“Thanks to the late Mr. Darcy!” Lizzy interrupted with some heat.
“Indeed. But the point is he could be serving as a steward or some such capacity, could he not?”
“It is possible, and William has thought of that. But why be so secretive about it? If it were a position of esteem he would probably be bragging loudly, even if it was a huge exaggeration, just to annoy William.” She shook her head. “No, it is odd however you look at it but not conclusively criminal. William will be irritated and I cringe at the thought of enlightening him. Perhaps I shall wait until later tonight before we retire and he is especially mellow.”
“Lizzy!”
She looked at her sister’s shocked, red face and laughed aloud. “Oh Jane! You are a treasure!”
“Mama, wellow ’lion for you.”
Lizzy turned to Alexander, who stood before her with a handful of yellow dandelions held up. She knelt and took the offered bundle with a flourish, inhaling the acrid odor as if the sweetest perfume. “Thank you, my lamb. They are beautiful! Now, repeat after me, ‘yellow dandelion.’”
“Yellow dannilion.”
“Close enough!” She squeezed him until he squealed, chubby arms gripping her neck as she rose with him in her arms.
It was then that she saw the carriage.
Their group strolled along a trail that ran beside a narrow creek. The wide expanse of meadow on the other side of the creek was laden with wildflowers in bloom amid the tall, waving grasses, but was barren of trees or larger bushes, thus the view of the road was unobstructed so she could easily see the parked carriage and, presumably, whoever occupied the carriage could easily see them. It was a simple coach, well constructed, but without any embellishments or identifying markings. The driver wore nondescript clothing, not livery, and sat erect upon his seat with eyes staring straight ahead and paying them no mind.
There were probably a dozen reasons why a carriage may be halted on the side of a road with no houses or buildings in sight, so Lizzy’s gaze barely noted the vehicle’s presence before beginning to slide away. But a sudden movement from within the interior caught her attention.
It was a mere flash. An arm reaching, the golden head of an ornate cane held in a pale hand rapping onto the ceiling as a signal. Then the barest glimpse of a face appearing in the window, eyes looking her direction. For a heartbeat only their eyes met, recognition knifing through her brain with an accompanying physical pain before the image was gone. As rapidly as it started the sensation began to fade, her stunned consciousness already doubting what she had seen since it just could not be possible. It was unfathomable that it was him.
“Mrs. Darcy? Are you well?”
She turned dull eyes to Mrs. Hanford, the nanny’s kindly face wrinkled with concern.
“Mama? Dannilion?” Alexander pushed the fisted flowers under her nose, sensing his mother’s fright and naively trying to comfort despite his innocence.
Lizzy looked to the carriage, but the windows were dark and empty. It was slowly rolling away, picking up speed with dust swirling until obscured further.
“I am fine. Just fine. I guess the sun has affected me after all.” She smiled at her son, kissing his nose. Another glance showed the carriage rounding a bend and then disappearing altogether. “Now, let’s see if we can find some tadpoles, shall we, sweetie? Or, better yet, a big, ugly toad! Your papa would love to see that!”
A man entered the darkened, smoky pub, pausing on the threshold for a moment to adjust to the sudden gloom, and searched the shadowed corners for the person he was scheduled to meet. He spied him finally, readjusted the crutch under his arm, and shuffled awkwardly to the table set into the alcove. With a groan of pain he sat onto the bench across, rubbing his shriveled left leg.
“You are late,” the waiting man said flatly, offering no assistance to the older, crippled man other than to scoot a mug of ale closer. “What were you doing? Watching the house again?”
“What I do with my time is none of your concern, Wickham. You are paid to do my bidding and not ask questions. Remember that.”
Wickham inclined his head. “Have no fear, my lord. I know where my livelihood comes from and am grateful. You have my loyalty.”
“Good.”
“However, I am the one putting myself on the line as I traipse back and forth to London with the risk of being recognized. If you want this to succeed you have to stay hidden and trust what information I glean. What if one of them was to see you?” His tablemate looked into the foam in his mug, avoiding Wickham’s eyes. “No! Who saw you?”
“It was for less than a second and from a long distance. I am sure there was no recognition.”
“Do you truly imagine, all considered, that she would forget your face?”
“Why do you assume it was her?”
“Because if it was him you would likely be dead. Listen, my lord, you cannot allow your impatience to ruin all our planning.”
“Quit chastising me, Wickham. Must I remind you again who I am and where you were when we joined forces? You had connived your way into managing that inn and were doing a fair job of it, keeping your wife in the gowns she desires, but we both know it was an impasse. A man like you would never had been content doing that forever. With me you have a future. And, best of all, the means to punish Darcy.”
“We both need to be smart then. You have not learned to control your rage and need for vengeance.”
“It is too personal,” he hissed.
“I understand, my lord. It is personal for Darcy as well, but despite that he knows how to contain his anger. He was always proficient at that.” Wickham finished with grudging respect.
“How well I know,” the maimed man muttered, brushing a thumb over the long scar across his left cheek before taking a swallow of his ale. He emptied the mug and signaled the barmaid for another. “Now tell me what you have accomplished, if anything. I tire of my rustic accommodations. Have you learned of his activities? Divined any pattern?”
They paused as the barmaid brought fresh mugs of ale. She was a pretty thing, young and buxom, her smile inviting as she leaned near Wickham offering a generous view of her bosom.
“Anything else you needin’, sir? We gots a nice lamb stew cookin’ to warm your belly and other treats to satisfy if you wants.” The coquettish expression and sweep of one finger across her cleavage aided the innuendo, not that Wickham was confused. He winked, dimples flashing as his eyes raked over the breasts less than a foot from his face.
“Any stew cooked here is more likely rat than lamb and the ‘treats’ are probably the pox.”
The girl turned toward the grating voice with a biting rebuttal on her tongue but flinched and recoiled, the words undelivered. The Marquis of Orman glared at her, his dark eyes menacing. His sallow skin stretched over the harsh bones of his thin face, the only color blotches of pink flesh amid the puckered scar on his cheek. The odor of ale and cheap wine mixed with an alien sweetness permeated his clothing and was strong enough to supplant the smell of rot and vomit naturally drifting on the pub’s air.
She instinctively took a step backward but was halted by Wickham’s hand clasping her wrist. He followed with a sensuous caress up her inner arm, his smile mollifying while still being lewd.
“We are good here, love. I will seek you out when I am ready to take you up on your generous offer.”
The simper instantly returned, her lashes lowering in what she reckoned was demure flirting, and without a glance toward Orman, she moved away with a seductive sway of her hips that Wickham avidly observed.