Author's Notes

I want to extend my thanks to the anonymous readers and reviewers since I can't reach you individually. That you've taken the time to comment really does mean a lot to me.

Chapter 2, That Which Makes the Heart Freeze Over

Elizabeth opened her mouth to scream as the thin ice broke way beneath her.

It was an impulse forced from her in panic, and one she instantly wished she had been able to hold back. From under the frigid, swirling waters, no sound left her, but water rushed in between her parted lips, making her gag and sputter while she kicked furiously to resurface. It was so cold; the icy water seemed to be biting her very bones.

Rising blindly and clumsily, she inched her way in the direction of the dim light that reached her stinging eyes. It felt as though her heart was hammering its rapid beat violently against her chest. Stretching out her hands above her head, she prepared herself to beckon Darcy and grab hold of the broken edge of the ice.

A thick sheet of solid frost was all that met her fingertips.

Elizabeth scrabbled at the ceiling of ice, desperately feeling for the opening through which she had dropped, but it was not there. She must have swum to an entirely different side of the pond.

She was trapped.

.*.

Darcy found it impossible to move.

Then his wits caught up with him. He charged out onto the frozen pond, heedless of the ominous shifting of the ice beneath his feet as he did, slipping heavily onto his hands and knees several times before he made it over to the gaping hole in the ice.

She was not there. He could not see her.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy yelled into the water's still surface.

He heard it then, a faint scratching noise from under the ice, and nearby.

Bless the brilliant girl! She would lead him to her, his clever, brave wife.

Forgetting about wasting time to regain his feet, Darcy crawled towards the sound and started brushing away the opaque film of frost from the ice to see more clearly underneath it.

His labored breathing was coming in short pants that hung on the air as small, misted puffs. He would find her, he would find her.

The scuffing sound stopped.

.*.

Elizabeth drifted languidly in the water's current.

She was tired, so tired, and just could not make it back up again. Her lungs were burning badly now, and whereas before her heart had seemed to be performing an Italian opera overture, it had since slowed down to an idle sort of waltz. Soon, the self-preservation instincts of her body would override rational thought and make her mouth open, indifferent to the fact that water, not air, would surge into her.

Her arms and legs were becoming harder and harder to move as the cold penetrated deep into her muscles, making her body go rigid. Her dress and petticoats, absolutely soaked through, were becoming like sandbags and slowly dragging her down to the pond bed.

"Elizabeth!"

Darcy's voice reached her, muffled and distorted. He was calling her, and she wanted to call back, but she could not.

"Elizabeth!"

She forced her eyes open. She could do something; she had to do something.

Slowly, painfully, Elizabeth kicked and paddled and used every ounce of strength she had left in her to propel herself back up to the ice, trying for the gauzy shadow that stained it, thinking maybe it was Darcy. The exertion drained her, but she was able to pound her fists against the top of her frozen cage one last time before her sight went dark.

.*.

No, no, no, she has not stopped, Darcy thought wildly as he continued on his hands and knees for any sign of her. She has not given up, I just do not hear her. Do not dare give up on me, Elizabeth.

The soft thud that came from right under him made his heart jump into his throat. He used his entire arm to swipe clean the surface of the patch of ice below him and pressed his face up against it to peer through.

A flash of red.

Her gloves were red.

He rubbed and slammed relentlessly on the ice to crack it. It must have already been a little weaker in that spot because at last a tinkling shatter erupted as his balled hand drove into the ice again.

Without a second's hesitation, he thrust his arm up to the shoulder into the water and strained to feel her. The piercing cold sent a jolt through his body, making Darcy even more frenzied: Elizabeth's entire body had been submerged in here for almost a minute.

Finally, he made contact with something soft, and hoping against hope it was her, grasped it tightly as he wrenched it to him. It was her wrap that he had managed to seize hold of, and heaving, he brought Elizabeth out of the water and to him. With her safely enclosed in his arms, he rolled them over the little way back to the shore for solid ground.

Darcy came to a halt with Elizabeth beneath him. Her face, lying limp to one side, was deathly white and almost exactly matched the snow framing her, all except the bluish hue tinting her still lips. She had lost her bonnet, and her hair was beginning to frost in the air already, an unforgiving wind picking up and whistling through the trees.

"Elizabeth, you are safe now, you are fine. Please. Please wake up," he begged hoarsely, grasping her chin in his hand to turn her face towards him. But she was far from either.

The bitter wind whipped around them, if possible stealing even more color from her stark cheeks while making his red and raw. She was not shivering as he was, and that terrified him. Biting the index finger of his glove and yanking it off with his teeth, Darcy brought a shaking, bare hand up to her mouth to feel the exhale of her breath. But the damned wind was toying with him now, making him madly question whether its cutting nip tickled his palm, or her breathing. Fumbling for her wrist, he groped to feel a pulse.

He stared into Elizabeth's face as he waited to feel the throb against his thumb. It should not be taking this long…it should not…it…it was sluggish, and terribly faint, but there! Darcy almost wept in gratitude at the sensation.

He had to get her back to Pemberley.

Tearing off his own overcoat, he gently enveloped Elizabeth inside and carefully lifted her into his arms, remembering that he once heard you were not to jostle victims of hypothermia. He saw that the tips of her ears were the same shade of blue as her lips. He ripped the scarf from his throat and swathed her head in it.

Darcy took off at a run.

Branches Elizabeth had before nimbly evaded, he ran straight through, their ice-glazed, prodding sharpness clawing his face in his recklessness. He shielded Elizabeth from the glances the way he held her, turning her face into his chest while the rest of her remained bundled up in his coat.

The hush rendered by the snow that had only minutes ago seemed magical was now converted into something sinister, making Darcy feel eerily isolated and sparking a smothering panic in him about just how far from the house they had strayed. The watery, fleeting sunlight of winter was already starting to fade as his stomping footfalls echoed through the trees, crushing hardened snow and ice underfoot, and he never slowed down, not once.

After what seemed like an eternity, he glimpsed torch lights winking at him from a distance among the trees. The stitch in his side panged dully as he sprinted up the walkway beside the brook that lay in front of Pemberley. Darcy staggered up the front steps leading to the oak doors, using his weight to shove them open with a bang.

"Help! For God's sake, help!"

Instantly, the house was in uproar.

Garbled shouts rang through the halls, and the thunderous approach of running feet rumbled as the servants sprang into action at their master's cries. They flooded the entrance hall, crowding around to see what had happened. When they saw Darcy's wife draped motionlessly in his arms with water dripping onto the rug from her hair and clothing, half the women covered their mouths and gasped.

.*.

Mrs Reynolds came bustling out from among the throng, and the moment she saw the state of her master and mistress, took full command of the situation.

"Where is James?" she asked in an authoritative tone as her eyes roved about to catch sight of the groomsman.

A lad with bright red hair squeezed between the gardener and a valet in order to reach her.

"Saddle up the fastest horse—Aeolus will do—and ride him into the village to fetch Dr Neil. Be quick about it, boy! Off with you, go, go!"

James went scampering in the direction of the stables.

"The rest of you: men, go arrange fires in every room of the house, and if there is not wood enough for the job, gather some more to sustain us through the night. Ladies, I want you to make sure every window and door is shut tight, and to go collect blankets, towels, anything warm—except you, Lily," she said in an undertone, detaining Elizabeth's lady's maid with a touch on the arm while the assembly dispersed haphazardly. "I shall need you to come help me attend to Mrs Darcy."

The housekeeper turned to look at Darcy directly for the first time as the others went running off to do as they were told. He had stood there clutching Elizabeth in a kind of numb trance as she mandated orders to the staff.

"Mr Darcy," she spoke to him gently, "if you could carry her up to your bedchamber so that we may take her out of those wet things."

Darcy's eyes seemed lost as he met her gaze, but they also looked immensely thankful for a moment before he tightened his hold on Elizabeth and started climbing the stairs two at a time.

"Annette!" Mrs Reynolds said in a sharp hiss to one of the maids who had begun to blubber noisily once Darcy's back was turned to her. "Stop that whimpering this instant, or, mark me, I shall be sending you off to work in the kitchens for the rest of the week."

That was the last thing Darcy needed to see.

She turned on her heel to go up the staircase after him, Lily in her wake.

.*.

Darcy kicked open the door to their bedroom and crossed the floor to the bed. Softly, he placed Elizabeth on the lace coverlet, took his coat and scarf off of her, and set to removing her sodden clothes. She had not so much as stirred since he pulled her from the pond, and her face still bore that colorless complexion, save for the blue lips.

His fingers shook uncontrollably as he stripped her of her wrap, scarf, and gloves, even more so as he lifted her back up to slip off her dress. Her head drooped lifelessly before he brought it rest on his chest. His already ragged breath caught; Elizabeth's cheek was like ice, even through the fabric of his shirt.

By the time he had begun to pick at the strings of her corset and slip, Mrs Reynolds entered the room. Lily stood right behind her and blushed crimson when she saw Darcy hanging over Elizabeth in that state of undress, but he did not care a whit.

"We shall manage Mrs Darcy from here, Mr Darcy," Mrs Reynolds told him, guiding him towards the door. "You should be tending to yourself, before you catch your d—" she stuttered to a halt, catching herself before the word passed her lips. She clumsily contrived to cover her blunder. "Dr Neil should be getting here any moment, and you shall be wanting to get ready to receive him."

He nodded mutely, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to.

Glancing back before the door blocked her from him entirely, Darcy felt his chest constrict tightly at the sight of his independent, resilient Elizabeth lying insensible and vulnerable on the bed.

End Author's Notes

Why do I get the feeling I'm going to be mauled for torturing these two?