Why hello my dears! Look at this, another chapter for you. Makes an even dozen so far.

I want to thank everyone who gave their opinion on the scene I suggested - the overwhelming majority of you feel that I should indeed include it. I want to make sure everyone understands that there would be nothing too graphic. I merely have this idea in my head of Fitzwilliam and the other three soldiers finding the house, inspecting the inside of it, and the scene giving them some idea of the horrible treatment the girls endured. Knowing it happened is one thing, seeing evidence first hand would be a very sobering experience for them.

In this chapter, dear Lizzy makes more progress. Hopefully her progression is believable.

Chapter Twelve

Darcy reached for his cello as Elizabeth lowered herself into her chair once more.

He took the instrument and its bow to the other side of the pianoforte, choosing a seat from which he could observe Elizabeth while he played.

"I did not know you played an instrument either, Mr. Darcy," commented Dr. Jones.

"There are few who do," Darcy replied as he plucked at the strings and tuned the cello. "Georgiana, how about we delight our guests with a duet?"

Georgiana's smile was brilliant, her eyes wide and sparkling with delight. "I should like that more than anything, brother!" she cried, and as she began to rifle through her sheet music, it occurred to Darcy that his not playing for more than a year was yet one more thing on the list of mistakes he had made with his sister. Given her reaction to his suggestion of a duet, she had missed the somewhat regular occurrences of their playing together.

He just hadn't had the heart for it. He had so hoped, once upon a time, to share his love of music with Elizabeth—he had dreamed of playing for her. But after bungling his proposal so spectacularly, and then learning she had disappeared, he could not even imagine taking up his bow again. He could only make sure his sister was safe and expend what free energy and time he could to the search for Elizabeth and Maria.

"Fitzwilliam, do you remember Pachelbel's Canon?" Georgiana asked.

Darcy smiled and nodded. "I do, yes. An excellent choice, sister."

Georgiana then looked to the two girls to her left. "You're going to love this," said she with a grin, before looking once more to her sheets and beginning to play.

After a few notes Darcy joined her, drawing a deep breath as he felt the tension in his back and shoulders begin to dissipate. Music had always been useful for settling his nerves, but playing created a different sort of calm than merely listening. For a moment, he allowed his movements and the intermingled sounds of the two instruments full command of his senses—he thought of nothing but the music. It was thus a natural lifting of his head that brought his gaze to Elizabeth's, and in the depts of those still-fine eyes he saw her wonder, her joy—he saw that she was moved to the point of tears, which teetered on her eyelids as though not yet decided as to whether they ought to fall.

And though he knew she was not yet ready to hear that he still cared for her, Darcy could not help but pour some of his unwavering devotion into the passion with which he played, with the hope that she would understand.

Dr. Jones was the first to applaud when the song had ended some five minutes after they had begun, followed by Maria. Elizabeth joined them a heartbeat later with a sniffle and a smile.

"That was extraordinary, Miss Darcy. Mr. Darcy," said Maria.

"I am in complete agreement, Miss Lucas," offered Dr. Jones.

"Elizabeth," began Georgiana, "what do you think?"

Elizabeth's gaze had remained on Darcy, and he watched her blink rapidly before turning her gaze to his sister. "It was beautiful," said she. "You both played that piece beautifully."

Georgiana grinned, but before she had chance to speak, Maria tried vainly to cover up a yawn. "I am so sorry!" she said as her cheeks colored with embarrassment. "Pray do not think your music is to blame—I enjoyed it immensely! It's just…"

With a smile, Georgiana stood from the pianoforte bench. "It's quite all right. Elizabeth has told me that your condition tires you easily."

"I wonder that I should be tired now, as I woke from a nap not long before luncheon," Maria said then.

"It may be that your body is attempting to catch up on all the restorative rest that you were denied this last twelvemonth," suggested Dr. Jones as he, too, stood. "Even if you do not sleep, Miss Lucas, I would advise you to rest."

Maria looked to Elizabeth, as she so often did; Elizabeth nodded. With a sigh, Maria stood and Elizabeth followed, moving around the pianoforte as Darcy at last rose and moved to return his cello to the display stand.

"I find that I am not tired," said Elizabeth. "I think I should like to go for a walk."

Darcy smiled when he heard those last words, and in turning his eyes to Elizabeth, he saw that she smiled.

"Lizzy, you really want to go for a walk?" challenged Maria. "After all that tramping through the woods, you still want to go out for a walk?"

"I do, Maria," Elizabeth replied firmly. "All that 'tramping through the woods,' as you call it, was a march to freedom. This will be a lazy stroll in appreciation of that freedom."

"But… But I will be all alone…" Maria said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"I will stay with you and keep you company, if you do not want to be alone," offered Georgiana.

Maria looked to her. "You won't mind? Lizzy will have to lock the door—I'm not ready for—"

Georgiana moved to her side and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. "I am quite certain," said she gently. "I will have my maid bring me some work from my rooms, and we will be nice and snug while Elizabeth takes her walk."

"You really are too kind, Miss Darcy," said Maria with a sniffle.

The three girls walked together toward the door. Darcy watched them go, already knowing whom he would have escort Elizabeth on her walk.

While the ladies retreated upstairs, Darcy saw Dr. Jones to the door. The physician remarked on his surprise and pride in the girls' improvement, such as it was, and again mentioned that it would be a very good thing if Darcy could get Elizabeth to talk.

"She need not give minute details, but general conversation about her experience will help purge the aggression and anger she's feeling," said Jones before he climbed onto his horse and headed back to Lambton.

Darcy went back inside and was nearing the south wing as Elizabeth was emerging from the west stairwell—a quick flick of his eyes to her feet told him she had changed from the slippers he'd bought her to the half boots. She must have noted the direction of his gaze, for when their eyes met she blushed.

"I thought I might break them in, though I shan't be going for a long walk anytime soon," said she softly.

Darcy smiled. "May I inquire as to where you wish to take your walk?"

"I-I thought perhaps to take a few turns about the reflecting pool," Elizabeth replied. "Perhaps have a conversation or two with the geese and ducks."

His grin widened. "I'm sure they will appreciate the attention," he jested, before taking a careful step toward her. "Elizabeth, as I am sure Georgiana has told you, no lady of the house goes out without an escort. If it would not be too uncomfortable for you, I should like to take on that duty."

Elizabeth drew a breath, then drew the shawl she'd wrapped around herself a little tighter. She next squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, then said, "I…I should not mind at all."

Relief and hope surged through Darcy's veins, and he moved closer with a steady gait. Elizabeth fell into step beside him, just close enough that if he reached out, he could lay a hand on her shoulder.

The pair were soon enough outside and had begun a slow, steady circuit of the gravel walkway around the reflecting pool. Elizabeth was silent, as he had expected, her gaze most often cast toward the ground, though occasionally she would lift it to observe the large fowl moving about on the water. Darcy watched her through his peripheral vision, Dr. Jones's words reverberating through his brain, and wondered how he might broach the subject of her captivity.

He was thus rather startled when she spoke first, asking, "Mr. Darcy, where is Colonel Fitzwilliam? I would have thought you would much prefer to spend your time with him, now he is come to visit."

"On the contrary, I'd rather spend my time with you," Darcy corrected her. "And Fitzwilliam has gone again as he only came to relay some information—regarding our search for you, as it so happens."

Elizabeth froze mid-step for half a heartbeat, then continued, keeping her gaze on the water.

"Elizabeth, I can understand that speaking of your experience is incredibly difficult for you—that you would much rather forget it happened and go back to your old life," Darcy began slowly.

"I can't forget," she said. "I'll never forget. But I can bloody well not think about it."

"I can understand that desire, truly," Darcy told her. "However, Dr. Jones believes that suppressing your memories is detrimental to your recovery. Talking about it with someone you trust will lessen the likelihood of another incident like what happened at luncheon."

"What is there to talk about, really?" said Elizabeth. "You've already an idea what we've been through—Maria's condition is evidence enough of that, even had I not told you a little of it this morning. Surely Dr. Jones showed you the list of our injuries, so you know even more."

Darcy drew a breath. "As a matter of fact, he did not," he replied. "He spoke of the doctor-patient privilege, which I do respect, but it is more likely he would not show me for fear of my reaction."

"Your reaction? Why should he have any reason to fear it?"

Darcy looked down at her to find that she studied his countenance. "Because to know every injury you have suffered, however minor, would incite within me an anger that is nigh uncontrollable. Even now, when I think of what you have been through, what those monsters did to you and to Maria… Let me just say that governance of my emotions has developed into an art form."

Elizabeth turned her gaze away, and silence fell between them for several steps. "Perhaps," she began, "perhaps if you tell me what Colonel Fitzwilliam came to tell you… Let us start with that."

Darcy nodded. "As you are no doubt aware, you were taken by members of a nefarious group of men who regularly abduct pretty young girls like yourselves to sell at a chattel auction, as they call it."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes," she said, her tone bitter. "We learned that almost immediately, from the way they talked."

"We've unfortunately had little success in tracking them down," Darcy went on. "The girls are abducted from just about everywhere, and the auctions are never held in the same place. But a few days ago, Fitzwilliam met someone willing to give us a name—this source said that he could not be certain his acquaintance was involved, but that he had in years past attended parties at his residence where there were girls available to the men."

"I suppose that is as good a lead as any," said Elizabeth with a stiff shrug.

"Elizabeth… Maria said last night that you did not know who bought you, but I must ask: does the name Martin Bueller mean anything to you?"

She froze in place as soon as the name was past his lips, and as he finished his sentence, she began to tremble, her breaths coming in shallow pants. All color had drained from Elizabeth's face and the longer she stood that way, the more Darcy feared she was about to swoon.

"Elizabeth?" he queried softly.

"Party Marty… Party Marty, Party Marty—that's what his friends called him," she said breathily. "I can't… I can't breathe!"

Darcy immediately stepped to her side and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, guiding her over to one of the stone benches around the perimeter of the reflecting pool. In a soothing tone he directed her to sit and lean forward. He encouraged her to take deep, slow breaths as with his hand he rubbed slow, small circles on her back.

"I am so sorry, dearest," he said. "Just breathe. That's it…deep, slow breaths."

It was a few minutes before Elizabeth was able to collect herself. When she sat up straight, Darcy immediately ceased caressing her back and scooted a few inches away to give her space.

"It's been so long since I thought of him by name," Elizabeth managed with a shaky voice. "He forced us to call him Master, but in my mind he is always the monster."

"And understandably so," Darcy conceded.

"So… So, the colonel has gone to see this man?"

Darcy nodded slowly. "He was given a general idea of where the man's house is located—somewhere north of Pemberley Woods."

Elizabeth nodded absently. "Then he will find it. He will find it and he will see what is there."

Again some minutes of silence passed between them, before Darcy ventured to ask, "What about the day you were taken? Can you tell me what happened?"

Elizabeth drew a shaky breath and released it. "We were at The Bell, waiting for my uncle's servant as he was to escort Maria and I on the post chaise. We'd gone out to stand by our trunks, as Maria was a little concerned about their being carried off. Two men approached us, one of them said we were very pretty. The other said we would do very well indeed."

She shuddered, drew the shawl even tighter around her thin shoulders, and pushed to her feet, taking a few steps toward the reflecting pool and the birds that glided about its surface. "We ignored them at first. When the first man reached out to touch Maria's face, I smacked his hand away and told him to leave her alone. I took her by the arm, and turned to go back into the inn, but our way was blocked by a third man. His grin was as lascivious as the first two, and he was pointing a gun at us. I looked over my shoulder at the first pair, and they had pulled guns as well. Third man then said if we came quietly, we'd not be harmed."

Elizabeth scoffed and toed the gravel beneath her feet. "Liar," she snarled softly. "We were herded to a carriage down the street with black curtains on the windows. Once Maria and I were inside, one of the men climbed in with us and the other two climbed onto the box. The curtains prevented me from discerning any idea of where we were going. I only know we were on the road for well over an hour before we ended up at this dilapidated old barn. Part of the roof was caved in, but it didn't seem to matter. There were armed men at the entrance, and we were forced into a stall to wait. Each stall held several girls…"

She turned back to him with tears in her eyes. "Some of them were very young, Darcy—as young as twelve, I don't doubt. All of them frightened, crying… I think some of them had already been abused, as I overheard more than one man talk of 'testing the merchandise.'"

Suddenly Elizabeth slapped a hand to her mouth, and she ran a few feet away before vomiting into the bushes. Darcy's heart constricted beneath his breast as he stood and walked slowly toward her. She heaved a time or two more before she straightened and wiped her mouth with the edge of her shawl.

"Forgive me," said she, her gaze not lifting to meet his.

Darcy shook his head. "You've no need to beg forgiveness, Elizabeth."

"Do not you see, though? Do not you see why I would much rather not talk of it? To relegate it all to the past and just move on with my life?"

At this, Darcy inclined his head. "I do see, Elizabeth," he replied. "And if I believed ignoring what happened would do you good, I would wholeheartedly support your choosing to do so. However, I must agree with Dr. Jones—talking about it can only help you be less likely to react as you did today. Do not mistake me—a part of me is pleased that you sought to protect Georgiana and Maria—but we now know that you are both of you reactive to the presence of men and loud noises."

She looked up at him then, a mix of exasperation and anger in her expression. "And how will talking about what happened stop either of us from being easily startled, Mr. Darcy?"

"I do not know that it will prevent it, but Dr. Jones has had some training in the treatment of mental trauma, and he is certain that ignoring the past will not aid you in overcoming it," Darcy said. "He believes that, at the very least, talking about it will enable you to become more inured to men and loud noises over time."

Tears began to fall from her eyes and Elizabeth hastily wiped them away. "No," she muttered. "No, I do not want to cry anymore. I do not want to give that monster anymore power over me—it is over now."

Darcy chanced taking a step closer and reaching slowly to take one of her hands in his. Elizabeth stiffened, but she did not draw away. He held her hand in silence until she looked up at him again.

"Then do not give him that power by hiding your memories away," he said softly. "By refusing to think about what you went through, he still commands your actions. He keeps you afraid of him. You may react as you did today, but in a situation where witnesses will not understand why—and that could lead to the wrong kind of talk. Nobody wants that. If you will not speak to me, or Dr. Jones, or anyone else, then might I suggest another method of expressing yourself?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"A journal," Darcy replied. "There was a period in my youth where I was angry at the world, and when I could not properly express myself to him, my father encouraged me to write my feelings down in a journal. It took some time, but I did eventually begin to feel less volatile."

"Was it the loss of your mother?" Elizabeth asked softly. "The thing that led to your anger?"

He inclined his head. "In fact, it was. I was angry that medicine did not save her. I was angry that God did not save her. It was a very long time before I understood that God had saved her—He saved her from suffering, and I like to believe that He made her one of his angels. Oh, she was the sort for it, my mother. I do not prevaricate, my dearest Elizabeth, when I tell you she was the best of women. Always kind to everyone, always generous with her time. She always had a smile, especially for my father and me."

A tiny smile appeared on her lips, then faded as she sighed and looked toward the house. "It was our innocence that Maria and I lost," she said. "Oh, I do not mean just our maidenheads, though that is some part of it. I mean our… our belief in the goodness of people. Certainly we knew there was evil in the world, but we had both of us grown up in such a close-knit community, where it seemed everyone knew everyone else and nary a bad thing happened."

She sighed again. "Now we know otherwise."

Elizabeth then gave his hand a slight squeeze before withdrawing her own from it. "I don't want to talk about what happened; I don't even like to think about it. But what happened when your cousin came in frightened even me, a little. I should not like for something of that nature to happen again, as my father will surely have me installed in Bedlam. If not he, then my mother certainly would."

"And if that should happen, I would fetch you at once and bring you straight back to Pemberley," said Darcy.

Elizabeth let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Surely not."

"I would indeed," he declared softly. "You feel safe here, do you not?"

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. Darcy held his breath as she scrutinized him, perhaps looking for the sincerity of his promise.

"I do," Elizabeth said at last.

"Then I would bring you back here so that you would feel safe again and lessen the risk of losing control of yourself as you did before," Darcy said simply.

Elizabeth smiled briefly again, then turned and started for the house. Darcy fell into step beside her once more, clasping his hands behind his back lest he give in to the urge to take her hand again.

"Perhaps I shall take up your suggestion," his companion said softly. "When I have got myself a journal."

"I will see to it immediately," Darcy said.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, I did not mean that you should purchase one for me!" Elizabeth cried. "You have already done so much for Maria and I—allowing us the comfort of your home, purchasing things with which to entertain ourselves… My father is coming, I am sure. I do not doubt he will be more than happy to pay the price of a journal for me."

"I am sure he would, but truly, Elizabeth, I do not mind taking care of you until he arrives," Darcy returned. "And that includes buying you things that you want or need."

"Like shoes and a journal?"

He chuckled softly. "Indeed, my dear Elizabeth. Just like shoes and a journal."