Chapter Twenty

Darcy

W here in the world did she think she was going? Darcy stood at the window and watched Elizabeth Bennet rush out of the house below him towards the woods nearby.

What a foolish girl! Did she not know the danger she was putting herself in?

No—he'd put her in this position, hadn't he? He'd erupted yet again and sent her on this path. He could not let her do this to herself, he could not let himself be responsible for any horrid fate that might befall her.

Darcy turned and rushed along the burned remains of what had been Pemberley's most splendid wing, after her. The echo of his boots against the marble floors reverberated through the silent halls as he raced in pursuit of Elizabeth. His heart hammered in his chest, a thunderous rhythm of anger and regret.

He had been consumed by anger, blinded by the sting of her words and the ache of betrayal. But now, as he watched her disappear into the darkness of the night, he felt a pang of remorse gnaw at his soul.

"Miss Bennet! Elizabeth!" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty corridors like a lament. But there was no response, no sign that she had heard him over the pounding of her own footsteps as she fled into the unknown.

With a curse under his breath, Darcy dashed towards the stables, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of guilt and determination. He had let his temper get the best of him, had allowed his wounded pride to cloud his judgment and drive her away.

But now, he knew that he could not let her face the dangers of the night alone. He owed her that much, owed her the chance to make amends for his own foolishness.

"Lightower!" he called out, his voice ringing with urgency as he emerged into the cool night air. "Bring my horse at once. There's no time to waste."

The young man nodded.

"Of course, sir. I shall fetch her at once. The groom has gone for the day and—"

"Then saddle her yourself," Darcy hissed, fully aware that the man he employed to look after the horses would be long gone by now.

Lightower's eyes widened with concern as he hastened to obey. Minutes later the sleek form of Darcy's mare stood before him, its muscles quivering with anticipation as it sensed the urgency of the moment.

Without hesitation, Darcy swung himself into the saddle, his grip on the reins tight and unyielding as he spurred the horse forward into the inky darkness of the night.

The wind whipped at his face as he rode, his thoughts consumed by the image of Elizabeth's fleeing figure disappearing into the shadows. He had to find her, had to bring her back before it was too late.