You must not sleep, daughter, or they may not find you. You could die of exposure.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “That would be inconvenient.” Her eyes drifted shut.
“Elizabeth! Eliza. . .beth!”
The call from a physical voice jerked her out of sleep. Her eyelids were leaden weights but a fresh bolt of energy flowed through her veins. Elizabeth blinked, then pushed herself to her feet, pausing for a moment when she swayed. Still wasn’t clear of the woods. . .she laughed. Clear of the woods. How droll.
“Elizabeth!”
“Lizzy,” a female voice called.
“I am here,” she said in a conversational tone then paused. Perhaps she should speak louder? “I am here.”
The strength to shout did not manifest itself, unfortunately. Or perhaps the will. Whatever that infernal powder was, it seemed to have leached away energy as well as urgency. After the initial wild instinct to flee wore off, an awful, fatalistic calm settled over her shoulders which had prompted her to simply choose a tree and sit in the first place.
Moments passed before Elizabeth glimpsed the flicker of torches, their bright orange a stark contrast to the silvery filaments of moonlight or the shifting shadows of the forest.
“I should approach the searchers,” she mused, then began to move forward, walking at a leisurely pace.
Anne dematerialised next to her. That is an excellent idea, daughter. One foot in front of the other, just so.
As they came closer to the lights, and frequent calls of her name, Anne began to fade. My son is near, he will take care of you. I am pleased, Elizabeth.
Darcy’s voice sounded through the night, strong and sure despite an underlying thread of panic. Did anyone else hear the infinitesimal tightening in his tone? She had become so attend to his moods, the nuances of his expression and inflections of his words. . .how could she have not realised sooner how much she loved him?
“Darcy,” Elizabeth said.
There was a pause, and then several shouts. The thud of hooves rushed forward, a crackle as many feet trampled through forest. Darcy burst from the gloom, throwing himself off his horse. She stood still, uncaring how close the horse might have come to running her over were Darcy less skilled and less observant rider.
What a pretty horse.
Warm arms, muscles tense underneath the sumptuous fabric of his evening jacket, wrapped around her back.
“Lizzy,” he breathed in her ear. “My God.”
Elizabeth giggled. “No one calls me Lizzy but my sisters.”
“A blanket,” he demanded in a controlled tone, speaking over her head. He tucked her close to his body, uncaring that it was highly improper.
“We are not yet wed, sir,” Elizabeth informed him. “Perhaps you might unhand me?”
Darcy ignored her, taking a thick swollen blanket from one of his men and enfolding Elizabeth like a sausage in fluffy, fresh baked bread. Her stomach growled.
“I missed dinner,” she said.
He lifted her onto the horse. “You may have all the dinner you wish, my heart. I shall order everyone out.”
“You will do no such thing. The gossip.”
He frowned up at her, the scowl an adorable boyish pout.
“I see you have come to some of your senses,” a voice said.
Elizabeth wasted on the back of the horse. Darcy exclaimed, hands going around her waist as she attempted to hurl herself back to the ground.
“Are you mad, Lizzy?” He stared at her. “Whatever is wrong with you?”
“That—that woman.” She pointed a trembling finger at Mary. “Tried to enspell me!”
Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “Not entirely come to your senses. Do not be ridiculous. If I wished to enspell you, no one would know about it. Least of all you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Was that a threat?”
“Elizabeth.”
She stilled, looking down at Darcy. His expression was stern. “Your sister did not try to enspell you. She simply needs to. . .refine her methods in the future.”
Mary sniffed. “It worked well enough.” She turned on her heels and began to stride back towards what Elizabeth assumed was the direction of Pemberley.
“I am certain you will wish to apologise once you are feeling yourself,” her betrothed said. “You must be careful the accusations you make in the future, my heart. You are the Princess of Pemberley now, and others will take your words seriously.”
He mounted the horse behind her, pulling her against his chest. Elizabeth burrowed into his warmth, turning her head so her ear rested over his heart.
“I will consider an apology if one is warranted. After I thoroughly investigate.”
“Yes, yes. Rest, Your Highness. I will wake you when we are home.”
She began to drift off because that was what she desired to do, not because he said so, but stayed awake long enough to ask about Wickham.
“He is in custody,” was the even reply. “You may see him tomorrow if you wish.”
She appreciated that he did not attempt to shield her from the villain out of some misplaced concern for her delicate nerves. She would tell him so in the morning.
Epilogue
“Where is the food taster?” Lydia asked loudly. “She has a mug. It has unidentifiable liquid in it.”
Kitty snorted, giggling like a madcap.
Mary gave her a baleful look, shoving the mug of tea into Elizabeth’s hands. “This will calm your nerves so you do not embarrass us walking down the aisle. Your complexion is green, and no one wants to pause the wedding to clean up a mess all over your feet.”
As a show of good faith, and because she really did not believe Mary had been trying to harm her or anyone (despite Lydia’s incessant teasing), Elizabeth sipped the herbal tea. She contemplated said feet and the delicate slippers covering them.
“It tastes like Jane’s blend,” she said.
“With one or two additions,” was the evasive reply.
“Are you ready, my dear?” Aunt Julia asked.
Elizabeth set the mug down on the vanity and turned. Aunt Julia would stand as her mother during the ceremony, since Adelaide was currently recuperating in a rest home for high born women. The afternoon after her flight through the woods, once she had fully recovered, she took Darcy aside and asked him to be kind to her stepmother.
“Wickham must have been in her ear the entire time. That man cannot spend enough time in the dungeons for his mischief.” At least that was the story she was feeding her prince. She half believed it, though she knew well enough that Adelaide had acted as much under her own agency than under any influence of Wickham’s.
But recalling the many hints of advice from Anne, and the look in Mary’s eyes, Elizabeth relented. Aunt Julia had offered her own insight as well, confirming what they knew about Adelaide’s life prior to her marriage and adding more detail—she had been Mr Bennet’s old friend as well. The stories did much to explain her stepmother, even it they did not entirely excuse her conduct. She might not be able to forget, but she could forgive. In time her sisters would find good spouses and perhaps that would aid Adelaide’s healing
“I am ready,” Elizabeth said.
The gown was a mix of modern and ancient. A long white underdress, gathered under the bust with an overdress of pale blue, the train extending several feet behind her. Tiny gems crusted the hem and bodice, and she wore a tiara nestled in her hair.
“I will tell the princess you are ready,” Charlotte said. She had arrived after the ball and been amazed when Elizabeth had finally had time to sit her down and tell her of the events of the previous several days.
“I think I will stay awhile, if you permit it,” her oldest friend had said. “Life is interesting here.”
“May your life be interesting is a curse,” Elizabeth said.
“Hmm. We will see.”
Her sisters left to join the other guests in the Darcy chapel. The building was on the grounds and rarel
y open to the public beyond those who worked in the house. Today it was overflowing with guests, though of course the seats inside were reserved for the court and their families.
Elizabeth’s attendants ensured her train was lifted off the ground as she walked and when they were close to the chapel, the crowds parted, forming a natural procession. A carpet of blue lay over the ground. She paused at the foot and then took her first step.
The people fell silent, and in the corner of her vision, sunlight winked off the jewels of her gown. Birds chirped in the silence, the breeze rustling trees and the swish of satins and the occasional cough highlighting just how quiet the guests remained. Evidently it was not the custom to cheer as the bride approaches in Pemberley.
“Courage,” Aunt Julia said as they reached the door, and then went inside ahead of Elizabeth.
Next went Charlotte, and then her sisters. Then three young girls who were daughters of Darcy’s closest advisors.
And then the music began.
She had insisted on something simple, the light strain of a harp.
Elizabeth entered the chapel to the angelic strumming of strings. Light played through stained-glass windows and white flowers draped the altar where the Prince of Pemberley stood.
For once, he was not wearing all black.
She blinked, and smiled involuntarily. His lips quirked in response, though of course he would remain grave and dignified. As she walked down the aisle, a familiar head turned. Elizabeth nearly skipped a step when she saw Adelaide sitting in a pew reserved for the Bennet family.
Darcy bowed, taking her hand and helping her ascend the three steps to the dais.
“You are divine,” he said quietly.
“My stepmother. . . .”
“I thought it might please you. You seemed troubled.”
How like him, to know her better than she knew herself. Something inside her did relax, and she smiled. They turned towards the priest, who began his sermon.
The ceremony required a long, droning listing of Darcy’s ancestors. She wondered if that was supposed to impress the bride with her good fortune, or perhaps in earlier days it intimidated the bride’s family.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, son of Fitzwilliam and Anne, Prince of Derbyshire and Lord in Pemberley, do you take this woman. . . .”
Darcy spoke his vows. A simple band went over her marriage finger, the designs etched in gold echoed in his coat of arms.
“Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of. . . .”
“Elizabeth?” Darcy prompted.
She blinked. She had lost time, staring into his eyes, the voice of the priest fading.
“I. . .do,” she said.
“So eager,” her husband said, but a smile lurked on his lips.
“Mary gave me a potion to calm my nerves,” she whispered back.
His eyes widened, and he coughed. “A potion? By god.”
The priest frowned at them. “By the power invested in me by God and the authority of man, I now pronounce thee man and wife. You may seal your vows with the first kiss of the bride.”
Elizabeth withheld her snort. First kiss her bonnet. There had been many kisses in the last few weeks and there would be many more.
And more than kisses, of course.
Darcy’s secret longing for a woman who will not have him. Elizabeth’s determination to marry for love, and not money. An epic battle of wills…who will win and who will wed?
Five years ago, Darcy prevented Lizzy from eloping with their mutual childhood friend Wickham. Heartbroken and infuriated, Elizabeth never forgave the interference, especially because it caused the banishment of her family from Derbyshire to Longbourn.
Now Wickham is back, as devilish and handsome as ever, ready to coax Lizzy into yet another mad scheme. This time when Darcy intervenes, it will not be just to save Lizzy from herself…but to claim as mistress of Pemberley the woman he has always considered his.
Only, Elizabeth is determined not to wed for fortune or reputation, but for true love. And cold, stern Darcy does not love her—he wishes to save Wickham from making a poor match.
What Lingers In the Heart is a Pride and Prejudice Sweet Variation reimagining ODC as childhood friends to enemies and finally to wedded lovers. For readers who enjoy clean and wholesome romance, compromising situations, forced marriage, and plenty of sparks between a protective, commanding Darcy and a tart, defiant Elizabeth.
Chapter One
“This is the fairest weather we have enjoyed all spring, Lizzy,” Jane said as she stared dreamily up at the blue sky. “It will be a perfect day.”
Elizabeth smiled at her elder sister’s enthusiasm. “If it is not perfect, then at least it will be tolerable.”
Jane reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “I know this has been a poor week for you.”
“A walk in the sunshine was a good idea. I am happy you persuaded me.”
It had indeed been a grey week. Her family was used to her bouts of quiet somberness but poor Jane never quite forgot how her sister once been.
Five years before.
Elizabeth was determined to ease Jane’s worry. Though she was no longer the excessively sunny, carefree girl she had once been, that was all for the better, under the circumstances. She was much stronger than her sister realized and if she still suffered the occasional descent into poor spirits, these days there were many months when all was well and every dreary cloud did not remind her of her terrible mistake.
They spoke little on the walk into Meryton, but then they were both relieved to enjoy the exercise without the company of their younger sisters, particularly Lydia, who refused to believe in the beneficial nature of companionable silence.
“Oh!” Jane exclaimed. “I forgot, I heard news of soldiers stationed in town.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “In regimentals?” Mischief stirred. “Now that will be a treat. We shall have to lock Kitty and Lydia in their rooms, for they will be beside themselves when they hear of militia.”
Jane laughed, though she winced. “I fear it will be an officer or ruin for Lydia.” She snapped her mouth shut. “Oh . . . Lizzy. Forgive me, I did not mean . . .”
Elizabeth smiled. “I am not so fragile, that the mention of ruin will destroy my happy spirits. It has been five years, Jane. My heart is healed.”
She had not suffered a broken heart, not quite. A girlish infatuation with a young man who had been a childhood friend had ended in near disaster. Only through the interference of another young man whom she had also called friend, had Elizabeth avoided an elopement to Gretna Green with her would be suitor. For two years after, resentment over the interference festered. The now older, wiser Elizabeth was more philosophical and even grateful, though she would never be able to express her gratitude.
Now she regretted the loss of that happy childhood triumvirate instead, realizing how rare their golden, nearly bosom friendship had been. They had run the forests together like wild things until nature betrayed her and both young men eventually realized Elizabeth was no longer a girl. That was when trouble began, though in her innocence it had taken her many months to realize the subtle maturing of the relationship between the three had been on account of the romantic designs of one young man, and the . . . well, to this day, Elizabeth still did not fully fathom the motivations of the other.
“Let us not talk of things past,” Jane said. “I am determined to enjoy the day, to look my fill of handsome soldiers, and choose the proper trimmings for our new hats.”
“I, too, am determined.” Elizabeth banished all memories of her past, refusing to once again linger on why her thoughts seemed to always turn more towards the young man who had prevented her elopement, rather than her would-be bridegroom who should be the one she felt the most regret over losing.
They entered town smiling and laughing at small things, the shadow of the past forcibly forgotten. And, in truth, despite the ruin of her reputation in their old home in Derbyshire and despite how her heart still occasionally
ached to return, all was well. Longbourn was a tolerable alternative, the quiet society of twenty and four families suited her parents just fine and the regular assemblies suited her sisters just as well. Elizabeth had managed to replace the constant, dear companionship of her two lost childhood friends with a new companion. Charlotte was as dear to her now as William and George once had been.
They lingered in the shop, debating the merits of fruit versus flowers to trim their hats. The flowers were less expensive, though there was a certain playfulness to fruit. Elizabeth made her choices, preferring a quieter style than Jane, who despite her reserved nature did enjoy more frivolous hats, likely as a mode of expressing the more lively side of her nature she rarely let escape.
Exiting the shop, Elizabeth was about to suggest a stop at the baker’s to choose a pastry to share on the walk home when Jane grabbed her arm and firmly turned her in the opposite direction.
“Jane!”
Her sister began speaking rapidly, nearly stuttering before she exerted visible calm over herself and smiled tremulously. “I am famished, Lizzy. Let us return home and see if there is a bite to be had before dinner.”
“Oh, well I was just about to suggest we choose a—now this is just . . . why are we walking so quickly?” Elizabeth dug her heels in, staring at her sister, baffled. “Whatever is the matter with you? Pulling me along like I am a child on leading strings.”
Jane glanced over her shoulder, smile tightening, and jerked her gaze back to Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth frowned and turned, looking in the direction her sister quite obviously wanted them to avoid.
Jane sighed. “Please, let us just go home.”
“I really do not understand the fuss . . .” Elizabeth trailed off. There was a group of three soldiers lingering outside the tavern, talking and laughing with good-natured camaraderie. She glanced over them once, then took a second, longer look as dark golden locks and a brilliant smile stung her recollection.
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