A/N: Thank you all for such a positive response to this story. I'll do my best to continue frequent postings, but sometimes life gets in the way.
I am not Jane Austen. I won't be her tomorrow either.
Chapter Two
"Jane?" Lizzy moaned as she began to wake. Her voice was raspy, and she wondered whether she might be ill. That would explain her soreness and exhaustion. "Can you close the curtains? I would like to sleep a while longer."
There was no reply. She groaned and opened her eyes to look for her sister, realizing she must be quite ill indeed if Jane had risen before her and already gone down to breakfast.
What she saw brought the events of the evening rushing back, and she leaned up on her elbows with a sharp gasp. She was in a small, square room, possibly a chamber at an inn, with two raised cots against opposite walls, a small nightstand and chipped washbasin between them, and a rickety wardrobe on the far end. She lay upon one of the beds, wrapped in Mr. Collins' coat and a threadbare blanket, and the other was empty. The walls were whitewashed and bare, and the grate at the far end of the room lay cold. Sitting slumped in a chair near the empty fireplace was Mr. Darcy, his head lolled back against the wall, his breathing deep and slow, and his eyes closed.
Her immediate reaction was outrage. How dare those wretched kidnappers leave her to sleep in a room with a man?
Then her sluggish thoughts reviewed the situation, and she realized that, for one thing, no one in this miserable place was even slightly concerned about her reputation, and for another, it was far better to be left alone with Mr. Darcy, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable, than with that man who conducted the previous night's fiasco.
She sat up slowly on her cot, relieved to discover that although her dress was wrinkled and soiled, she was still perfectly modest. She shivered against the chill of the room and wrapped the thin blanket around her shoulders before getting down as silently as possible and moving toward the chamber pot. It was, thankfully, situated in the private corner on the far side of the wardrobe, although she silently prayed that Mr. Darcy would not wake while she was thus occupied.
A few moments later, she was back on the bed, huddled in the corner. She had glanced out the small, grimy window above her bed as she returned, but it looked out on nothing but a brick wall a few feet away, allowing no other view. It had been sealed shut with several new nails, she noticed sourly. She could not even tell from the light what time it was beyond a general guess of late morning.
Where were they? How far had they traveled the previous night and in which direction? There was nothing Lizzy hated more than not knowing something important, and there were far too many unknowns in this circumstance.
She rubbed at her wrists, swollen and irritated from the rough bonds the previous night, and tried to stretch the stiffness from her shoulders and neck. It was no wonder, after such a night and such a ride, that she had woken believing she was severely ill.
Her mind traveled to Charlotte and what might be happening in Kent this morning. Her friend must be sick with worry. Had search parties been sent out? Had the local magistrate been summoned? Surely Lady Catherine would engage the entire county's assistance in seeking her lost nephew. Lizzy ought to be grateful to him because she knew his presence would inspire a much more intense search than hers alone.
She gazed at him curiously, strangely glad to have an opportunity to look him over at her leisure. She grimaced, however, when she noticed his bedraggled state. His boots were badly scuffed, and two of his coat's buttons were missing. He was dirty and disheveled, with deep circles around his eyes and a day's growth of beard on his chin. She was surprised at its thickness after so short a time. She drew in another quiet gasp when she noticed a dried trickle of blood from his lower lip. What had happened after she had fallen asleep last night?
She shook her head, a bitter humor washing over her. Truly, could anything else have possibly gone wrong in a single day than it had yesterday for her? First the discovery of Mr. Darcy's betrayal of his friend and her sister, then his shocking and insulting proposal, and then a kidnapping and subsequent dark ride to parts unknown. She laughed dismally. She felt as if she were reading a truly terrible novel.
Except that no novel, terrible or otherwise, had ever inspired the true fear she felt wrapped up inside her. The moment she focused on it, she thought of the distance between herself and the world she knew, the brutal quiet of these men among whom she now traveled, and the chill that had rocked her as That Man had inhaled at her neck the night before.
She squashed the fear down mercilessly, certain that if she allowed it to rise, it would overwhelm her. She straightened, squaring her shoulders and pressing her lips together grimly. She was not a mouse, to be intimidated by cruelty and selfishness, no matter the source. She was strong enough to do what she must, whatever that might be. And if she trembled a bit while doing it, she could ignore it.
She looked over Mr. Darcy again, her determination fading as it was replaced by a strangely pervasive warmth. He might be the most arrogant, disdainful gentleman in the world, but the depth of his attachment to her, his willingness to sacrifice his own safety to remain with her amidst trials, could not but have some effect on her. Although she did not particularly like him or enjoy his company, she could not help but recognize his courage in trying to defend and protect her.
Besides, he looked particularly handsome this morning despite his unkempt state. He appeared younger when he slept, with the lines smoothed from his brow. Although the greatest appeal of his appearance might possibly be the belief that he had gotten his split lip in defense of her.
It was too bad that, upon awakening, he would probably return to his haughtiness and drive away all her gratitude.
She sighed audibly.
Mr. Darcy started at the sound, his eyes jerking open as he straightened in the chair. "Miss Bennet? Are you all right?"
"I am well enough, sir. Forgive me for awakening you."
He examined the room carefully before leaning over his lap, rubbing at his eyes, running his hands through his unruly dark hair, and grimacing as he discovered the roughness of his chin. "No, no. I never meant to sleep, at least not for so long."
"We both needed rest. I am glad you found some. Although next time, you should consider the other bed, as I suspect that chair was terribly uncomfortable."
He stood and moved to the window, although not before she noticed a blush of discomfort. "I did not wish for you to be made more distressed than these circumstances have already… that is, I feared that…" He released a deep sigh. "I know this situation is untenable, but I shall do my best to make it as bearable as possible for you."
"Is that why you changed your plan last night and asked to accompany the kidnappers?" Lizzy asked sharply. "To ensure that my pillows are fluffed properly? I admit, sir, that I am expecting little in the way of comfort or succor amidst these conditions. But had you remained behind, you could have immediately led a charge for my recovery, or sent a message to my father. As things stand now, we have no idea what the horrid man said in his note to Mr. Collins or whether anyone knows where we have gone."
"I considered that," Mr. Darcy said ruefully, turning back to face her. "But I would have been tied up until Mr. and Mrs. Collins returned home, which might not have been for some hours, and by then it would have been too dark to effectively search for you until this morning. I could have made certain the search was mounted and encouraged, but I could not bear the thought of what might happen to you in the interim."
"I would have been fine."
He raised his eyebrows. "You do not know that."
"I am strong enough…"
"Not to overpower a tall, strong gentleman who is far more concerned about his own pleasures than your virtue."
"Perhaps he did not intend to harm me," Lizzy answered, blushing but determined. "It was obvious that he was playing on your… wish to protect me."
"I know. He was very shrewd in assessing what was most important to me. I simply could not allow you to be taken out of the reach of my aid. I do not like being manipulated, but he played his cards well, and I could do naught but comply. I could not then, nor could I ever, bear to see you harmed when it was in my power to protect you. I swear, I will do whatever is necessary to watch over you."
"But still, you should have…"
"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy interrupted. "Regardless of what led to all this, we are stuck together now, for good or ill. Must we spend the duration of our imprisonment arguing?"
Lizzy stopped in surprise then looked down, ashamed. Why was she picking a fight? She already understood his reasoning, and she was earnestly grateful to him for his presence.
She smiled sheepishly at him. "It is possible, sir, that arguing with you is merely traditional. They say in times of difficulty one falls back on one's habits. And besides, I was under the impression all this time that you rather enjoyed arguing with and aggravating me."
He smiled back uncertainly. "I do, in fact, although I see now how that might have become annoying to you. I find myself constantly fascinated by the quickness and intelligence of your mind, and you are rarely in such fine intellectual form as when you are trying to needle my pride. I often could not help myself."
Lizzy barked a surprised laugh. "And here I always thought you were seeking opportunity to mock and disapprove of me! Oh, how fiercely we have misunderstood one another!"
He smiled for another moment before the expression faded and he looked away. "Quite grievously, it would seem."
Lizzy winced but could think of nothing to say. They were quiet for a few minutes, and it was only a loud rumbling in her empty stomach that drew them mutually from their reverie.
Mr. Darcy chuckled. "Yes, I have rather been wondering about breakfast myself."
"I wonder how they mean to treat us. I know we are captives, but That Man last night seemed so eager for our presence that I feel uncertain regarding what to expect. Shall it be crusts of bread and water, do you think, or normal tavern fare? I assume that is where we are."
"Yes. It was too dark to see the sign over the door as we entered last night, but it was clearly a tavern and inn. This a small town, rather like Meryton, and from what I could gather from my position slung over the horse like a sack of meal, we mostly traveled south."
"So we are somewhere in Sussex?"
"That is my guess. I have not seen or heard the sea, but somehow I feel as if we cannot be very far from it."
"Mama is always telling Papa how much she wishes to travel to the seaside. I am certain she shall be mightily jealous when she hears where I have gone." The words escaped with a bitterly sardonic twist. Lizzy was immediately disappointed in herself. "Forgive me. I should not be so flippant."
"You have been threatened and kidnapped, and after a dark, brutal ride, you are now locked in cold, mediocre accommodations with the man you despise more than any other in the world for an undisclosed amount of time and for some nefarious purpose. I believe, my dear Miss Bennet, that in these particular circumstances, you have a right to be whatever you wish to be, sarcastic or otherwise."
"Oh, Mr. Darcy," she said sadly, "if you are trying to make me feel wretched for what I said yesterday, you are succeeding."
He jumped to his feet and moved toward her, alarmed. "No! No, that was not at all my intent." He sat on the edge of the opposite bed. "I will admit that your words stung very deeply, and had I returned to Rosings last night, I would have done so full of wounded pride and bitterness. But I have had a great deal of time to think since then, and I have begun to see with disagreeable clarity just how much of your unflattering opinion of me is my own fault. Forgive me if I still sound angry."
Lizzy knew not what to say, so flummoxed was she by his admission. She stared at his open, earnest expression for several moments before he grew uncomfortable and stood again, moving toward the useless window.
"Sir, I… I am uncertain how to respond to your words. I spoke in anger yesterday, with unwarranted harshness, and I am sorry for being so uncivil. You took me by surprise, and your confession came far too soon after discovering your part in separating your friend from my sister. I was unable to maintain my temper. But I admit that I can still find little forgiveness in my heart for those things of which I yesterday accused you."
"Does she…?" He hesitated, his back still turned to her. "Did she love him then?"
"Jane? Most deeply, yes," Lizzy answered with a bit too much force. "She even assented to my idea that she should go to London, that she might see Mr. Bingley again, but he has been kept separate from her, whether by his own will or that of his sisters, I know not."
Poor Jane. And now, to carry on top of her other unhappiness, she would be devastated at hearing of Lizzy's abduction. Lizzy assumed Jane would rush home at once to console their family. But when would they learn of the event? Charlotte and Mr. Collins would have returned home around six or seven o'clock, and they would have immediately notified Lady Catherine and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Lizzy was certain Charlotte would also have an express sent as soon as possible. Her family might have learned of it before she and Mr. Darcy had even awoken this morning.
Somehow, it was both comforting and discouraging to think of their reaction to the news. Her Mama would be wailing and retire to her rooms, and she would probably quickly find a way to blame Lizzy for her own misfortune. Her younger sisters would be shocked and concerned, but Lydia would assume it was all a great romantic adventure, Kitty would bite her fingernails to the quick and cough constantly, and Mary would take to playing dirges on the pianoforte. Jane would move from one sister to another while still managing to sit beside Mama and listen to her troubles, all while shedding silent, brave, loving tears. And Papa…
For the first time since the beginning of Mr. Darcy's proposal, Lizzy felt the catch in her throat that told her she was going to cry. Papa would be brokenhearted. He might even now be riding for Kent, perhaps in company with Uncle Phillips and Uncle Gardiner. He would be upbraiding himself for not watching over her more carefully, although this could in no way be his fault. They would do their best to rescue her, perhaps joining Colonel Fitzwilliam in the search, but would they even know where to begin?
"Bingley does not know she is there."
Lizzy looked up at Mr. Darcy's back in surprise. It took her a moment to return to their previous conversation. "He does not?"
"Miss Bingley chose not to inform him. We thought it might be too difficult for him."
"We? You knew Jane was in town as well?"
He took several seconds to answer, during all of which Lizzy was staring at his stiff shoulders so hard that her eyes hurt.
"Yes."
All good feeling, all gratitude and appreciation she had developed for the infuriating man blew out like a candle flame in a gale. She wanted to speak, to call him every horrible name she had ever heard, but she was too angry. Finally, with great effort, she breathlessly forced out the words, "How could you?"
All his arrogance seemed to have returned, and his voice was steeped in condescension. "From the first moment of Bingley's introduction to your sister, I was aware of his preference for her, but it was not unusual for Bingley to quickly attach himself to a lovely young lady and just as quickly lose interest in her. I had no real concerns until the night of the Netherfield Ball when I realized it was a general expectation in the neighborhood that he would soon make her an offer. I watched them carefully that night, and although she received his attentions with pleasure, I saw no symptoms of love or even true affection."
"Jane is most reserved!" Lizzy cried. "Only someone who knows her as well as I do would have seen her true feelings, as is most proper for a young lady. What is it you think she should have done? Swooned at his entrance into a room, fluttered her eyelashes, and hung on his arm at every opportunity? Miss Bingley is not a lady after whom Jane should pattern herself!"
"But she smiles so serenely," he argued, finally turning back to face her. "Her smile for Bingley was exactly the same as that with which she greeted her sisters or the postman or a shopkeeper. The only emotion she ever betrays is contentedness. How was I to know, or Bingley for that matter? He would not have been so easily convinced of her indifference if he had not already feared it."
"Convinced?" Lizzy shrieked, rising to her feet. "You are the one who talked him into staying in London, too, are you not?"
"Bingley trusts me implicitly, and I had no idea I was incorrect in my assessment. None of our other arguments had swayed him, not our reminder of your family's lack of connection or their general public behavior, but my assertion that I believed your sister's feelings to be unengaged was deeply concerning to him. No man ought to be trapped into an indifferent union."
"Trapped? You believed Jane was trying to capture him? Have you no understanding of human nature whatsoever?"
Mr. Darcy held up his hands in a defensive position. "Wait! I never thought ill of your sister. She was everything genteel and elegant, if aloof. But we were all concerned that one with such an easy disposition as hers might be convinced by… well-meaning relations to accept his suit without much real affection."
"You thought Mama had instructed her to catch him?" The words came out sounding outraged, but even as she finished her statement, Lizzy felt her righteous anger begin to collapse. That was exactly what she had done. It was just lucky for Jane that she happened to have fallen in love with Bingley and had her own interest in holding his attention. What would she have done if she had not learned to care for him? Would she still have accepted his affections for the sake of her family's future?
Lizzy cringed at the answer to her own question.
"I had no reason to think otherwise."
They sat in fraught silence as Lizzy's mind churned, forced suddenly to see the entire autumn through different eyes. Charlotte had warned Lizzy that Jane should show more affection right at the beginning, and Lizzy had brushed it off, but she had to admit that Charlotte may have been wiser than Lizzy or Jane herself. Even a man as cheerful and modest as Mr. Bingley needed some encouragement in his suit.
"I do regret my deception," Mr. Darcy said, watching Lizzy with wariness, probably afraid the calm would not last long. "In all my other actions, I was focused solely on Bingley's best interests. I truly feared the outcome of a union with your sister, not for the sake of his fortune or reputation but for his heart. But in keeping her presence from him, I acted beneath my character. At the time I believed it was for the best, but I believe my motives were, by then, more selfish than anything."
"Selfish in what way?"
Mr. Darcy looked up at her with sudden intensity. "I feared that a renewed connection to Hertfordshire would bring me back into contact with you and upset the delicate balance I was maintaining between thinking of you every moment and resolving never to see you again."
"Oh."
Lizzy could not quite understand her reaction to his words. She was ashamed and angry again at his reference to the disparity in their circumstances, but she was also strangely moved by his assertion that she had been so much in his mind. It was one thing for a man to fall in love with a woman, but for a man to love a woman so deeply that he was willing to go against his character, expectations, and interests was quite… affecting.
"I am sorry, Miss Bennet, for hurting your sister. That was never my intention."
Lizzy answered him with one hesitant nod. Did she accept his explanation? She was uncertain. She needed time to think, preferably time alone, which it did not seem like she would be getting this morning.
"Do you believe that she…?" he began.
"Good morning in there!" called That Man through the door, causing Lizzy to gasp sharply and return to her huddled position on the cot. Mr. Darcy spun and placed himself at the entrance to the narrow walkway between the bedsteads, planting his feet solidly as if ready for a fight.
There was the scraping sound of a key in the lock, as well as the sound of wood rubbing against wood, and then That Man strode in, looking as chipper and good-humored as if he were the master of ceremonies at a ball. "Well, well, well! How are we this morning?"
Lizzy was newly surprised by how normal he looked in the fuzzy morning light. She would have felt much better, she decided, if he sported a sinister mustachio or wore a large dark hat with a black feather. And he needed a scar, a deep slash across one eyelid or along his cheek. Instead he looked just like any other gentleman, just as well-dressed as he had been the previous night and wearing his fair hair loose to his shoulders. His smile was kind and eager, and his eyes twinkled at her. They were blue, she realized, just like Papa's. The comparison made her dislike him all the more. A man such as him did not deserve to share any trait whatsoever with her father.
She had overheard him called Geoff last night, but she refused to think of him in such intimate terms.
"We are hungry," Mr. Darcy answered stiffly. "And cold."
"Of course!" He motioned to someone behind him. "The first I shall solve right away."
A man entered carrying a tray with several dishes. Lizzy thought he might be one of the other men from the night before, but she could not be certain. They had all looked mostly the same to her, dark-haired, broad-chested, and unremarkable. She examined him more closely and noticed that the man's left hand was slightly scarred, as if it had been burned in a fire many years before. She would remember him by that.
She determined all that before he set the tray on a small chest she had not noticed at the foot of her bed. After he lowered it, most of her attention went to the food. Toast, eggs, potatoes… even a pot of jam. She sighed in relief. She had resolved to accept crusts of bread, but this would be much better.
"Now, as to your second request," That Man said, smiling sheepishly, "I have a solution, but I am afraid the lady may have some qualms. Alas, it cannot be helped."
Mr. Darcy tensed even further. "What do you mean?"
Another of the large men entered (this one with a cleft in his chin that Lizzy decided was distinctive enough to mark him) carrying a pile of clothing in his arms. He dropped it on the end of the far bed, smirking slightly at the dark look Mr. Darcy had given him before he drew back.
"We are leaving this quaint little place in just a few minutes, and given the cooler air this morning and the lady's lack of warm clothing—for which I blame myself entirely and can only beg your forgiveness, my darling—I suggest that you change into those."
Lizzy stood and moved to the pile, keeping her body still mostly behind Mr. Darcy's, as if she believed he could block her from view. She sorted through the clothes. "Sir, there are no lady's garments here."
"Yes," That Man replied with a sympathetic frown. "You see, we will be traveling at some speed through more populated areas today, and as it would look rather strange for a lone woman to be carried amongst a group of horsemen, you will need to dress yourself as a young man."
"I beg your pardon!" Mr. Darcy protested. He spun to glance over the clothing Lizzy had laid out before turning back. "You cannot ask a lady to expose herself in such an inappropriate manner!"
"Actually," That Man answered, fingering the sword at his hip casually, "as I believe I already proved to you last night, I can."
Lizzy's eyes fixed on the two large men behind him, both of whom were watching Mr. Darcy with dark grins, and she grabbed his arm before he could speak further. "It will be fine. Please."
He gave her a pop-eyed look and opened his mouth, but Lizzy reached up and covered his mouth with her hand. "I have worn trousers before. It is fine."
That seemed to give him pause, as did the laugh that escaped That Man. "You have?" they both asked.
She rolled her eyes. "It is difficult to play Pirate in the forest in a skirt."
That Man crowed in delight and clapped his hands together. "My dear lady, you become more and more intriguing every moment! Are you certain your heart already belongs to this over-starched idiot? Even if it does, I think I shall try to win it from him." He gave Mr. Darcy a measuring look before shooting Lizzy another wide grin. "It should not be terribly difficult."
Lizzy drew in a surprised breath. Somehow, through all of last night and Mr. Darcy's words to That Man, it had never occurred to her that That Man would believe they were a pair of lovers. It was so clear in her own mind that she was not in love with Mr. Darcy that she could hardly understand how anyone could believe otherwise. But clearly he thought that was what Mr. Darcy had meant in Charlotte's parlor, and as she considered it quickly, it was probably wisest for her to act the part, as galling as it was. Mr. Darcy's presence and guarantee of payment only if she went unharmed were probably all that had protected her virtue so far.
"I am sorry, sir," she said sarcastically, stepping forward to wrap her arm through Mr. Darcy's, "but even if I were not in love with him, I highly doubt that I could think tenderly of the man who abducted me."
The man grinned slyly and winked at her. "You might be surprised, Miss Bennet." Then he drew himself up and backed toward the door, always keeping his face toward Mr. Darcy, just in case of attack. "Break your fast and get changed. Mr. Darcy, there are clean garments there for you as well. After all, we cannot have you looking either so wealthy or so unkempt, can we? I would also encourage you to shave, but as I do not quite trust you with a razor, we shall make do with clean apparel. We will leave in a quarter of an hour, and if you are not dressed in that time, Miss Bennet, I will be happy to return and assist you myself."
His men preceded him out the door, and he stepped through, moving to close the door, but Mr. Darcy stepped forward, dropping Lizzy's arm. "Stop! You cannot leave me in here with her while she changes."
That Man paused, cocking his head. "Why not?"
"Because… that is…" Lizzy thought Mr. Darcy might burn up from the heat in his cheeks. "She deserves privacy. And she needs a maid to help her."
"But…" That Man's voice trailed off, and he grinned that horrid, handsome grin at Mr. Darcy again. "You have not yet conquered her, have you? You say you love her, and yet you leave her unclaimed? That leaves the door all the wider for myself!"
"'Tis not that," Lizzy interjected, praying he would interpret her blush as modesty not falsehood. "I am claimed, as you so indelicately put it. He is just cautious of respecting me. He is very thoughtful that way."
"I cannot imagine he is what you really want," That Man argued boldly. "You are so vibrant, and he is so… tedious."
Lizzy wanted to laugh at how closely his description matched her own very recent notion of Mr. Darcy, but she fought it down and did her best to look offended for his sake. "He is a man who controls his passions, sir. That makes them all the more compelling when they are released."
"Hmmm."
The only other man she definitely recognized from the previous night, the dark, square-jawed one called Reg, appeared in the corridor and spoke to That Man quietly. The leader nodded at Reg's words and looked over his shoulder, winking at Lizzy. "I am certain you and I shall canvas this topic more thoroughly later, particularly as regards passion, but for now, get dressed. The clock is ticking."
Then he shut the door, and the key scraped sharply again in the lock.
"Miss Bennet, I…"
Lizzy waited, but Mr. Darcy seemed not to know what else to say. He was turned toward her again but was unable to look her in the eye.
"You had best not be preparing to apologize for anything, sir." She was suddenly exasperated. Who would have thought only twenty-four hours before that she would have been not only forced into pretending to be in love with Mr. Darcy but having to imply she was his willing lover? The ladies of Hertfordshire would be aghast. Lizzy was a little shocked at her own audacity as well. "We find ourselves in challenging circumstances, and we are doing the best we can with what we are given. From now on, neither of us is allowed to apologize for anything we are required to do or say for the maintenance of our own safety during this escapade. Agreed?"
He sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face. "I suppose so. What other choice is there?"
"None."
Lizzy turned determinedly back to the clothes on the bed. They were not nearly so fine as the ones Mr. Darcy and That Man were wearing, but they were clean and of acceptable quality. She thought they might even fit her well-enough. She could not help but wonder where they had gotten them.
"Miss Bennet?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Does the banning of all apologies include apologizing for pointing out to you that you still have no lady's maid to assist you?"
"Yes, it does. I regularly do without a maid, and I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you."
"'Tis only that Georgiana had a dress like yours when she was very young. She required help from her nursemaid because of all the tiny buttons on the back."
Lizzy felt herself go boneless with shock, and she slumped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the long boy's shirt in her hands. He was right. Charlotte's Molly had helped her dress herself the previous morning for just that reason. What had possessed her to wear that particular dress that particular day? Any other dress would have done just as well.
She had no option besides the obvious one, but it was still nearly a full minute before she was able to choke out the words, "Then you shall have to help me."
"I cannot," he said. Was his voice shaky? Lizzy did not have the courage to look up at his expression. "You cannot ask it."
"There is no other choice. I cannot undo the buttons myself—they are too small—and I cannot cut the dress off because for all I know, it will be my only one for some time. If we delay too long, That Man will return, and I would rather be dead that let him assist me." The words were dramatic, but she meant them with all her heart.
"As would I," he agreed in a thin voice.
"Then, having no other choice, we must simply move forward. Just… close your eyes." She turned her back to him, removing the blanket from her shoulders. Her cheeks were on fire, but she gritted her teeth and stood very still.
Several seconds passed before she felt the hesitant pressure of his fingers against the clasp at the base of her neck, and she swallowed deeply against the rush of nerves. This was fine. No one at home would ever know of these humiliations, and whatever else she felt about Mr. Darcy, she was certain that he would never speak of this to a living soul.
He began slowly, doing the first few buttons fumblingly, but after that, he sped up, and it was only a minute or two before enough of the line had been released that she felt she could remove the dress. "That's enough," she said quickly. "Now turn your back."
She heard him spin away, gather his own garments, and cross to the far side of the room. She drew in a single deep breath, then changed as quickly as she could, removing her garments and replacing them with those before her, including the bandage-like wrap that she assumed was intended to bind her chest. She ignored the sounds of shifting fabric from behind her and forced herself not to think at all about what she could not see occurring.
Finally, a few minutes after he had stopped making any noise and as put together as she could manage, she turned around, smirking at the sight of Mr. Darcy staring out the window. His new garments were obviously not tailored for him, but they were decent enough, and she thought the beige of the coat rather suited him. He seemed less austere than in the dark colors he always preferred. "I am ready, I think."
He glanced at her and straightened, his eyes widening so far she thought they might pop from his head.
"Breeches are rather indecent, are they not?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. The breeches were tan and closely-fitted, and the waistcoat was a muted red under a thick, brown wool jacket. "'Tis a wonder men wear them around all the time." She already missed the heaviness of her skirt and petticoats around her legs, but the jacket under Mr. Collins' greatcoat was enough to keep her from shivering.
He did not answer her, just continued staring.
"I cannot tie a cravat, I discovered," she said quietly, her eyes flicking down.
Mr. Darcy moved stiffly toward her, and without a word, he stepped behind her, raising his hands to her neck-cloth and smoothly tying a simple knot in only a few movements. He lowered his arms but didn't step away, and Lizzy was surprised at how much warmth he exuded, how much she wanted to lean back into him. She must still be extremely cold.
"Your hair," he said, apparently unable or unwilling to say more than that. His pride must be so mortified by this fiasco that he could not even speak.
Lizzy reached back and began pulling the few remaining pins and finger-combing it. She plaited it quickly from the top of her head before wrapping it into a messy twist and stuffing it under the hat. She turned to him and held her arms out. "Well? Do I look the part?"
"You still look like a woman, only wearing a man's clothes," he answered roughly. "You must move as a man, less grace and more force."
Elizabeth walked a few circles around the room, imagining the way her father walked, and Mr. Bingley, and Sir William.
"Better," Mr. Darcy said. "As long as you keep your eyes down and do not smile, you should be hidden enough."
"Is my smile so feminine?" she laughed. "I had no idea a facial expression could be male or female."
"Your smile makes your face quite… noticeable. It makes your eyes brighten. It will draw attention that might be undesirable."
Lizzy frowned, wondering whether that was a compliment.
"Yes, that expression is much better."
"Well," she said, rolling her eyes, "I suspect I shall not have much reason for smiling anyway."
"I would have said that about this morning's circumstances already, yet you have managed to smile several times."
"Well, so have you!" she defended, only belatedly wondering why she had taken his words as accusation.
In acknowledgement, he offered another slight smile. "True enough. Perhaps we must both work harder to be distressed about our own abduction."
She laughed, and he joined her, as much out of wonder as out of humor. He was right—things were horrible, and yet they were both finding reasons to smile. Their laughter faded as their gazes caught, and Lizzy felt something shift inside her, something that brought another rush of blood to her cheeks. How could a man who only twenty minutes before had so angered her suddenly provide her a source of such solace in a distressing circumstance?
"Do you think, sir," Lizzy asked quietly, "that it might be possible for us to escape?"
"I suggest that we both seek opportunities," he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper, "but we must be incredibly cautious. For the moment, these men seem disinterested in harming us, so the need to run is not immediate. However, the longer we are gone, the greater the risk to your reputation and eventual safety. If a chance arises, we must be ready to take it, but we must be wise and not act out of fear."
Lizzy nodded solemnly, encouraged by both his willingness to consider the idea and the astuteness of his response. She supposed there were far worse people who might have been her companions on this adventure. What if she had been abducted with Mr. Collins instead?
They had just finished eating when the lock on the door scraped again, and Mr. Darcy moved in front of her. Lizzy was unsure whether he was making a last effort to guard her modesty or was simply protective by instinct, but she found that she did not mind. She allowed herself to reach out and clutch at his sleeve, finding comfort in the childlike gesture.
"Come," said one of the brawny assistants with a sharp wave.
"Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy asked, raising his arm for her. She wrapped both hands around his forearm and stood as near him as she reasonably could. He covered her hands with his free hand, and they moved forward. She would have to separate from him at the end of the corridor (after all, she was dressed as a man), but she would hold onto him for as long as she could.
Whatever else he was, however arrogant or disdainful or selfish, she felt safe with him, knew he would protect her as best he could. A wave of warmth washed over her as she looked up at his face. Perhaps he was not so bad after all.
As Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled up in front of the Hunsford parsonage and tethered Charlemagne, his beloved mount, to the front fence, he motioned to the men behind him to continue down the road. He called out to Mr. Nelson, Lady Catherine's steward, "Go on back. Make sure all the men receive an extra week's wages and a good, hot meal. I shall be along presently to report to Lady Catherine."
He was not looking forward to that conversation at all, especially not the part about promising her gardeners, stable-hands, and other workmen extra pay on her behalf. Although that portion would probably be received better than the part where he must tell her that Darcy and Miss Bennet's trail was impossible to follow for more than ten miles.
He wanted to hold his hands over his ears even imagining her blistering response.
But honestly, he had done all he could for now. As soon as he and Mrs. Collins had realized what had occurred the previous night, Fitzwilliam had returned to Rosings, shown Lady Catherine the letter, rounded up as many men as he could find, and lit out on the trail of the large pack of hoof tracks leading down the western road toward the nearest village. It had grown more difficult as the night had darkened, but they had managed to make reasonable time until coming to a meeting of several roads just outside a small town called Coxton, approximately six miles from Rosings. There had been too many prints leading from there in all directions, and there were no reports of any large parties stopping there the previous night to water horses or rest. No one in the town had noticed anything untoward, and beyond there, the possible directions were practically endless.
If Fitzwilliam had been free to follow them as long as he desired, he would have tried the south road. His instincts pointed him toward the coast, and as a soldier he trusted his instincts above almost anything, but the men were cold and tired and expected back at their homes and their work the next morning, and he could not afford to lead them on a road that would only take them further from their goal.
Besides, as per Lady Catherine's express order, he had told no one, not even Nelson, that they were tracking more than just a band of thieves. No one but himself had known that Darcy and Miss Bennet had been taken.
Fitzwilliam had balked at the order at first, but the more he had considered it, the more he had seen that Lady Catherine's request had been wise. It would do no good for the country at large to know that Darcy had been kidnapped—no extra help would be offered, and it would only become a source of gossip. And even less good would come of knowing that Miss Bennet had also been taken. Rumors would circulate, scandal would be sniffed, and her reputation would never be pristine again, no matter the truth.
No, he could follow no further this day without alerting the men to the truth of the circumstances, although he would return as soon as he had rested and prepared more completely and take up the trail on his own.
Whatever else happened, he would not allow the abduction of his favorite cousin to occur right under his nose without doing everything he could to offer aid. Although Fitzwilliam could not help but wonder whether Darcy was not, at that moment, exactly where he wished to be, which was wherever Miss Bennet was regardless of the circumstances.
He was still uncertain regarding Darcy's obvious attachment to Miss Bennet. Darcy had been at the parsonage last night, whatever his purpose, and Fitzwilliam had to assume that it had been at the behest of his heart and not with some other more sensible intent. He had too much faith in his cousin's good sense to believe he might have proposed—the notion of Darcy joining himself publically to any lady less illustrious than the most eligible debutante of the Ton was impossible to contemplate. And yet, it was equally difficult to imagine Darcy bribing or seducing the bright-eyed young lady into any less upstanding connection.
Privately, Fitzwilliam thought the bribery was more likely to succeed than any attempt at seduction. He had seen Darcy's attempts at flirtation as a younger man, before his father's passing, and had confided to his elder brother Andrew that it would be a miracle if even Darcy's wealth could buy his way through a lady's chamber door once he opened his mouth.
He had never actually seen Darcy make earnest advances on any woman, of low rank or high, now that he thought of it. He had always been a reserved, private sort of fellow, and he had just begun to consider engaging in the amorous pursuits of his peers when his father had died, leaving him rather too much responsibility and too much hatred for public attention or scandal of any kind to utilize the services of a courtesan or an obliging widow.
For the last few years, however, Fitzwilliam had been much on the Continent and busy with his assignments, and they had spent less time together. Perhaps Darcy had overcome his conscience and whetted his appetites without ever mentioning his conquests to his cousin. He was, after all, not a bragging sort of man, and he had never participated in such conversations among their mutual friends or at his club.
Fitzwilliam shook his head as he finished moving up the tidy pathway to the front door and knocked sharply. Darcy's connection to Miss Bennet was a mystery over which to puzzle after they were both discovered and returned home safe and well.
Little Molly opened the door, and at the sight of him, her eyes shot down to the ground as she backed the door further open. "Welcome, Colonel. Mrs. Collins said to show you into the parlor as soon as you arrived."
"Thank you, Molly," he said, watching her carefully and moving past with deliberate slowness. He was uncertain, but his instincts told him there was more to the girl's involvement than she was saying. But how did one interrogate a child? "I hope you have recovered after your ordeal last night."
"Yes, sir," she answered, fingering the bruising around her wrists. "Mrs. Locken made a poultice that helped a bit with the soreness."
"I am glad to hear it. Molly, is there anything else you wish to tell me about last night? Anything you have remembered since we spoke? Everything was so shocking, it would be no surprise if things came to your mind later on."
She swallowed and avoided meeting his eyes. "Nothing, sir. I… I already told Mrs. Collins—I don't remember much, it was that frightening."
"Of course, of course. Well, if anything comes to mind, do not hesitate to speak of it."
"Yes, sir."
After one last look, Fitzwilliam handed her his hat and strode toward the parlor, tugging open the door himself.
Mrs. Collins was sitting in a wingback chair near the fireplace, and although her hands were busily working a needle through the seam of a shapeless brown garment, her gaze was absent, as if frozen on the fabric. She was biting her lip gently, and there was a deep crease between her eyes.
Perhaps there was a sort of beauty to her after all, he realized with surprise. She was not showy, and neither her sedate hairstyle nor her favored style of gown flattered her undramatic figure and coloring, but the sight of her sitting quietly by the grate with the warmth of the flames lending a little color to her cheeks was pleasing to him on a level he could not quite understand.
"Mrs. Collins."
She started, and at the sight of him, she pushed her mending off her lap, stepped heedlessly over the heap on the floor, and rushed at him with an eager smile. She reached out and grasped both of his hands. "Colonel! I am so glad you have returned!"
For just a moment, for the space of a single breath, Fitzwilliam let himself imagine what it would be like if this were, in fact, his home, and if Mrs. Collins was not Mrs. Collins at all but Mrs. Fitzwilliam. What would it be like to return home after a few weeks away, or even just a day or two, and find her waiting there, staring into the fire and worrying for him? What would it be like to speak her name and have her run to him with that same relieved, delighted smile?
He would gather her in his arms and kiss her senseless, and the fact that he could picture that so vividly was not only shocking but perfectly frightening.
Luckily he kept his wits and restricted himself to squeezing her hands gently.
"You look exhausted," she said. "Did you just return?"
"I promised to come here first, did I not?" he asked, offering what was supposed to be a charming smile. Unfortunately even his cheeks were tired, and all he managed was a grimace.
Her smile drooped, too. "You could not find them, I take it."
He shook his head, wishing his answer could be different. "They came to a busy crossroads, and their trail disappeared. No one along the way saw or heard them, at least no one we could question subtly in the middle of the night. It seems as if they vanished into the night air. I will return to Rosings, gather up everything I will need, and set out again to track them on my own."
"Is there no one you can take with you? It might be dangerous."
"I will move more quickly alone. There is no need to worry about an old soldier like myself, madam."
"Not so old," she smiled, "but not so indestructible either, I suspect."
"Perhaps not, but enough to be going along with."
They smiled warmly at one another, and Fitzwilliam felt that strange tightening in his chest that he had felt at the thought of kissing her a moment before. He cleared his throat and reluctantly released her delicate fingers, turning to the window and saying, "I suppose I ought to take some time to interrogate your servants more thoroughly before I leave. It would be useful to get less hurried descriptions of the kidnappers. And I apologize if it embarrasses you, Mrs. Collins, but I really must speak to your husband."
He glanced back and was surprised at the darkness of the expression that passed over her face. "Mr. Collins has already been questioned, sir," she said, sounding surprisingly clipped and angry, like one of his officers during a skirmish. "And after listening to Mr. and Mrs. Locken's descriptions, I took it upon myself to draw a likeness of the man they described. Molly said she had been too frightened to look much at his face, but that what I rendered 'seemed a bit familiar.'" She crossed back to a small table near her chair and handed him a sheet of stationery.
He stared at the image grinning up at him from the page. The features of the man's face were rather unexceptional except for the wide smile showing remarkably straight teeth, but his long, light hair was distinctive, even pulled back in a tie, as were his pale eyes.
"The other men were unremarkable, they said, all with short, dark hair and genteel dress, but although they only saw this man for a moment, they agreed he was the leader. He had the speech and bearing of a gentleman, attire of a quality similar to yours and Mr. Darcy's, and a gentleman's commanding manner. They described him as strangely friendly given that he was issuing orders for them to be trussed like pigs."
Fitzwilliam tore his eyes from the sketch. "You drew this, Mrs. Collins?"
She blushed a little. "I know it is rough, but without seeing his face for myself, I would rather not guess wrong about his features…"
"This is excellent! Do you deliberately hide this accomplishment?"
She shrugged, turning away from him slightly. "I would not call it much of an accomplishment, sir. I am useless at music and only passable at embroidery and hat-trimming. My two abilities seem to be mending and portraiture, not even nature studies or bowls of fruit. Faces… faces are all I have the capacity to recreate convincingly, and since there is little call for them, I would consider it more a hobby than a talent. My darned socks are much more useful."
"And yet, in this instant, nothing else could have been more valuable."
"Not even a well-repaired stocking? Or a coat without holes?" she asked with a teasing smile. It was reminiscent of Miss Bennet's saucy grin, but it was softer, gentler, and somehow infinitely more appealing. "It is certain to be cold on your journey."
"Perhaps both are of particular use then. You seem to be a lady worth knowing, Mrs. Collins. By the way, how is your sister?"
Mrs. Collins smiled a little sadly. "Maria is still unable to rise from her bed. Mr. Locken believes that she hit her head on the cupboard when she fainted shortly after we left the kitchen to search for Lizzy. Even he and his wife did not notice her for some minutes. The doctor has been in, and he believes she will be all right, but it pains her quite fiercely."
"Poor girl. I hope she improves quickly. Last night was certainly difficult for all of us."
"Yes," she agreed. She smiled again for a moment before her expression was replaced with one of deep unhappiness. "As regarding my husband, you are welcome to ask him more questions, but I am not certain he will be up to the task for the rest of the afternoon. He was slightly… overtired after I finished questioning him myself this morning."
"Overtired?" Fitzwilliam frowned. "What do you mean?"
She smirked darkly. "He found answering me truthfully to be quite taxing. Making up so much self-justification is exhausting after all, as is spilling so many tears when one is trying to keep from answering direct questions, especially questions with only shameful answers."
Suddenly, Fitzwilliam was glad he had not been present for what must have been a rather unpleasant encounter, especially since he could quite easily imagine the sound of Mr. Collins' obsequious whining. "What did you learn from him?"
"It would seem that some six or seven months before our marriage, shortly after he was chosen to receive the living here, my husband accidentally learned of a gaming table in the back of the Coxton tavern, a place where cards were played much more seriously than at a country evening party and where other wagers were made as well, particularly on horse races. As a new, young clergyman, he disapproved of such entertainments for the local families, and he took it upon himself to descend upon the group one night and overwhelm them with a loud and fervent call to repentance."
Mrs. Collins sent Fitzwilliam a look that matched exactly with his opinion regarding that bit of foolishness. Then she continued, "Something occurred that night, something he refuses to explain, that convinced him that perhaps the goings-on there were more innocent than he had thought, and instead of calling down Heaven's wrath upon them, he placed a small wager himself, as a show of good faith. I suspect… well…" She frowned thoughtfully. "I suspect Lady Catherine had something to do with it. I am uncertain why, but that is my impression. There is no one else for whom he would keep secrets."
"In any event, he won his first bet, and his second, and his third. He quite enjoyed himself that night, and when he returned a few weeks later, he was introduced to a larger gaming group. On subsequent visits, he continued to win more than he lost. He began to believe himself quite an accomplished card player, not to mention a good judge of horseflesh, and it took several further weeks of losses in a row to make him question that conclusion. At first his debts were minor and easily discharged, but it would seem that a new player appeared at the table a few months ago, just after our marriage. He was welcomed with much excitement among the long-time players, almost an idol, so at first Mr. Collins did not mind losing to him, but when the losses continued through several of the man's visits and my husband realized that he was going to have to begin accounting to me for the loss of income, he began making increasingly dramatic wagers in hopes of winning back large amounts."
She sighed and sagged down onto a nearby chaise, covering her eyes. "He told me that as of four weeks ago, when the visitor, Lord Smythe, declared he was leaving the country soon and began seeking payment of debts owed, he was nearly five hundred pounds in."
"Five hundred pounds?" Fitzwilliam cried. Such a sum was a common amount of debt among the wealthiest young fops in the fashionable clubs, but not so ordinary for a clergyman whose living probably paid less than that in a year.
"He put off telling me, afraid to admit his weakness. He claimed that he intended to speak to me about it as soon as our guests left, that they might not sense any 'lack of harmony' in our relationship during their stay. Lack of harmony! Ha! He spent most of last night combing the house and grounds, carefully detailing anything discovered to be missing. Between the silver, all of my jewelry, including some very fine pieces from my mother, two very precious family heirlooms—a two-hundred-year-old clock and a jewel-handled letter opener—and both of our horses, the losses amount to somewhere around six hundred pounds." She sighed heavily again and leaned her head against the wall beside her, her eyes still closed. "Which really seems rather fair of them, all considering. They did no damage besides the lock on the silver cabinet, and they took nothing too heavy or slow to carry like the cow or the curricle. Really, it could have been far worse."
"I know you are not as calm as you seem," Fitzwilliam said, approaching quietly.
"Do I seem calm? What a marvel. Perhaps it is just that I am so angry, so confused, and so frightened for Lizzy that there is no room for any of the emotions to show on my face."
He knew he should not, offered himself eleven very sensible reasons why it would be a terrible idea, but he could not prevent himself from reaching out and grasping Mrs. Collins's shoulder gently. He still had no words of comfort, no promises of success, but he could not deny her the touch of a friend.
She stiffened under his hand for just a moment. Then she expelled a heavy breath and moved her head until her temple rested against his sleeve. They remained like that for a few moments, both staring ahead blindly, before Fitzwilliam shook himself and stepped away, moving to the door. "I must go. I assume you have not also managed to confront Lady Catherine and Ann about their knowledge of the letter, although all of my other assumptions about you have been wrong this morning."
She laughed a little and stood. "No, I have not. I am surprised to say so, however. I imagined Lady Catherine would charge over here to question us immediately after you returned to Rosings to collect a party of searchers, given her deep and abiding love for Mr. Darcy, but we have not heard a sound from Rosings all night."
"Yes, you are right. That would have been very like her. She seemed quite shocked when I told her what had happened, but I did not speak to her again before I left. I wonder…"
He paused, and Mrs. Collins put a questioning hand on his arm. "What?"
"I find myself wondering exactly how involved my dear aunt and cousin are in this disturbing episode. The letter that was left here implies at least a certain degree of knowledge regarding the abductors' intentions."
"Their behavior is a tad suspicious, only because their silence is so out-of-character. Would you mind terribly if I accompanied you to Rosings? I should like to hear what they have to say."
"Lady Catherine is quite closed-mouthed when discussing family troubles in front of outsiders," he said doubtfully.
"But I am as involved in this as you are—Lizzy is closer to me than even Maria. And I am not in the mood to accept any of Lady Catherine's condescension as her due this day, particularly as my husband is still abed and will not be present to 'remind me of my place.' As Lizzy is not here, I have a duty to play her role today, I think."
Fitzwilliam knew he should recommend that she remain at the parsonage, but he could not resist the chance to see a bit of the fire building in her eyes flashing at Lady Catherine. And besides, if he was allowed to offer her no other comforts, he could at least provide her more company than her indisposed husband and sister.
He could not keep the grin off his face as he replied. "Very well."