Bad news, folks – I’m delaying the release of The Guardians of Pemberley for a month. As some of you know, I’ve had some challenges this year as my beloved Mr. R faces a cascade of health problems. We hoped we’d reached the turning point in mid-August, but alas! It turns out there’s yet another problem to be dealt with. So while I’d rather be studying magic at Pemberley, I’ve been practicing nursing skills.

The good news is that the book is all but done, and I’m really excited about it! One more scene to write and one to edit, then it’s off to the editor and betas. But that’s not going to happen by September 16, so I’ve rescheduled it for October 16.  If you’ve already pre-ordered it, you’ll get an email from Amazon with the new release date. For those of you who are wondering about Book 4, Triumph at Pemberley, that’s well over half finished already. 🙂

I’m so sorry for the delay – I’ve never had to move a pre-order before, and I hope it will never happen again! I’m so fortunate to have readers who are anxiously awaiting this book, and I hate letting you down. To tide you over, here’s the first chapter of The Guardians of Pemberley, which opens just a couple of days after the end of The Magic of Pemberley.

~~~

Darcy sank into his familiar leather chair and rubbed his hands over the worn edge of his desk. It was real, down to the scent of beeswax and old books he remembered from childhood, when it had been his father’s study. He was back at Pemberley, after those painful months in France. The room was unchanged, as if no time at all had passed.

As if he had not gone through a harrowing, terrifying experience, and barely made it back alive. As if he had not, only three days ago, miraculously transformed from a man into a father. As if he had not then nearly lost his daughter.

Yet every book was in its place, there was fresh ink in the inkwell and a pen which indubitably was sharpened to perfection, simply awaiting his convenience. Exactly as it had always been.

He rubbed his hands over his face. Why did it feel so strange to slip into his old life, like clothes that no longer fit? He had so much to be thankful for.

And a mountain of correspondence to tackle.

He had not even made a dent in it when the butler appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Hobbes?”

The old butler inclined his head. “A runner has come from the gate, sir, reporting a caller for Mrs. Darcy. He claims to be a relation. He was reluctant to give his name at first, but finally said it was Mr. Bingley. Mr. Roderick wishes to know if he should be admitted.”

Bingley, here at Pemberley – and asking for Elizabeth? Of course; he must think Darcy was still in France, if not dead. “Is he alone?” Elizabeth would be thrilled to see her sister, Mrs. Bingley; she had missed her desperately.

“All alone, sir, on horseback. No valet or carriage.”

Not only disappointing, but downright odd. Why would Bingley come all this way if he were not planning to stay? “Pray let him in immediately.” Then another strangeness of it struck him. “Why was he stopped? Our gates have never been closed to callers.”

Hobbes gave a soft cough. “I am sorry to report there has been some fae trickery in your absence, sir. High Fae disguising themselves as people known to us to test the wards. In the interest of caution, Mr. Roderick instructed us that all visitors would require approval.”

Fae trickery? That was disturbing, and it must have been serious to provoke such a response. “I see.” He would ask Roderick about this later.

***

Darcy reached the shadows of the portico just as Bingley dismounted and handed off the reins.

“Walk her and give her just a little feed,” Bingley instructed the groom. “Do not unsaddle her, for I must leave in an hour.”

“So soon?” Darcy asked, startled.

Bingley jumped and paled as if at the sight of a ghost. Then, with a broad, stunned smile, he bounded up the stairs. “Darcy!” he cried, shaking his hand vigorously. “Is that truly you? Not in France, and still alive? I never thought to see you again!”

“I just arrived a few days ago.” Could it possibly have been so little time, when so very much had happened? “Come in, come in. This is a fleeting call?”

New lines suddenly appeared on his friend’s forehead, and he lowered his voice. “I do not want anyone to know I am here. I would not have given my name at the gate if I could have been admitted otherwise.”

This was not good. What could make Bingley want to hide his identity? Darcy hurried him into his study and closed the door. “Why the secrecy?”

“Because of the French surveillance, of course. Did you not know? Napoleon is out for your blood. Soldiers, assassins, spies – they are all out there, seeking the enormous price on your head, or for the capture of any of your family. His men have even been asking questions in Meryton, and my dearest Jane dares not go past the garden walls for fear of them. If they discover I have been to Pemberley, she would be even more of a target. But Jane is desperate for news of her sister, so I publicly planned this trip to my family in Scarborough. I sneaked off from a coaching inn to come here.”

“Good God, I had no idea!” Or had he? Elizabeth had mentioned something about Frenchmen at Pemberley when they were together in France, but it had seemed so far off then.

Were they truly surrounded, even here at his home? It must be true. Bingley worked for the War Office, and he would know. Suddenly the room seemed a little colder.

“What is wrong with Elizabeth?” Bingley demanded. “Jane has heard nothing from her for months and is worried sick. A brief note from Lady Frederica Fitzwilliam saying Elizabeth was back safely but having a difficult time in her pregnancy, and that was all. No responses to any of Jane’s letters!”

Of which, of course, Darcy was completely ignorant, along with everything else that had happened in England for the last four months. He bought himself a moment by pouring a glass of port and handing it to Bingley. “Elizabeth is much better now. Our daughter was born three days ago. I understand her situation was quite bleak before that. I returned just a few hours before the birth.”

A broad smile broke over Bingley’s face, and for the first time, he looked like his old self. “Already? I am beyond glad to hear it! This is a day of miracles!” Then he hesitated, the lines of worry coming back. “And the child…is she well? I thought she was not expected for some time.”

“Our Jenny is the tiniest mite you have ever seen, but healthy.” At least she was now. At first no one had expected Jenny to live, and he had feared his heart would shatter. But he could hardly tell Bingley that a dragon from India, one he had met before and believed to be human, had done a magical healing so the baby would survive.

So many secrets he would have to find a way to explain! And so much he did not yet understand. There had been one young dragon at Pemberley when he had left on his near-fatal mission to France, and now there were four full-grown ones and a nestling, not to mention a host of invisible lesser fae serving his sister.

Bingley said, “Excellent news! I still cannot believe you are alive and safe!”

“I sent a note to Cattermole at the War Office as soon as I returned, but it might not have arrived before you left.”

“I would not have heard about it anyway. I broke with the War Office when they declared they had nothing to do with your mission, denouncing you for the assassination attempt –”

The words were like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. “What?” Darcy cried.

Bingley stiffened. “Did you not know? This was weeks ago.”

Of course he had not known. He had been on the run in France, fleeing for his life, with no news from England. “Are you certain?”

“Without a doubt. I argued with them about it, and when they would not budge, I resigned.”

Nausea churned his stomach. He had known the War Office could not admit they had sent him to help the assassins, but to denounce him? After everything he had done, all he had suffered, all because the War Office had asked it. “Who knows about this?”

“The censure has mostly been in private communications with the French government, but the War Office told the papers here they never heard of you.”

“Never heard of me.” As expected, but still he tasted bile. What would people think of him now? That he was a madman? “Why denounce me, though?”

Bingley leaned back in his chair. “They hope to appease Napoleon, to slow the invasion. I am sorry; I thought you knew all this already, old chap.”

“I have seen no news in weeks, and before that, it was only an occasional French newspaper.” Then Bingley’s words sank in, and ice ran up his spine. “An invasion?”

“Without question.” He held out his empty glass. “I need more port if we are going to speak of this.”

Darcy refilled it and gave it back, forcing himself not to demand an immediate answer. What in heaven’s name had happened, all those weeks when he had been out of touch in France?

Bingley took a sip. “Ah, yes, that is better. The port, not the news. Napoleon is building a flotilla and gathering troops in Boulogne, a hundred thousand already and growing every day. Just simple barges to carry soldiers and cannons, since there is no British Navy to stop them from crossing the Channel wherever they please, thanks to the sea serpents sinking all our ships. They are working at top speed, and the War Office thinks they will be ready in two or three months.”

“Good God,” Darcy muttered. “That soon?”

“Boney is in a great hurry for vengeance. The government has managed to keep this quiet so far, but once people find out, there will be panic. Deservedly so; this is going to be a disaster.” He set down his glass. “That was my other reason for coming North – I must speak to my family in Scarborough to see if they will give my dear wife refuge there, where no one knows her family background. Napoleon plans to execute every Englishman with mage blood.”

Cold washed over him. That meant Elizabeth, Frederica, Richard – all his family, and baby Jenny, too. “Because of me, I suppose,” he said heavily.

“God alone knows why Napoleon does anything,” Bingley said, but he obviously knew the truth. No doubt he still had contacts at the War Office and was not prone to panic; if he was making plans to flee the invasion, it was for good reason.

“If your family in Scarborough will not serve, you are both always welcome here at Pemberley, of course.”

Bingley gave a harsh laugh. “There is no place more dangerous for her than here! This whole area is crawling in spies, and you are a prime target.”

Darcy’s chest tightened. “Are they sure of that?”

“As certain as we can be, though we know less than usual now. After that attack on Napoleon, all our usual spies in his court went silent. The whole chain for communication destroyed, including our couriers. Someone must have talked under torture.”

Darcy winced, thinking of the two French aristocrats who had been captured that nightmarish day in the Tuileries. Had Napoleon used his magical powers to convince them to talk, as he had almost managed with Darcy? ”Did they tell you he is a dragon in disguise?”

“Who?” Bingley asked. “The only dragon I know of is Lady Amelia’s beast. Sycamore, she calls him. That was enough of a shock, discovering there was a live dragon in Britain!”

“No, Napoleon. That is what I learned when I faced him. He is not a human at all, but a dragon in mortal form. A powerful, dangerous one who can seize control of a man’s mind. He did it to me – and it was only my blood connection to Elizabeth that saved me.”

Bingley goggled at him for a moment, and then gave a harsh laugh. “Good one, Darcy. You almost had me believing you there.”

“It is no joke.” Had the War Office believed him? Lady Amelia had told them; he knew that much. “Can you not see the implications? If he can get our generals, or worse, the Prime Minister, into his presence, he can convince them to surrender without a single shot fired.”

Bingley was shaking his head. “Darcy, are you quite well? If Napoleon could do that, whether as a human or a dragon, why would he have wasted all those lives battling his way across Europe?”

“Because he wanted his powers to be a secret. That is why he is so eager to stop me – because I know the truth.”

“My friend, you have been through a terrible experience, one I cannot begin to imagine. But this makes no sense. Surely someone would have noticed if Napoleon was a mage, much less a dragon.”

Damn it. He could not even get Bingley to believe him, when all of England depended on this!

A few months ago he would have snapped at him, even shouted at him. But Darcy had been through a hard school in France, hunted through the woods like a beast, starving, helpless, and hopeless. He had faced what seemed to be certain death, knowing he had let his country and his beloved wife down. He had been forced to learn just how limited his powers were.

So instead of snarling at Bingley for having some reasonable doubts, he dropped the subject. If his friend had planned to stay longer, he would have brought Cerridwen in to make his argument. But there was no point now; the knowledge would not help Bingley. “I know your time is limited. Shall we go up to see Elizabeth? She is still abed, resting from her labors, but she will be eager to hear your news from Longbourn.”

“Yes, indeed. I have a list of questions from Jane that I am to pose to her, since of course men cannot be trusted to ask the important things.” He smiled as he said it. “And I want to hear how you managed to escape from France!”

“Ah, yes. That.” He would have to do some quick thinking to find an answer. Even if he were not bound against speaking the truth, Bingley would never believe that dragon magic had transported him back to England.

***

“What a lovely surprise that was,” Elizabeth said when Darcy returned from seeing Bingley off. “I only wish he could have stayed longer and told me more news of Longbourn. It seems so long ago that I lived there.” It had made her homesick, too. How she missed her dearest sister Jane!

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “A great deal has happened in this last year.”

“Indeed.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “I think poor Bingley may have been embarrassed, seeing me so soon after my confinement. But he will recover.” She entwined her fingers with Darcy’s right hand.

He raised it to his lips, gently caressing her sensitive skin. Oh, how lovely it felt, sending a tingle down her arm, even when she was far too tired to do anything about it! But the intent look in his dark eyes warmed her to her core.

It reminded her of the last time they had made love, back in France. He had hardly been able to move his hand then. “How is it that your arm is so much better now?”

His gaze flicked away and then returned, but his expression had tightened. Did he hate being reminded of his injury so much? “It is still not as strong as the other, but apparently it just needed more time to heal.”

“That must be a relief.” There was so much she did not know about that time. There had been no time to talk about it since his return in the midst of her labors, and then there had been the horrible day when they thought Jenny would not live. The memory shuddered through her, and she had to glance down at Jenny’s sleeping form to convince herself that her baby was now perfectly well.

“Is something wrong?” He sounded a bit hesitant.

“Just a memory.” She tried to make it sound light, but it was hard to chase the feeling away. A distraction was what she needed.  “I have not yet had a chance to hear about what happened in France after the soldiers took you away.” When she had thought it was the end, that she would never see him again.

“Not a great deal. In the absence of a gaol, they locked me in a storeroom. And then two men from the Nest came to rescue me.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “Somehow I doubt it was that simple.”

His mouth twisted. “No, but I prefer not to think of the unpleasant parts. If you must know, they questioned me several times, and not gently. But it was nothing I could not tolerate.”

Men! Why did they always have to pretend to be stoic? How many times had she told him that she wanted to know the truth, even if it was ugly? “If you prefer it that way. Perhaps you can tell me about the daring rescue? That must have been a happy moment.”

His expression lightened, as if he appreciated the change of subject. “It was so unexpected that I thought I must be imagining it at first. Even more so after….” He trailed off.

“After what?” she prompted.

He cleared his throat. “After I realized my legs were too weak to carry me far. I had eaten little for several days.”

So it had been bad in his improvised gaol cell. It hurt, but she nodded as if it was only to be expected, since he clearly did not wish for sympathy.  “How did you get away, then?”

“In a wagon, under a load of hay, and then on horseback.” The briefest possible description.

If the French soldiers had been rough with him during the interrogation, his escape might have been physically painful. Apparently she would never know. “What happened when you reached the Nest?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “They tried to put me through the Gate, but it did not work. Then one of them had the idea I might be able to pass if I took on the lesser bond to one of their dragons. It took some time to arrange that.”

It was odd to think of him bonding to a dragon, after all that time when he wanted nothing to do with them. “I suppose having the time to rest was good, though.”

He shrugged. “Mostly they put me to work, helping to build their defenses.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“Everything from digging ditches to preparing rock piles. Anything where human hands worked better than dragon talons. I was glad to be of assistance, especially since they had already helped you leave.” He paused. “That was the most important moment to me, when I learned you were safely home.”

She could not help smiling, because that was her William to the core, always wanting her to be out of harm’s way. “You must have seen more of the Nest than I did, since I passed through it very briefly. Was it different from the one here?”

He launched into a long description of the French Nest – all interesting, but mostly a striking contrast to how little he had said about those weeks apart. Before she could respond, he said, “I must go. My steward is waiting for me.”

“And Mrs. Sanford told you not to tire me by staying too long,” she said tartly.

He grinned. “I will not deny it.” Then he kissed her lightly and left.

She watched him go regretfully, but it was true that she was already growing drowsy. As her eyelids drifted closed, she recalled the last time she had seen him in France, when she had helped him put on the coat he could not manage by himself with his weak arm. He had gone through so much during his imprisonment. And then to be put to hard labor at the Nest!

She was already drifting off to sleep when the oddness of his story struck her. He had marched off into imprisonment with an arm he could barely use, even before he was ill-treated and starved. Then, when he reached the Nest, he was well enough to dig ditches and move stones. How could that be?

She would have to ask him about it later.

~~~

I hope you enjoyed this visit to the world of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage. I can’t wait to bring you the entire book! And again, my apologies for the delay.