She was postured as if she had been walking away from the house toward the road, but her legs had failed her. Her thick dark cloak fell around her shoulders and her bonnet was missing, shrouding her in black and rendering her figure almost invisible where she huddled in the wet grass. He cantered quickly to her side. The woman must be drenched! She would be lucky if she did not take a fever.
“Miss Bennet! Are you unwell?”
Her head remained bowed, her shoulders quivering with sharp, ragged cries. She was speaking—gasping, really—but not in response to him. “I didn’t know… William… no! Please, believe me!”
Richard nearly fell from the saddle and bent to draw her up by her shoulders. “Miss Bennet, what is the matter? Why did you not come back to the house? You are going to catch your death!”
She was shaking her head, pulling away from him and curling to hold her stomach. “Please, please believe me!” she was repeating hoarsely, her small frame shivering violently.
“Miss Bennet, what has happened? Why are you out here? Come, mount my horse, I will take you back to the house.”
“No! No, I am not welcome! He never wishes to see me again. What have I done?” The last words were barely coherent, more of a sob than speech.
“Miss Bennet you make no sense. I am afraid you will take a chill, you must return to the house!”
She doubled over, pulling away from him, and he could hear her heaving and gasping. Small white hands covered her head in the darkness, as though trying to make herself invisible.
“Miss Bennet, please!”
“I cannot face him!” she gasped. “Never, ever again. Oh, William, what must you think of me? What have I done? Please, I beg you, please believe me….”
Miss Bennet,” he turned her unwilling form, “have you seen Darcy? Did he find you out here?”
She nodded her head miserably, her hands still over her face.
“And you quarreled? Fear not that I cast any blame to you, Miss Bennet, for I have seen him as well, and he is not in his senses. What did he say to you?”
She sniffled, struggled for a few ragged breaths, and a raspy voice answered, “There was nothing he needed to say. He saw enough. I am such a fool!”
“Miss Bennet, I still do not understand, but we are getting wetter by the minute. There is a farm near here, I think I can persuade them to let us dry you. Come.” He dragged her reluctant form closer to his horse, but when he bent to gather her to place her in the saddle, she recoiled.
“I do not ride,” she protested. “Please, I can walk!”
He set his mouth grimly and fell into step beside her. Her strides were slow and mincing, not at all like he remembered her from Rosings. She was still shivering, her arms wrapped tightly about her middle, but it seemed to be more than the wet chill that troubled her. The longer she walked without speaking, the slower her strides and the more uncontrollable her tremours. Richard watched her carefully, then decided she ought to try to speak, for her own good if not for the relief of his concerns.
“Miss Bennet, pray, start from the beginning. Why are you out here? What were you doing when Darcy came upon you that upset him so?”
Several deep gasps preceded her answer. “I was doing the most foolish thing of my life—looking for the truth from a liar!”
“You were speaking to someone? To whom?”
She sniffled and squeezed her eyes closed. “Mr Wickham. Now do you see? I am the most wretched woman alive!”
“Wickham! So, that is why Darcy thinks I have schemed with that rogue. I thought him vanished! What is he doing here?”
Another sob shook her, and she wedged her clenched fingers over her mouth. “He—said—he—knew….” She halted, battled for breath, and tried again in a wavering pitch. “He had information, he claimed. I did not want to hear him, but Lady Catherine was going to take Georgiana away! I had to do something. Oh, what a fool I am!”
“Information?” The back of Richard’s neck prickled. “He claims to know who attacked Darcy?”
“And Georgiana! He wanted to secure a promise of aid from you, in exchange for revealing the attacker.”
Richard stared at the ground, aghast. The timing was right, and no one had seen that devil since…. “But he claims he was not behind the attack himself? I could almost have believed it of him, the filthy liar.”
“I only know that he finds himself no longer protected by whomever it was. I came tonight to learn more, but W—w… he saw me, Colonel! I was going to speak with Mr Wickham myself because I did not dare send another, and now….” Her shoulders shook with angry tears, and another shrieking gasp brought her hand back to her mouth.
It looked dreadful, he had to confess. Little wonder that Darcy had arrived thinking everyone he knew had turned against him—first somehow that dratted announcement in the paper, and then this!
“See here, Miss Bennet,” he tried to comfort her, “Darcy is—well, I would not call him reasonable at the moment, but he is an intelligent man. These are things he must be told, for Georgiana’s sake if not his own. We shall attempt to make ourselves heard on the morrow, after he has had a night’s rest in his own bed and a shave. He is always at his most sociable then.”
She made no answer but the continued quaking of her shoulders.
“Fear not, Miss Bennet, we will show him the truth,” he insisted. “Darcy will hear you, I have every confidence.”
“No, Colonel,” she whispered. “I have given him reason before to doubt my judgment, and his good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.” She brushed some tears from her cheeks, which mattered little against the rain. “I shall return to Hertfordshire and never see him again. Please, take me to Lambton tonight!”
Richard glanced down at the shivering frame of the young lady. Stubborn! But it was not the time to carry an argument, for the little farmhouse was near enough now for their voices to be heard. They walked the remaining distance in silence, he urging her on by lengthening his own strides until they reached the threshold.
“Halloo!” he pounded on the door. “A lady requires shelter from the rain! Please, may I bring her in to dry herself?”
There was a stirring within, and a moment later a middle-aged couple opened the door. The farmer looked suspiciously at him, but his wife instantly recognised Elizabeth as the young lady known to be a guest of Miss Darcy. “Miss Bennet! Come in, miss, come in! I hope the poor mistress is not out with you in this weather!”
Elizabeth accepted the woman’s hospitality with quiet gratitude, and assured her that Miss Darcy was safely indoors. “I foolishly thought to walk out late and became… lost,” she mumbled as a blanket was brought. “The colonel was kind enough to search for me.”
The farmer’s wife clucked her sympathy and promptly settled Elizabeth by the hearth, while Richard drew to the side with her husband. “My good sir, I must thank you for attending to Miss Bennet. Might I impose on you so far as to care for her while I return to the house to call back the riders and bring a carriage?”
“Oh Colonel, I pray you would not trouble yourself,” protested Elizabeth from across the modest room. She raised her head and sought him with imploring eyes, her expression begging him not to take her back—not to bring her again before him. Richard could well understand her reluctance, but there was no help for it. Her belongings, her sister, and even the carriage that might convey her to Hertfordshire, if necessary, were all at the great house of Pemberley.
“I am afraid I must, Miss Bennet,” he apologised. “I will not be away long.”
42
Elizabeth shivered for over two hours while she waited for the colonel to return. She was not chilled—the generous farmer and his wife had seen amply to her comforts. Every pulse beat thrummed in dread. William! How could she have erred so grievously? Could there have been any worse betrayal than to be found meeting secretly with the man he despised the most?
Tears continued to brim in her eyes, and the h
ot tea offered by her hostess went almost untouched. She could not swallow, could not speak, could think of nothing but his name as it echoed over and over. He was alive, he had loved her enough to come to her, and she had wounded him unforgivably! Just now, when she most wished to rejoice and he most sorely needed a confidante, trust was dead—blasted utterly by unseen hands and her own indiscretion.
She did not miss the worried looks exchanged by her host and hostess. Oh, why was the colonel taking so long with the carriage? She could have walked the distance twice in such a time! And what was she to do about Lydia? Her stomach churned as she tried not to crumble before these strangers. Darcy’s tenants they were, and she would not have it whispered that one of his guests had fled his house, no matter how true.
At long last, the sounds of deliverance rattled outside the farmhouse. Colonel Fitzwilliam himself had returned for her, his manner urgent, but still gracious and gentle. Why could I not have fallen in love with him instead? He was so much less complicated than his cousin, and far more adept at civility. She allowed him to take her by the hand, looking curiously into his eyes. The depth, the ardent interest and devotion she had come to know so well, were absent from the colonel’s gaze. She swallowed and looked away. No, it was no happenstance of physical appearance, but some unique quality possessed by Fitzwilliam Darcy alone that perfectly matched her own heart, and none other could compare. They fit, were designed for each other, and she had destroyed any hope of a future.
She was gazing now at the floor of the carriage, her dried cloak huddled about her, when the colonel closed the door and slid close to her side. She raised her head in alarm when she beheld the intense expression upon his face. He took her hand again and leaned very close to her ear, and Elizabeth stiffened in dread. Oh, no, he was not about to try to salvage her honour after their late-night walk! She began to arch back in denial.
“Miss Bennet,” he spoke lowly, “I am afraid that I will not be able to deliver you to Lambton this evening as you requested. Darcy has vanished again.”
She blinked, startled at this reversal of her expectations. “He… he is gone?” Her eyes wandered from the colonel’s. She had seen him before, had she not? Or was it another delusion?
“He had left the house shortly before my return. I do not know why, or where he had gone. Hodges said that he saw Georgiana for a moment, and then our aunt found them out just as they were greeting one another. There was some altercation, then Darcy exploded. The last anyone saw him, he was marching out into the night without a hat or a coat.”
“Did they not follow him to ensure his safety?” Elizabeth was rigid now with fear for him. “It must be nearly midnight by now, and still raining! Oh, Colonel, he is not himself! Why would they not call him back or send someone with him?”
“They tried. He had some rather choice things to say about their efforts—Georgiana was still in her room crying over his words. Thank goodness for Mrs Wickham! Your sister was trying to comfort her when I left. Miss Bennet, I am afraid I need your help.”
“But what can I do?”
“When we find him, I need you to talk some reason into him. Clearly, he needs someone to whom he might listen, and my last conversation with him ended rather badly.”
“I should do more harm than good! Colonel, you know what happened tonight. You know he has every reason to despise me!”
“I know that he was a hairsbreadth from tearing the sword down off his wall to murder me because he was still out of his senses after seeing you.”
“And you think I ought to be your emissary? You just told me how furious he was with me!”
“Not with you; because of you. He cannot have rid his heart of you so easily, Miss Bennet.”
“I think you underestimate him.”
“No, Miss Bennet, I do not.” His voice dropped huskily. “No matter the blow, when a man takes a woman deeply to his heart, he will die still carrying that thorn. God help the man who is not also blessed with the rose petals to soften the sting.”
“Roses… perfect and dangerous,” she whispered. “They are for lovers. Will… Mr Darcy and I—we were never that.”
“Well, then, Miss Bennet, perhaps you ought to try wildflowers instead.” He adjusted his hat to slant her a brave smile. “I was always partial to buttercups anyway.”
~
Porto, Portugal
Amália held on tightly. The faces of the riders were unfamiliar to her, but they had at least treated her civilly. She was forced to ride behind one of them like a harlot from the docks, but nothing bound her there, save her own fear of falling from a moving horse. None would speak to her, however, which disconcerted her not a little.
She could not decide whether she were more or less unnerved by the fact that the road led away from the old Vasconcelos mansion. Perhaps Miguel desired to take her elsewhere… or perhaps Manuel Vasconcelos himself had intercepted her carriage, and meant to deal with his son’s disobedient wife in his own way. She closed her eyes, digging her fingers into the wool coat of the man she rode behind, and wished with all her heart that it was Richard carrying her away.
A few moments later, the horse’s pace slowed. Her eyes were still closed—perhaps if she did not open them, the horror that must lie before her would consume her before it could terrorise her further. The rider was turning to her now, however, and hands from the ground were pulling at her. Grimacing her useless protests, she allowed herself to slip to the ground and looked about.
She was at the ship yard. Her ears caught the distant ringing of eight bells from various ships in the harbour, and voices from the nearby dock gave directions for the loading of another ship. Where could Miguel be taking her? Brasil seemed too strenuous a journey for one of his constitution, but not for his father. She shivered.
“Amália?”
She turned at the familiar voice, unable to believe her ears. “Father?”
Senhor de Noronha shouldered his way through the riders, his face grey. “Amália, you are safe! Thank heaven!”
She tilted her head. “I do not understand, Father. Why are we here?”
His eyes took on a pained expression. “My dear, I beg you would forgive a foolish old man. I have been wrong—so wrong, all these years!”
“Father?”
He reached hesitantly for her hand, and his fingers were cold. “Miguel was unworthy, and I ought never to have asked it of you. You were right, my daughter, to come to me, but I failed to protect you as a father ought.”
She looked away, unable to accuse him of the truth that already convicted him.
“Amália,” he spoke haltingly, “It is too late, and I have sinned too greatly. There is nothing else I can do. I cannot protect you.”
She sagged. For just a moment there, hope had taken seed. “Surely, Father, I can come back home with you! Perhaps Miguel will permit me to live there—”
“No, my dear. You know as well as I that I can do nothing! You cannot come to me. I have no power against the bishop and Vasconcelos. They would take you, and I….”
“You would be stripped of office,” she answered dully. It was just as she had supposed. Her father could not lose his grip on power, once he had got it.
“I have no office,” he sighed.
“Father?”
He glanced to the ship. “Forgive me, my daughter, but we have not long. I am still mayor in name, but no more. It has been so for a long while, and I failed to see it.”
Her heart fell. “Then you are taking me somewhere for Senhor Vasconcelos. Have you arranged for me to enter a convent?”
His head remained bowed, but his eyes rose. “No. I do not come on his behalf.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then… how did you find my carriage?”
He winced and withdrew a paper from his coat, cradling it in trembling hands as if it would crumble. “Ruy—he had written this and ordered his batman to see it delivered by express, should anything befall him.” Senhor de
Noronha’s tear-filled eyes lifted again to his daughter. “I can do little enough for him, but I can send you away.”
“Away? Where might I go?”
“Ruy gave the name of one with whom you might shelter. He says none could know to seek you there, and it is an honourable situation—a merchant’s family, he says. The name is not familiar to me, but what has my protection secured you? I do as your brother demands, for perhaps by his word, at least, you will be safe. Here is a letter he has given, and the address of Ruy’s friends when you dock. I have already spoken with the captain; he will look to your welfare and carry some remuneration for your expenses.” He tipped his head toward the ship at the nearest dock. “She sails within the hour. You must be aboard.”
She turned to survey it gravely. Wherever the ship was bound, she already preferred it to her husband’s home. She breathed a silent thanks for her brother, and all his foreign connections. “Do you come with me?”
He withdrew a handkerchief to dab his forehead, the strain of consigning his daughter into the care of strangers showing in the lines of his face. “I cannot. If I were to follow you, you might be found the more easily. I go instead to Lisbon, to speak on behalf of my son. Perhaps…” his frown deepened and he stared at the ground, “perhaps I might do him some good. I have failed both my children,” he sighed, “and now others will determine their fates.”
She rested a hand on his forearm. “Father, you have not failed.”
“I have! You are too gentle, my dear—like your mother! But I have known of my sins for far too long and done nothing. It took your English colonel to lead me to confession.” He took both her hands again, his shoulders shaking and his eyes filling with tears. “Forgive me some day, my daughter! God willing, I will see you again, and I hope you will find something in me of which to be proud.”
Amália was beginning to sob. Did he truly speak of her leaving him, possibly forever? Ruy, her home—everything? “Father,” she sniffled and fell into his embrace, “I will write to you! I must see you again. I must know about Ruy, and you, and—”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 45
