Chapter 22

Derby, Derbyshire

The jury returned not ten minutes after they had left. Elizabeth breathed deep as she watched them file in and seat themselves. William's hand was still clasping hers, and she drew strength from it.

"Whatever they say, whatever the verdict, whatever is to come, I am beside you," William whispered in her ear. She turned her head to face him, and he added, "Be strong now, my darling. I love you."

The clerk of the peace asked, "Are you agreed on your verdict? Do you find the prisoner guilty of this felony whereof she stands indicted, or not guilty?"

One of them stood, and unbidden, both Elizabeth and her husband stood with him.

"We are agreed. We find Mrs. Darcy not guilty of bigamy."

"Oh!" The exclamation flitted from Elizabeth as the slightest little chirp of a noise, so shocked was she. Then William was embracing her, kissing her forehead, and she revelled in the feeling of being in his arms, the feeling of knowing she was free, not caring that they were standing there before much of the gentry and nobility of Derbyshire. William's was not the last embrace she was to feel, for once granted her own turn, Jane rushed forth and squeezed her sister even tighter, whispering her thanks to God that Lizzy was free.

The clerk of the peace was speaking again: "Hearken to your verdict as the Court recordeth it: you say Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley in the County of Derbyshire is not guilty of the felony whereof she stands indicted; this is your verdict, and so ye say all." The clerk continued on, announcing that Mrs. Darcy was free to go and that the bonds put up for her bail would be released to her bondsmen.

Such sums were nothing to their jubilant family, who managed to cease their embracing and walk towards the back of the court, meeting the Colbournes there and exchanging another round of embraces. Slowly, they drifted towards the middle of the Shire Hall, where they were far enough away from both courts so as to not be disruptive, and there Charles Bingley exclaimed,

"What a wonderful day! I propose we all go back to my inn and order up a vast, celebratory nuncheon. No changing clothes, no waiting, let us just go there now and be merry!"

The others were very enthusiastic about this idea, but Elizabeth was concerned and turned to face her husband. "I understand their wishes, but if you are unwell, we should go back to our inn and let you rest."

"I will manage," he murmured. "They all came here in support of you, and I would like to show them my gratitude. And in truth, I have not eaten anything since breakfast yestermorn, so a meal of the size I expect Bingley will order sounds appealing at the moment."

"If you find you are feeling unwell, just say so, and we may leave. They will understand – it does look rather dreadful." Elizabeth extended her hand towards his head, but did not touch the awful spot.

"I believe today it looks worse than it feels, although it does still hurt," he said. "Elizabeth – they let me sleep late this morning – my sister and brother-in-law had the best of intentions, but I wish they had not. I should have been here with you. I never should have said what I did to you, and caused your departure – "

Elizabeth brought her hand down, to clasp his. "Not now, my love. There is much we should speak of, but let us do so later. For now, let us go and celebrate with our family."

Still holding hands, they followed the rest of their family out of the Shire Hall, into a tremendous crowd. The atmosphere was rather like a fair, raucous but generally good-natured, at least at this hour of the day. But then Elizabeth heard a man reciting, at great volume:

Elizabeth Darcy, whose husband got knocked on the head

Did not take overlong, to find Lord Neston's bed

But when Mr. Darcy remembered to return

For his matrimonial prizes

Was it Mrs. Darcy's or Lady Neston's turn

To stand trial at the Derby assizes?

She said a lord told her Mr. Darcy was dead

And was found not guilty, even though twice-wed

"'Tis a reasonable attempt, given the amount of time he had to compose it," stated Henry drily.

"It is nothing of the sort," said his father. "The whole of it could have been composed in advance, with an alternative for the last line."

Their party was agreeing with the earl when someone in the crowd cried, "There she is! It's Mrs. Darcy!"

Elizabeth was torn between mortification and genuine concern for their safety in the midst of such a crowd.

"Hold your head high and do not be ashamed," stated William. "You were right that we both made mistakes, and now we shall stand tall together."

His words might have had better effect, had someone not shouted, "You whore!" just after he said them.

Ah, but there was her courage. Elizabeth turned to face her husband, pitched herself up on her tiptoes, and kissed him. She kissed him as she would have kissed him if they had emerged from the Shire Hall to find no other soul present, kissed him as the woman who had loved him and lost him and gained him back, the woman who was now free. Let them call me a whore if they must, but do not let them doubt that I love him.

William was shocked, certainly, but he responded, deepening the kiss still further. For some moments, Elizabeth was so lost to sensation she could hear nothing, but as they separated, she realised the crowd was cheering them, loudly.

"Oi, an' let 'em through!" someone exclaimed.

This was insufficient to clear a path for a party of their size, but with the gentlemen throwing their elbows about as necessary, they did progress towards the road. As they drew thither, they espied a woman dressed in rags with two children at her feet, there to beg from the crowd.

"Ye didn't do nothin' wrong, m'lady," came her creaking voice. "Ye just did what were best for ye chill'rens."

For this statement, she was shocked to be rewarded by Henry with the entirety of his bail money. William was quick to follow, and they crossed the road listening to her happy exultations of gratitude. They were moving at the pace of the slowest in their party – the earl – but still they made good progress once they were out of the crowd, walking towards Sadler Gate and then down that road, soon arriving at the Bell. Once there, Charles – with both the good humour and good fortune required to be successful in such an endeavour – cajoled the landlord into the inconvenience of preparing a tremendous, unplanned meal and serving it out in the largest of his private parlours.

They seated themselves in that parlour, and decanters of wine, port, and brandy were laid down upon the table for their refreshment prior to the meal (for the landlord was a shrewd man, clearly the sort who knew he would turn a greater profit if he was prompt with the drink, but not the food). They all took seats about the table as they pleased, with no attempts at precedence, and Elizabeth was glad to realise that Mr. Russell had come with them; she ought to have thanked him more substantially after the verdict, but had been too overwhelmed at the time. She would do so before he left, but for now Mr. Russell was very much caressed by their group. They had hated his manners before, but he had freed their relation and so now they were all entirely fond of him, and he could not but take a sip of brandy before finding his glass refilled.

Indeed, the only man who was not requiring his glass to be refilled with some frequency was William, who caught the waiter's attention when the man entered with another decanter of wine. Shortly thereafter, the waiter entered with a mug of ale and deposited it in front of William. Most everyone else was caught up in a jubilant recounting of the trial at that point, but Elizabeth caught his eye. He shrugged and sipped his ale, and this was the first hint Elizabeth had that while he might have regained his memory, his time as a fisherman had altered him, had shaped him into a slightly different man. Nor could she complain of it, for she thought ale a far more appropriate drink for a man with a substantial purple bump on his head.

Elizabeth returned her attention to the conversation, where Mr. Russell was saying, "I knew all along it would be the testimony of Captain Blake and Mrs. Bingley who would make the case."

"Mrs. Bingley did very well, did she not?" asked Charles.

"She did. I have seen few witnesses affect a jury in the manner she did," said Mr. Russell. "'Tis very difficult for men to ignore the distress of a beautiful woman."

"And is Mrs. Darcy not a beautiful woman?" asked William, looking sweetly indignant in that moment.

"She is, but she showed far more spirit towards the end of her testimony than I wished to see," said Mr. Russell. "I knew Mrs. Bingley could soften things up, however. And when she rather led Mr. Fairfield in circles in such genteel fashion, I must say, few moments have given me greater satisfaction as an attorney."

Dear, dear Jane responded to this by blushing and glancing down at the table. "I only wanted to help my sister."

"And you did, Mrs. Bingley, which is why we are all here celebrating instead of the other outcomes we might be facing at this moment," said Mr. Russell.

This statement gave them all pause, but since the feared outcomes had not come about, it took only a little time before they recovered, aided by the arrival of the soup. The meal that followed made Elizabeth suspect that Bingley had convinced the landlord to clear his entire larder. It was hearty and plentiful, although entirely lacking in culinary ambition. That did not matter to their party; they would have eaten bread and butter happily enough, such was their present mood.

Elizabeth watched her husband carefully, and when she saw his strength beginning to flag, caught his eye and gave him a questioning look. He nodded, and so she stated to the group that the Darcys intended to return to the Cross Keys, but this should by no means prevent the others from continuing in their revelry. They were inclined to obey, for only the earl announced that he ought to send for his carriage as well, and make his return to Willicot. A servant was sent to see to the carriage, and the Darcys rose. Elizabeth approached Mr. Russell, and he stood, bowing.

"Mr. Russell, I cannot thank you enough, for your efforts today."

"Oh, but I must thank you, Mrs. Darcy, for the opportunity to set legal precedent. Such a unique case!"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, thanked him again, and turned towards the door. There she found Jane, who required another embrace of her sister before she could be allowed to leave, and once this was done, placed a letter in Elizabeth's hand.

"From papa," Jane murmured.

Elizabeth took the note from her sister and slipped it into her reticule, kissed Jane, and then took up her husband's arm. They walked back towards the Cross Keys in silence, Elizabeth simply glad in that moment to feel his presence there with her. They climbed the stairs at the Cross Keys and entered their apartment, William glancing towards the door of their makeshift nursery and asking, "The children are in there?"

When Elizabeth nodded, he said, "Why do we not go and see them, and then we can talk?"

The children had never been aware of the possibility that they might be separated from their mother, and so it was William's entrance that caused celebration. The boys swarmed him immediately, exclaiming over his presence, asking how his head was and whether he remembered them.

"I do remember you, both of you," William stated. "And I have even more of my memory back, so I can even recall when you were a little baby, William."

Rather than being pleased over this, little William scowled and said, "I'm not a baby now, papa. Can we go sailing when we get home?"

The boys were promised as many sailing outings as they wished for, which pleased them very much. When eventually they had their fill of their father and desired hugs from their mother, Elizabeth held them tight, weeping in relief that she would not have to leave them. They were used to an emotional mother and did not find this strange, and as she calmed, Elizabeth noticed little Elizabeth crawling nearer all of them, her doll clutched in her hand. William knelt down before her, querying her on the doll. He received no response, of course, but it filled Elizabeth's heart to watch the two of them together, to understand that he would not leave off his endeavours to gain the child's affections.

Kelly had been sitting with Wilson, and when the boys squirmed out of their mother's embrace, she lifted Julia from her basket and brought the child over to Elizabeth. This would not have been Elizabeth's preferred order, and she realised this with a sharp pang of guilt, taking up the baby and holding her. It was difficult to do so, on a day when the memory of the baby's conception was so strong on her mother's mind. Thankfully, little Elizabeth soon dropped her doll and held out her arms towards her mother, prompting Darcy to take Julia from his wife so that she could go to her elder daughter. Elizabeth held her namesake tight, thinking of the years of grief and pain that had been dredged up earlier that day. Without them, this dear little life would not exist, but it was a painful debt her mother had paid in exchange.

Of the children, little Elizabeth always desired the longest snuggles, but eventually she too began to wriggle, and her mother released her.

"Is it over, ma'am?" asked Kelly, now that her mistress had attention to give her. "Are ye free?"

"I am – I was acquitted."

"Thank the Lord," stated Kelly, and Wilson expressed her agreement.

"Kelly, my wife and I will wish for privacy this evening, so your services will not be needed," William said. "Will you inform Wetherby of this?"

"Yes sir, of course."

The Darcys returned to their bedchamber. In older, simpler times, Elizabeth might have teased her husband over his high-handed dismissal of her maid. Instead, she stared at him, wanting to say so many things and yet unable to settle upon any one of them.

Instead, it was William who spoke, taking up her hand, kissing it, and stating, "I am so sorry, my darling. You did what you thought was best in an impossible situation, and I could have prevented all of it, had I merely sought to learn who I was sooner than I did. I could have saved you so much suffering – not just at Neston's hands, but even just all the time you mourned me. All that grief, I could have spared you! My apology for not returning sooner will never be enough, but it is all I have to offer. Still more, I must apologise for everything I said to you, after I woke. To cause you distress at such a time – I will never forgive myself for it, and I will not ask for your forgiveness, either."

"You had suffered a severe injury of the head. And in truth, you accused me of nothing I had not chastised myself over already."

"The choice was yours, but I fear your reasons for making it were mine. I thought I had conquered my pride, thanks to your lessons," he said. "In a way I did, but it was not sufficient. I brought you into such cutthroat society as the London ton, I made you feel that when I was gone it was your burden to keep our family there. Never did I stop to think of whether it would make any of us truly happy."

"William, I think that is a lesson you learned from your friends in Cornwall, which means you cannot blame yourself for not having learned it before you disappeared."

"I can blame myself for the length of my absence, though."

"William, I wonder if part of the reason you stayed is because it was – simple, I suppose is the best way to say it. You had so much to manage: Pemberley, Rosings, your position as a magistrate, everything your uncle put on you, being a husband, a father. I did sometimes worry it was too much."

"If it was too much for me, Henry should have cracked under the pressure by now, yet he has not."

"Henry has not had to manage it from as young an age as you did, nor does he include a family in his burdens," Elizabeth murmured, slipping her arm behind his back. "Why do we not go and sit by the – oh, I know you wished for us to be left alone, but we will need someone to start the fire."

"I'll do it," he stated, leading her over to a seat and then setting about his task, a task Elizabeth had never thought she should see Fitzwilliam Darcy about. She watched in amused curiosity for some minutes, but as the fire began to catch it became more mundane, and she recalled the letter from her father.

Pulling it from her reticule, she read:

"Lizzy,

"If you are reading this, it means the effort I put into my other letter is moot, and what may well be the longest letter I ever wrote in my life shall be resigned to the fire.

"I love you, my dear girl. Thank God you are free. May you and William be happy, now that this has passed.

"PAPA"

Even such a short note brought a pang of affection to her breast. Elizabeth suffered a moment's panic that some in her family should not know the outcome of the trial, but then she calmed herself. Dear Jane would have it all in hand.

William rose from where he had been kneeling in front of the burgeoning fire, clasped the back of the other chair and drew it nearer to his wife, close enough to take up her hand. "I cannot stop thinking of all you went through in my absence – everything with Neston. And to give up our sons – how painful that must have been for you. Oh, my poor darling!"

"It was less painful than the thought of poor little William going through that again. I am sorry, my love, for putting them in such a dangerous situation."

"None of you would have been in that situation, if I had sought you out sooner. The fault is mine, but you have borne all the burden of it."

"My love, may I propose something?" she asked, softly.

"Yes, of course."

"May we stop apologising and claiming blame in all that happened? May we just – call a truce? We both have regrets and things we would have done differently, but we were both victims of a terrible situation. I do not want to keep dredging it back up. I want to move toward the future."

"Remember the past only as its remembrance brings you pleasure – that is your old philosophy, is it not?"

Elizabeth nodded and endeavoured to smile. There would be very little to remember, from the time he had been gone.

"I will agree to your truce, but I fear I shall always feel a great degree of guilt when I think on the time we were parted. I may stop apologising for my role in it, but I was happy, during that time – and you were suffering."

"Make me happy now, then," Elizabeth challenged. "We lost those years, it is true, but we can still have so many more together, as a family. I am free and you have your memory back – there is nothing standing in our way."

He nodded, and brought her hand to his lips, to kiss it. "I promise, there will be nothing more important to me than ensuring your happiness, every day, for the rest of my life."

Elizabeth said nothing, luxuriating in the thought of being loved, of being cared for, of raising their family together at Pemberley. Of having his whole mind back in her life, after those years of pain and heartache.

"My darling, there is one thing I want to ask of you," he said, hesitantly. "Would you mind if Jory and Eseld remain some part of my life? They thought of me as, well, as a sort of surrogate son. I would understand if you do not wish to meet them, but I do not want to take that away from them."

She sighed. "I must admit that my sentiments towards them are not wholly pleasant ones. And yet they rescued you and nursed you back to health and looked after you. I could never ask you to give them up, and I think – I think I would like to meet them. Perhaps my sentiments will change if I can know them as you do."

"Thank you, my darling – that is magnanimous of you, and I do think you will like them, if only you can meet them," he said. "There is another thing I need to say, as well – and it is that you have my deepest gratitude, for everything you did to protect our children, everything you endured. How brave you were, Elizabeth! My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, my dearest, bravest mother of our children."

With tears in his eyes, he left his chair to kneel before hers, taking up her hands and gazing up at her. Elizabeth slipped from her own chair and embraced him there on the floor, leaned into him as he kissed her, drawing his arms about her and holding her tight. The kiss was deep from the very beginning, but it shifted over time, from love and reassurance to the passion of two people who had shared a deep love and could now recall its depths together.

What a beautiful thing it was, to be kissed thus by such a man, and yet soon enough Elizabeth began to long for more. She laid her hands on his chest and began fumbling for the buttons on his coat, but then he drew away from her, gently stilling her hands with his own.

"Elizabeth, I did not dismiss our servants because I wished for that sort of intimacy," he said. "I simply wanted privacy so we could talk, and I suppose I also felt that if anyone was to serve you tonight, it ought to be me."

She averted her gaze. "Does it – trouble you – that I was intimate with another man during the years we were apart? You must know it was wholly different – I took no pleasure in it, even before the night he – he forced me."

William laid his fingertips on her jaw, slowly trailing them under her chin and lifting it up, until her gaze met his. "What troubles me is that night, thinking of what you must have endured and how it must affect you still. I do not want to push you to do anything that discomfits you."

"Please do not worry over that. I trust you completely. I know if I ever asked you to stop what you were about, you would," she said. "And truly, I never had a moment's discomfiture, when we were together and you were Will – oh how very strange that sounds."

He smiled, a faint blush stealing onto his cheeks. "It does sound strange, but I understand what you mean. That first night with you – oh, what a revelation that was."

"Tonight I would like my own revelation. After all, you did say you were going to devote yourself to my happiness."

She smiled archly after saying this. It did not last long, however, for he kissed her fervently, first on the mouth and then in a leisurely trail of kisses down her neck, demonstrating that he recalled – with precision – what would put his wife in a state of the deepest arousal. This time, when her hands went to the buttons of his coat, he did not stop her.

Darcy lay in a state of sated contentment, still feeling the echoes of earlier pleasures, and revelling in the simpler joy of feeling his wife's bare skin against his own. She was lying with her head on his chest and he languidly stroked her arm, her back. His head still hurt, but it was a dull, vague throbbing, easily enough ignored when there were more pleasant sensations to focus on.

Elizabeth turned her head, to look up at him. "I did not tell you then, and I should have: I fell in love with Will."

"Subsequent events have shown that Will was an easier man to love," Darcy said. It sounded bitter, and he hoped she understood that all his bitterness was directed towards himself.

"You are dangerously close to violating our truce, my love. I only wanted you to know that I love you both. 'Tis a rare situation we have known, to have a chance to fall in love with each other twice."

"I would fall in love with you a thousand times over, if circumstances presented the chance."

"Oh no, no, no, do not tempt fate. Twice is quite enough. I am inclined to take you back to Pemberley and wrap you in flannel and never allow you to leave my sight."

He chuckled. "I will only allow that if you wrap yourself up with me."

"If I must, then I shall," she replied lightly. "But only if we are both as scandalously naked as we are now."

She fell asleep first, but Darcy was in no rush to follow her. He revelled in the reassurance of her presence, her living, breathing, loving, free presence. A wave of the deepest sentiment washed over him, so strong it made his breath catch in his throat. He could never repay what he owed her, but he would spend his life endeavouring to do so.

Darcy had worried that she might be plagued with nightmares after such a day – one in which she had been required to face Lord Neston. Yet when he awakened in the middle of the night, she was sleeping still. He was not usually one to wake at such an hour without cause, but a few breaths told him the fire was smoking, and he rose to tend it.

He stood, blinked, and quickly comprehended that it was more than just their fire. Immediately, he hauled Elizabeth out of the bed, setting her feet down upon the floorboards. Her eyes flew open, and she asked, "William – what is it?"

"Fire!"

She gasped, and they spent the next few seconds dressing in what clothes they could pull from the floor – breeches and a shirt for him, shift and petticoat for her. Then there came a pounding at the door.

It was Henry, with Wetherby behind him. "There's a fire – we must get out. We came to help with the children."

"My maid?" asked Elizabeth.

"In the yard. I checked the upper storey first. The rest of the male servants went to the rear yard, to see if the horses can be freed."

She nodded, and they ran into the makeshift nursery. The smoke was thicker here, and they all set to rousing Wilson and the children. Julia was given over to the charge of her caretaker, William and Henry pulled groggily from their beds. But little Elizabeth – good God, where was little Elizabeth?

"Wh – where is she?" asked Elizabeth, in a panicked tone. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

There was no response – they could not expect it from such a child. Darcy grasped her shoulder. "We need to get the rest of the children out. We will come back and search for her."

Henry threw open the door to the gallery and they all fled into that space, Elizabeth carrying Henry and Darcy little William. The air was mercifully fresher here, although smoke still billowed all around, and when Darcy looked to where the stairs should have been, he saw flames engulfing that space.

"Over here!" called Henry. He was standing beside a gap in the gallery railing; the wood had been hacked away, creating a scant opening. Wetherby had already lowered himself down into the yard and he was standing beside Kelly, their arms outstretched to take Julia. Wilson followed and then took the baby back up so that they were free to take little Henry and then William.

Darcy caught his cousin's eye, and by Henry's look knew they were in agreement that they were about to have a battle on their hands, one that needed to be done quickly. He grasped Elizabeth's arm, and said, "You next."

"What – no!" she cried, attempting to bolt back towards their apartment and prevented from doing so by Darcy's arms, wrapped tight about her. "We must go back for Elizabeth! Let me go! We must go search for her!"

"Darcy and I will go back for her," Henry shouted, "but there are three children down there who need their mother, now – and in the future!"

"Elizabeth, go and be with the other children." Darcy's tone was softer, but still firm. "I promise we will find her, but the longer you delay us, the harder it will be."

With an anguished expression and tears streaming down her cheeks, she nodded and went slack in his arms, allowing herself to be lowered down into the yard. They did not wait to watch her after this, running back towards the Darcys's apartment.

"I'll check the gallery and the rooms beside yours," said Henry. "Perhaps she was frightened and got out."

Darcy nodded, then flung open the door to his apartment. The smoke was even thicker inside now, and he coughed, running to the ewer and basin to soak the towel there in water. Holding it over his face did make it easier to breathe, but it was nearly impossible to see as he searched the makeshift nursery, flinging over feather beds in the hope little Elizabeth might be hiding beneath one, opening trunks in the hope she might have crawled inside. There was no sign of the child, however, and when he determined he had searched the whole of the nursery, he went into the Darcys's bedchamber, working his way about the room and searching any place a small child might possibly hide. She was nowhere, however, and for the first time Darcy feared the possibility that they might not find her. No, no, he could not go back to Elizabeth and tell her they had failed to find her daughter – that was not an option. He said a quick prayer that Henry had known better luck and glanced about the room, trying to determine if there was some hiding place he had not considered.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Are you in here?" he cried, in desperation. "Tell papa where you are. Papa is here to help you!"

"Papa!" The tiniest little squeak of a voice, and with it a surge of hope. "Papa!"

The sound was coming from beneath the bed. Darcy shook his head in consternation, for he had searched there, but with a third cry of "Papa!" he followed the sound and learned there was a hiding place he had not noticed: the child was tucked between one of the bedposts and a trunk, almost completely hidden by the bedcurtain. Darcy pulled the curtain away to find the little girl sitting there and hugging her doll, tears streaming down her petrified face. "Papa," she sobbed.

"Oh you poor little sweetling," he reached out and eased her from her hiding place, pulling her into his arms. "Oh my poor little girl, papa is going to get you out of here."

Her only response to this was a bout of coughing, and Darcy removed the flannel from his own face, draping it over her head. The smoke was so thick it was some effort to find his way to the door but he did, flinging it open into the mercifully fresher air.

"Henry! Henry, I've got her!" Darcy bellowed. He ran towards the opening in the railing and there found his wife, standing there and wringing her hands, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, thank God – thank God," she gasped, holding out her hands.

Little Elizabeth was lowered down, still grasping her doll, and deposited into her mother's tight embrace. Darcy looked over his shoulder and found his cousin running down the gallery.

"You found her?"

"Yes, thank God."

"I am going to check where I can, to ensure all have gotten out," Henry said, holding up his hand when Darcy was about to turn and go with him. "You need to go and be with your family. She cannot lose you again, Darcy."

He nodded, and with some reluctance, lowered himself through the gap in the railing and jumped down into the yard. There he was pummelled into an embrace by his wife, her little namesake still in her arms and squeezed between them, but not complaining at all over this state. Indeed, Darcy thought, after what must have been an impossibly frightening experience for a child of her age, she seemed comforted, to be surrounded in such a way by her parents.

They were safe. They were safe. They were safe. Elizabeth reminded herself of this, again and again, her arms about both daughter and husband. Only after William had made his promise that they would find little Elizabeth had she realised he had bound himself by honour to find the child or die trying, and she might very well lose them both in the mass of flames and smoke the Cross Keys was devolving into.

He had bound himself by honour to give his life searching for a child not his own, as had Henry, and Elizabeth wondered how she had come to have two such men in her life. A life that had introduced her to the very worst of men, but also the very best.

"Where has Henry gone?" she asked.

"To check and see that all have gotten out," William said. "I pray he is quick about it. Here, we should come away from the building. Where are the rest of the children?"

"Wilson, Kelly, and Wetherby took them out to the street."

"If the fire grows worse, you ought to follow them. I will wait for Henry."

Elizabeth knew he was right, and she would do so if he asked it of her, but he had not yet asked it. So they stood there, both of them holding poor little Elizabeth as the child softly wept. There was something horrifically mesmerising about a fire of such magnitude, its billowing smoke and lapping flames, which had spread far beyond the stairwell by now, rippling along in their all-consuming destruction.

They stood and watched and comforted the child, until Henry re-emerged from a wave of smoke, leading an elderly man and woman towards the opening in the railing. Many people had left the yard for the safer environs of the street by now, but there were still more than enough men about to run over and assist the couple down into the yard.

Henry looked as though he was about to turn and go back down the gallery, to make a further search. The inn was not in such a state that he could do so, and Elizabeth was about to scream to him that he should come down when the building made the choice for him. There came a great rending crack, a look of shock overcame Henry's countenance, and then the whole gallery collapsed.

"Henry!" Elizabeth screamed. She pushed her daughter into William's arms and ran towards the gallery, her heart in her throat. She loved William completely, but Henry was the man who had supported her during the most difficult years of her life, and the thought of losing him in such a way was excruciating.

The men who had helped the elderly couple down all but shoved them towards the coachway and set about pulling the debris away from where Henry had fallen, Elizabeth with them. The splintered wood pricked at her hands, but she did not stop until they had unveiled a groaning Henry. He grumbled, stood, and gazed about him in some consternation until he saw Elizabeth.

"Don't you worry about me – I've a much harder head than Darcy. Go back to your family, Elizabeth."

With a deep sigh of relief, she did so. Little Elizabeth was nestled against William's chest, and when her mother made to take her from him, the child said, "papa!" and snuggled closer to him.

"She just – she just spoke," Elizabeth gasped.

"Yes," William murmured, kissing the little girl's head. "I would not have found her otherwise. She said papa, several times, and that is how papa found her. "Henry is well?"

"I think so – he says he has a harder head than you."

"Hmpf. Come, we should go out to the road."

Henry watched the Darcys walk toward the coachway, feeling lonely and jealous. He had put himself in that state, of course; he had sent Elizabeth back to Darcy, back to her husband's side where she belonged. Yet still he felt it. Darcy's reappearance had put an end to any thoughts on Henry's part of allowing himself to fall in love with Elizabeth, and so his jealousy was not specifically regarding her, but rather the picture of loving family life they presented: the man, the lady, and the little girl, embracing there in the yard.

Henry had always done his duty, had always borne every responsibility asked of him. As had Darcy. But despite everything he had been through, Darcy had it all again: the wonderful wife, the children, the estate on which to live with them, the wife having too easily – Henry felt – forgiven such awful, hurtful conduct on her husband's part. While Henry had nothing, save a stipend that would only last as long as his father did, and vague promises from that father.

His was not a spirit inclined for bitterness, however, and he shook his head, rallying himself. Following the Darcys out through the coachway, he found the first evidence of some effort to fight the fire rather than just rescuing its victims, for a group of men were directing a fire engine towards the front of the building.

"Do you need help?" he asked one of them.

"Nay, sir, thank ye!"

It was an impossible task they had before them, to try to save the inn, and as Henry watched them, he realised their efforts were more focused upon saving the building beside the Cross Keys. That one, perhaps, had been insured, while it appeared the inn was not. Sighing, Henry looked about for his family, and found the Darcys, their children, and their servants surrounded by the Bingleys and Colbournes, the latter two couples alternating between worried and solicitous. Elizabeth was draped in a blanket by her sister, followed by Darcy and little Elizabeth, the child very much in need of it, for she was coughing and visibly trembling – although that might well have been remnant fear rather than a chill.

It was then that he felt the first little prickle on his nose. A second raindrop on his cheek was soon followed by more, promising that a good, solid English rain was upon them. It was likely to do more for the Cross Keys and those buildings around it than the men with their fire engine, and upon understanding this Henry relinquished any last thoughts of being able to be useful that night.

Instead, he drew closer to the others and found them making plans to go to the Bell. They sorted plans for who would sleep where as they walked, an exhausted, coughing, smoky band of people, growing sodden as the rain set in. For a moment, it occurred to Henry to walk around to the back of the building and see how the Darcys's men were faring with the horses, but a great hacking cough overcame him and he determined to trust they had done what was best; he had directed them to save the animals if they could but to preserve their own lives above all. All of the life-force that had been surging through him as he made his way about the inn, endeavouring to help all he could, he now felt draining from him. He longed for a glass of wine and then a good long sleep as much as he ever had following a battle, and he thought grimly that this night had been much like a battle. One they had won, thank God.

He was to sleep in the Colbournes's room, with little Julia tucked into a drawer padded with one of her aunt's dresses, Georgiana and Wilson sharing the bed, and Henry and Philip on the floor. It was not the first time they had slept thus – at times on the Continent, they had slept far rougher – and in truth Henry was so tired he might have slept on the pavements outside. The Bingleys obliged him with his desired glass of wine, and he was asleep mere moments after he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

They were slower to bed, in the Bingleys's apartment. Wetherby and Kelly had been sent upstairs, to share beds with their counterparts on the Bingley staff, and the inn had managed to rouse up a palette bed for the children, so Elizabeth and Jane were to share the bed. This left a sofa, which Charles and William had a lengthy disagreement over, as Elizabeth and her sister endeavoured to wipe the soot from the children's faces. William would not allow Charles to sleep on the floor of his own room, and Charles was just as certain that a man with a great purple knot on his head – one who could not speak five words together without coughing – ought to sleep in the more comfortable place.

It was only when the ladies had finished with the children and Elizabeth had cleaned her own face that they determined to enter the debate, and from thence it was for William to capitulate, for three against one thought his injury ought to take precedence. Little Elizabeth had allowed herself to be removed from William's arms under the soothing ministrations of her mother and aunt, but as they were convincing William she crawled back over to him and clasped his leg, looking up and saying, "Papa!"

Jane glanced towards her sister in great surprise, and Elizabeth smiled in return as William picked the child up and held her. Elizabeth felt in that moment that all was wonderful: yes, they had been through so many difficulties as a family, but now she was free, William was back, they were all safe, and little Elizabeth was speaking. If she had ever asked for more out of life, she knew now that it was too much.

William carried little Elizabeth over to the palette bed, where the boys were lying down as they had been directed to do (even if they were too restless at present to sleep). He laid the little girl down and covered her with the blanket, but as soon as he made to rise, she held her arms out and cried, with wide, frightened eyes, "Papa!"

"Are you scared, little sweetling? Here, papa will lie here until you fall asleep," William said, lying in the scant space remaining at the edge of the palette. He fell asleep almost immediately and the child was not long to follow after him, her brothers settling more upon sensing that half of their bedfellows slumbered.

"Charles," Elizabeth whispered, "I think you may as well take the sofa."

Bingley shrugged and carried his blanket thither, and Jane went to get into bed. But Elizabeth stood and watched her family for some minutes, sure that if there was any space left on the palette she would have snuggled in to join them. Her heart was so full of love in that moment it seemed as though she could truly feel it in her chest, brimming over. Here was the husband she could not adore more, sleeping amongst their children – and all of them were their children. William and Henry had already been theirs, but it was clear that tonight he had wholly claimed Elizabeth as his own, and she him. Two sons by blood, and one daughter by fire, Elizabeth thought. She wiped the tears from her eyes and went to bed.