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E lizabeth stepped outside the front door and closed her eyes to draw a deep breath. Finally, she could get away for a walk.

Afterwards, she might be hungry enough for breakfast. While it was wonderful news about a new sibling, her mother’s nerves about her sickness each morning was going to pervade the household.

Grimacing, she pushed herself upright, checked the footmen were behind her and smiled at her maid. She was used to being followed now, and they knew she wished to walk well ahead of them, not for reasons of superiority, but because she wanted to feel she was alone.

She swung up the path, intending to cross the flank of the hill towards Shenley. It was her favourite walk at the moment, as the path to Oakham Mount seemed to be busier than ever.

Today she was unlikely to see anyone, and that was as she wanted.

Yesterday’s news had been deeply unsettling, and part of her wondered that the new sibling might be to replace her place in the home.

She was dismayed at her thoughts, but she knew she couldn’t push them away without having thought properly on them.

Then she could pack away her dismay and be truly delighted for Mama and Papa.

But Mama’s weight of expectation for a son would be hard to endure for another six or seven months.

She was well over the brow of the hill when she heard movement in the woodland close by, and frowned in annoyance. Now she would have to exchange pleasantries with whoever it was. At least she could hope that they wouldn’t try to join her on her walk.

She glanced behind her. Dawlish was the most faithful of servants and he was hurrying forward, to get closer to her while others were nearby.

The sound of the shot was shockingly loud and unexpected. Elizabeth’s legs buckled beneath her and she saw Dawlish collapse, his hands to his chest.

Elizabeth forced her legs to obey her, and ran towards him. What stupid farmer would be hunting so thoughtlessly near the path?

But the sight of redcoats stopped her in her tracks. “You’ve killed him!” she cried at Mr. Wickham, the smoking muzzle of the rifle he carried bearing testimony.

His smile was cruel. “He ought to have stayed back with the others, Lady Elizabeth. Then he might have survived.”

She turned her back on him and knelt down beside Dawlish. He writhed in pain. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he gasped. “Failed you.”

“Please don’t say that,” she choked out. “You are the most faithful of them. I will call for help, and you must be well.”

His eyes burned into hers. “No. You must escape. Run.” The was no sound now, his mouth merely shaped the words, blood bubbling from his mouth, before the life faded from his eyes.

Elizabeth stayed bent over him, afraid to look up at Wickham. Why had she not taken the danger from him seriously? Why had she risked walking so far?

“Get up, Lady Elizabeth. Come over here.” Wickham’s voice taunted her. “We have a long way to go.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t care where you decide to swing from the hangman’s noose, Mr. Wickham. But be assured, I am not coming with you.”

She glanced round, apparently incuriously. The other footman and her maid were standing some way away from her, two other officers pointing guns at them.

There was no help there.

Wickham’s features were dark and angry. “You are coming to Gretna with me! I shouldn’t have had to shoot him; now we will have to flee the country. But, if I can’t have the Lancaster estate, at least we will have your dowry.”

Elizabeth let her lip curl. “You have no compunction killing a good man, but only concern for the wealth that is not yours and you merely aspire to steal.” She stared at him, her chin up, ignoring the shock and fear within her. “You disgust me. I will never come with you, never!”

His features twisted in a maniacal grin. “Oh yes, you will. I shall enjoy forcing you, seeing your disdain of me turn to fear.” He reached out and grabbed her arm tightly, twisting it painfully and pulling her towards him.

The sound of horses crashing through the woods alerted her a moment before Mr. Wickham heard it.

“Help me!” she screamed.

Wickham muttered an oath as he lifted his hand holding the rifle and struck her with the butt. “Silence!”

An instant later, his grip on her slackened and he cried out. Elizabeth, dazed from the blow to her face, staggered a step away from him and turned.

Mr. Darcy was leaning from his plunging horse, his hand firmly in Wickham’s hair, almost lifting him off the ground.

She winced, the pain must be indescribable — but it was an effective and efficient move, she acknowledged.

“Drop your weapons!” The officer on the other horse was almost trampling the other officers, who hastily stepped back.

Within a moment, the officer turned back. His arm bent around Wickham’s neck in a chokehold, and Mr. Darcy was off his horse, and beside Elizabeth.

“Dearest Elizabeth, where are you hurt?” His hand cupped her cheek. “He struck you?”

She drew a shaky breath. “I am well, Mr. Darcy. I thank you for being here, or …” she wondered how long her legs would hold her up, and leaned against him.

His arm curled around her supportively, and he drew her a step towards a nearby log.

“Come round to the other side if you are able,” he said quietly, and sat her down, draping his topcoat over her shoulders as she began to shiver in shock.

“You there,” he called over to someone. “Come and attend your mistress.”

Soon her maid was beside her, and his wonderful closeness was no more.

She heard, as if in a dream, the other footman being sent back to Longbourn for assistance. She heard the choking sounds as Wickham fought for breath, and the murmur of the two gentlemen. One phrase came clearly to her. “ Tend to your lady, Darcy. I have him controlled until help arrives.”

Her lips curved. Tend to your lady . Was that why he was here? To protect her?

Then Mr. Darcy was crouching before her. “Lady Elizabeth, can you tell me where you are injured? I see the bruise on your face, but that would not account for the blood on your gown.”

She shook her head. “I am well, thank you, sir.”

He’d called her Lady Elizabeth. But she remembered his words a few moments before. Dearest Elizabeth , he had called her, and the thought warmed her, despite his more formal address now.

But she must answer him. She looked up, but she couldn’t see Dawlish. Mr. Darcy must have faced her away from him. She tried to smile and looked over her shoulder to where he lay, now covered by a coat.

Mr. Darcy’s hand on hers tightened a little. “Look at me, my lady.” His voice was exceedingly gentle. “Where are you injured?”

She shivered. “I am not. I … I held Dawlish.” She blinked. “He was the most faithful of them, and so he was shot.”

“Try not to think about it too much, madam. Assistance will be with us very shortly, and we can return you to Longbourn and call the apothecary.”

The tenderness of his expression was what caused her eyes to fill with tears, but of course he wouldn’t know that.

He took her hand and pressed a large handkerchief into it. “Do not feel ashamed, it is a very natural thing.”