“Of course, you are right, Mr. Darcy. I will return.” She hurried away to do his bidding.
Darcy pushed the door of the library open and placed Elizabeth on the nearest settee. “Here you are, Sweetling.” He knelt beside her on the floor. “Elizabeth, listen to me; we have only a moment
“With my life.”
“Then do as I ask, Love. It is the only way.”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam.”Yet she knew half-truths could not save the world they created.
CHAPTER 9
Elizabeth saw Darcy no more for the rest of the evening. She spent her time with the Lucases and her own family, holed up in Mr. Bingley’s library, where Darcy had left her. Her current relationship with Fitzwilliam Darcy began in that very room. Was it less than a fortnight ago? Darcy and Bingley evidently were assisting the colonel in organizing the party-goers for questioning. Elizabeth heard Darcy’s voice in the hallway twice, but she could think of no reason to excuse herself and go to him. So she remained with her family and friends, who hovered together in whispered conversations.
“Who do you suppose is next?”A pale Maria Lucas joined Elizabeth on a settee.
“Maria, this business does not seem to be planned. These are acts of opportunity. If we do not allow the attacker the opening to commit a crime, he cannot hurt us.”
“I know you are right, but it frightens me, Lizzy.”
“It should,” Elizabeth took the girl’s hand in comfort, “but it cannot control your life. Colonel Forster and the magistrate will get to the truth soon.” Actually, Elizabeth hoped neither man succeeded in discovering the truth.
Later, after she told her version of where she was during the ball to the colonel, the Bennets departed Netherfield. Everyone accepted that Elizabeth had fainted due to the stress of the discovery of another body, which irritated the lady in question. Dawn broke on the horizon. Darcy and Bingley saw them off, and Elizabeth seized the opening.“This is farewell forever, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy traced her countenance with his eyes, trying to memorize her image. “It is, Miss Elizabeth.”The thoughts of leaving her had plagued him for days. Now, the reality of it sucked the life from him.“It is for the best.”
“You would think so.”
Darcy offered her a formal bow. “I enjoyed our time together, Miss Elizabeth. It is rare to find a woman who converses on a variety of topics.”
“I think you would find, Mr. Darcy, that women are capable of many things; the lack lies in men, who, at present, do not accept accomplishment in a woman,” she said haughtily.
Darcy smiled, recognizing the source of her displeasure; it pleased him that Elizabeth would miss him. “I know barely a half dozen accomplished women, Miss Elizabeth, because I believe a truly accomplished woman needs to add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading. Although you do not meet some of Miss Bingley’s criteria of accomplishments, you more than surpass mine.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with the heat his words created in her heart. “I wish you a safe journey, Mr. Darcy.” She could say no more; her family waited in the carriage.
Darcy took her hand and brought the back of it to his lips before handing her into the carriage.“Au revoir, Miss Elizabeth.”
As the carriage pulled away, Darcy stepped to the road to watch her departure.At the curve, Elizabeth intuitively turned around for one last look. Hearts touched in the early dawn, and then she was out of sight. Dejectedly, he returned to the house to prepare for his own departure.
Elizabeth settled under the blankets of her bed, although light streaked through the slits in the draperies. She decided on a brief nap rather than sleep all day. Her mind remained on Fitzwilliam Darcy. Earlier that night she told a lie for him. How many lies had she told recently? More than she could remember ever telling, and they all revolved around Darcy—their clandestine meetings, his belief in a curse, their knowledge of the murders, his battle with Wickham, their intimacy, and his powers. How had she become so entrenched in his life? How had she become so needful of his attentions?
On second thought, most of her lies were not lies at all. They were simply half-truths—like telling someone her new dress created an “interesting silhouette” when one really meant it made her look as plump as a melon. Elizabeth laughed at her own ability to justify anything she said. She did what she did in order to protect Fitzwilliam Darcy. She needed no further justification than that.
A vicious wind chased her. Debris swirled around her feet, churned by the force following her. Elizabeth ran through the trees; shadows, kept in place by the drapery of overhanging branches, stretched across the path.Vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind her, Elizabeth hurdled over fallen trees and gnarled roots, trying to escape. A black adumbration flitted by the corner of her eye, but she did not break stride. Sweat streamed down her face, and she wanted desperately to wipe it away, but that would break her concentration.
The foliage thickened, reaching out for her, tearing at the sleeves of her dress, pulling the strands of her hair free from its chignon. Suddenly, dark eyes penetrated her consciousness as she skidded to a halt in front of a copse of trees.
Wickham stood among the shrubbery, wrapped in a cape of blackest ebony, so dark that it gleamed blue, even in the impenetrable murkiness.“Miss Elizabeth,” his words slithered through the air, “I am happy you joined me.”
Elizabeth wanted to flee, but his eyes held her in place.The sweat continued to flow down her sides and between her breasts; yet nothing else moved. She stood there, transfixed by the sight of him.
When the rain started, Elizabeth wondered irrationally how it could penetrate the thick foliage, which even light could not reach. Soaked immediately to the bone, her vigil continued—Wickham’s eyes—his smile—only on her. “Come to me,” he whispered, his words caressing her cheek.
Elizabeth’s footsteps made a sucking sound—pulling free from the mud in which she now stood—the sound reminiscent of a person inhaling quickly. She moved towards him, and Wickham’s
Then, miraculously, a deer stepped from the shadows. Its eyes were the color of ice. Intuitively, she knew what to do. The deer bowed its head, and Elizabeth reached out to its antlers. Her hands encircled the base, and she lifted the antlers above her head.Without ceremony, she charged at Wickham, who now stood as transfixed as she once was.
A sound of terror filled the air, along with the crack of bone as each of the antler points pierced his body—blood oozing from each puncture—the blood, a rainbow of colors, as if it came from many sources. She heard herself say,“Not so happy to see me now, are you, Mr.Wickham?”Then he disappeared, vanishing in a puff of grey ashes.
She bolted upright, her heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the noise of the busy household. The image of Wickham’s blood seeping out onto her hands still clung to her mind. On impulse, she studied her hands, expecting to find a rainbow of blood across each palm. Elizabeth shook her head to clear her thoughts and to make sense of the nightmare—Wickham was obvious, and the deer with Darcy’s eyes made some sense. But why would a deer’s antlers kill Wickham? Heavens! Falling to sleep with thoughts of Darcy and the lies she created to protect him left her sensibilities in the dust.
Forcing herself from the bed, Elizabeth drifted to the window, wondering how the day would greet the chaos of her mind and the void she felt without Darcy. You will just have to go on without him, she told herself as she opened the drapes wide. The early winter sunlight danced across the floor, revealing flecks of dust floating in the air.
At first, she squinted into the brilliance of the light—so bright it half blinded her. She had always loved the view from her bedroom—the rolling meadow behind the garden, so green during the Ceres!
Grabbing her dressing gown, Elizabeth snuck down the back stairs, making her way to her father’s study.
“Papa?” She tapped lightly on the door to draw his attention. “What is Ceres doing in the meadow?” she asked as she ap
proached her father’s desk.
“Ceres?”
“Mr. Bingley’s horse, Papa.”
“Ah! Of course. Ceres,” he said absent-mindedly. “Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield for awhile; he asked if I would house the animal until he returned. He left me a generous allowance to tend to her.Another horse on the farm will be useful.”
“Mr. Bingley is gone? Jane will be devastated!” Elizabeth realized that Darcy really was gone if Bingley no longer was in residence at Netherfield. He certainly could not be there without his friend.
“The man should return in the spring, I would suspect. Mr. Bingley’s sisters left Jane a note. It is on the table in the foyer.They left one for you also, Lizzy.” Her father shifted his attention back to the book he read. “You take Jane’s to her, Child. She might need you when she reads it.”
Elizabeth’s heart jumped to her throat when he mentioned the note from the Bingley sisters. She knew it was from Darcy; Caroline Bingley would never bid her farewell. “Yes, Papa.” Elizabeth started towards the door.“Do you suppose I might ride Ceres occasionally?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.You mentioned Mr. Darcy gave you lessons. I imagine that could be arranged.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth slipped from the room. Darcy had brought her the horse; she was sure of it. Somehow he had manipulated his friend into sending Ceres there. Elizabeth hurried to the entranceway to retrieve the notes before someone else found them.
Grabbing the sealed missives, Elizabeth felt a sense of anticipation, recognizing his distinctive script. Once she read the directions, she slid hers into the pocket of her dressing gown before bounding up the steps to her room. She would not give Jane’s to her immediately; she doubted her sister was even awake. She would read hers first. Slipping in the door and locking it behind her, she scrambled to her bed and tore at the seal, anxious to read Darcy’s farewell:
My dearest Elizabeth,
As I write this, I believe myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am convinced it is written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. By the time you read this, I will be miles from Longbourn, but my thoughts will be with you, today and forever.You brought me a joy I never knew existed and gave me acceptance even though you knew the worst of me. How might a man explain how unique that is?
Ceres is yours; Bingley sold him to me, and I give the beauty to you. Continue your lessons, and learn to ride with the wind. In my old age, I will imagine you riding breakneck across the rolling hills of Hertfordshire, shocking the neighborhood with your “scandalous” behavior.A saddle is in the barn; it is well worn, but you will find it serviceable.The swords are still hidden in the manor house; they are yours also. Horrify your nieces and nephews with your sleight of hand. No one handles a rapier as you do,Vixen.
Someday I hope you will think fondly of the time we spent together. I will cherish each of the moments as the best of my life.
F. D.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Elizabeth wanted to be with him more than she had ever wanted anything, but even being with Darcy would not be enough. She wanted all the things every woman wants: a husband who loved her and children they shared. Elizabeth could never have that with Darcy, and—as much as she desired him—she knew he could offer her no future. He was right; their separation was for the best.
Wiping her tears away, she picked up the note for Jane. Her sister would feel the loneliness of departure as much as she did. Elizabeth wished she could share her feelings with Jane, but Jane and Bingley courted openly. Darcy had acknowledged her only with a dance—and that was because he was leaving and because she begged it of him. No one would ever know how she would compare every other man with him.
Caroline Bingley’s letter to Jane said she and her sister, Louisa, demanded their brother return to London. It was too dangerous in Hertfordshire; they were terribly frightened. Elizabeth suspected otherwise. “Although some truth obviously exists as to their fear, I am more inclined to believe Miss Bingley sees her brother is in love with you,” she asserted as Jane tried to hide her disappointment.
“Listen to this.” Jane Bennet took up the letter and read. “Unable to feel safe in Hertfordshire at this time, we believe this provides us an opportunity to renew relationships with friends and family in town. Besides, Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and me, is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being here after our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires her greatly already; and by leaving for London, he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister’s partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman’s heart.With all these circumstances to favor an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?” Jane handed the
“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me.” Elizabeth knew Darcy, and she could not imagine he had such aspirations for his sister. As much as he esteemed Charles Bingley, it was likely Mr. Darcy planned a more auspicious match for his sister, especially if her heirs would inherit Pemberley.They were, after all, the children of Lady Anne Darcy, the sister of the Earl of Matlock, and the Bingleys were rich only through trade. However, Elizabeth spoke not her thoughts; instead, she tossed the letter into the nearest drawer and slammed it closed.“No one who ever saw you together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I am sure, cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes.” Elizabeth smiled with the knowledge that Caroline Bingley would never know Darcy in that way. “We are not rich enough, or grand enough, for them; and she is the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that when there has been one intermarriage, she may have less trouble in achieving a second. But my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merit than when he took leave of you last evening, or it will be in her power to persuade him that instead of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend.”
Jane Bennet continued to believe Caroline Bingley to be honest in her words; Elizabeth knew better, but she did not trust herself to discuss it at length without confessing how distraught she was about Darcy’s departure. Little could be done, however, either way. Mr. Bingley had left the country, and Jane had no recourse except to pray he would return soon. Elizabeth realized Mrs. Bennet would lament the bad luck of losing such a prime catch as Mr. Bingley. She would not soon let her daughter forget her loss. For that reason, Elizabeth was happy her mother knew nothing of Darcy’s attentions.
The morning slipped by as the household began to stir after the long evening. Elizabeth roamed from room to room, driven by an unbearable restlessness and unsettled by the feeling of loneliness and the question of whether Wickham would actually follow Darcy. What if he did not and chose another victim? What could she do then? Could she tell the colonel what she knew? How could she keep Darcy out of it? Elizabeth knew she could not stand idly by and allow Wickham to leisurely choose victim after victim. And what of the victims? Unless someone helped to free their souls, they were damned for all time. Elizabeth did not believe she could do what Darcy did.
In the early afternoon, she stole away to her room to read each of Darcy’s notes again, overwhelmed by the void he had left in her life. Once more, she drifted to the window, thinking to watch the horse he had left her, a way of keeping him in her heart. She stood watching the animal t
oss its head with an unknown anxiousness, mimicking the feelings she experienced. Elizabeth thought it the most magnificent animal, full of fire and brimstone—like Darcy. It pawed the earth with its hoof before flicking its tail and skittering away towards the barn. Then she saw him. Darcy stood along the hedgerow on the far side of the meadow, among the trees. He watched the house, obviously looking for her. He has not left me, after all. Grabbing her shawl, she quickly headed out to meet him.
“Where are you going, Lizzy?” her father called from the front parlor.
Elizabeth anxiously retraced her steps and entered the parlor.“I thought to take a walk, Papa.”
“Do not go out alone, Child, after what happened last night. It is too dangerous, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth tried to think of a plausible excuse to leave the house. She worried Darcy might leave if she did not hurry. She had no idea how long he had waited in the woods, but how could she go against her father’s wishes? “Yes, Papa.” She returned to the upper floors, searching each window to see if he still remained nearby.
Finally, her eyes found him. He stepped back into the shadows, but Darcy lingered, his countenance turned towards Longbourn. She knew intuitively that he wanted her to go to him. Elizabeth could imagine the smile on his face when she approached. Despite her father’s warning, she recognized her need; she must fly to him.
Impulsively moving towards the kitchen, she found her mother overseeing the day’s menu. “Good afternoon, Mama.” She bestowed a peck on her mother’s cheek.
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