by Ola Wegner
“Miss Darcy is not here,” Clayton announced stiffly. “I do believe that she has been at the village for the past few hours.”
“Tell Colonel Fitzwilliam that we shall join him in the drawing room soon,” Darcy said. “Also tell Drew that Mrs Darcy shall need her.”
Clayton bowed and left the room with dignity.
“Do you know why Georgiana went to the village?” Darcy asked when they were alone.
“I asked her. I was to have tea today with the wife of the parson. We were to discuss upcoming charitable events in the village. Georgiana volunteered to go instead of me.”
Darcy thought that Elizabeth should avoid showing herself in public at this stage of her confinement. He did not share his opinion with her, though. He knew better than that. She was not a person who liked to be closed in the house. It was a sound idea for Georgiana to take over at least some of Elizabeth’s duties as Mistress of Pemberley.
“Were you expecting Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she asked, her pretty eyes resting curiously on him.
“No, he must have decided to stop here on his way to Matlock. He has been on the continent for the last months.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “He has?”
“He is in the army, after all,” he reminded her. “The war on the continent has not yet ended.”
Elizabeth shifted off the bed. Darcy’s gaze rested on her form clad only in a short, thin chemise. Her burgeoning belly was impossible to overlook. It was there, transforming her slim silhouette completely. He was fascinated by the fact that it was he who had done this to her.
Noticing his stare, she reached for the blanket and wrapped it around herself self-consciously.
He put his arms around her, bringing her into his arms. “I love you,” he whispered. “You look beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You cannot lie, Mr Darcy,” she said.
There was a smile on her face, thus he guessed that she was not upset with him. He watched her as she waddled out of the room.
If it were not for his fear of the upcoming birth, he would be a perfectly happy man.
***
Half an hour later, Elizabeth, dressed in a light pale green gown with her hair pinned up high above her neck, stood on the landing of the staircase awaiting Darcy.
Soon she heard the steps, but they did not belong to her husband but to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was walking out of the guest wing.
Elizabeth forgot about proper greetings when she saw the wide scar, which was only partially healed, gracing his cheek. “Colonel Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed. “What happened? Are you well?”
He smiled down at her. “Just a little encounter with Frenchmen. I am well on my way to mending completely, but I am afraid that my face shall never be as pretty as it was before.”
Elizabeth inspected his scar with great concern. It appeared terribly deep. His entire expression had been altered, giving him a lopsided smile. She forced a smile on her face. “This only adds to your charm, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I can assure you of that,” she assured him.
She spoke with sincerity. A war hero fighting for the crown always impressed the ladies. She was certain that the scarring would not divert the attention of the women from him, but on the contrary.
“Do not scare her, Richard.” She heard Darcy’s voice behind her back. “She should not hear about the horrors of war.”
The men shook hands, greeting one another with pats on their backs.
Elizabeth could not take her eyes away from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face. How much must have suffered. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. She could not stop them. She wondered what he had seen and experienced there on the continent.
“He is well, my love,” Darcy told her quietly. He put his arm around her, handing her his handkerchief.
“I apologize,” she said. “I cannot simply think peacefully about what you had to go through there, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I am truly well, Mrs Darcy. I will stay in England for a while. There are good signs that the war shall end very soon. The French bled themselves out completely after the campaign in Russia.”
“Let us go to the drawing room,” Darcy proposed.
Darcy assisted Elizabeth down the staircase, careful to keep her steady on her feet.
As they sat in the drawing room and the tea was served, Elizabeth noticed that Colonel Fitzwilliam was staring at her now, not at her face but much lower.
Self-consciously, she placed her hands on her extended belly.
“I can see that I must congratulate both of you,” the soldier said.
Elizabeth smiled. “I thank you.”
“We are very proud.” Darcy said, taking her hand in his and kissing it.
“I was absent for a few months only and so many surprises,” Colonel Fitzwilliam commented. “When can we expect the arrival of the heir to Pemberley?”
“I believe that in less than two months,” Elizabeth revealed.
“Have you chosen the names?”
“Thomas George for a boy and Anne Frances for a girl after both grandparents,” Darcy said.
“Good names,” Colonel Fitzwilliam praised.
Georgiana entered the room. On seeing the scar on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face, she could barely contain her emotions. She burst into tears and it was a long time before she could calm herself down.
As Darcy was seated beside Elizabeth, he was resigned that tonight and in all probability for the next several days his cousin would hold the sole attention of the women in the house. He was surprisingly calm about it. After all, Elizabeth’s altered figure was the best proof that she belonged solely to him.
Chapter Twenty- One
Elizabeth opened her eyes to a darkened room. She looked towards the window to see the light seeping through the gap between the curtains. She guessed that it was very early in the morning.
She pushed the covers aside and, careful not to wake Fitzwilliam, she climbed out of the bed. She walked to the window and stepped behind the curtains. The bright light blinded her, and it took a moment to adjust her eyes. The new day had already come. She stared at the sun rising over the hills.
Today was the one-year anniversary of her father’s death.
She chose not to inform anyone about it. She doubted if Fitzwilliam even knew the exact date. She much preferred it like that. Her wish was to mourn in private. She disliked pity and compassionate looks. For the last twelve months, her life had altered completely, and she had much to be grateful for. Nevertheless, there was a deep wound within her which was not healed, and she doubted that it would ever close itself completely. She felt her child moving inside her.
She touched her belly. “It is such a shame that you shall never meet your grandfather,” she said sadly.
***
Elizabeth, Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam were seated together on the terrace, playing cards. In truth, Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam played piquet while Elizabeth watched them. They would typically sit in the drawing room, but the weather today was so agreeable that they decided to use it to their very best advantage.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face looked rather horrid, but both Elizabeth and Georgiana were careful not to even mention it to him, and what was of most importance, not to stare at his cheek for too long. Elizabeth noticed that with every passing day the long scar appeared a little less noticeable. There was hope that in time it would heal to a point when it would not distract the onlooker from the man’s overall handsome countenance.
Elizabeth rose to her feet. “I think that I shall go for a short walk,” she announced.
The two competitors barely acknowledged her departure, entirely concentrated on their cards. Elizabeth moved slowly down the vividly green lawn towards the lake. She hoped to see the ducks. She had some shortbread saved from breakfast especially for them in the pocket of her skirts. Fitzwilliam was of the opinion that the ducks did not require feeding, as they had plenty of food in the lake and around it. She thought differently
, though. The ducks liked her and she liked them. Every day they looked forward to receiving the snack delivered from her hand.
She came to stand on the grassy shore of the pond. She watched the rather fat birds swimming in her direction. She was certain that they could recognise her. She began throwing pieces of bread, which made them extremely agitated. As they were feeding, she admired their feathers, which were of a most unusual colour: dark green turning into rich purple. If a manufacturer were able to produce cloth similar in colour, they would surely make a fortune on it, selling it to women wishing for original evening gowns.
Elizabeth thought to see some dark silhouette in the bushes which grew alongside the other side of the lake. She shaded her eyes with her hands but she saw no one. As soon as she ran out of the bread, the ducks lost their interest in her. They swam away, quacking loudly.
Elizabeth turned on her heel to see the tall man’s figure blocking the sun. The man appeared familiar to her, but she could not recognize his face, as it was covered with a scarf.
Her heart stopped momentarily when someone who came to stand behind her covered her mouth with his hand. She could not even scream when they gently but decidedly carried her away towards the road and put her into an unfamiliar-looking carriage.
***
Darcy walked out onto the terrace to find his cousin and sister playing piquet. Those two could be extremely competitive, forgetting about the entire world once they involved themselves in a game.
“Where is Elizabeth?” he asked. “Have you seen her?”
Georgiana was frowning over the cards in her hands.
“She has gone to feed the ducks, I believe,” she said.
Darcy strolled down the lawn towards the lake where his wife’s favourite ducks held their permanent residence. No matter how many times he attempted to convince her that the birds were not hungry and were perfectly capable of surviving on their own, she stubbornly insisted on feeding them.
He walked around the large lake in search of his sweetheart. Fat ducks swam to him, quacking loudly. He guessed that they hoped to be fed some more. On realising that he had nothing for them they turned their backs and swam away.
Darcy’s eyes swept once again over the lake and its surroundings. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Where could she have gone? She could not go very far. She moved rather slowly these days.
He frowned when he saw something pink floating on the water about a yard from the shore. Without second thought he walked into the lake. He reached for the delicate shawl which he had himself brought for his wife from his last trip to Derby.
“Elizabeth!” he cried out. “Elizabeth!” He watched the smooth, shining waters of the lake with great tension.
That could not be. She could not have walked inside the water to feed those stupid birds! Good God! The lake was quite deep in places. Not thinking for long, he removed his shoes as well as coat and dove in.
As he emerged a while later, he saw Colonel Fitzwilliam standing by the shore.
“Wished for a swim, Darcy?” Richard asked him, his tone playful.
“I found Elizabeth’s shawl floating on the shore,” Darcy said, breathing heavily from exhaustion.
Having heard his cousin’s explanation, Colonel Fitzwilliam began undressing himself and soon dived into the lake.
He emerged a while later. “I have not seen anything odd,” he said once he could catch his breath. “No other articles of clothing. Nothing. She must have dropped the shawl while she was passing by the lake. It is the only reasonable explanation.”
Darcy shook his head. “It is very unlike her. She received this shawl from me. She liked it. She wore it every day.”
“We should call the men to search the lake once again. Just to be certain that she has not…” Colonel Fitzwilliam did not finish, afraid to speak out loud his thoughts. He touched Darcy’s shoulder. “She has gone for a walk as is her custom and simply dropped the shawl while she was feeding the ducks. I am certain of it,” he said, his voice firm, as if he wished to convince both of them.
“I will have a very serious talk with her once we find her,” Darcy announced, his voice shaking not from anger but fear. In truth, he was terrified. He had a gut feeling that something unfortunate must have happened to his Elizabeth.
***
Elizabeth stared at the dirty walls of the small room. In the past, they might have been painted white, but it had to be many years ago. She could not quite believe what had happened to her. Only a few hours ago she had been calmly feeding the ducks. Now she was away from Pemberley with people who decided to take her away from her husband, surely for financial gain.
She was not afraid. She was enraged with herself for allowing those people to take her away from her home.
Those men had taken her entirely by surprise. They carried her towards the carriage awaiting on the road leading to Lambton. They tied a scarf around her mouth, thus she could not scream, but overall they were very gentle with her, careful not to harm her or the child she carried.
After an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, they stopped. They removed the scarf from her face. They were on an old farm which appeared abandoned. They led her to a room in the back and shut her there. It was nearly evening and it was almost completely dark in the room. There was only one small window protected by steel bars. There was no possibility for her to escape unless she climbed through the roof or excavated through the foundations.
Elizabeth considered screaming, but she suspected that no one would hear her.
The room was small, its walls dirty, but it looked as if someone at least attempted to clean it. There was a screen in the corner of the room with necessities hidden behind it, including clean water in the wash basin, soap, towels, a chamber pot and even a comb. She understood that the kidnappers wanted to keep her here for a long time.
She could easily imagine Darcy’s reaction when he discovered that she was gone. Poor Fitzwilliam, how great his suffering must be not knowing where she was and how she fared. She assumed that the men who had taken her would demand money. Darcy was a wealthy man, but they were foolish thinking that their plan was possible to execute. They were fools. Darcy would hunt her down. He would not rest before they paid for taking her from him, most likely with their lives.
Suddenly she heard a commotion in the other room. She sat up on the narrow bed and listened as the key was turned in the solid door which separated her cell from the rest of the cottage.
A tall, lanky man entered, holding a tray in his hands. His face was covered with a scarf, but there was something familiar about him. She could swear that she had already seen him before, but where?
***
Darcy stared at the letter which arrived an hour after they had discovered Elizabeth’s disappearance. It was written by an unfamiliar hand. The author, who signed himself with an X, demanded twenty thousand pounds in gold for the safe return of Mrs Darcy. The money was to be delivered in a week’s time to a designated place. The casket with the gold was to be left in a cave near the old mine ten miles north of Pemberley. Were Darcy to fail to do it, Elizabeth would never be recovered, her fate unknown to anyone.
His hand in which he held the letter was shaking badly. Colonel Fitzwilliam took the letter from him and read it out loud.
“At least we know that she is safe,” the older man said as he finished. “She did not drown herself or wander off to the woods. Those who took her must know that they cannot hurt her.”
“Who could have done that?” Darcy questioned.
“You are a wealthy man. It is not a secret that your marriage was a love match and you care deeply for your wife.”
Darcy hid his face in his hands. “I must travel to London to retrieve the money from the bank.”
“We shall find her before that,” Colonel Fitzwilliam assured him. “They could not have taken her far. There is a regiment of militia stationed in Derby. They will help us.”
“I must go to London,” Darcy repeated.
/> “Send someone with the letter to your solicitor in London,” his cousin advised him. “Tell him to bring the money just as a precaution. Elizabeth will need you once we find her, and I am certain that it will happen in a day or two.”
“I will go insane,” Darcy said, looking up at the other man. “If something happens to her or the child, I will not bear it.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam put a reassuring hand on Darcy’s arm. “She will be returned to you safely before long, and the men who stand behind this horrible deed shall pay their price.”
***
Elizabeth stood up to her feet and stepped to the man. She reached for his face and pulled the scarf down.
“It is you!” she exclaimed. “I remember you. You worked at the stables at Pemberley.”
The former stable hand put the tray with bread, cheese and milk on the table.
“You should eat, Mrs Darcy,” he said, looking away from her.
“If you let me go now, I will not tell anyone that I saw you here,” she promised.
“It is getting dark,” he said. “I will bring you the candle.”
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Near Matlock.”
“Allow me to leave,” she insisted.
He shook his head.
“It is your last chance,” she threatened. “My husband shall never forgive you if he finds about your involvement in this sordid affair. You will be hanged.”
“Do not listen to her, Joe.” She heard another voice, and soon a second man stepped into the room.
The newcomer was holding a candlestick in his hand which illuminated his face.
“Mr Wickham!” Elizabeth gasped loudly.
He bowed his head. “What a pleasure to see you, Miss Bennet, or rather Mrs Darcy.”
Elizabeth shook her head, unbelieving. “It is impossible.”
He laughed. “It is quite possible, I assure you. I presume that you did not expect to see me here.”
“What have you done? Why have you taken me away from Pemberley?”
His good humour was not leaving him, judging by his expression. “You cannot guess, Mrs Darcy? Darcy will pay me very good money for you. I am certain that he is already on his way to London to retrieve the gold for me.”
