by Jennifer Joy
“What?” Darcy pulled his chair closer to Elizabeth.
“Jane told me in her letter. My aunt and uncle were shocked when I told them. He had implied that he had been properly diagnosed in his letters to them, so when they made inquiries to other doctors regarding his symptoms and treatment, they were not given any good news.”
“What about the blood?”
“It was from a cut in his throat, not his lungs.”
Darcy shoved his hand through his hair. “And the coughing?”
“Between the remedies the neighbors brought for him and your doctor’s recommendations to quit smoking his pipe, his cough had improved enough for Jane to mention it. I suspect his health has been fully restored by now. I am glad of it, I really am. I only wish things had happened differently.” She rubbed her arms, looking small in her chair.
Darcy stood. Extending his hand, he pulled Elizabeth to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. He was not Wickham. Nor was he Mr. Bennet. He was her husband, and he would be what she needed him to be.
She buried her face against his chest, and he tightened his grip around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head.
“I will not break my promise to you, Elizabeth.”
“I want so badly to believe it,” she whispered against him.
Chapter 27
Uncle Gardiner pretended to read the paper while Elizabeth conversed with Aunt Gardiner, who listened intently while sipping her tea in the inn’s private room. It was another dreary day, but Elizabeth felt like she was full of sunshine and rainbows.
“With such a dreadful beginning, I never dared to dream I could be this happy. This past week has been so perfect, I fear something will come along to spoil it. Or that I will wake up and find it was only a dream.”
Forgoing all pretense of reading, Uncle dropped his paper to the table. “You cannot imagine how relieved we are to hear it, Lizzy. When we learned what your father had done, his presumption in assuming the role of a doctor to diagnose his own illness and forcing you to marry the first man to offer, we were enraged.”
Aunt patted his hand. “Calm down, my love. That is done now. While Mr. Bennet acted in an unforgivable manner, we must look at the positive and appreciate how well it has turned out for our Lizzy.” Squeezing Elizabeth’s hand, Aunt said, “We could not be happier for you, dear.”
Folding out his paper once again and holding it up to the scant light coming in through the window, Uncle said, “It is a pity Mr. Darcy could not join us today, but flooding fields spare no landowner. He is a good man for seeing to the needs of his tenants.”
The fire crackled beside them, and Elizabeth was grateful for the warm room and the good company. She, too, wished William were with them instead of out in the cold rain. She had asked the cook to prepare his favorite meal and for his valet to be ready with hot bathwater on William’s return. He had been so attentive to her, she could do no less for him. He had been away most of the day, and already she missed him.
Pouring more tea into their cups, Aunt excused herself. “I shall return shortly to hear more about your dashing Mr. Darcy. Oh, and then maybe you will allow me a turn with the paper. I saw an article about stolen jewels that promises to be entertaining.”
Uncle chuckled. "Sometimes the paper is as diverting as a novel.”
Elizabeth made a mental note to find and read the article Aunt referred to while Uncle said to her, “With all this rain, it is no wonder the fields are flooding. I daresay others are faring far worse than Darcy's tenants are. He is such a responsible young man and as quick to catch on to new ideas as you, Lizzy. The other day, we discussed the state of current trade, and I was impressed with his insight. He is a good man."
Elizabeth smiled. “So you keep saying. I am happy you have become fast friends. I hope that next time, you will join us with the children at Pemberley.” She bit her tongue before she said anything more. They were not free to have guests until Anne was theirs to keep. It was too risky. Oh, but how Anne would love her great cousins.
Aunt returned shortly, much too soon to have done anything more than turn back at the stairs leading up to their rooms. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks pallid.
Elizabeth stood, reaching out to hold her aunt’s arm before she swooned. Aunt Gardiner never swooned. What was wrong?
Uncle dashed to her other side, leading her to the nearest chair. “My dear, what is wrong? You look like you have seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost, my love.” Turning to Elizabeth, she said, “I just saw Mr. Wickham. He is here.”
It was too late, and Darcy was too exhausted to return to Pemberley that night. Chilled to the bone and covered in mud, he rode to the hunting lodge and staggered inside. He did not bother to light a candle. His muscles ached, and while a bath sounded like the solution to all of his ills, he was too exhausted to heat water. The thought of returning to those same fields on the morrow was enough to make a stronger man groan. His arms felt like lead and his back ached from hours of shoveling. The exertion of prying his boots off his feet was enough to convince Darcy that his best option was to wrap himself up in blankets and succumb to sleep. Morning would come too soon, and if he wanted to finish his work early so he could return home to Elizabeth and Anne, he needed to rest now.
Darcy thought of Elizabeth. Contemplations of her had kept him warm all day, and she was the last image he remembered until he awoke hours later. It was still dark, but that would not stop him. The glow of the moon was enough. He wanted — he needed — to see his family.
Elizabeth slept poorly.
Wickham had stayed in the tap room until nightfall, and she could not risk leaving the private room for fear of him seeing her. And so, she had waited. And waited.
Finally, when he retired to his room, she made her escape, returning to Pemberley the way she had come — in her uncle’s carriage. How grateful she was that she had accompanied them into the village instead of taking the Darcy carriage. Wickham would have recognized it.
William had not returned, and when Mrs. Reynolds suggested he might have decided to spend the night in the hunter’s lodge closer to the fields as he had several years ago with his father, Elizabeth had wasted no time penning two notes. One to be delivered to him directly. Another to be left for him at the lodge should he have already left the fields.
Elizabeth would take no chances. She wished she could have gone herself, but she could not leave Anne. Not with Wickham so close. She had slept in the nursery, checking on Anne every time her dreams woke her, and she had to make certain the baby was safe in her cradle.
It was dreadfully early, but Elizabeth knew she would not be able to rest. Not desiring to wake Evelyn, she donned her morning dress with the fewest amount of buttons and slipped out to the hall.
She peeked into William’s room, but his bed had not been slept in.
Continuing downstairs, Elizabeth gasped when she saw Grayson pacing in the entrance hall.
“Have you not slept at all either?” she asked.
“Until Mr. Darcy returns, I do not feel I can.”
Worry chased away Elizabeth’s exhaustion. “Did he get the notes I sent?” Nothing would keep him away from Anne if he thought her in danger.
Grayson’s frown deepened. “The stable boy I sent to the lodge returned to Pemberley last night. He assured me he left the note in the center of the table next to the lamp. If Mr. Darcy lit the lamp, he could not miss it.”
Elizabeth nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “And the other messenger?”
“He has not returned.”
“What?” She reached out, steadying herself against the nearest wall until Grayson insisted she sit on the chair he had formerly occupied.
“I sent another messenger after him, but the lad could not find him.”
Elizabeth clutched her stomach. “Could it be he is a friend of Wickham’s? Might he know about Anne and betray us?”
Grayson shook his head. “He did not know the contents of your note
. He could not have known what news it bore or how urgent its message was. I fear he has come upon an accident. The weather was stormy, and it was dark when he departed.”
While Elizabeth did not wish for any harm to have befallen the rider, she prayed the explanation for his absence was as simple as Grayson suggested. She dropped her elbows to her knees and squeezed her hands against her temples. Should she send another messenger? Ought she wait to see if William saw the message when he woke?
Debating her next move, Elizabeth’s heart nearly jumped out of her throat when someone tapped on the entrance door.
Giving her a meaningful look, which told her to stay put, Grayson stretched himself to his full height and opened the door.
“I am sorry, Mr. Grayson. I would have used the service entrance, but I knew you would be pacing the hall here and I wanted to waste no time,” a man said hastily.
Elizabeth ran over to join them. It was the messenger.
“Did you deliver the note to Mr. Darcy?” she asked.
The rider doffed his cap and bowed his head. “I am sorry, ma'am. I cut across the forest to reach the fields. It is quicker that way. But the path was slick with mud and it was too dark for me to see. My horse stepped in a hole.” He shook his head, twisting the cap between his hands. “I had to choose: Leave the horse suffering and continue on foot to deliver the message to Mr. Darcy or see to the horse, then return here to try again on a fresh mount at daylight. Knowing Mr. Darcy to be a just man, I decided to see to the horse.”
Elizabeth wanted to cry, but she kept her composure when the messenger patted his pocket and said, “Your note is safe here. I will deliver it to Mr. Darcy as soon as the sky lightens up enough to see beyond my nose.”
She replied as she imagined her husband would. “You did well. How is the horse faring?”
“For a moment, I thought I would have to put the beast down, but he stood. He was lame all the way, and our progress was slow, but we made it back to the stables. The groom will soon have him put to rights.”
“Mr. Darcy will be pleased. Now, pray give me the note. You have had a long night and are in need of some rest and warmth. I will ask someone else to deliver it.” Elizabeth extended her hand.
The messenger shuffled his feet. “If it is all the same, ma'am, I would rather see the task through. There is time enough for me to dry before the fire before I go again. This time, I will not fail you. I will ride with more care.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
He left, and Elizabeth sank back into the chair, head in hands. “Can anything else go wrong?” she groaned.
She felt Grayson’s presence beside her. In a firm tone that brooked no argument, he said, “You have done what you can. We are all proud to serve you, Mrs. Darcy.”
Tears burned Elizabeth’s eyes. If she was so much appreciated, why did she still question her value to William? Why did she still doubt? If only she had proof — irrefutable proof that went beyond William’s assurances. She did not think him a liar (though he claimed to be one for Anne — Elizabeth would have done the same and did not fault him for it), but she needed evidence before she dared to believe that William was her true love. She needed him to say the words. To prove them beyond her ability to doubt.
She looked up, smiling weakly at Grayson when her throat was too tight to utter thanks.
“Come now, Mrs. Darcy, allow me to show you to the breakfast parlor.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She could not possibly eat. “I would like to return to Anne.”
Grayson bowed. “I will keep watch here.”
“Please send for me as soon as William returns.”
He bowed again, and Elizabeth retired to the nursery. Anne cried when she came in, and Elizabeth was glad for the excuse to pick up the baby. Holding her snugly against her, Elizabeth hummed and sang softly until both of them drifted off in slumber.
Chapter 28
Raised voices startled Elizabeth awake. How long had she been sleeping?
Anne’s velvet lashes splayed over her plump, rosy cheeks. She slept soundly still.
Elizabeth removed the blanket over them, looking around the room when it dawned on her that someone must have put it there.
Evelyn darned a stocking while Mrs. Bamber knit by the fire. Stabbing her needles into the ball of wool, the nurse rose from her chair, her arms out to take Anne. “You both looked so peaceful, we did not wish to wake you.”
“Someone is here. I hear voices.” They must be coming from below the window.
Mrs. Bamber frowned. “I will stay here with the child. If it is Mr. Wickham, I will steal the child away before I hand her over to the likes of him.”
“Is it he?” Elizabeth asked.
“We cannot see from the window, but we suspect it is. Who else would show up shouting at our doorstep before calling hours?”
Elizabeth wiped the sleep from her eyes and gathered her wits. “Is William home yet?”
“Not yet,” replied Evelyn. “Are you certain you do not wish to stay here with us?”
“If it is Wickham, and William is not here to toss him off the property, then I shall have to do it for him.” Elizabeth rushed down the hall, the voices growing louder as she went.
Grayson, flanked by two large footmen, blocked the door. Elizabeth did not need to see to know it was, indeed, Wickham.
"What is this?" she demanded, silencing all four men as Grayson stood to the side and the footmen moved to either side of Wickham. They were trained well. All three of the men looked ready to pounce at Wickham’s slightest move.
Mincing no words, Elizabeth said, "You know you are not welcome here."
Wickham smiled. "Ah, Mrs. Darcy. How glad I am to see you."
"I doubt that. Speak plainly, Mr. Wickham. Why are you here?"
His smile faded. "I came to collect what is mine."
Elizabeth’s heart hammered against her ribs. He knew. Her stomach lurched, but she swallowed hard. She would give nothing away. Raising her chin, Elizabeth feigned ignorance and more confidence than she currently possessed. "Who? Your wife? I fear you are rather late for that. Georgiana has already been laid to rest. You can make her suffer no more."
Wickham pointed inside. "She was with child. My child. Darcy has no right to keep my child from me."
Elizabeth forced herself to breathe slowly, continuing her bluff. "A wild notion if ever I heard one."
"You deny it? I saw the scullery maid washing baby linens. You are too recently married to require them, so I made inquiries. I know Darcy is keeping the child from me just to cheat me out of my inheritance."
Drat it all, he knew. She would have a word with the scullery maid, but the damage was done. He knew. Having no recourse but to continue in the same attitude, Elizabeth said, "Do you suppose the elder Mr. Darcy meant to overlook his own natural son from the wife he adored to give Pemberley to you, his godson? You are delusional, Mr. Wickham, and I wish for you to leave at once before I summon the magistrate’s constables."
"Mr. Darcy loved me like a son! Me!" Wickham pounded his fist against his chest.
At Grayson’s nod, the footmen took the intruder by the shoulders, pushing him farther out of the entrance.
Straining against them, Wickham shouted, "You will not get away with it! The child is mine. I will return, and I will take what is mine. You have no claim. I will be back."
Elizabeth clasped her hands in front of her so that he could not see how they shook and ordered him off the property.
Grayson closed the door. The footmen would escort Wickham all the way back to the inn at Lambton if need be.
The butler’s silence was heavier than usual, and one look at his gray eyes revealed that Elizabeth's worst fear was justified.
Her whole body quivering, she sat on the chair nearest to the door, determined not to move from there until William crossed the threshold.
"Would you like me to bring you a cup of tea?" Grayson asked.
"That would be just the thing.
Thank you, Grayson. Did the messenger deliver the note?"
“He did. He only returned a few minutes ago. He said Mr. Darcy would follow shortly.”
“Good,” Elizabeth exhaled.
No sooner had the maid set a tea tray down on the table beside Elizabeth than the front door burst open.
William stood dripping wet in the hall, his hair plastered against his head and rain water streaming down his greatcoat to puddle on the marble floor. “I got your note. I saw Wickham leaving under guard. He did not harm you, did he?”
He looked so cold and forlorn, so concerned over her welfare, Elizabeth jumped to her feet. Wrapping her arms around William’s waist, she pressed her cheek against his chest and said, “He came for Anne. We did not let him near her.”
William’s arms crushed around Elizabeth, the rain from his coat seeping through her morning gown. She did not mind in the least. William leaned against her just as much as she supported herself against him. Together, they would face the man who had used Georgiana. Together, they would protect her daughter. Together, they would safeguard their family.
“What do we do?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy had been pondering the same question as he had listened to his wife relate all she had been forced to do in his absence. He valued her strength of character, quick wit, and protective nature more than he could ever express. Her ability to deliver the news he most dreaded to receive and inspire hope filled him with pride. He loved her. Truly, ardently, unalterably, he loved her.
“Anne is safe because of you,” he said, wanting so badly to pull Elizabeth back into his arms, to kiss her soundly.
She left the side of Anne’s crib to join him by the fire, extending her hand out to him as she got closer. He took the hand she offered, turning it over to kiss her palm, then the inside of her wrist.
He did not remember how she ended up on his lap — nor did Darcy care so long as she stayed there. He ran his fingers up her neck, her skin smooth, her hair silky. Pulling her closer, he brushed his lips over hers softly, feeling her breath tickle against his skin.