A Rather Non Descript Carriage
Somewhere, Maybe England?
Caroline woke with a start. Not so much a "start" perhaps, as the terrifying feeling of slow suffocation. The gag on her mouth made it so she had to breath through her nose, a true nightmare for the permanently stuffy lady. Her too small, too irritated nasal passages were going to be the death of her if she could not get the gag off soon.
She forced herself to calm, the knowledge that she was hastening her demise by speeding her breathing somehow making itself known in the midst of her panic. The darkness that surrounded her was thick and unyielding, not a shred of light could be found.
She rolled slightly to the side, her arms aching in their position, tied tightly behind her back, and she pushed them as far as she could away from her body to keep her stable in her new position. The pain shooting across her shoulder blades somehow made it easier to concentrate.
Get the gag off.
That's all she had to do right now.
She began rubbing her face along the scratchy surface of her current prison. She could tell she was lying on the scratchy, hard seat of a well used carriage and briefly debated rolling onto the floor to look for weapons before coming back to the most pressing necessity.
Focus.
Breathe.
She rubbed harder. The seat was not as plush as her husbands carriage. Certainly nowhere near as plush as a Darcy carriage. And, for the first time in her life, she was thankful. The hard surface allowed for more traction against the gag, rolling it down her face and onto her chin.
She took a deep breath, coughing as her irritated lungs took in more air than necessary. She would take coughing any day over suffocating.
She laid on the seat, breathing the stale air greedily until her heart beat slowed and she could hear something other than the pounding of blood flowing through her head.
A rustling sound accompanied by heavy nasal breathing, accentuated by an odd whistling sound came from the general direction of the other seat in the carriage. She squinted in the darkness, barely making out the shape of what looked to be another person.
"Who's there?" She croaked, her voice unused and her throat dry.
She was answered by a muffled, but fervent, yelling. The sounds changing just enough to denote different words but unintelligible.
"You must calm so you may remove your gag." She demanded. A scratchy voice and sore throat could not stop Caroline from asserting her authority. The rustling of the struggle stilled.
She nodded before realizing she was unseen. "Good. Now you must run your face along the cushion, try moving your mouth to loosen the binding."
The sound of friction being created, the rub of fabric and skin against one another followed and she listened intently, riveted to the small sounds.
She heard a still muffled moan and it only served to raise her ire.
"Do it." She hissed. "I will not share a carriage with a corpse. I did it, there is no reason you can not follow. Keep on."
The rubbing sound started again, faster and harder than before.
She nodded to the darkness, pleased her fellow captive would not fail their first real test, only to frown disapprovingly when the rubbing sound stopped.
"Keep on." She urged. "We are forced to work together, clearly the Duc has double crossed me." She rolled her eyes to herself. She truly had known better. "Mr. Wickham, if that is you, I need you to try harder. Now. I believe your nose was broken, you will need to get the gag… oh, hell." Those who knew Caroline well knew she had a foul mouth when it matched to a foul mood. She pulled her knees forward and tried to push herself up with her shoulder only to wince at the pain and lay back down briefly. She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth before jerking her shoulder hard, she was prepared for the pain so she could push through it this time and propel herself up into a sitting position. She looked over the huddled shadow across from her as well as she could. It was night and if they were traveling by lantern light, they hid it well.
She propelled herself forward by rocking backwards only to half way stand before her knees gave out and her lack of forward momentum made her drop back down to the seat.
She grit her teeth again. "You are far more trouble than you are worth, Mr. Wickham." She closed her eyes, hoping for some sort of muffled response. Hearing nothing, she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. He was here because of her and her idiotic actions. If he died it would be because of her.
Her nostrils flared wide and her breath was fierce. Lady Bedford leaned back far, crumpling her tied hands and rushed forward, standing even though her knees had no desire to hold her up. She willed herself steady and turned just enough to fall (gracefully, still, she was a Lady after all.) to the opposite seat with a loud "umph." She had sat on one of Mr. Wickhams limbs, from the width she assumed it to be his leg, so she scooted forward arms achingly out stretched behind her while her fingers searched for the offending material. When she reached his face, she hooked her small finger in the damp gag and pulled it down, over his lips and down his chin. It rolled into a thin strip and stayed around his chin, stuck. No matter, though, it was off his mouth and he could breathe fully.
Well, he should be breathing fully.
Her momentary relief was shattered in a flash. She turned to look at him only to be thwarted by darkness. She turned back again quickly, allowing her fingers to crawl over his mouth. She scrunched her face in horror as her industrious little finger stuck in the still unconscious man's mouth. He was breathing, but it was shallow. She pulled her finger from his mouth in frustration, only to smack against his nose in her uncoordinated retreat.
"Unggggghghhh". Mr. Wickham's moan ended with the whistling of air through his broken nose. "What was that for?! Who's there?!"
Caroline rolled her eyes at the still annoying, but thankfully not dead, Mr. Wickham and moved back to her own seat, leaning forward heavily to keep her balance as she took a step.
"It is Lady Bedford, Mr. Wickham. Are you well?"
"No! No, I am not well! I have a broken nose which you just hit."
"Honestly, Mr. Wickham, I could not possibly care so long as you do not plan to die anytime soon. I do believe I will need your assistance."
"Assistance with what precisely, Lady Bedford?"
Lady Bedford rolled her eyes again, happy for the darkness concealing her unladylike facial expressions. "We are going to escape, Mr. Wickham. I mean, honestly."
She smiled at his silence. Obviously he was too stunned to respond.
No matter. Caroline was used to being underestimated.
It would only make success all the more sweet.
/
Darcy House
London, England
"Are you ready, Wife?" The gentle words and the soft knock pulled Elizabeth from her reverie.
Was she ready? She hadn't actually done anything since leaving the small wedding breakfast to prepare for a necessary outing. She had walked up the massive stairs of her massive new home in a daze and proceeded to stare at herself in the mirror, searching for some sort of physical manifestation of the massive changes in her life, perpetrated by uttering a single "I do".
Would she look more regal? Did becoming a Duchess somehow make her back straighter and her hair manageable? Did Duchesses suffer from the occasional spotting? Did they have days when they could hardly look in the mirror for fear of their own judgement of their appearance? Did they cry before their monthly cycles?
"Elizabeth?" Her husbands voice was still gentle but slightly worried. "Are you well?"
"Oh! Yes!" She blurted out, not realizing she had slipped back into her thoughts. She rushed to the door, fears forgotten for the moment. "I was just…" she opened the door and was nearly simultaneously swooped into the lanky but impossibly strong arms of her husband. A giggle escaped her lips before she turned to mock seriousness. "And what, pray tell, are you doing husband?"
"I believe it is rather obvious, Wife." His smile was wide and happy and ever so slightly mischievous.
"Not to me, I am afraid." He was walking towards the large couch situated before the fireplace.
"Clearly I am carrying my wife across the threshold."
"A threshold over which I have already successfully crossed."
"Yes, well, I was detained, wasn't I? I am nothing if not thorough."
"And why were you locked in heated conversation with the Bishop?" He sat down on the couch, with Elizabeth firmly cradled still in his arms.
"He wanted to ensure I had not somehow coerced you into marriage." He wagged his eyebrows playfully.
Elizabeth snorted in a decidedly un-Duchesslike manner. "After he officiated our wedding?"
"Yes, I believe he did not realize how wonderful you are until afterwards. He was completely determined I had somehow tricked you."
"Is your reputation so bad that having a wonderful wife should be so out of your reach?"
"Perhaps not bad, no." His smile faltered and lowered at the edges. "I have never - I am not able to recommend myself well to strangers. But, beyond that…" he trailed off but the defeat in his voice made her heart ache.
"You recommend yourself well with me."
His smile returned slightly. "I believe I have never talked so well or felt such ease with anyone." He stared in her eyes for a long time, his arms squeezing her nearly unconsciously and his jaw clenched. "Elizabeth, there is something I must tell you. I wanted to do so before we were married but… things have happened very quickly." He made a move to disentangle their limbs, ostensibly to remove her from his lap, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest.
"You have made a monster of me already" She laughed lightly "I'm afraid you will need to whisk me around everywhere and sit thus every night while I read." The sparkle in his eye told her he was in complete agreement. "Let us remain entangled while you tell me your secrets."
He stared at her, wonder written plain across his face. "I have no idea how I have gotten so lucky." He kissed her lightly on the nose before taking a deep breath.
"My sister is… not well received in polite society." His contempt for the institution was clear in his tone. "She - where to start? - she changed a great deal after our father left. Our mother's death was hard for all of us but she was always our father's favorite. When he left, she - just withdrew - from everything - from me, though I was busy learning to run the estate - from her music - my sister used to play for hours on end and she, I mean, she just stopped." He shook his head sadly. "When she was 15 she wanted to go to Brighton for the summer." His sad demeanor grew angry in a flash. "Wickham returned from the continent and met her there. He coerced her into attempting an elopement." Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth, anger flooding through her veins as well. "He swears he never touched her - and she - she defends him!" he took a defeated breath. "she came to be with child over a year later and will not disclose the name of the man who- who - well, no matter. She is raising her daughter - my niece - on her own. Very nearly in hiding after she was shunned fully by all in our acquaintance." He looked at her fearfully after he said the words, nearly wincing, waiting for her response.
"What is her name?"
"Hmm? Who?"
"Well, your sister is Lady Georgiana but, what is your nieces name?"
He smiled happily, unable to hid the joy in his expression. "If it was a boy Georgie threatened to name him Fitzwilliam- a fate I do not wish on anyone - as a way of thanking me for not sending her away." He shook his head. "But she went with Mary. She is 4 - are you upset by this at all, Elizabeth? I expected at least some reaction."
"What were you imagining, Fitzwilliam?" She smirked at the use of his name. "That I would follow suit and shun her?" She shook her head and maintained eye contact. "I have seen enough of the world to know it is messy. We - all of us - are fallible, and everyone has made a mistake in their life. Some aren't lucky enough to have those mistakes buried under a rug. I look forward to meeting your family -"
"Our family."
"We are married aren't we?"
"Mmm, Yes." He nudged his nose into her hair and over her ear. If she had been standing, she would have crumpled onto the ground in a useless pile of Elizabeth.
"Then I look forward to meeting the rest of our family." The words were her own but her voice clearly was not. The breathy, nearly hoarse version was something she had never heard before. He continued his ministrations, trailing kisses down her neck, his hands roaming far more brazenly than they ever had. Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure she would not combust from the heat and the need boiling inside her.
In this state of frantic affairs, neither of them heard the door open as Lydia's voice very nearly sent Elizabeth tumbling to the floor and Darcy into an apoplexy.
"Ew. What on earth are you doing? Uck." Lydia shielded her eyes dramatically but did not think to retreat.
"Lydia!" Elizabeth righted herself clumsily, standing on wobbling knees and leaning into her also standing husband for support. "I am married you were at the ceremony not an hour past, what are you doing in here?"
Lydia scoffed but hadn't dropped her hand from her eyes. "Are you decent yet?"
"Yes, Miss Lydia, you may uncover your eyes." He spike with the patience of a man used to dealing with children and Elizabeth was not exactly positive how that could stoke her fever further.
Lydia peeked from behind her hand before dropping them all together. "Good. That was disgusting." Elizabeth started to speak but Lydia kept going. "You have a visitor." She giggled giddily. "I had to come up to tell you because you will never guess who it is."
Elizabeth glared at her youngest sister, the heat and unadulterated lust she had felt just moments before turning to red hot anger fueled by an odd embarrassment and annoyance at their lack of privacy even after being married.
"Go on, Lydia." Elizabeth snapped.
"Oh no! You must guess! What a lark this will be! You can't possibly guess. Although, you should hurry I do not believe this is a person you should keep waiting."
Elizabeth felt Darcy go entirely stiff, the arm she had been leaning into flexing tightly.
"Miss Lydia, if it is who I think it is you must leave so we can prepare."
"Oh yes! Lizzie may I borrow your dress. I did a wonderful job on the alterations, it might even fit me."
Yes. Elizabeth was now debating actual bodily harm to her sister.
"Lydia. This is my wedding dress, no you can not borrow it. Who is here?"
"Oh poo. I had hoped you two would be a bit more fun. No matter." She flicked her hand in the air. "Prinny is waiting impatiently for the both of you." She looked to the slack jawed Elizabeth and the frozen Darcy and giggled again.
"You know, the Prince Regent."