Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

D arcy searched for Freddy with only his familiarity with the house to guide him. There was little light save for snatches of the full moon, at last free of the clouds that had hidden it from view, but he knew Pemberley as well as he knew himself, even in the dark. The Great Dane was not in the family wing nor the guest corridor across from it, and she was certainly not downstairs; the scratching of her nails upon the marble would have revealed her position in an instant. The only reasonable place to search once these others had been eliminated was the upstairs gallery.

Upon rounding the bend, Darcy halted in place as a vision in white appeared before him, standing in front of his own portrait with his missing dog at her feet. He rubbed his eyes in case they deceived him, but no, there was Elizabeth, positioned in a shaft of moonlight at the centre of the long hall and verily glowing within its luminescence.

"Elizabeth? "

She turned, apparently startled, at the blurting of her Christian name. "Mr Darcy!"

"Forgive me, I…" Darcy lost his train of thought for a moment, enraptured anew at the picture that she made in her uncultivated glory. She wore only an overlarge nightgown, and her hair fell in curly waves over her shoulders. It was even longer than Darcy had supposed, ending just above her derrière . He glanced quickly away and covered his momentary lapse with a cough. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I did not mean to frighten you. What do you do here at this time of night?"

Appearing suddenly self-conscious, she turned her face away and began scratching Freddy behind her ears. The dog leant against Elizabeth's leg, her tongue lolling out in satisfaction. "Oh, I…I could not sleep, so I fancied a walk."

Elizabeth shivered—no wonder, given how the sleeve of her nightgown slipped to expose her shoulder—and Darcy strode forwards, untying the belt of his dressing gown. "Without your robe or slippers?" He divested himself of the garment and held it out to her.

"Oh no, I could not?—"

"I insist." Instead of arguing his point, Darcy wrapped it about her himself, swathing her in the warm navy fabric. He was left in only his night shirt, but he felt no chill. On the contrary, he was flush with heat. "There now, is that better?"

Darcy tilted his head to catch her gaze, only to find it averted to the ground. It occurred to him then that Elizabeth had likely never seen a man in his nightclothes before, and he suffered a momentary pang of discomfort on her behalf. There was nothing for it, however; he could either protect her modesty or her health, and the latter was non-negotiable. He could not allow her to become ill from the cold .

"Much," she softly replied. It was too dark to tell whether her cheeks were rouged with bashfulness, but it was not a great leap to suppose they were. His own were burning so fiercely he thought they might be glowing.

Desperate to distract them both from the awkwardness of the situation, Darcy led her to a settee just behind her, placed there for those who wished to consider the art at their leisure. Freddy followed with a wagging tail and settled again at Elizabeth's feet once she sat, her large head resting upon the lady's knee. After a moment of hesitation, Darcy took the liberty of sitting beside her, to which she made no objection.

"I am sorry you could not sleep. Were your chambers not to your liking? Is there anything I can fetch for your comfort?"

Elizabeth shook her head with eager emphasis. "No! Not at all. It is a perfectly lovely room. I…goodness, you will think me the veriest ninny!"

"I could never think that. Tell me, what troubles you?"

With a slump in her shoulders, Elizabeth admitted in a reluctant mumble, "I saw a ghost."

"I beg your pardon?"

"A ghost. I saw a ghost in my bedchamber."

If Darcy was astonished by her pronouncement, he was further shocked by the tale she told of being stalked in the night by a faceless lady in blue. The window, he supposed, must have been worked upon by the wind, but he could not account for her supposed visitation by a menacing phantasm. Perhaps a trick of the moonlight?

"I can see that you do not believe me." She held up a hand as Darcy opened his mouth to offer reassurance, continuing, "I cannot blame you there. I am not sure I quite believe myself! It is in every way fantastic."

"Perhaps you suffered a terrible dream? They can often be quite vivid." Rather like my own recent visitation by a mysterious lady in blue. What are the odds that we would conjure the same terrible figure?

"I suppose that makes as much sense as any explanation. More, even, than any I can conceive."

Darcy, although less convinced than he had been even a moment ago, shook away his doubt and offered further reassurance. "Perfectly reasonable."

They fell into a short silence, the only sounds between them the rustling of Elizabeth burrowing deeper into his banyan and Freddy softly whining for attention.

"Do you think…" Elizabeth raised her face to him, the moonlight reflected in the shining surface of her remarkably fine eyes. Darcy swallowed and forced himself to speak of his own fears. "Could your dream have been caused by the frightening experience you endured during your initial visit here? Are you…afraid to be at Pemberley?"

A crinkle formed on her brow as she considered this. "I suppose I cannot say for certain, but I do not believe so. I shall not say that visiting Pemberley did not cause me some discomfiture, for I think we both know that it did, but I am not fearful of being here. For every strange incident or disconcerting dream, there is another occurrence that brings me joy. This is a magical place, and you are most fortunate to call it your home."

You may call it yours if you would but accept my hand. The words were teetering on the tip of his tongue, but Darcy could not bring himself to open his mouth and let them spill out. It was too soon to speak of his affections, so wholly unchanged from when he first confessed them, as he was not yet assured of hers. She claimed to like Pemberley, but did she dissemble so as not to insult him? What lady would wish to be mistress of a house she believed beset by ghosts? And the setting was not particularly conducive to romance either, with the stern countenances of many generations of Darcys glaring down upon them. Surely she would also wish to be properly dressed—and him as well—when he poured his heart out to her. No, it was not the right time—not the right time at all.

Standing, Darcy held out his hand to Elizabeth. "Come, allow me to escort you back to your bedchamber."

Elizabeth glanced at his face, then at his proffered hand before placing her own upon it. She appeared unaccountably disappointed, though he could not say why he thought so. "I suppose that is best."

Squeak .

A shrill creaking noise rent the air, and Darcy turned towards it, finding the door to his mother's study ajar at the far end of the corridor. Elizabeth's hand clamped down upon his, and she shifted closer. Beside him, Freddy began to growl, and the fine hairs on his nape rose with some indefinable unease. "Was that door open when you arrived?"

Elizabeth's response was a hoarse whisper. "No. That was the room I wandered into on my first visit here. The one where the window nearly closed upon my fingers."

Darcy turned so quickly to look at her that his neck made a cracking sound. " That was the room?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"It was once my mother's study. She used to write her letters in there every morning. I recall visiting her there on numerous occasions."

Elizabeth shuddered and nestled closer to his side, all but pressed to his chest. "I should like you to take me back to the guest wing now."

"Of course," Darcy replied, his voice somewhat strangled. It felt as if his heart was throbbing in his throat as he took her arm with the intention of leading her away .

Before he could take so much as a step, Darcy spotted a light, akin to a guttering candle flame, winking at him from the depths of his mother's darkened study. Knowing what it must be, he was immediately incensed; someone was spying on them. He thought he could guess the identity of their ‘wraith' as well—Caroline Bingley. It made perfect, if somewhat deranged, sense; it was she Darcy had heard lurking in the hall outside his chambers earlier—she who had frightened Elizabeth out of her wits. She was exactly the sort of slender build and prodigious height as the ephemeral lady Elizabeth had described, as well as the one he himself had spotted skulking about the willow grove previously. He had not thought Miss Bingley capable of such despicable, underhanded ploys to dissuade her rival from accepting Darcy's attentions, but clearly he had underestimated her ambition to be mistress of his house.

Darcy released Elizabeth and began to stalk towards the taunting light, but he was stayed by a clutching grip upon his sleeve. In a hissing whisper, she demanded, "What are you doing?"

Turning to Elizabeth, Darcy placed his own hand over her white-knuckled fingers. "Someone is hiding in that room, and I mean to roust them. I will not abide being spied upon."

"You cannot go in there! You do not know who, or what, is in that room."

"On the contrary, I believe I know exactly who stalks us and why. Even if I am wrong, the person must be someone from the household and ought to be sent back to bed. There is nothing to fear, I assure you."

Darcy again attempted to pry Elizabeth's fingers from his person, but she held fast. "I beg of you, do not leave me here alone."

This plea, spoken on a trembling note, tugged at Darcy's heart. He drew closer and brought her hand to his chest, where he kissed the tips of her fingers. "You need not be afraid, Elizabeth. Nothing will ever harm you whilst I am about."

Her eyes, wide and iridescent, beseeched him as strongly as her words did. "At least allow me to come with you."

A glance over his shoulder revealed the bobbing light to be exactly where he remembered it. It winked at him impudently.

"Very well, but remain behind me. You are in no danger, but I would prefer it all the same."

Elizabeth nodded and, maintaining her hold on his hand, trailed along in his wake as Darcy steadily approached the door. Freddy followed, head lowered and a growl rippling on the air.

Up close, the door stood as a silent sentry between them and the chamber within. Darcy reached out with his free hand and pushed it the rest of the way open, squealing on its hinges. Inside, his mother's study was cloaked in darkness save for that blasted light, which hovered near the window resembling nothing so much as a will-o'-the-wisp, luring them closer. He could not see an accompanying face, which was odd, but Darcy supposed Miss Bingley—or whoever it was—might have hidden elsewhere in the room when she detected their approach.

Clearing his throat, Darcy adopted his most commanding tone when he said, "Come out and show yourself." There was no reply to this entreaty, so Darcy repeated it, this time with the force of impatience. Still no response.

Elizabeth clutched at the back of his night shirt, her breaths coming fast through her nose. "Mr Darcy, I think we ought to go. "

"Nonsense, we have not yet ousted the miscreant. You may step out into the gallery if it would make you more comfortable, but I intend to investigate further."

"No! I wish to remain with you." He could feel her fists tightening in the material at his back.

"Very well, but stay close."

Darcy moved deeper into the room, Elizabeth shuffling along just behind him, watchful for any shifting shadows that might give away the interloper's position. Freddy did not cross the threshold but stood guard just beyond with her ears at attention.

The instant they were clear of the door, several things happened at once. First, said door swung shut with a clamouring bang. Second, the taunting light winked out of existence. And finally, Freddy let loose an ear-splitting howl.