My dears, hello again! (gotta change up the greeting once in a while, lol) Thank you all so very much for all the kind words. The support means everything to me. And even if you're just reading along, favoriting, and/or following without leaving a comment, that's okay. I get notifications for that, so I feel your support too.

Guest Joan: Elizabeth and Maria were very fortunate! And you nailed it with saying their mothers are too emotional for them - Mrs. Bennet especially, but I have a feeling Lady Lucas would be near as bad in this situation. Darcy already has a hint that the girls aren't too comfortable around men, and so is trying to minimize the chances of them being overwhelmed.

Guest 1: I wholeheartedly agree - Darcy will always love Elizabeth. He would love her in any situation, from any background, no matter where each of them came from. The plight of women back then was precarious, and certainly there would be those whose speculation as to what the girls went through would lead to them being snubbed. But Darcy will never do that, and their families will never do that, because they did not choose what happened. They are victims of a crime. Also, I actually am one of those authors who has made a younger Darcy have "paid experience" in two of my books, and for the very reason you mentioned - that it was a socially acceptable thing for rich young men to do. But I've also left his history unexplained in other novels (Wickham is definitely not a virgin and I personally cannot imagine Colonel Fitzwilliam is a virgin, but while Bingley is a flirt he's still a virgin), so in those the reader can believe as they like. You are so right about the letter too - why do you think he handed it to her himself? Because he knew how inappropriate his even writing the letter was, and because he couldn't trust any of the servants' discretion.

Guest 2: I know that Darcy calling Elizabeth by her name isn't proper. There's a reason he does it which will be explained later.

Chapter Five

Elizabeth did not miss the pain that flitted through the lady's eyes, nor the audible intake of breath from the two gentlemen behind her; she was relieved that Darcy did not protest the request. Without saying a word, Mrs. Reynolds lifted the chatelaine that hung from her waist and, after sifting through the many keys that hung from it, removed one and held it out to her, as she stood nearer than Maria. When her fingers wrapped around the metal, Mrs. Reynolds wrapped her own softly about Elizabeth's.

"You keep it, as long as you need," said the lady.

Elizabeth acknowledged with a silent nod, took the key, and followed Maria and the maid into the hall. The maid took them up a winding staircase to the second floor. Walking directly out of the stairwell and into a hall with more artwork that Elizabeth suspected were Darcy ancestors, the maid led them to the far side of the house once more and stopped before the second door they came to.

"Miss Darcy selected these rooms for you as the windows face the reflecting pool and the fountain," said the girl. "She thought you might enjoy the view, especially in the morning when many birds are about in the water."

"That…that is very kind of Miss Darcy, when we are unknown to her," said Maria.

"Fires have already been set in both bedrooms and the sitting room," the maid informed them. "You have only to ring the bell if you need anything."

With that, she bobbed a curtsey and departed. Opening the door with her free hand, Elizabeth led the way in. It was a richly appointed sitting parlor done in beige, brown, and white, with medium and dark wood accent tables. She turned around and locked the door before stepping further into the room. On the far wall there were three large windows, and on each wall adjacent there was a door. Moving to the door to her right, she opened it to find a bedroom done in shades of green, with some white and gold. Maria trailed behind as she checked the doors that led into the hall and a dressing room, then locked the hall door before leading the way through the sitting room to the other bedroom, which was done in reds with more gold and white; the two doors she found there led to the hall and a larger drawing room. They, too, were quickly secured.

Now, she could breathe a sigh of relief.

Turning to Maria, she pointed to the bed, then toward the sitting room. Her companion frowned at first, then suddenly brightened. "Oh, you wish to know which bedroom I want?"

Elizabeth nodded. Her eyebrow rose when Maria continued to frown, and played with the tie of her dressing gown. "Lizzy," she began hesitantly. "Would you think me much a coward if I said I'm not ready to sleep alone?"

Sympathy and understanding suffused her, and Elizabeth moved to wrap her arm about Maria's shoulders to guide her to the bed. After helping her to settle under the counterpane, she went to the wash stand and placed the ice into the wash bowl, then moved to the enormous four-poster and climbed into it on the other side. She rolled to her side, thankful that she could as it was not the injured side of her face, and reached for Maria's hand.

"Go to sleep," she whispered through barely parted lips, relishing in hearing the sound of her own voice.

-…-

After Elizabeth, Maria, and Mrs. Reynolds had gone, Darcy moved to sit behind his desk, his hands steepled together at his chin as he stared into the fire across the room. It pained him that even in his presence, his home, they did not feel safe. He could hardly blame them, he chided himself, given the conditions they had lived in for the last twelvemonth.

A portion of his thoughts remained fixed on the incredible fortune of having recovered Elizabeth and Maria after a year in captivity. Usually when a handsome girl was abducted she was never seen again, yet by God's grace these two would be reunited with their families. Another, more primal portion of his mind, remained enraged at the atrocious abuse they had suffered. He wanted to exact vengeance, and that rather disturbed him as he did not consider himself a vengeful man. Only once in his life had he wanted to harm another living being, and even then he'd not wished Wickham dead. Beaten black and blue, certainly, but not dead.

The men who had harmed his beloved Elizabeth and Maria Lucas, however… Over the last hour he'd said many a silent prayer for his soul, as he vowed to himself he would see them all dead if it was within his power.

A sound drew Darcy from his dark thoughts, and he was reminded that he was not alone when Dr. Jones walked over to the sideboard where he kept a few decanters of crystal filled with brandy, port, and whiskey. Taking a glass, the other man filled it about halfway before lifting it to his lips and tipping the entire contents into his mouth. Swallowing heavily, he repeated the pour and drink, swallowed it all again, and poured himself a third before he paused and said,

"Forgive me, sir. I'm sure I'll pay for it in the morning, but I needed… Not that I can actually forget. Good God…"

Darcy understood the doctor's mindset. "You've no need to apologize, Mr. Jones," said he. "If you can bear it, I'd appreciate knowing your assessment of the ladies' condition."

Jones took a sip of the third glass of amber liquid he'd poured as he turned to face Darcy at last. He then gave an account of his brief examination of both Elizabeth and Maria as he moved and dropped into one of the two visitor's chairs before the desk. It was all Darcy could do not to roar in anger or pound his fist against the desktop when he spoke of another injury Elizabeth had suffered that was obvious to Jones as a medical professional, but which Darcy had missed entirely: the third and fourth fingers on her right hand were curved at a slight angle, "obviously the result of breakage which did not heal correctly."

A sigh escaped Jones before he threw back the rest of the alcohol in his glass and sat passing it back and forth between his hands. "I would have liked to see their full bodies, in order to note any injuries they may presently be suffering elsewhere and to judge what may have caused the scarring Mrs. Reynolds reported, but… I could not bear to ask them to disrobe."

The doctor looked up then and Darcy noted both anger and anguish in the other man's expression. "Miss Lucas began to tremble with fright almost from the moment I stood up and began to cross the room, Mr. Darcy. I had done nothing—absolutely nothing—for her to fear, and she was bloody terrified of me. And even here, in the presence of a man they know, they still needed the housekeeper to stay!"

Darcy felt the degree of his anger increase, as did his sympathy for what his guests had suffered—that Elizabeth and Maria should still be so afraid even when they must know they were safe…

Jones went on to say that the girls' hearts, and the baby's heart, were all of them surprisingly strong; besides their being alive, that was the best news. Jones was quick to note, however, that neither of the ladies could be called healthy—both were weak, underweight, and had some mild congestion in their lungs—and he had some concern as to how well Maria would endure childbirth.

"As I told her, she has a fortnight or less before she delivers her child—it is simply astonishing, really, that she's managed to carry the babe so long, given how malnourished she is," the doctor said. "Both girls must weigh between fourteen and twenty pounds less than they ought, so it is clear that what little food Miss Lucas has had since conceiving has gone to nourishing her child."

Darcy nodded. "And your concern for the delivery?"

"Although her heart is strong, sir, the lack of proper nutrition has led to not only loss of weight but loss of muscle tone, perhaps even loss of bone density. Given her condition, there is a very real chance Miss Lucas's body has not the strength to endure the stresses birthing will put upon it."

Feeling himself grimace at the news, Darcy inclined his head again. "You will monitor her condition daily, I expect?" he asked.

Jones nodded. "Yes, Mr. Darcy, if the ladies will allow me to see them every day. I shall return sometime tomorrow in any case, as I asked them to list what other injuries they have suffered over the last year. Knowing what they've been through will give me a greater understanding of their condition as well as a better idea as to a treatment regimen."

"Very well," said Darcy, who could not stop himself wondering what sorts of injuries Elizabeth and Maria would put on their list. He supposed he dared not ask to see it himself, for fear of his outrage getting the better of him.

A moment of silence passed, then Jones asked in an absent tone, "How… how can any person who calls himself a man take a woman off the street and sell her like a cow at a livestock auction, to be used and abused at his whim?"

"In the same way, I imagine, that they kidnap men and women from other continents and force them to labor in hot fields, using and abusing them at their whim," Darcy observed quietly.

"I think I'll be going now, Mr. Darcy," said Jones then as he pushed to his feet. "Do not hesitate to send for me if either of the ladies should have need of my services."

Darcy acknowledged the edict with a nod of his head. Jones returned his empty glass to the sideboard and retrieved his medical bag from the floor. With his hand on the doorknob, the doctor turned back to bow his head before he quit the room. With a heavy sigh, Darcy turned again to the fireplace, his eyes losing their focus as he stared into the flickering flames. He thought of the damaged creatures two floors above him and hoped they were resting comfortably. He prayed they would not suffer nightmares.

Today, he hoped, would be the start of their healing.

-...-

Elizabeth's mind snapped to consciousness, and for a brief moment she feared that the last two days had all been a dream. Then her hand brushed the soft sheet covering the mattress on which she lay and felt how real it was. She and Maria were indeed safely ensconced in a suite at Pemberley.

Pemberley. How ironic that her salvation lay in the hands of the man whose offer of marriage she had so vehemently rejected. How many times over the last year had she replayed that day in her mind? How many times had her own behavior mortified her as much as Darcy's ill-worded proposal?

And how many times had she bitterly regretted telling him no… Had she not been so incensed by his confession of scruples that were indeed "natural and just," or had he actually understood that saying such things to a woman while professing love for her was not the way to secure her hand in marriage, there'd have been no need for her and Maria to even be in Bromley the day their kidnappers went there looking for pretty young women for the heinous "chattel auction."

Of course, it served no purpose today as it had served none the last three hundred sixty-plus days to dwell on what might have been. Elizabeth hadn't accepted Darcy, and she and Maria had been kidnapped, sold, and used in ways too horrible to even think about. Now, it was absolutely impossible that either of them would marry—they were damaged goods. Even if not a single word of what they had endured were to go beyond those who already knew, people who knew them or knew of them would talk, wondering where they had been and what they'd been doing for the year they were gone.

Certainly Darcy could have no ideas of renewing his addresses. He could not possibly still love her—and even if he did, it would be even more untenable a match than before. No, her future now lay in the hope of being of use to one of her sisters as a nursemaid or governess. Or in helping Maria raise her child.

At long last, Elizabeth opened her eyes. She stared first at the canopy over the bed before her gaze drifted to the lightly glowing coals in the fireplace; at the same time, she listened to the sounds of the house. All was quiet, the only noise she heard the occasional hoot of an owl. Elizabeth was certain it was still nighttime, and she suspected the hour to be either shortly before or after midnight, given when she and Maria had gone to bed.

Having long grown accustomed to sleeping lightly and for only a few hours at a time, she knew she would be up for a while. Back at Hell, when she'd wake in the dark, dusty cellar, she would get up and walk about the small space, keeping one hand on the wall so that she didn't trip. She did that to keep up what little strength she had, as she had to look after Maria. She had to protect her, especially after she had conceived. The other girl's intelligence and wit had improved with their situation, but her timidity had not. She was easily frightened, so easily made mistakes. Along with having to sate the lustful appetites of the monster and his friends, the two captives were sometimes forced to cook for them, or clean the house. If their efforts did not satisfy him, they were punished.

Elizabeth took Maria's punishments as often as she could. It was how she'd had two fingers of her right hand broken, and she was certain she'd suffered a cracked rib some months back. The number of times she had been slapped, thrown down, kicked, and ravished—often in that order—she had lost count of. Every day of the last year she had prayed for salvation; if not for herself, then for Maria and her child. Surely one of them had to make it out of the nightmare alive, to tell the story of their capture so that one day, the monster and his friends could be hunted down and justice served, and maybe the house and all the horrors it had witnessed in silence burned to the ground.

With a sigh of resignation, Elizabeth slowly rolled away from Maria and carefully got out of bed. She pulled the flaps of the dressing gown more securely around her and retied the belt, then felt in the pocket for the key to their suite. It was still there. She rounded the bed and pulled the counterpane up over Maria's shoulder, then moved to the fireplace and stoked the coals until they were bright, then added a log from the small woodpile. Next, she took a matchstick from a holder on the mantle and lit a candle, which she carried into the sitting room.

In the sitting room, she quickly tended the fire there before she looked about for a writing desk. Might as well fulfill Dr. Jones' request, she mused. On the wall that led into the bedroom where Maria slept was what looked to be a desk, and she took herself to it. A quick examination of the contents of the drawers produced everything she would need and her task was soon completed. When she'd finished, she moved over to a chair before the fireplace and sat in it, drawing her knees to her chest and carefully resting her chin atop them, her arms wrapped around her legs.

Her mind wandered to her family as she stared into the bright flames. Elizabeth wondered how they would react when they read Darcy's letter. She hoped they would feel nothing but joy, that even the selfish Lydia would be happy she was soon to come home. Would her mother become hysterical as Darcy feared? Would she swoon? Would her father toss back a brandy? She wondered how Jane and Bingley would react, and hoped that hearing the news did not unduly upset her sister. Even though she would be feeling relief and excitement, Jane's condition was precarious, and Elizabeth did not wish to be the cause of undue stress.

A piercing scream from the bedroom drew Elizabeth from her thoughts and she scrambled from the chair.

Maria thrashed in the bed, caught in the throes of a violent nightmare. Elizabeth reached for her arms to still them and caught a blow on her chin—on the damaged side. Ow, she thought as she ducked away from another swing, before at last gaining a hold of Maria's wrists.

"Maria! Maria, it's all right!" she cried, managing to sit on the edge of the bed at last. She pulled Maria to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around her. "It's all right, Maria! We're safe now, remember?"

It hurt to talk due to that strike on her jaw, but Elizabeth continued to speak softly to Maria until she calmed. It had been a while since she'd had a nightmare this bad, which did not bode well for how the day would go after. Even if Elizabeth could get Maria to go back to sleep, she would be frightful and anxious after waking again.

Elizabeth was not surprised when, a few minutes after her friend's cries rang out, there came a knock on the sitting room door.

"Elizabeth?" came Darcy's muffled voice. "Is everything all right?"

Maria trembled. "Don't let him in, don't let him in!" she begged.

"I promise you I will not let him in, but I must go and speak with him." Darcy knocked again on the door as Elizabeth extricated herself from Maria's grasp. "I will be right back," she whispered, before pressing her lips lightly to the other girl's brow and moving away.

Darcy was calling out to her a second time as she approached the sitting room door. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth reached into her pocket for the key and inserted it into the lock. The click it made when she turned it suddenly brought to mind the sound of the monster turning the key in the lock of the cellar door, sending a chill rippling down her spine, but she reminded herself that this was not the cellar door, she was not still in Hell, and a monster did not wait on the other side of it. The key was in her hand, which meant she was in control.

Still… "Mr. Darcy, would you please step back from the door?" she asked.

Expecting him to ask why, she was relieved when a moment later she heard, "I have stepped back, Elizabeth."

Praying he spoke true, Elizabeth slowly turned the knob and opened the door. She remained somewhat behind it as she looked and found Darcy standing halfway across the wide hall; beside him was Mrs. Reynolds. Each held a candle and wore expressions of concern, though their states of dress differed: Darcy still wore breeches and boots and had divested himself of his jacket while the poor housekeeper was wrapped in a dressing gown, a nightcap tied over her hair. The lady had clearly been drawn from her bed, but why was Darcy still dressed?

Dismissing the thought from her mind, she said, "I beg your pardon for the disturbance; Maria had a nightmare. She… she has them rather frequently, I'm afraid, though they are not always so terrible as this one."

"She is well then? You are well?" Darcy asked. "Are your rooms comfortable?"

"Maria will be all right, sir. I am better now that I can speak again, and our rooms are very comfortable," Elizabeth replied.

"Are you in any pain, miss?" queried Mrs. Reynolds. "I recall Mr. Jones saying there would still be some pain. I can fetch you something from the remedy chest if your jaw still hurts, and perhaps a glass of warm milk will help Miss Lucas go back to sleep."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh, no, Mrs. Reynolds! That is, my jaw aches, but you need not go to any trouble on my account. Or Maria's. The pain will go away eventually and Maria will fall asleep again soon enough. We've no wish to be a burden."

"It is no trouble," said Darcy even as Mrs. Reynolds opened her mouth to reply.

The housekeeper nodded her agreement. "I do not mind at all, Miss Bennet," said she. "I have often tended to such matters for my master and Miss Darcy."

But they are your employers and we are unwanted guests, Elizabeth wanted to say, but held her tongue just in time.