Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T he door slammed with a reverberating bang, causing the female apparition to visibly flinch. Their son's dog howled with outrage at the abrupt separation. She then fixed the long-deceased couple with a baleful glare before setting to work scratching at the secured door in a pointless effort to free her master.

"For heaven's sake, George," Lady Anne said as she hovered above the carpet, her long, flowing cobalt gown wafting about her as if caught in a soft breeze. "You will scare them both to death! Be more gentle."

"Me?" replied George Darcy with a scoff, silver and transparent in the bright moonlight. His voice echoed softly, as if from far away. "Anne, I believe you were the one who frightened our son's future bride so thoroughly that she fled her bedchamber in terror without a dressing gown or slippers. Imagine, showing yourself in the mirror like that…"

Lady Anne pinned her husband with a haughty glare as if he were a simpleton. "How else was I supposed to effect the planned rendezvous? She needed to leave her room, so I chased her out."

"You could have lured her with a will-o'-the-wisp, like I did for Fitzwilliam."

"Please. It was not our son whom you lured with your parlour tricks but his dog. Had she not chased your light like a rabbit down a hole, you would have been forced to adopt an alternative solution yourself."

"And here I took the parson at his word when he said ‘til death do you part'."

Lady Anne's head whipped in George's direction, sending the tendrils of her loose snow-white hair flailing about her. It moved as if submerged in water, caught in a tide that none but the dead could feel. "What was that?"

"Nothing, dear."

The squabbling spirits did not even notice the rattling and shaking of the closed door as their prisoners struggled to escape, caught up as they were in the heat of their bickering. Lady Anne persisted, "It is not as if I could simply sit Miss Bennet down to tea and politely invite her to a midnight assignation with our son. There are strict limitations to revealing ourselves, as you well know. I did what I could, and I still say the mirror trick worked splendidly."

"Oh yes, a perfect plan," George replied, eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Though what we would have done had your little visit stopped Miss Bennet's heart, I do not know. I suppose she could have continued here with us, watching Fitzwilliam slowly die of misery and grief. Then the Darcy line would have ended, and we could all haunt Pemberley for eternity."

Lady Anne dismissed her husband's point with a regal wave of her hand. "Nonsense. You are entirely too melodramatic. Miss Bennet is a hale, healthy girl! Were she not, she could never become the mistress of Pemberley. Though I do think that silly Bible trick was a touch over the top. I thought she would expire on the spot when she read that verse."

George laughed, his deep voice ebbing away into the darkness like rings on a pond. "I disagree! I thought it was rather clever, myself."

"You would think so. You were always teasing poor Fitzwilliam as a boy, pulling childish pranks. Between you and that awful Wickham brat, I am frankly amazed that he is not some nervous little thing now. He was so sensitive."

"Exactly!" cried George; a painting on the wall behind him rattled slightly as he slapped his hand upon it. "He needed some toughening up. It worked, did it not?"

Lady Anne shook her head, and several wisps of her hair swirled around her as if floating upon the surface of reality. "No, he simply learnt to hide his feelings better. Had you not taught him to keep everything so bottled up inside, I am convinced that he would have received Miss Bennet's acceptance the first time he asked for her hand. She did not even know he liked her!"

"Yes, well…"

"You recall how downtrodden he was after Easter? How often he took to drink late at night, bemoaning his heartache to our portrait? I might have detested Miss Bennet forever had he not detailed his own failings."

"No one is perfect, as the good book reminds us."

"Do you remember the way he insulted Miss Bennet upon first meeting her?" Lady Anne shook her head, her tresses swaying lazily with the motion. "I cannot even repeat it. To think that our son could ever speak of a lady in such a way, and in public too! But she might have forgiven him that had your favourite "—Lady Anne sneered at this oblique reference to Wickham—"not poisoned her against him. "

George's groan shuddered on the air. "Not this again."

"Do you deny that your godson is a scheming, lowly snake? Of course, he might have turned out well enough had you not given him notions of a life above his station. You treated him as a second son, so he learnt to expect more than he was reasonably entitled to. You were blind to his devious dealings with Fitzwilliam, but I saw every lie, every theft, every mean trick as I haunted these halls. Who do you think kept locking the boy out of the house?"

"Anne—"

"That whelp was always jealous of Fitzwilliam?—"

"Enough, Anne, enough!" George interrupted whatever chastisement was coming next with a huff. "You have adequately made your point."

A loud snap and a doleful clunk drew Lady Anne's attention to the door once again, and she peered through the solid oak with sight unencumbered by physical barriers. She smiled as she watched her beloved son approach Miss Bennet, take her hands within his own, and assure her of his undying devotion. The girl's response was no less touching, and just like that, their engagement was sealed. Lady Anne withdrew her gaze to afford them privacy. "She has accepted him at last. Thank goodness!"

"There you have it," George replied with a single nod. "All's well that ends well, as the Bard says. We have succeeded."

"And none too soon. I should hate to resort to more drastic measures than we have already employed."

"Mm."

When he said nothing more, Lady Anne raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Do you intend to release them now? Fitzwilliam has received his acceptance, so I see no profit in keeping them trapped in my study."

George shrugged, an impish grin spreading across his handsome face. "Consider it a wedding present to Fitzwilliam."

"Oh, George."

"Come now, my dear," he said in a rumbling tone, levitating closer to his long-dead wife. He raised her pale hand to his transparent lips and brushed a kiss upon the back of it. She flushed silver at the contact. "You recall what it was like to be young and in love. Allow them some time to themselves."

"What if they get carried away?"

"Then I am happy for them."

"George!"

"Anne, dearest, what could it hurt? If anything, they will be married and settled here more quickly as a consequence."

Lady Anne shook her head, but a smile was spreading across her ethereal face. "I suppose when you put it like that…"

"If we are very lucky, there will soon be little ones about, and they can visit us here, like Georgiana used to do before she grew too old to see us clearly." In life, he had been greatly concerned about his youngest child when she had claimed to pay visits to her mama in the gallery, but he had understood better when he had been at the threshold of death himself. Somehow, the veil was thinner for the very young and those on the precipice between this life and the next.

Lady Anne sighed and rested her head upon her husband's shoulder. "That would be lovely indeed."

George kissed Lady Anne upon her temple, whispering, "That's the spirit."

All of a sudden, the tranquillity of the moment was broken as a shudder of revulsion wracked Lady Anne's noncorporeal form. It was as if someone had trodden upon her grave.

"Anne?" George's voice was thick with concern. "Dearest, what is the matter?"

"Someone has trespassed into my old bedchamber." She convulsed again, her image rippling as disgust overwhelmed her. "It is that horrid Bingley chit! The audacity, the impudence! I shall make sure to teach her a lesson she will not soon forget."

"Anne—"

Lady Anne disappeared in a swirl of mist and fury.