His chest heaved in desperation to accept this rescuing angel’s assurances. Could it be another trick, or had he at last gained a true champion? He gritted his teeth, flexing his fists in doubt. For himself alone, he would never have trusted another in this dark place. But for her… for a chance, even the ghost of one, to assure himself of Georgiana’s safety and to seize his constant prayer of once more seeing her….
“Senhor!”
He drew a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering closed as he tried to gather his courage. Elizabeth, he groaned, in his ever-soothing mantra. Aloud he heard his own voice, cracking and unfamiliar, speak the name that for so many years had been his greatest source of pride, and had now proved such a liability.
From outside the door he heard a small squeak, a sharp indrawn breath, and his stomach lurched nervously. Had he spoken rashly after all? His brow pinched, he demanded, “Madam? Are you unwell?”
The voice returned, strained to a higher pitch now. “Your name again, senhor? I did hear you, no?”
He wetted his lips, and this time his voice came more clearly despite his growing fear. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, Madam.”
There was dull sound, as though the lady’s forehead had crashed into the door on which she leaned, and then a scuffing noise of soft leather against stone. He heard her scrambling to her feet and then she gave a hasty cry, as though an afterthought cast over her shoulder. “I will do all I can, senhor!” Then, rapid slapping sounds announced her hasty retreat.
He slid back down to his bunk. She was gone, just as if she had never been. He scraped his hands roughly over his eyes, dazed. Had she been a mere phantom? Had the sweet delirium of his dreams at last invaded his consciousness to the point that he could no longer determine fantasy from reality?
Slowly he eased backward on the miserable bed that was his prison. His arm he crooked over his eyes, blotting out all visions but those he chose for himself. It was the one power that remained to him. He thought fleetingly upon his sister, but an instant’s glance at her china blue eyes filled with tears was nearly enough to nauseate him by his own impotence. Swiftly he replaced the image with one that always brought him peace—a playful smile, a maiden’s blush, and fine sparkling eyes.
He sighed, his pulse calming. She was playing the piano for him at Pemberley once more, glancing teasingly up at him through thick lashes as her fingers danced over the keys. His closed eyes flickered as that foreign voice, so musical and so real, tickled his ears again. Had he truly won a friend who might help him regain his freedom?
Elizabeth’s brow puckered in his imagination as she embarked upon a challenging section of the piece she had chosen—a sliver of pink tongue touching her lips, pert nose wrinkling deliciously. He smiled at the memory.
Perhaps it was not impossible that he might one day have the pleasure of seeing her do so again. For the first time in months, he permitted his feelings to reach for her in hope rather than despair—a faceless hope that spoke now in exotic, daring tones.
18
Longbourn
“Oh, my dearest girls,” Mrs Bennet sniffed, “promise me I shall see you again soon!” She stood beside her husband, fluttering her tear-stained handkerchief as Elizabeth mounted the coach.
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled upward and she allowed her foot to drop from the step as she turned back to face her parents. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had offered his assistance for her to mount, dropped his hand as yet another flash of concern lit his eyes. She offered him a thin smile of reassurance, then dashed back to embrace her parents once more.
Her mother was sobbing theatrically, and Elizabeth, softened at last by some sympathy for her mother’s regrets, patted her back as she kissed her cheek. “Mama,” she soothed, “you know that our travels shall depend upon the roads for yet a few more months. I shall write often though, and I am certain that I shall be returned by the summer.”
“Aye, I know well enough that you shall return, Lizzy, for there are like to be no marriageable men in the wilds of Derbyshire. I still know not why your father permitted it, but there, I am not consulted in anything! Oh, but dear Lydia’s absence is to be of such a duration, for once reunited with her husband, I am certain that they shall nevermore return!”
Elizabeth sucked her lips against her teeth and turned a grim gaze to her father. He seemed even older on this day than he had on the two days previous, the dark circles below his eyes telling the tale of his worry for his daughters. He cleared his throat and took Elizabeth by the elbow to escort her back to the carriage, and out of his wife’s hearing.
“Papa,” she whispered, “are you certain it is wise for Lydia to accompany us? I do not believe Mr Wickham to have been well-liked in Derbyshire. I fear that Lydia will receive a rather cool welcome from the local gentry when we arrive, and I scarce dare imagine whatever discredit her company may bring upon our hostess!”
“Is not Miss Darcy herself from Derbyshire? I think you must allow the young lady to determine for herself whom she invites to her estate. Lydia and Miss Darcy got on famously from the moment they were introduced—though, I confess myself in as much awe of that as yourself. I believe the young lady as blinded by sentimental pity as you—nay, more so, for did she not spend full half an hour dabbing her eyes with lace on Lydia’s account? I say, Lydia’s sordid tale of woe has got her from fortune to fortune. Next I know, she shall be a Lady in Waiting at St James’.”
Elizabeth bit her lips together and sighed. “I cannot but think it all a rash scheme, Papa. Miss Darcy felt some sympathy for Lydia’s circumstances because she… well, she is familiar with Mr Wickham’s character flaws. Others are less likely to feel so.”
“The colonel gave his blessing to the notion,” he reminded her.
“The colonel overlooks Lydia’s circumstances because he is so desperate for my aid, and he saw an opportunity to secure a more lasting promise from me if my own sister were to accompany us. The truth of the affair, however, shall be less comfortable. A girl of Lydia’s… situation… cannot mingle in the same society as Miss Darcy of Pemberley without consequences to both!”
Mr Bennet shrugged, then drew his favourite daughter in for one more fatherly embrace as he chuckled low into her ear. “Your mother has declared to all in the neighborhood that Colonel Fitzwilliam has come to escort Lydia to the North to rejoin her husband. Why, even Mrs Long and Mrs Lucas have eaten their prior aspersions and expressed their well wishes to the young couple! You see what pride this report has given your mother, and you are a clever enough girl, my Lizzy. With Lydia conveniently dispatched on such an auspicious chance, Mary and Kitty’s prospects have improved dramatically—to say nothing of your own.”
Elizabeth drew back from her father, frowning. “I thank you for reminding me, Papa,” she retorted drily.
He touched her cheek, his eyes bearing a strange sheen. “Write me, my girl. Longbourn shall be tragically devoid of good conversation with you away.”
She could not help the quivering warmth pulling at her cheeks. “I promise, Papa.”
“God-speed then, my child.”
And with this final exchange, Elizabeth left her home.
~
“Are you comfortable, Ladies?” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled cheerfully, once all had settled within their thick lap robes. “Miss Bennet, Mrs Wickham, have you enough bricks for your feet?”
Elizabeth arched a wry brow at the colonel’s pointed reversal of preeminence. She might be the elder sister, but Lydia’s dubious marital state at least accorded her with social superiority, so that she ought to have been addressed first. If Colonel Fitzwilliam caught her amused chagrin, it is unlikely that Lydia did. That young lady was happily engaged already with her seat-mate, and only spared the colonel a response when Georgiana ceased answering to look at her cousin.
“La, Colonel, but you have supplied twice the robes we take in our own carriage! I should not wonder if I become rather too hot along the way.” She patted her roun
ding stomach with a gloved hand—the one she had stubbornly squeezed into her wedding ring—and smiled slyly. “I am seldom cold now, do you know.”
Elizabeth coughed suddenly, covering a frown with her own gloves. The colonel merely grinned handsomely, apparently ignoring Lydia’s last remark in favour of the first. “That is as it should be, Mrs Wickham. I am deeply honoured to escort you all to London, and I believe I would have insisted upon claiming that privilege even if Mr Gardiner’s carriage had not been already full. I am only sorry that I could not have seen you directly to Pemberley, for you shall now be exposed to two more days of travel. While today’s journey to Cheapside shall be easy enough, I fancy your subsequent travels into Derbyshire may require ample comforts. It would not do for ladies to take a chill at this time of the year, of course.”
“You have taken all proper precautions, Colonel,” Elizabeth spoke quickly, interrupting whatever loud retort Lydia had opened her mouth to make. “I am sure none could have better secured our comforts.”
His brows rose as he turned toward her. “None, eh? I shall remember that compliment, Miss Bennet, for I am assured that it issues from one who knows of what she speaks. Mr Gardiner tells me that you enjoy travel. I trust you are well-rested and eagerly anticipating our journey?”
“I am, sir,” she dipped her head in mild acknowledgment. “It will be a delight to reacquaint myself with Derbyshire.”
“How could you be rested, Lizzy?” Lydia broke in. “I saw light from under your door most of the night, whenever I happened to stir.”
Elizabeth squirmed, darting an uncomfortable smile to the assembled occupants, all of whom now peered at her in concern.
“I hope you did not suffer in anxiety for the arrangements,” the colonel put in gallantly. “I assure you, anything you may find needful shall be managed, you have but to say the word! I am completely at your disposal until I leave London, and the staff at Pemberley are quite unequaled.”
“Oh, it is nothing like that, I thank you, Colonel!” Elizabeth shot a swift glare at her sister. “I occasionally experience some difficulty in sleeping just before a journey. My thoughts wander most aggravatingly when adventure is afoot, so that I do not rest well. It is often that I sit up on such nights reading, for if I am to be denied sleep, at least my mind is more agreeably engaged.”
“Well,” the colonel’s regular features betrayed some relief of his distress, “I hope that you shall suffer no such difficulty after this first day of travel, Miss Bennet. Fear not, you shall soon be rid of my own presence and may then enjoy my charming cousin and your very agreeable uncle for the remainder of your journeys.”
“I hope you will like Derbyshire,” Georgiana smiled shyly to Lydia. “I believe Miss Elizabeth enjoyed the grounds, but I fear they are not as pleasant at this time of the year as when she last visited.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubts we shall be a merry party no matter the weather,” Lydia vowed. “It is Lizzy who is the walker. I am always most content indoors, so long as there are ample diversions. Do you like making over bonnets, Miss Darcy? I shall teach you all my tricks, for none in Hertfordshire had such nice bonnets as I.”
“Bonnets which,” Elizabeth smiled, “usually came first to the house in the possession of another before they were liberated for your purposes.”
“You ought never to have bought that brown one, Lizzy, it did not suit you,” Lydia shrugged. “Even I was hard put to make something of it, but I suppose it did come out well, for all that.”
Georgiana’s eyes were sparkling brightly as they danced between the sisters. “I have never made over a bonnet,” she confessed with a laugh. “Mine have always been sent by a milliner from London, then my maid makes any adjustments that are necessary.”
“Oh, but you miss out on the fun of suiting your own fancies!” Lydia exclaimed. “Do you not draw or paint tables? It is the same sort of thing. Have you ever arranged bouquets?”
Georgiana’s cheeks were pleasantly pink and a broad smile teased her mouth. “Some little,” she confessed.
“There, it is exactly the same, but that you are setting off your own features rather than the vase or the table. If you can master the one, the other is a snap!”
“Oh, I did not claim to have mastered it, by any means,” Georgiana protested, giggling. “I made a few attempts, but none of my aunts, nor my governesses, have encouraged that accomplishment. I believe my mother was fond of arranging flowers, however. I dare not display my own creations so freely as she did, for I understand she was a prodigious talent. She would brighten the library and my father’s study, and even the dining room with her efforts, or so Fitzw—”
The word died on lips that were puckered still with the effort of pronouncing her brother’s name. Elizabeth began to stiffen in concern and felt the colonel do the same beside her, but Georgiana drew a brave gasp and continued. “—W-william always told me.” She glanced self-consciously to her cousin, biting her lip, and then her gaze went to her folded hands.
Elizabeth released a low breath, sensing some of Georgiana’s abrupt melancholy settling over the whole of the carriage. She swallowed and exchanged pained glances with Colonel Fitzwilliam, who merely shook his head and spread his hands in utter helplessness.
“I’ve an idea,” Lydia perked up with inspiration. “Let us begin by decorating our own chambers. If the maids do not cover their eyes in horror, we shall then move on to the service corridors, and then perhaps the stables. You do not suppose the horses will eat them, do you?”
Georgiana was startled into a little giggle, much to Lydia’s satisfaction. Colonel Fitzwilliam relaxed a little more easily against the squabs, but Elizabeth continued to scrutinise her youngest sister. Lydia’s mercurial ways seemed to work their magic in this moment, for which Elizabeth was grateful. She feared, however, that this venture of shutting away three wounded women with only one another as their principal companions could prove disastrous.
~
Porto, Portugal
“Fitzwilliam! You cannot be serious, Amália. Are you certain you heard properly?” Ruy cocked a hand upon the glistening belt of his brown uniform, tilting the rim of his hat to keep the sun from his eyes as he escorted his sister down to the riverfront.
“As surely as I stand before you,” she asserted hotly. “I tell you, Ruy, his Christian name is the very one. I could never mistake that name!”
“Yes, but I thought it was a family name. Perhaps it is a common name after all, odd as it sounds.”
“Impossible! No, I believe him to be a relation of Richard’s. It is the only explanation! Perhaps their house honours the mother’s family in the naming of a son? Richard did often mention a fondness for a wealthy cousin. This man claimed to have had a fortune—do you think he could be the very same?”
“What, you did not think to ask?” Ruy grumbled.
“You know I could not linger,” she protested. “Ruy, I beg of you, the man is innocent! We must find a way to free him!”
“Amália, you do not know what you ask! Do you not think your husband and father-in-law would find it strange that their pet had suddenly vanished from under their noses? Do not believe that you would be above suspicion, nor that your ‘doting’ husband would take such defiance lightly. They must have some end they wish to attain, and frustrating them will only bring ruin upon you.”
“And turning a blind eye to such wrongs will bring condemnation upon my soul! No sacrament could absolve me from doing nothing when I know of these things.”
“Are you certain,” Ruy seized her elbow and pulled her close, “absolutely certain, Amália, that you act only in the interest of this prisoner? Or is it some memory that torments you to act?”
Her lips parted and she stared back at her brother. For the space of a breath, that stubborn veneer of her gaze—the one that declared to all that she listened only for what she wished to hear—cracked and failed. Her brother’s words seemed to pulse with her own heart
, twisting round and crushing it to confess the truth. An instant later her veil fell once more, covering over her vulnerability and reflecting back only her brittle determination.
“I am certain, Ruy. I was set upon his freedom before I knew his name,” she reminded him.
“But not before you knew him to be a fellow Englishman,” her brother challenged. “May I remind you, darling, that no matter the outcome, you are still wed to Miguel. Your home, your future and family—they are all here. You will only make yourself miserable nursing malcontent against your husband, a man you accepted under holy oath.”
She ground her teeth. “All of this I know! It is not as if I intended to sail for England with the man. I only desire that he be permitted to do so! He mentioned a sister, Ruy. Would you not despair if you had been captured yourself, and knew me to be nearly unprotected far away while you were helpless to come to my aid?”
“Ah, yes, now we know the identity of this mysterious ‘Elizabeth.’ Never fear, darling, if your old friend truly is this man’s cousin, would he not be protecting the sister?”
“Ruy! You deliberately distract me from my point. Will you help me, or will you not?”
He raked his fingers through his curly hair. “Not,” he growled, but his lips curved in betrayal of his words.
“Oh, Ruy!” She leaped to kiss him on the cheek. “We are doing the right thing, I promise you! I shall sleep at last tonight. Which ship shall he depart on, is there one bound for England on the morrow?”
He held up a hand, cringing. “Hold, darling, it shall not be so simple. You must allow me to make the arrangements if you do not wish to find yourself in that same underground cell. I will speak to some of my fellows in arms and see what may be procured. He must travel with utmost secrecy, of course. When did Senhor Vasconcelos expect to have returned from Braga?”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 25