People began to approach her, offering congratulations and attempting to seek her permission to call upon her at Aunt Julia’s house. The first few times someone called her Lady Wilshire.
Lady Elizabeth Bennet of Wilshire. It was not real, it had to be a dream.
She wanted nothing more than to sink down into the lawn and throw a fit. The money. . .for the first time in her life, she would not have to worry so much about money. She would be able to keep her promise to Adelaide, she would just bribe impoverished gentlemen to marry her sisters. Or set them up in their own houses if they did not wish to wed. The baroncy must come with a house. . .they could live there.
In time, she returned to Darcy’s side. “Lady Wilshire,” he greeted her, his eyes laughing.
She gave him a wry smile. “You are well able to plan a surprise. I suppose that bodes well for marriage. Or ill. I cannot decide.”
“Think positive,” he said, handing her a drink.
She took a sip. Lemonade, tart and slightly sweet.
“Do you have no drink, Your Highness?” Adelaide asked, appearing from nowhere. “Allow me to congratulate you and my dear stepdaughter on your upcoming nuptials.”
Darcy took the drink as Elizabeth gave Adelaide a quizzical look, then paused. Something was off about her stepmother’s smile.
The ring on her finger pulsed, and the eyes she had not felt since that night breaking into Wickham’s rooms returned—with a vengeance.
Elizabeth knocked the drink out of his hand, unaware of her own movements. It was too late, however, he had already taken a long sip.
His eyes widened. “Elizabeth, what—”
She stepped forward and caught him as his face went pale and his knees buckled.
“Darcy!” They both tumbled to the ground because she had not been prepared for his weight.
Cries went up. “The prince!”
Elizabeth cradled his head in her hands, half sprawled, panic rising. She looked around frantically. “Get help!”
Someone pushed her aside. Mary, who bent over Darcy and pinched open his mouth. She cursed and looked up, eyes zeroing in on the seneschal who came running up.
“I need whittlesbane, silverfox, and marrowroot. Do you have it?”
Credit to the man, he did not blink. “We have all the common stores, and some uncommon.”
“Get them. Now!” Her voice cracked like a whip. “Lizzy, stop crying.”
Elizabeth dashed a single tear from her eye. “Adelaide.”
Mary grimaced. “I told you she was not stable.”
Elizabeth rose, looking around. “Where is my stepmother?”
“Gone, my lady,” someone said.
“Seal the grounds. Find her and bring her to me.”
Georgiana ran up. “They said the prince—William!”
“He is alive,” Mary said. “My mother was never good at brewing these kinds of concoctions. A simple counter tincture will suffice, the sooner the better.”
Mentally rung through the possible potions or poisons whose antidotes included whittlesbane, silverfox, and marrowroot, she froze, then relaxed. Mary was right. Properly brewed and in the correct dosage, if the poison was to kill him, he would already be dead.
She held his limp hand as his men hoisted him and carried him on a sheet to his rooms.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elizabeth refused to part from him, and no one gainsaid her, proof enough despite no formal wedding, her status was set in the household’s mind.
The supplies needed to make the antidote were brought, and Mary made short work of the job. Elizabeth double-checked her ratios, though taste was the best indication of a brew properly made.
She fed him the brew, a few tablespoons every hour as his colour returned and his breathing evened into deep sleep. Eventually she accepted a chair placed at the side of his bed and even dozed off.
Until the deep of night, when a beam of moonlight through the still open curtains caressed her face. Opening her eyes, she blinked as the light solidified into the Princess Anne.
She approached the foot of her son’s bed, gazing at his face. Do not be too harsh on your mother, child.
“I do not understand.”
When you have children, you will understand how fine the line is between sanity and reality. The drive to see them happy and healthy sometimes is consuming.
“She poisoned your son.”
She did. He will live. We sensed malice, but it was not for him.
Which meant Adelaide had desired to hurt Elizabeth, not Darcy—he had simply been the means. The seneschal at some point had informed Elizabeth that they had not found Adelaide. They suspected she had escaped through the woods and perhaps had a carriage waiting. Which meant her attempt to kill Darcy had been coldly premeditated.
Her own stepmother.
A ruler must learn when to be ruthless, and when to be merciful. And we usually shoulder more than our fair share of the burden. Much like motherhood.
Anne faded, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts. Darcy would live, but because of her, he had been harmed in the first place. She went through every conversation, every sign that Adelaide’s usual discontented personality had warped into something darker. Mary had told Elizabeth her mother was unhappy, and to have a care. Had Elizabeth’s dismissiveness—no, her coldness—tipped Adelaide over the edge?
So much had happened.
Elizabeth forced herself to eat from the tray a maid had brought in earlier that evening. She had told them not to clear it away, abhorring the idea of wasted food and sat down now to pick at the cold meats and bread and cheese. Mostly, she was interested in the wine. By the time she was on her second glass, there was a knock at the door.
Mary entered. Elizabeth had half hoped it would be Jane, but she would be with her husband this time of night, of course.
“You did not return to Aunt Julia’s.”
“No,” Mary said. “I told them you would need me here. What are you going to do about mother?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do not be coy, Elizabeth. If they decided it was her intent to kill him, then she will face the ultimate punishment.” Mary’s mouth thinned.
“You do not think that was her intent? She poisoned him, Mary.”
“Do you really think she expected him to die? We all know how abysmal she is at simple brews. She certainly intended harm, but not death.”
“When she is found, there will be a trial, I suppose. I am not the authority here, Mary. And I believe the castle is already handling matters.” People had come and gone, and someone had questioned her briefly but she had been focused on Darcy, and once Georgiana intervened, no one else spoke to her.
“I am asking you to be kind, Elizabeth. You have had incredible fortune, and now you wield power whether you accept it or not. Have her dealt with quietly, and gently. A rest home, perhaps.”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “A rest home for a murderess!”
“She is my mother. And you loved her once as well.”
For Mary, this was tantamount to begging. Elizabeth turned away and drained the wine in her glass. “You think this is my fault.”
There was a long silence. “It is not only your fault. Father should have managed the estate better. We should have spent less time playing games and walking through the woods and more time finding husbands or what occupations are allowed to us. Ask yourself this. Do you want your marriage to be the marker of the greatest fortune, and the greatest tragedy in our family?”
“No. No, I do not.” Her head spun. She was unused to the wine and struggled to think through it. “I will do as you ask. It would distress Jane, and as you said, she may not have intended death. It must have been a momentary lapse in sanity brought on by the stress of events.”
“Thank you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Don’t thank me, Mary. I am doing this for my own conscience.” She turned, but Mary was gone.
Georgiana slipped into th
e room that morning. “The ball will be postponed, of course, which has the kitchen in some disarray. You should attempt to rest, Elizabeth.”
“I slept a little,” she said, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. “This is not how I expected this day to go.”
“Elizabeth,” a rusty male voice said.
The women whirled, Elizabeth beating Georgiana to Darcy’s bedside. He blinked up at them. “I have the devil of a headache.”
“Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed, capturing his hand. “We were so worried.”
“I was ill?”
Silence.
“When I see the same expression on the faces of two very different, but very similar women, it makes me nervous, I confess.”
His voice grew stronger as he spoke, pausing to clear his throat.
“You were not ill,” Elizabeth said, avoiding his eyes. Shame welled up, hot and sour. “My stepmother poisoned you. With one of my concoctions.”
“She. . .I see.” He sat up. “Well, she did not do a very good job of it, it seems.”
Elizabeth gasped. “How can you make light of such a thing?”
“I will leave you two to talk,” Georgiana said. “William, there are things to discuss later. We have postponed the ball until—”
“No,” the prince said, voice firm. “I am well enough and, by this evening, should be at full capacity. The ball needs to go on as planned so we may proceed with the wedding.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “Are you certain, considering the circumstance, there should be a wedding?”
“Yes,” Georgiana said, “you two have much to talk about.” She left the room.
Darcy pushed the covers away and swung his legs around, rising to his feet. Elizabeth stepped back to give him room and gathering her courage, met his eyes.
Cold eyes.
Her hands twisted in her skirts. She deserved his coldness. Her own stepmother had tried to kill him, and if Mary was to be believed, spurred on by Elizabeth’s indifference to her stress.
“Why is it,” Darcy said, “that you are always trying to leave me? We never did have that talk about whether you truly wish to wed.”
“It is not you. You are a more noble man than I could ever hope for as a husband. It is just—” she gestured, a helpless motion “—I come with a gaggle of sisters. I have nothing to recommend me other than my mind, which I am learning is not as discerning as I once thought. I missed every single sign of Adelaide’s oncoming madness. I’ve spent all night thinking about it.”
“None of that matters to me. I already knew your family was. . .your family.”
Darcy didn’t move but the space between them was too small. Involuntarily, she pulled at the ring.
His eyes followed the movement. “It will not come off.”
She shook her head. “And every time there is another lesson with Georgiana, I realise more and more how inadequate I am. A drab hen among the peacocks of your court, and I am supposed to be their princess?”
“Do you love me, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth flinched. “I—I do not think I have said those words to myself. When I thought you might die, though. . .and because of me.”
“It is not your fault.” He sounded weary, though, no longer cold. Just tired and resigned. “Tonight is the ball, Elizabeth. If you come, then you will become my wife. If you stay away, I will know not to come after you. Do you understand?”
He had finally lost all patience with her. She nodded mutely, lowering her gaze to the floor.
“You should go to your sisters,” he said.
Elizabeth sank into a curtsy and after rising, left the room.
“Oh, my dear,” Aunt Julia said when Elizabeth entered the house. The older woman enveloped her in a hug. “How terrible. You must be so distraught. How is the prince?”
“He is awake and strong.”
“I thought as much, or you would not be here. They have postponed the ball?”
She shook her head. “No. It will go on as planned.”
Aunt Julia’s eyes widened. “Oh! Then there is no time to waste. We must begin preparations. I was told the guest are positively flooding the borders, they cannot keep up with everyone. There is some worry brigands may slip through the usual checkpoints, taking advantage of. . .but you cannot be interested in all that.” Keen eyes assessed her. “Perhaps some rest first and something to eat.”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
Elizabeth made her way to her room, actually missing Jane’s presence. As she ascended the stairs, doors opened. “Lizzy!” Lydia exclaimed. “You’re back.” Her eyes were pink, her hair mused. “I am so worried about Mama.”
“Darcy’s people are looking for her.”
“What will happen to her?”
Kitty exited the room as well, and Elizabeth knew she could not insist any harsh punishment be given to Adelaide. It would hurt her sisters, deeply. “She is unwell. I will ask she be sent somewhere comfortable to recuperate.”
“Thank you, Lizzy.” Lydia threw her arms around her neck. “You should rest. I am so happy we are still invited to the ball. I am certain Mama will be well with Darcy looking for her.”
“Tell her about the dress,” Kitty said.
Lydia disengaged, whirling. “Oh, you mischievous little—why did you have to mention that now?”
Dread climbed her spine. “What is it?”
Lydia sighed. “Come along.”
They led her to the small room where she and Jane had so carefully made over the gowns. There was only one still draped over a dress form. Or there had been.
Elizabeth stared in shock. The blue gown was in shreds. Her mother’s gown, that over the years had seen entire panels of cloth replaced. Stitching picked and redone, flounces and lace added and removed. But now. . .she would never remake it again.
“Oh,” she said, “numb. I—that is unfortunate.”
“What will you wear?” Kitty asked. “Is there time to send to the castle? Surely the princess will have something.”
“I think I will go lay down,” Elizabeth said, hearing their conversation from a distance.
She made it to her room and her bed right before collapsing.
A young woman with red gold hair handed her a bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “They are lovely.” She inhaled their scent and frowned. “These are—”
“Yes, the wild flowers used to poison my son,” Anne said. She gestured, and they continued their walk through the forest. “Your stepmother is in a crofter’s cottage. I will send my people to her.”
“I do not think I will go to the ball. She destroyed my gown.” In the dream realm, for surely this is what this must be, she was able to say the words with no emotion.
“It is just a dress. You are more than the expense of the cloth you wear. Will you marry my son?”
Elizabeth looked up through the forest canopy. The sun was unusually bright here, none of the typical cloud cover. “I think he does not want me anymore.”
“Ridiculous. He simply wants you to want him more than you fear him.”
“I am not afraid of him.”
Anne shrugged. “Him. Pemberley, the court, his position. To him it is all one and the same. He is it and it is him.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I have been so afraid. I did not admit it to myself.”
“Things are clearer here. It is why I brought you.”
“My stepmother tried to kill him. I am a nobody from Meryton.”
“Those are all excuses you use to protect your heart.”
She did not quite believe that, but she was more willing to believe it.
Elizabeth sighed, and allowed her misgivings to fade to the back of her mind. “I should wake up if I am going to go to the ball.”
Chapter Thirty
Elizabeth woke from the dream. Princess Anne stood at the end of the bed, looking down at her with a small smile. Moonlight from the nearby window streamed through her form, but the outlines of t
he former princess were certain.
“The dream. . . .” Elizabeth said, sitting up.
It is easier to speak in the dream realm, when the mind is open and less susceptible to the constraints of illogical emotions.
Elizabeth wet her dry lips. “You want me to go to the ball.”
I intend you should do so. The matter of your dress is a trivial one.
“So you said. But—”
Anne turned away, gliding towards the door. Come.
“What?” Elizabeth scrambled out of bed. “Let me get a candle.”
There will be no need.
She followed Anne, snatching up a wrap. The sounds of dinnerware clinking informed her that the family was eating. They must have decided to let her sleep.
Anne led her out of the house. As Elizabeth stepped outside, she saw a carriage parked beyond the walkway, the Darcy crest shimmering in relief. A figure detached itself, and Elizabeth jumped, suppressing a yelp of surprise.
The seneschal walked forward, a long box in his arms. She almost took a step back; his eyes glowed.
“Sir?” Her voice trembled.
He will not hear you.
Anne’s statement was dispassionate, even for a ghost.
Elizabeth turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”
He was sworn into my service, by the Darcy ring, when I was a bride. He serves me still.
Was she speaking of possession? The thought was chilling, though Elizabeth sensed no malfeasance on Anne’s part.
“Is he aware?”
It is a dream for him. Take the box.
Elizabeth obeyed. It was heavy as well as unwieldy, but she managed to get it back to her room and set it on the bed. She glanced at Anne, who waited while Elizabeth opened the lid. She exhaled, fingertips grazing a pile of lustrous fabric nearly the same shade as the Darcy sapphire. Lifting it out of the box, it became a gown.
An exquisite, expensive gown suited for a ball thrown by a prince.
“Where did you get this?”
It is ours. You will wear it. It is fit for a princess.
Prince Darcy Page 19
