Love and Laughter

by Jann Rowland

  “If that is what you truly believe, then you are more oblivious than I thought,” muttered Elizabeth, shaking her head in aggravation.

  His Royal Highness, Prince Fitzwilliam Darcy, stared at her, waiting for her to elucidate. Unfortunately for him, she was less than inclined to do so.

  At present, Elizabeth was attempting to saw at the rope that bound her hands behind her chair by awkwardly moving a blessedly sharp penknife up and down. The knife had been an unexpected boon. The room in which she and the prince had at last opened their eyes was a study of sorts that had seen better days. Debris was scattered across the floor, and it appeared as if it had been ransacked by looters at some point, with almost everything of value removed. Elizabeth had appeared less than dignified bouncing her chair backwards toward the desk so she could blindly rifle through the drawers, but she had found what she had sought, and she frankly no longer cared what the prince thought of her. He was the reason she found herself in this mess, and she felt justified in holding onto her anger against him.

  When it became apparent that she did not intend to say anything further without prompting, the man spoke. “I am afraid I do not catch your meaning.”

  “Of course not. Why would a proud prince ever deign to learn more about the pitiful lives of the subjects in his kingdom? In a ballroom, all you ever do is glare down your nose at those who dare to breathe the precious air around you.” Elizabeth gritted her teeth at the chafing of the rope tied around her wrists, pausing a moment from her sawing to give her tender flesh some relief. The gloves she was wearing had slipped down somewhat, exposing the skin to the cruel burn of her bonds. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but some of the mice beneath your feet are living lives of genteel poverty.”

  The man’s expression seemed to falter. “I was not aware His Grace was struggling—”

  “Of course you would not know,” said Elizabeth, beginning to saw at the rope once more. She had to fight back the urge to raise her voice. They were speaking quietly to keep the men posted outside their door from overhearing them, and Elizabeth did not want her irritation to capture the guards’ interest. “My mother would rather eat her entire wardrobe than reveal to anyone just how poorly off my family is. You have nothing to worry about. Your father will pay a king’s ransom for you—”

  “I believe that would be a prince’s ransom.”

  “But as for my family,” continued Elizabeth, her eyes flashing, “we are merely attempting to keep up pretenses. We cannot buy our way out of our problems.”

  “Instead, your mother pushes you toward men of fortune.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “While I cannot countenance my mother’s behavior, I have never looked at a man only to learn the size of his holdings. I much prefer to learn about the man himself. I value the heart and mind of a prospective suitor, not his situation.”

  “Yes, I saw how eagerly you were hanging on Sir Wickham’s words.”

  Elizabeth stared at the prince, wondering at his venom. “If you saw that I was enjoying myself, then why did you feel inclined to pull me away?”

  “That blackguard should not be seen in decent company. I did not wish for you to be lured in by his wiles.”

  “I will have you know that I am a more discriminating woman than you might think,” said Elizabeth stiffly. “Two months ago, I refused a proposal from a baron.”

  A curl of amusement actually made its way to His Royal Highness’s lips. “Yes, I heard about William Collins’s disastrous proposal.”

  Despite the prince’s lack of formality in speaking of the ridiculous man—or perhaps because of it—Elizabeth’s lip twitched. The baron’s foolishly lavish proposal had been the talk of England for weeks. Its ridiculously elaborate nature—honestly, there must not have been a single flower left in London after the man wiped out all the florists’ supplies—would have made some women feel honor-bound to have accepted him. But Elizabeth, who was determined to actually feel something other than disgust for her husband, had not even hesitated to refuse him.

  After a moment, Elizabeth responded: “Then you know that I prefer a man of sense. I have no interest in wealth or status as an inducement to marriage.”

  “Yes, I know,” murmured he.

  She shook her head to herself and attempted once more to concentrate on her current task. But she almost immediately found her mind drawn back to the enigmatic man bound to the chair in front of her.

  When Elizabeth’s brother-in-law—a kind and amiable man who, though a viscount, always insisted his four sisters-in-law call him “Charles”—had eagerly introduced his wife and her family to his old friend and schoolmate in London, Elizabeth had been intrigued at the idea of meeting a prince. Unfortunately, the man himself had proven quite disappointing. He was utterly above his company, and it seemed inconceivable that he should have had anything in common with Jane’s husband.

  And then, to make things worse, Charles had invited His Royal Highness to stay with him at his summer estate of Netherfield. As Elizabeth had intended to join Jane at the estate, the timing was irksome, to say the least. But she had been determined to be civil, and so she had refused to alter her plans. Of course, when Mrs. Bennet had learned precisely who was about to grace Netherfield’s doorstep, she had promptly invited herself and Kitty along, although she had bemoaned the fact that Lydia, who had recently married, could not be a prospective suitor for the man. But when Mrs. Bennet had seen the prince show interest—for some inexplicable reason!—in horseback riding with her second-eldest daughter, she had foregone her plans for Kitty and become determined to pair Elizabeth with the man.

  And thus it was that Elizabeth found herself in her present predicament.

  “Ah!” said Elizabeth suddenly. Though she continued to speak in hushed tones, she could not suppress the excitement in her voice.

  His Royal Highness sat up straight in his chair. “What is it, Lady Elizabeth?”

  “I believe I finally cut through the rope,” said she in triumph. But as she tried to move her hands to free them from her bonds, she found that her release was not quite instantaneous. She paused, considering her situation, and then said grudgingly, “Unfortunately, I appear to be having some difficulty, sir. I do not suppose you would be able to assist me—”

  “I would be glad to help you, madam,” said he. “If you would . . .”

  Elizabeth sighed. Of course she would be forced to suffer further indignities in front of this man. Steeling herself, she hopped her chair around so that her backside was facing him. She listened to the noise as he turned his own chair. And then his bound hands were touching hers, seeking the rope tangled around her wrists.

  His fingers lightly—and accidentally, she thought!—grazed the palms of her gloved hands, causing her cheeks to warm in surprise. They almost seemed to linger for a moment before they finally moved and settled on the rope, pulling it apart with alacrity, if not with dexterity.

  Hastily, she brought her hands forward, sighing in relief as she rubbed her wrists. The rope had been less than kind to her flesh, but it was the least of her concerns at this point. Without further delay, she set to work removing the rope that bound her stomach and legs, struggling a little with the unfamiliar knots before dropping the offensive object to the ground. It lay there like an incapacitated snake, immobile yet repulsive to her sight.

  She stood up and said in relief as she turned to face the prince’s back, saying only: “At last!”

  “You are free then?” asked her fellow captive. There was a certain hopeful curiosity in his voice that gave her pause.

  Perhaps Elizabeth had been too quick to apportion blame for her circumstances on the prince. After all, he certainly could not have been any more pleased to be ambushed and knocked unconscious than she was. The bandits who had descended upon them had likely just thrown them over a pair of riderless horses or in the back of a rickety cart. There was nothing glorious about what had happened to them. Not even a prince could want to add this to his ad
venture tally (assuming, of course, that His Royal Highness actually had such a tally—and considering his personality, Elizabeth strongly suspected he did not). It would be much more beneficial for Elizabeth to view the man as a temporary partner instead of an adversary. That was the only way they would both be able to escape alive.

  “Yes, I am,” said she as she pushed her chair aside. She looked at the penknife for a moment as she considered whether she should try to cut the prince’s bonds or untie them. Quickly, however, she decided she did not wish to accidentally harm him, and she set the penknife on the desk.

  She immediately worked on untying the ropes around the prince’s wrists, trying to ignore the sensations engendered in her midsection every time she accidentally touched the palms of his hands or one of his fingers. There was something strangely intimate in the action, even if they were in essence facing a struggle for their lives.

  Finally, she managed to free the prince’s hands, and after he removed the rest of his bonds, he rose to his feet.

  “Thank you, madam,” said he gravely. His gaze was dark and intense, his eyes seemingly searching hers, though for what, she could not say.

  “Of course, sir,” murmured she in some discomfort. “I could not very well leave you behind with the bandits, now could I? Your father would still be forced to pay a prince’s ransom, and then where would we be?”

  “I suppose I would be sitting in a drawing-room somewhere, with my father’s coffers several thousand pounds lighter,” said he wryly.

  “Well, then let us work to ensure that such a fate does not befall your poor father. What do you think we should do about the guards posted outside the door?”

  The prince glanced around the room, no doubt searching for a weapon. Apart from the desk, their chairs, and some other pieces of broken furniture, there was little of interest in the derelict study. He glanced at the penknife Elizabeth had discarded, but though it was able to sharpen quills, he evidently decided that it was not sufficient for his purposes, as he turned to gaze down at Elizabeth’s chair. He bent down, and with some effort, he tugged and twisted at one of the chair legs and even gave it a few kicks before the leg at last gave way and broke free.

  Elizabeth held her hand out, lifting an eyebrow expectantly.

  He glanced from the chair leg to her, no doubt surprised to learn that she also wished to carry a weapon. But he relinquished it without comment and made quick work of pulling another chair leg off for his own use.

  “What is your plan?” asked she once he was finished.

  “It is not much of one, I am afraid. I believe it would be best if I broke down the door and then rushed forward to knock out our guards.”

  “I believe I heard at least two voices. It would be more prudent for us to each take a guard.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, you cannot expect me to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way—”

  “I do not intend to give you a choice,” said Elizabeth sharply. “My life is also at stake, and should I survive and you perish, my own survival shall not be able to make up for a prince’s ransom.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, you are being—”

  “Ridiculous?” said Elizabeth archly. “Be careful, sir, or I might find myself offended.”

  The prince growled to himself. “You are the bravest and most impertinent woman I have ever met.”

  “If that is true, then I might be inclined to suggest that you attempt to meet more people or at least venture out onto the dance floor . . . were it not for the fact that I already know what sort of reception that recommendation would meet.”

  He actually laughed at that, and she looked at him in surprise. “Lady Elizabeth, if we escape this place unscathed, then I shall gladly attempt to expand my acquaintance. Furthermore, I would like to request your first dance at the next assembly we both attend.”

  “You must watch yourself, sir, or you might raise certain expectations.”

  “I find myself caring less and less about the expectations of others by the minute.” He gazed at her for a moment before speaking again. “Now, I think it will be best if I exit first and take the scoundrel on the left. You may come behind me and take the scoundrel on the right, if that is acceptable to you.”

  “And if there is a third in the middle?”

  “Then it shall be a contest to see who gets to him first.”

  Though Elizabeth knew she should have been afraid for her life, she could not feel fear with this man standing beside her. She felt strangely alive, and a smile actually sprang to her face. “That sounds fair to me, sir.”

  His face—though she normally only saw scowls on it—was wearing a smile as well. “Let us go to it, madam.”

  He strode forward, his thick chair leg held up at the ready, and then he stopped and looked back at her.

  She held her chair leg up in both hands and gave him a nod.

  He took in a deep breath, nodding back. They stood there for a minute, listening to the bandits on the other side of the door. One of the men mentioned something about their leader intending to visit soon, and though it gave Elizabeth a bad feeling, she had no intention of delaying her escape. If they were lucky, she and the prince would be gone long before the bandits’ leader showed up.

  The prince seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as he caught her eye to ensure she was ready. She gave him one more nod, seeking to reassure him.

  He kicked the door open.

  One guard had been seated in front of the door, and when it flew open and hit his chair, he fell forward onto the floor. Two other guards swiveled around at the noise.

  The prince and Elizabeth leaped forward, and Elizabeth cracked her target across the temple as she heard the prince do the same beside her. Unfortunately, something was lacking in either her power or her accuracy, and the guard she assaulted quickly recovered. He clumsily began to pull a sword out of his belt, and she swiped out at him again.

  The prince jumped across the back of the man on the floor, who was struggling to get up. Then he flung himself at Elizabeth’s guard.

  She cried out, fearing that the prince would be impaled. But her attention was soon caught by the middle guard, who had nearly succeeded in rising.

  Rushing forward, she brought down her chair leg on his head with as much force as she could muster. She watched in satisfaction as he collapsed.

  Her eyes darted over to where the prince was struggling with one of the guards on the floor. The guard, unable to pull out his sword, reached up and attempted to fasten his hands on the neck of the prince pinning him to the ground. Elizabeth brought her chair leg back in the air.

  The prince glanced at her, and determination filled his eyes. He began assaulting the guard with a barrage of blows to the face. Finally, the man fell into unconsciousness.

  Elizabeth dropped her makeshift bludgeon in relief and attempted to put on a cheery face in spite of the violence of which she had just been a part. “That went as well as could be expected.”

  “It could have gone better,” muttered the prince in frustration, moving a hand through his dark hair. He gazed up and down her person, attempting to examine her. “You were not harmed, were you?”

  There was something strangely endearing in his concern for her well-being. “I am fine, thank you. But I have been thinking about our escape attempts. I do not know where the rest of the band is, but it is possible they have posted other guards nearby. In your present attire, I fear there is no mistaking who you are, and it might be beneficial for us to attempt to buy some time.”

  The prince grimaced as he looked down at the unconscious guards. “You think I should wear some of their clothes?”

  “It is merely a suggestion.”

  He sighed. “Very well. But if we come across some of these villains and hope that they will not recognize us, then we must be prepared with alternate identities.”

  “I do not believe it is necessary for me to have an alternate identity; I suspect you were the entire focus of this endeavor.”<
br />
  “Nevertheless, I believe it to be the prudent thing to do. Perhaps we could present ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

  “If you are so keen on giving yourself away, why not use ‘Mr. and Mrs. Darcy’ instead? It has a better ring to it.”

  “Very well. Then what would you propose?”

  “One of my good friends is named Charlotte Lucas. How about we disguise ourselves as Mr. and Mrs. Lucas, a couple from a modest Hertfordshire estate called Lucas Lodge?”

  “And how long have we been married?”

  She tilted her head at him. “You cannot be serious, sir.”

  His eyes, to her immense surprise, almost seemed to dance. “But I am serious. Should they ask us for further details, I should like to be prepared.”

  She shook her head. “I believe my so-called impertinence is wearing off on you. But as for your question, we have been married for one year, and we have begun to discover that marriage is not so fine a state as others would have us believe.”

  “I cannot imagine marriage to you to be anything but fine, madam.”

  “If you are not careful, sir, or I might accuse you of giving me a compliment.”

  “And we certainly could not have that.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Elizabeth, attempting to hide her smile. “Now that our identities are secure, I shall return to our cell and wait for you to fetch me after you have dressed yourself in Mr. Lucas’s clothes.”

  “I shall be quick about it.”

  When His Royal Highness came for Elizabeth, she raised an eyebrow and said: “Mr. Lucas’s clothes fit you well, sir.”

  “I am certain Bingley’s sister would disagree with you.”

  Elizabeth snorted and refrained from making a statement about just how little she cared about what Charles’s youngest sister thought. “Shall we hurry to it, then?” asked she instead.

  “Certainly,” said he, looking at her. He had also taken a sword from one of the bandits, and seeing him holding it made Elizabeth feel strangely more secure. “Perhaps you should wait here while I ensure there are no guards posted outside.”