consequences to some livestock and vegetation that would be felt in a variety of ways. Snow fell in record amounts, the landscape as white as an untouched canvas. It was the singular object that marred the otherwise pristine surrounds; vague flashes of brown tree trunks, the multihued bricks and stones of buildings, and partially frozen blues of waterways and lakes the only spots of color between the lopsided blown drifts of powdery snow.