
Mrs. Darcy and the Maiden's Masquerade
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Narrated by:
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Virtual Voice

This title uses virtual voice narration
Virtual voice is computer-generated narration for audiobooks.
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“I had no idea they were in such hardship,” Dr. Luggins muttered, taking in the dismal view. Upon his last visit, the house had been a beacon of welcome, with cushioned chairs upon the wide veranda and manicured gardens which begged to be explored. Now, it was peeling paint and weeds.
“Perhaps it is not so bad as it seems. In the light of morning, things may appear different,” Elizabeth replied hopefully, but knew it was a lie. Something was terribly wrong at Primrose Hall, and it went beyond the death of its master.
Halting the carriage before an equally abandoned stable block, Luggins called out, but his voice echoed strangely. Where were the servants? Peering inside the structure that formerly housed half a dozen fine mounts, he found it empty, but with signs of recent occupation. Into this, he led the horses, giving each a measure of hay and promises to return. As Elizabeth waited, she studied the rear of the house, as yet, no one had come to welcome the arrivals. Had they all departed? It would have only been five days since William Wexford had passed. Was Sophie so distraught that she had dismissed the servants? Having departed so quickly, neither she nor Dr. Luggins had thought to question the messenger. What did John Brooks know? Why had he not been forthcoming? To this silent inquiry, no answers came.
Crossing the kitchen gardens, they approached the rear entry, only to find it locked, but in peering through a window, the dull glow of the great hearth showed promise.
“Someone is home. It is late, perhaps they were not expecting us?” Luggins reasoned, but his voice held no surety.
“Perhaps not, but why would anyone lock the doors so far out in the country?” Elizabeth replied. But no sooner had the words escaped her lips than did she regret their utterance. Not so long ago, the residents of Pemberley and had been forced to take such steps to ensure security. Thieves had plagued the town and surrounding homes, leaving no one safe. Had the Wexford’s experienced such distress? Would not a recent widow be prey to such scoundrels? It was not a thing she wished to experience again, but having done so, was forearmed. Before departing Pemberley, Darcy had insisted she take the small pistol he had purchased for her.
“I hope you shall never need it,” he insisted, placing a worried kiss upon her forehead.
Now, Elizabeth found comfort in the weight of the weapon that resided in her reticule, but even as her heart pounded, logic directed her actions.
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