Darcy scoffed. “What revenue from Pemberley? Did you not see the drowned stalks of wheat and corn that the harvesters bypassed? There will be no money pouring into your pockets. You are a fool.”
Turning his back to the two men, he had not yet reached the door when Mr. Foster called for him to turn over the key and combination to the safe.
Stopping, Darcy turned to him and said, “As I told you before, never!”
Exiting the house, Darcy climbed into the carriage, tapped his walking stick on the roof, and never looked back.
Although Darcy triedto give the appearance of calm, Elizabeth could see distress lurking. His breath came in gulps. He barely blinked. Rather than question him as to what happened, she slid closer, wrapping her fingers around his hand, squeezing as tightly as possible. WhenGeorgiana opened her mouth to speak, Elizabeth fiercely shook her head.
It was not until the carriage was beyond Pemberley’s boundaries that the coachman stopped to inquire which direction they would head. The only name she was familiar with in the shire was Alderwood.
Fortunately,the servants at Darcy’s uncle’s estate were welcoming. Elizabeth left Georgiana to Charlotte’s tender ministrations and sent Petey to the stables with the driver. Asking for a tray to be sent up for her and Darcy, the housekeeper showed them into a suite of rooms in the family wing.
With Parker’s help, she stripped off her husband’s coat and cravat. The valet pulled off his boots and provided soft slippers for his feet. As soon as the two of them were alone, Darcy leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.
“He owns it all.”
Elizabeth leaned closer to hear him clearly.
“Who?”
“Simon Cole.” Disgust dripped from Darcy’s tongue. “If what he claims is true, not even Georgiana, Wickham’s widow, will benefit from Pemberley.”
Tugging at the paper still gripped in his hands, she asked, “Is that, by chance, Mr. Wickham’s will?”
Darcy dropped his hands from his face. Sitting erect, he handed her the scroll. “A copy.”
As she unrolled the paper, Darcy said, “Cole, of all people, has the knowledge to take charge. Every year, hemade a list of suppliers and vendors. Cole knows the amounts paid and ordered. He knows the names of every tenant, every servant, and everyone who did business with Pemberley. He will make mistakes, but he will learn. I no longer can see how he can be ousted from the estate. The Darcy family has truly lost Pemberley. Forever.”
Elizabeth read the document as her husband called down every curse imaginable on Simon Cole. When she reached the end, she said, “You knew him far better than I ever would, so perhaps you can explain to me why Mr. Wickham named Mr. Cole as his heir? The document omits Georgiana’s name, although it would seem he should have included his wife and potential children. Would he have willingly signed this?”
Darcy stretched out his hand. Before placing it in his palm, she read aloud the signatures on the last page. “Mr. George Andrew Wickham, witnessed and notarized by Mr. Marcus Junius Cinna.”
“Who?” Darcy spun toward her.
“Marcus Junius Cinna.” Her hand covered her lips when Darcy leapt to his feet, the will falling to the floor.
Digging through his portable desk, he riffled through the papers, flinging them aside until he found what he was looking for.
“The deed transferring Pemberley and the Darcy family assets to George Wickham lists.” Turning to the last page, he read: “Marcus J. Cinna, Notary Public.” Slapping his forehead, he mumbled, “Why did I not see this before? Marcus Junius Cinna. How blatantly obvious could this be, yet I missed it completely.”
“Would he have been so overt with his perfidy?” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed.Can this be true?
“Wickham failed to study literature at Cambridge. He would never know Shakespeare and Roman history. Julius Caesar and Mark Antony.” Darcy paced the room. “Three traitors undermined Julius Caesar. They were Marcus Junius Brutus, Gaius Cassius Longinus, and Decimus Junius Brutus. Gnaeus Cornelius Cinna Magnus was a conspirator against Mark Antony.” He stopped. “Elizabeth, if I am correct, which I believe I am, if we were to search the records of the Court of Faculties of the Archbishop of Canterbury in London, I doubt we will find the name of Mr. Cinna on any lists of notary appointments.”
He growled in frustration. “Mr. James Moore was the notary that Cole always used until this…this travesty. Even your uncle Gardiner used Mr. Moore. This Cinna fellow is likely a fraud.”
Elizabeth rose slowly. “If this is so, are the deeds transferring Pemberley to Mr. Wickham and Mr. Wickham’s last will and testament legally enforceable documents?”
Her husband’s smile lit his face. “I doubt they are.”
“Which would mean that everything goes back to you and that your sister will keep whatever is left of her dowry that her husband did not spend, am I correct?”
He clasped her hands in his. His excitement was marked. She could feel it in his whole body.
“Yes.”
“Then you will want to hurry to Town?” What Elizabeth wanted was to pull on the reins, to stop and reconsider all that Pemberley meant to her husband. Or rather, to remind him that his former estate was not the be-all and end-all of his life. To be honest, after seeing forherself the grandeur of the Darcy heritage, she understood why the property commanded attention. Yet, the signs were obvious that Fitzwilliam was allowing it to control him instead of the other way around.He was fighting for his heritage, but for who and what purpose? To be the master once again or for his family?
