Chapter 50

Darcy had hoped to find Elizabeth while he was collecting items from his list. The list itself presented no challenge—but finding his heart’s desire was not so simple. He found himself walking more swiftly up and down Pemberley’s corridors, and cursing the size of his home that made it so easy for her to disappear within it.

“Brother!” Georgiana said, appearing suddenly from around a corner leading into the north wing, Cassandra following close behind, looking excited and happy. “You must help me!” She shoved her paper at him. “I thought it must be ‘Tomato’ but Richard only laughed at me and said I must not wheedle all the answers out of him and Sarah but must figure some on my own. I was not wheedling, but only saying we must go to the kitchen next, except now I think perhaps we have it wrong.”

She said all this almost in one breath, making him smile. “You will not find your answer in the kitchen,” he replied. “But I daresay our uncle has some upon his person.”

Her lips formed an ‘o’ as her eyes alit. “Oh! Come, Cassandra, let us wheedle some tobacco from your grandpapa!”

“Yes! Thank you, Cousin Darcy!” Cassandra took off running, Georgiana following at a most unladylike trot.

Shaking his head in amusement, he watched them go. Too late, he realised he ought to have asked if she had seen Elizabeth in the north wing, and he almost called out to them—when Anne came flying around the corner, stumbling directly into him. He only just managed to check her fall.

“Oh! I am so sorry!” she cried, as he righted her.

“Perhaps a slower pace is called for, at least when rounding corners,” he said. “I understand the reward for speed is significant, but not worth bumps and bruises.”

“I-I…yes. You are correct.”

Darcy frowned. Compared to the gleeful excitement exhibited by Georgiana and Cassandra, Anne looked pale and sickly.

“Are you well?”

“Of a certainty,” she replied quickly. “I-I have a headache. I thought to…to return to the drawing room. I am not having much luck with the game.”

“Why the hurry, then?”

“I-I…I was only hurrying…to find—to find, um, something. Something f-from my list.”

His brow furrowed at her contradictory response. “Which is it? Are you hurrying to quit the game, or to find another token?”

“I, um…I was looking. But then I did not feel well.”

Shaking his head at her nonsense, he glanced in the direction she had come. “Have you seen anyone else in the north wing recently?”

“N-No one. It s-seems quite empty,” she stuttered. But she looked back over her shoulder.

There was no point in quizzing her further; sensible conversation with her was impossible at the best of times, and he gave her a brief bow instead. “Thank you. Do slow down a bit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Turning away from the north wing, he left her standing there—but moments later, she called his name.

“Darcy! I?—”

But she abruptly shut her mouth when he halted and turned.

“Yes?” he asked, unable to prevent a note of impatience.

“I-I might have seen someone. I am unsure as to whom.” She began speaking rapidly. “I saw a bit of green dress disappearing up the attic steps in the north wing as I went by earlier, looking for…what I was looking for. I am uncertain—I cannot remember who was wearing green tonight. And the light there is dim. It might not have been green, but some other colour. It was quite some time ago. Who-whoever it was, might be—might be long gone.”

Elizabeth was wearing a green gown. Nodding curtly, he strode back to the north wing. Anne stood, mute, where he had left her; he felt her eyes upon his back as he made for the attic stairs.

The room was incredibly cold;Elizabeth had found nothing which could be used as a blanket in any of its meagre contents. She tried not to imagine the chamber’s other occupants—which she could hear scrabbling within its walls. Her gown, unfortunately, had been chosen for warmer temperatures. She tried to huddle in closer to the wall. It did not help; she was going to be an icicle by the time she was discovered. The only way she could even imagine any warmth was to think of Mr Darcy—of sitting beside him in a smart curricle on a summer’s day, of him holding her hand. Or dreaming of cuddling with him beside a fire, his arms about her while she?—

An unexpected noise cut through her shivers. A voice? She ran to the door and began beating upon it with the ragged boot, hoping that she would be heard. Moments later, she heard the best sound in the world—her name, in Mr Darcy’s voice, directly beyond the door, as he futilely tried the knob.

“Elizabeth?”

“I am locked in!”

“So I see. Stand back, as far from the door as you are able.”

With a loud crash and a hail of splinters, the door suddenly swung inwards. There he stood, having obviously kicked the door in. Elizabeth did not hesitate, but ran into his arms.

For long moments he simply held her tightly to him; the feelings of warmth, of safety, were overwhelming.

And then she lifted her face to his, and he was kissing her, his mouth hot upon hers. She opened to him, bloomed within his rigid heat and strength.

“Oh, my darling, my darling,” he murmured, his hands in her hair, moving across her back, touching, warming, chafing her chilled flesh. “How long have you been trapped?”

“It seemed like hours. It was probably less than one.” She took a deep breath, trying to still the trembling. “How did you know to look for me?”

“I was searching for you. I just wanted to see you.” He pulled her in tightly again. “My cousin, Anne, provided the clue. She said she had seen the hem of a green dress disappearing up the attic steps.”

Elizabeth slipped her arms beneath his warm coat, sighing, listening to his steady heartbeat. “Someone did it apurpose. I-I heard voices after the door slammed shut. I pounded on it—they had to have heard me.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I found everything on my list, but this seems an excessive means of preventing me from winning the treasure hunt.”

He stiffened. “I wonder whether one of those voices was Anne’s? If so, I can guess the identity of the other.”

She nodded her agreement. They both knew who would act in such a childish yet vicious way.

“I will have the truth out of them both.”

Elizabeth sighed again, pulling back. “Thus Mr Bingley will take his sister away—taking himself away in the process. Jane will then be eager to leave as well. I know we must go. Sooner is probably better?—”

He stopped her words with another kiss, clutching her to him. “I never want you to leave, my dearest. I know you desire a home of your own and security in your future. You have been treated ill, and perhaps you require those things more than most. I can ensure your settlement includes them. Property and wealth, I have. Those are only…things. What I do not have is your spirit, your charm, your smile, your quick mind, your generous heart. Those, I cannot buy nor earn. I can only beg you to trust me, to allow me to be one of those to whom you are so loyal, pledging my own loyalty in return. Please, invite your aunt and uncle to come to Pemberley. I will get a licence so we can be married quickly.”

Elizabeth wavered. None of Mr Harrington’s, Mr Simpson’s, or even her father’s flaws could be imputed to Darcy. He was steady and kind, as solid as the home beneath her feet. He was trustworthy. He was the only one she would ever love.

It was she who held back a secret identity. Everything had reversed itself; no longer was she holding the world at a distance, determined to live her life on her own terms without needing anything or anyone else. She had imagined a future in some small house with a few servants and being…safe. But such safety meant closing herself off, shutting herself up, never sharing her heart with another.

Somehow, some way, he had torn down the wall she had built around that heart with his acceptance, with his listening ear, with his generosity of spirit.

But would he still wish to marry her if he knew the whole truth?

She peered up at him, so much taller and stronger than herself, so willing to take her as she was—when what he already knew was bad enough.

And yet…does he really need to know more?Does it matter whether Pennywithers is an uncle or a cousin or… me? If Pennywithers wrote a final article, retiring from his almost-public life, would anyone ever need to know? Her aunt Philips would never tell, and the Gardiners would take the secret to their graves.

Her heart urged her to forget anything and everything except her love. The life she had tried to forge without him seemed but a bleak and empty shell. Desperately, she wanted a different one with her whole soul: one with a husband, a father to her children, a help-meet, a lover. There was a catch, however. She wanted it only if the ‘he’ was Fitzwilliam Darcy.

“I do not know what to do,” she admitted in a whisper.

“I do,” he said, and his mouth descended again to hers.