Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 17
It was as grand inside as out and appointed beautifully. The marble floors gleamed, and the furnishings that Jane could see were elegant and in the finest of taste. She allowed Mrs Lloyd to lead her and the others up a wide staircase at one end of the main hall, and then down a long passage.
“This is the guest wing,” the housekeeper informed them. “The family’s wing is on the other side of the portrait gallery.” She gestured in the opposite direction, where a large glass cupola spanned the area open to the floor below. Running along the back of this was a wall covered with more paintings than Jane could think to count. Another hall led off the far side.
“This is a very fine house. The family must be quite old and important.” Mr Bennet nodded his appreciation as his eyes, too, scanned the wall of portraits. “One does not collect so fine a set of ancestors without some diligence.”
“Important, indeed!” Mrs Lloyd crowed. “Do you not know? Did the colonel not tell you? He does enjoy a prank, that one.”
Jane cocked her head in curiosity. “No. We know he is cousin to Mr Darcy. Is there something else we ought to know?”
The housekeeper laughed, a rich sound that fit her pleasant appearance. “The colonel is the second son of an earl. This lodge is one of several estates belonging to Lord Matlock.”
Beside her, Jane watched as Mr Bingley turned as pale as his shirt and swayed on his feet.
It seemed mere moments after Darcy’s eyes finally closed that the sky began to lighten. Elizabeth was still asleep, if restlessly so, and he could not bear to wake her before it was necessary. She was wrapped tightly in the blanket they shared, her head resting on his arm, as his rested on the crunched up satchel they used to carry the blankets and last bits of food. During the night, they had somehow shifted to lie down on the moss, curled against each other between the trees and the hard rise of the hillside. Darcy’s back was pressed against the rocky wall, and his free arm wrapped protectively about the young woman who nestled against him, her back snug against his chest.
Oh, in more comfortable, less perilous circumstances, this would be his idea of heaven. Right now, it was torture.
Elizabeth sighed in her sleep and shifted against him. Her hair, wild and untamed, tickled his lips; the sweet scent of her, even through the grime of a week’s rough travel, taunted him. He sensed, more than felt, the thrum of her heartbeat as she wriggled closer to him, perhaps in search of security, or perhaps just against the chill of the morning. He wished he knew. They had huddled together before for warmth, and he had fought his instincts before, but this time something was different. Against the barely felt tattoo that invaded his soul, the rest of the world faded to oblivion. Gone were the trees and the rocky cliff face, gone were the distant hoots of owls and the rustle of rodents in the darkness. It was only her. She curled in closer and his arm pulled her tighter in to his protective embrace. She moved her head again, and he could resist no more. His face dipped and his lips grazed the top of her head where her chestnut hair danced across his cheeks. What was he thinking?
But reason had long since deserted him, and when she responded with a sigh, he kissed her head once more. She gave another sigh, a sleepy sound of deep content, that did nothing for his own equilibrium. Then she wriggled against him again. All was lost. Fire rushed through his veins, red and gold and flashing, and all his reserve and regulation all but vanished and his hands longed to rove over the lovely soft body pressed far too enticingly against his own. Only the hard stone pressing into his back and the rough woollen blanket that scratched at his hands let the distant chant of sanity break through: You are a gentleman, gentleman, gentleman… He struggled back into some semblance of self-control, but he could no longer deny that he liked this unusual young lady far too well for his own good.
He must have drifted back to sleep, for the sun was higher when Elizabeth rolled out of his loose embrace. She said not a word about his display of affection, and he hoped she had truly been asleep, or imagined it was only a dream.
They struggled up from their uncomfortable den and prepared for the final leg of their journey. It was only five more miles, a distance Elizabeth claimed to walk in a morning before breakfast, but this was a trudge through rough and rocky wood, not a gentle path between farmers’ fields. There were streams to cross and ridges and steep inclines to negotiate, and the faint track wound snakelike through the trees. It would take several hours to complete the distance.
They made their way carefully and slowly. As well as the difficult terrain, Darcy was also concerned about unwanted eyes tracking their progress.
“We are coming to the lodge through the estate’s forests, from the back,” he explained as he helped her over a large boulder that impeded their path. “You will see when we arrive; it is, I believe, the safest access to the house, if not the easiest. Here, let me assist you across this rivulet.”
It was six full hours later that they finally neared the house itself. They had stopped more than once to rest and eat what little they had left from their supplies, and had to retrace their steps two or three times when the path that Darcy had thought was correct turned out to lead nowhere, or ended at a rock face on a hillside. Their feet were wet and muddy from fording streams and clambering over rocks, and their clothing was, if anything, in even worse repair. Filthy from the mud and dust and several days’ wear, and now ripped and covered with burs and leaves from the foliage through which they passed, they must look perfectly frightful. Darcy hoped they would not be turned away at the door.
“Aha!” Elizabeth exclaimed at last as the lodge came into view. “I understand your path. I had not expected this arm of the woods to extend almost to the outbuildings. Are those the stables?”
She was correct. In an effort to keep the rear part of the property as close to the natural as was possible, the woods encroached a good distance into what would, in many other such places, be parkland. There was plenty of that on the far side of the house, to be certain, but from this direction there were only a hundred or so yards between the last trees and the gate through the surrounding wall that adjoined the stables.
“Are you ready?” Darcy asked. His eyes scanned the surrounding area for anything unusual. He saw nothing: no strange men, no unexpected flashes of colour in the woods, no glints on the roofs that might betray a spyglass. “Do you see that doorway? Can you run?”
She nodded. They had, in concert, agreed to leave their bags just inside the perimeter of the woods, to be retrieved later if necessary, and preferably by one of the lodge’s manservants. They could now make their final dash unencumbered.
“Now!”
They slipped from behind that last tree and tore, as fast as they could, across the stretch of field, finally achieving the welcoming door, set as it was into the tall wall that surrounded the courtyard. It was, to the surprise of neither of them, locked. But the door itself was set into the thick wall, allowing them a couple of feet under the protection of the arch above them.
They were not entirely safe yet, but they were close. Unless somebody approached them from the field directly behind them, they would not be visible. Darcy raised his roughened hand and began to bang on the door. “Help! Please! Let us in!”
In a few moments, there came the sound of people moving on the other side, and then the welcome grind of the key in the lock. The door cracked open, and a very large man, taller even than Darcy himself, glared down at them.
“Pwy dych chi? What you be wanting?”
“Ffrind dw i.” Darcy replied. He did not know this man and his name would almost certainly mean nothing. But there were others who did know him. “We need your help. This is my uncle’s estate. Mrs Lloyd knows me. Is she near?”
The giant glared at him once more. Of course, he looked nothing at all like the nephew of an earl at this moment, filthy and unshaven, clothed as a field labourer. He pulled himself to his full height and tried to look imperious, hoping his demeanour alone would help to convince this man that he was someone important.
“You be the colonel’s cousin?” The suspicious eyes narrowed. “You don’t be looking like a gentleman. What be your name?”
“I, good fellow, am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, son of Lady Anne, the present earl’s late sister, and cousin to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s Army.” He glanced to his side. “And this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. May we please come in?”
“Very well. You be sounding the part.” The giant stepped aside and let them enter the courtyard before locking the door behind them. “Stay right here.” He yelled for a groom to seek out Mrs Lloyd in the house, and remained, keeping guard over them lest they not be who they claimed.
At another time, Darcy would have been more than offended to be treated thus. Now, he was thankful that some pains were being taken to keep the property secure. Furthermore, he was so relieved to be safe, at last, and with the prospect of a hot meal and a bath, that he would have forgiven the rough giant almost anything short of being flayed alive.
“We are safe now,” he whispered to Elizabeth. Her response did not come in words, but in action, as she leaned against his side and allowed him to wrap an arm about her waist, pulling her close. He was her comfort and security. Now if only he could somehow convince her to let him become her husband. Perhaps Mrs Lloyd would have some advice for him, or some words to offer Elizabeth.
Any thoughts, however, of allowing this remarkable young woman the gift of a choice came to an abrupt end when, instead of Mrs Lloyd, a greying man of moderate stature and the dress of a country gentleman came hurrying across the courtyard.
“Lizzy!” he called out as soon as he set eyes on her and, quite unexpectedly, began to run towards them. “My darling girl, Lizzy!”
She stiffened in Darcy’s arms.
“Papa!”
From the moment she saw her father striding across the enclosure, Elizabeth knew her fate was sealed. There would be no opportunity now to feign a tragic death and live out her life in obscurity, leaving her sisters without stain. There was no chance of pretending she had not been with Will this last week, or that they had been keeping a most proper distance between them.
No, here she stood, looking like a castaway with her hair in disarray, her clothing soiled and torn, and wrapped up in the circle of Will’s strong arms. There could be no explanation, no escape. For her sisters’ sake, she would have to marry him.
She ought to be furious or horrified, but she could not find the anger she sought. Instead, a small thrill worked its way up her spine. She was… relieved!
But there was no time to think about this or talk to him now. In a moment, she was ripped from Will’s embrace and pulled into her father’s.
“Lizzy, my girl, you do not know how worried we have been! Are you well? I am so very pleased to see you. Are you injured? Your mother will never let you hear the end of this. Come, my girl, give me a hug.”
She returned her father’s embrace with one of her own, equally shocked and delighted to see him. Only now did she realise that, had she carried through on her scheme, she never would have seen him again. She froze at the thought, but then let herself revel in this familial affection once more.
“I am well, Papa. A bit dirty and tired, perhaps, but quite unharmed. Will…”
“And you, sir, must be the scoundrel who abducted my child.” Her father stepped back and faced Will, looking up at him above the rims of his spectacles. “What have you to say for yourself, sir?”
Will had the grace to turn red. “I must confess to this crime, for which I offer my deepest apologies, sir. I had no thoughts of embroiling Miss Bennet in my plight, but I cannot be sorry now, for otherwise I would not have had the chance to know her. Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service.” He stood straight, gave a brief bow, and then extended his hand.
“I ought to call you out. But you have brought her here safely, and in good spirits, and so I shall let you live another day.”
“It is appreciated. Your carriage and horses are quite safe as well, and will be returned to you as soon as I am free of this man pursuing me.”
“Yes, yes,” Mr Bennet waved him off. “More of that later. Come inside, Lizzy. Your sister is quite anxious to see you.”
“Jane? Jane is here? I must see her at once. Will, you must meet her.”
He reached out for her hand before she could move too far away. “I would be honoured, but—” He looked down at himself and groaned. “I should like to look more presentable first. I am hardly fit for polite company.”
“No more than am I.” She caught a glimpse of the two of them reflected in a window and laughed. “I am surprised our large friend there did not send us both packing. We are quite the sight!”
“A sight for sore eyes,” came a voice from the door to the house. “Will! You are alive!” The man rushed forward to pull Will into a fierce but brief embrace. “And this must be Miss Bennet. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service, Madam. Come inside. I have already called for baths to be drawn, and clothing to be found. Your rooms are ready. We can discuss matters later. Come along, come along.”
His tone was that of a man accustomed to being obeyed, and with the promise of a bath and fresh clothing, Elizabeth was happy to do as he commanded. She followed first him, and then a fine-looking woman, up a long flight of stairs from the back door, and down a hallway to a room that, after these last few nights on hay, rough cots, and plain rock, looked fit for a princess. Somebody had already filled the copper tub, and a maid stood by, ready to assist.
“You’ll be burning these, then, miss?” she asked, looking at the remains of Elizabeth’s rustic dress.
“No. I think I should like to keep them as a memento of a rather unusual week, if you please.”
The girl wrinkled her brow at that, but merely replied, “Very well, Miss,” and set about helping Elizabeth into the steaming, fragrant water.
Oh, what bliss this was, to lie here, warm and clean, smelling the scent of lemon and lavender instead of the stench of horse dung and unwashed bodies. She did nothing at all for a very long time, other than luxuriate in the water, allowing the aches and tension of the last week to ease from her bones.
She must have drifted off, for the next thing she knew, the young maid was rousing her with a soft touch on her arm.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but I was told not to let you sleep in the tub. I’ve called for more hot water, if you wish to wash your hair, and some of milady’s lemon soap, if you wish.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Elizabeth forced her eyes open. She would sleep very well tonight, but now she wished to wash, dress, and find her sister.
It was a while later that she finally descended the main staircase to find the small sitting room where the others had gathered for tea. Her hair was clean and dry and pinned up with some competence by the maid, whose name was Gwen, and her skin was clean once more and now softened with a delicate rose-scented lotion. Her clothing, however, was less expected. Mrs Lloyd had been unable to find anything suitable in the house, and Jane’s garments were all of a very different size, she being both taller and more slender in build than Elizabeth. The only garment of a suitable size and that was appropriate for any sort of company was a dress from some two decades before, with a low, fitted waist, and a very full skirt. She had forgone the embarrassment of the paniers and petticoats that went with the frock, but still she felt like an exhibit at a museum, or a creature at a masquerade ball.
Let the others laugh. She was clean and warm, and quite in need of some tea.
A servant pointed the way, but she needed no guidance. The aroma she craved drew her in the right direction, and soon she was at the door to a sitting room of surprising size and elegance for a mere “hunting lodge.” It was decorated in the finest of taste, with the pale greens and creams of the walls and upholstery mirroring the sylvan view from the large windows that opened onto the park at the side of the house.
The gathered party rose as she entered. Beside her father, Jane, and Will, there were three men—Colonel Fitzwilliam, and two whose names she did not know—all of whom looked delighted at her arrival.
But first, there was Jane, who rushed up the second she crossed the threshold.
“Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy, you poor dear! What an ordeal you must have been through. You had us all so worried. I am so very happy to see you.” Uncharacteristically, Jane’s voice was tight with emotion, and she caught her sister in a fierce embrace before kissing her cheek. “I am so pleased to see you.” She stepped back to assess her sister now. “You look well, and that dress is a delight! Wherever did Mrs Lloyd find it? That style suits you. You must tell us everything!”
Before she could respond, Will was at her side. “Elizabeth.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the back, leaving her more flustered than the two nights she had spent in his arms. He, too, had washed and exchanged his ruined farm worker’s garb for something more suited to his station. The clothing must have belonged to his cousin, for the coat was too loose about the shoulders and the trousers came further up his shins than fashion dictated, but he looked every inch as regal as a lord. He had shaved as well, and for the first time since the evening at Milden Hall, Elizabeth saw his face unshadowed by any growth of beard. My heavens, but he was a handsome man!
“May I make proper introductions?” he asked, his voice low and velvet in the calm of the sitting room. “My cousin, of course, whom you have seen briefly…”
He presented her formally to the man she had already learned was Richard Fitzwilliam. He was the second son of the earl of Matlock, and the lodge, or palace, or whatever this grand house was, belonged to his father. The colonel bowed deeply, welcomed her once more to Coed-y-Glyn, and said every proper word with such sincerity and genuine pleasure at her attendance that she was quite ready to believe him the most gentlemanlike man in the world.
