Page 1 of Losing Lizzy
3 August 1816
“ England,” Darcy whispered. “Home .” He had stood along the rail of the ship most of the night, waiting for this very moment. “Elizabeth,” he murmured. Was there any chance she would welcome his return? He doubted it, for whether his actions had been intentional or not, he had ruined her. Although no fault of his own, he had left her at the altar, never making an appearance on their wedding day. Society, by now, had presented her with various names: a jilt, a tease, a fallen woman, thinking he had not stood up with her for their nuptials because he had discovered her free with her attentions to other men, when he knew, without a doubt, she had been a virgin, for it was he with whom Elizabeth Bennet had lain for the first time.
“One evening,” he groaned as the memory of her resting beneath him in all her exquisite glory—a look of pure wonderment marking her countenance—filled his mind. It was the one memory that had sustained him during his long ordeal upon The Lost Sparrow.
Three years. Eight months. Two and twenty days.
He had not known the exact count, although he had made rudimentary calculations when he had first been taken aboard The Lost Sparro w , but over the days and months and years of his long imprisonment, he had lost count. It was only when the ship—a British frigate—had fished him from the icy waters of the Atlantic that he had been made aware of the number of days he had lost with Elizabeth at his side.
For the years of his imprisonment, any time The Lost Sparro w came into port, he had been confined in the hole, chained to the inside of the ship, for the captain and the crew knew he was hell-bent upon returning to his family. “Just consider,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I have not set foot on dry land since long before the war with the French knew an end.” He was not certain his legs would cooperate; yet, Darcy was determined to reach Darcy House as quickly as his rolling gait would carry him.
“Your family will know surprise with your return,” Captain Robert Bruester said as he joined Darcy at the railing.
“I imagine so.”
Bruester and Lieutenant Wilder had both spent their years at university with Darcy. Thankfully, Wilder had been on the deck of The Resolutio n when Darcy had made his swim to safety.
The Resolutio n had been spotted early on by those in the crow’s nest of The Lost Sparrow , and the pirate ship and its crew had claimed the cover of an island’s sheltered cove. From there, they had watched the slow progress of The Resolutio n , debating on whether to engage the ship or let it pass without notice.
For Darcy, the vigil had renewed his hope of escaping his ordeal. “Ironic,” he had thought the words without saying them aloud. “Historically, an ‘ordeal’ was an ancient test of guilt or blamelessness brought about by subjecting the accused to severe pain. The accused’s survival was taken as divine proof of his innocence. I wonder how others will judge me, for I hold my suspicions, and I know how I will judge those who acted against me.”
After so long a time upon the ship, neither the crew nor The Lost Sparrow ’ s captain had considered him anything other than one of them, although they never permitted him to be a part of those who plundered other ships. Evidently, they were either ordered to keep him away from others or they had come up with the scheme themselves. In truth, he was not certain how it all came about. He was, however, assigned much of the labor on the ship from scrubbing to repairs. Because he could read and write and perform his sums, he had often been tasked with dividing up the booty confiscated from the crew’s various skirmishes. Therefore, on this evening, no one noticed he had become one of those on deck to keep an eye on the British ship’s maneuverings.
With each breaking of water from the frigate’s approach, Darcy estimated whether he could swim out far enough to reach it without the notice of those aboard The Lost Sparro w . As night fell, he had hidden below the stairs leading to the hole. Everyone remained eager to learn that the frigate had moved on; so, no one had checked on his whereabouts. No alarms had been raised. No lanterns lit to allow those on watch to take notice of him in the dark shadows waiting for the perfect moment to stage his escape. Among those in charge, it had been decided that they would permit The Resolution to pass them by, for the British ship sported eight and thirty guns, and The Lost Sparro w had but twelve.
Hence, with a dark ship, the crew of The Lost Sparro w sat in silence as Darcy’s chance at freedom slipped away. A frigate could easily cover twelve knots with a good wind, and if it kept moving away, he would never reach it in time. Finally, the British Navy brought in their sails and also settled in for the night. With a grumble of displeasure, The Lost Sparro w ’s captain left men on deck to sound the alarm, if necessary, and sent the others to their beds. With only a handful of men remaining on deck, Darcy had shored up his courage and had sneaked from his hiding place. He had spent nearly four years of his life walking the boards of The Lost Sparro w . He knew every squeak and nail. Barefooted, he had eased himself over the railing and down the ladder, quietly slipping into the water. Treading to stay afloat, his heart pounded so hard he was certain someone on board would hear it, but no one on The Lost Sparro w had sent up a cry. Grabbing his chance at freedom, he reached out and cupped the water with one hand to pull his body forward. Then, slowly and quietly, he repeated the motion. Easy stroke after easy stroke. Nothing franti c , he warned himself over and over. Slow and steady until you are away from the ship and the crew’s hearing. One stroke at a time. One stroke closer to freedom and Elizabeth.
Within minutes, he reached the island. Pulling himself from the water, he had stumbled forward. The exercise had been harder than he had expected, for it had been too many years since he had gone for a swim for his body to recall the movement without his concentration. As he suspected, when he attempted to stand and to take a step on the beach, his legs wobbled, giving him the appearance of being drunk or being a new foaled horse; yet, he made himself fight his way through the vegetation. The rocks cut his feet, and the branches slapped him across the face; however, he did not falter—refused to surrender, for this was the only opportunity he had been presented in the nearly four years he had been on The Lost Sparro w .
The island was only a narrow strip of land, not much wider than some of the parks in London. He kept telling himself, “If I can make it to the other side without being seen by someone aboard the ship, I can swim to where the British frigate has chosen to sleep for the night.”
When he finally burst through the scraggy trees to the other side of the island, Darcy bent over long enough to recover his breath. He looked back toward where he had come. The trees were not so dense as he had first thought. He could be seen if someone on The Lost Sparro w turned to look his way.
“Now or never,” he declared. “I cannot go back. I must either return to Georgiana and Elizabeth or die in the sea. I can wait no longer for another opportunity to show itself.”
* * *
Even after reaching England, it had taken them another two days to maneuver up the Thames and dock in London. In all, he had spent three weeks with the crew of The Resolutio n , an appropriate name for a ship that brought about an ending to his ordeal, who, once they had retrieved him from the water and had heard his tale, had altered their course to trap those on The Lost Sparrow in the cove before the pirates could respond. They may have made it to England sooner if they were not required to tow The Lost Sparro w into port, but Darcy knew satisfaction when he finally stepped down on the docks in London, where his nightmare had begun. The clothes he wore had been borrowed from various members of The Resolutio n ’s crew. They were ill-fitting, but so much more than the rags he had known since being pressed into service on The Lost Sparro w .
Wilder had hired a hackney to return Darcy to Darcy House. Now, as he stepped down before his London home, people stared at him in distaste as he approached the door and released the knocker, but Darcy made himself not turn around, concentrating all his energies on surviving the next few minutes. He knew his appearance was less than pristine, for he wore mismatched clothes several sizes too large for him. One step at a tim e —the advice from Bruester, who had heard from his parents in a letter how Lord Matlock had moved to declare Darcy as dead after the authorities had found his cane and the ring he had purchased for Elizabeth somewhere upon the docks, rattled about in Darcy’s head. Therefore, he did not know what to expect when the door opened, but any preparations he had made mentally had not been enough.
“Yes, sir?” A man he did not recognize swung the door open.
“Where is Mr. Thacker?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Mr. Thacker has taken another position, sir. That was nearly four years past.” The man pulled himself up stiffly. “I am Mr. Jones. Do you have business with the master?” The man eyed Darcy’s mishmash of clothing up and down and edged the door partially closed.
“The master?” Darcy asked. He knew his voice held surprise, but there was no way to control his reaction to this new reality.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam.” Again, the door moved another inch closer to being slammed in Darcy’s face.
Darcy employed his best Master of Pemberley voice. “Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Fitzwilliam.” The idea the Matlocks had taken over his house did not sit well with him. If he were dead, it should be Samuel Darcy residing in this house, not the colonel. His father’s cousin, Samuel, was the heir to the Darcy fortune, not those in the Fitzwilliam family.
“Who is it, Jones?” a familiar voice called out from the second storey landing.
“I am not certain, sir.” Jones narrowed the opening.
Darcy caught the edge of the door and gave it a good shove, sending the butler stumbling backward. “Fitzwilliam!” he called, using his shoulder to barrel his way into the foyer.
From above, he heard his cousin cry out, “What the—?”
Darcy paused from his exertion to look up. “Why are you acting as master of my house?” he demanded.
His cousin caught hard at the railing. “My God, Darcy. It is you.”
“Most assuredly, it is I.” He started for the stairs, but two unfamiliar footmen stepped before him. “Have you removed all who once served me?” he questioned, a scowl of disapproval forming on his features.
Fitzwilliam gestured the servants from his way. “Permit Mr. Darcy admittance,” his cousin instructed. “After all, as he says, this is his house.”
As Darcy climbed the stairs, never removing his eyes from his cousin, he ordered, “Mr. Jones, if you expect to retain your position, bring me a small meal and a proper cup of tea, and do so quickly.”
“Yes, sir,” the man called as he scrambled away.
Fitzwilliam appeared as stunned as was Darcy. There was no embrace of emotions. Only something that appeared like regret upon the colonel’s features showed. “Lead on, Cousin,” Darcy said through tight lips, a feeling of betrayal settling in his chest. “I am most eager to hear your explanations.”
Without uttering a word, Fitzwilliam turned crisply upon his heels and preceded Darcy into the study. In anger, Darcy purposely closed the door behind them.
His cousin crossed to the tray holding a decanter of brandy. “May I pour you a drink? ”
Darcy eyed the room. Subtle changes had been made in the furnishings of the room. At least all he held dear had not been set aside. “I will pass. I fear I will require a clear head to understand what has gone on in my absence.”
Fitzwilliam turned toward him, his features grim. His cousin was a man Darcy had always trusted, but, now, he wondered if he had made a serious mistake in judgment. “It is not as this must first appear,” his cousin pleaded. “What I have done, I did so to protect your interests and your sister.”
Darcy thought to assume the chair behind the desk, but, rather, he chose the two wing chairs before the hearth. “I am willing to listen, but know, I have recently been in the company of Captain Robert Bruester, who had heard from his family that Matlock has attempted to have me declared dead.”
“Bruester? I thought him at sea,” Fitzwilliam remarked as he joined Darcy before the empty hearth. The colonel studied Darcy carefully.
“He was. As was I until I managed to escape the pirate ship upon which I have been held for nearly four years.” He nodded to his cousin. “Was my uncle successful? Must I begin my return to the world by proving I am truly alive?”
“A pirate ship? My God, Darcy! I would never have thought you had been caught by a press gang. We assumed you had been robbed and tossed into the Thames.”
Darcy held himself very stiff. “It is not that I object to making an explanation regarding my capture and my escape, but I require some answers from you first.”
Fitzwilliam nodded his agreement. With a heavy sigh, he began, “We were all at sixes and sevens when you did not show at your wedding.”
Darcy wished to ask of Elizabeth, but his first task was to learn where his father’s legacy stood before he could inquire of Elizabeth Bennet’s fate.
“What did you do?”
If Fitzwilliam had expected Darcy to ask of Elizabeth, the colonel quickly hid his curiosity. He permitted Darcy to dictate their conversation. “Georgiana and I returned to London, and I began to trace your steps. The day your sister and I departed for Netherfield, you were to retrieve Miss Elizabeth’s ring from the jeweler. That is where I began.”
“And you discovered?” Darcy questioned.
“Very much what I shared a moment ago. I employed the services of my friend Thomas Cowan, who you might recall was a former Bow Street Runner. He and I called upon the jeweler, whose assistant told us two men were seen following you when you exited the shop.”
Darcy wished he had paid more attention on that particular day, but his head was full of memories of Elizabeth Bennet, and he belatedly realized he had not practiced caution. “Why was not an alarm raised?”
“A series of excuses, but none worth pursuing,” his cousin said with a frown. “The jeweler and his assistant each blamed the other for not performing as they should have. When we departed the jeweler, Cowan suggested we search the docks and question those who were employed there. One of your tasks that day was to see to a shipment in which you and father had invested.”
“That was my destination,” Darcy admitted, but he listened carefully to hear what the colonel left out of his tale.
“We learned of two ships that departed the night you left the jewelers. I spoke to everyone who would share information; yet, there were no substantial leads as to your whereabouts.”
Darcy remembered how the men who had caught him had struck him repeatedly until he had gone unconscious. When he finally woke up, The Lost Sparro w was departing the docks, but not those in London. He had been transported further down the Thames to somewhere in Kent.
Fitzwilliam continued, “Cowan located the ring and the cane in a pawn shop, and we traced the items back to the man who pawned them. He swore he found them behind some crates near the docks.”
Darcy recalled throwing the ring away, hoping against hope the men only meant to rob him. He thought they might leave him be long enough for him to make an escape, but they ignored the box. They had ripped the cane from his hands as he had used it as a weapon against them and had tossed it aside also.
“There was nothing to connect him to your disappearance. If you say he was involved, I will have Cowan locate him and bring him in for questioning.”
Darcy shook off the idea. “I know the identities of those involved. There were five all together. Two were killed in a skirmish with another pirate ship and the other three are presently in the custody of the British navy, along with their captain and crew mates.”
“Were you never permitted on land in all those years?” Fitzwilliam asked in bewilderment.
“Not once,” Darcy said in deep sorrow. “I thought, especially in the beginning, I would go mad. Only the memories of Elizabeth and Georgiana kept me alive.”
“You wish to know of Miss Elizabeth’s fate?” Fitzwilliam asked in sympathetic tones, which made Darcy’s heart ache. How would he survive if she had married another?
“Not yet,” he said solemnly. “You still have not spoken to me of the earl’s efforts to declare me dead nor why you are at Darcy House rather than my father’s cousin, Samuel Darcy?”
Fitzwilliam shifted his weight uncomfortably. “In truth, I do not know what Matlock hoped to achieve. I suppose Aunt Catherine managed to harangue him into action. Initially, Lady Catherine appeared pleased you had not married Miss Elizabeth, declaring for one and all that you had come to your senses and meant to marry Anne after a proper period—time for the gossip to die away. However, when we could discover no evidence of your purposeful absence, her ladyship scolded the earl into securing the Darcy fortune before someone swept in and married Georgiana, essentially taking hold of all your holdings. It was determined my brother Lindale would be Georgiana’s groom.”
“Lindale?” Darcy knew he frowned, but this conversation could bring no other emotions beyond pure anger. “Why would Matlock think to turn over my father’s holdings? Has not Matlock always feared that Roland Fitzwilliam would ruin the earldom with his profligate ways?”
“Aye,” Fitzwilliam confirmed. “The plan was for me to marry Anne and Lindale to marry Georgiana, solidifying both family fortunes.”
Darcy did not approve of how his relations had worked against him. “And declaring me dead would make the transition easier?” Darcy thought, “ And make the Fitzwilliams richer, for what my father left me was nearly five times what the Fitzwilliam factions know, and that does not take into account what I have added since assuming Pemberley’s realm.”
His cousin nodded his affirmation of Darcy’s assumption.
“I pray you put a stop to this madness. You are, after all, also Georgiana’s guardian. You would know my thoughts upon such a joining.”
Again, Fitzwilliam appeared uncomfortable with Darcy’s words. “I fought the good fight, making certain the law would not turn over the Darcy assets to my father or Roland. Not being able to locate Samuel Darcy was both a blessing and a curse in this matter. Thankfully, your father’s will is very specific on the inheritance.”
Darcy’s high dudgeon eased somewhat. “I thank you for your care of Georgiana and my father’s legacy. I realize standing against your family placed you in a tenuous situation.”
Fitzwilliam took a large swallow of the brandy before setting the glass aside. “You may not wish to offer your gratitude so quickly.”
Darcy scowled, but before he could ask the question rushing to his lips, the door swung wide to bang against the wainscoting along the wall. “Tell me it is true!”
Darcy scrambled to his feet as quickly as his sea legs would permit to turn to face his sister standing in the open door. She was pale and swayed in place when her eyes landed upon his countenance. Immediately, Fitzwilliam was across the room to steady her .
“William?” her lips moved, but no sound could be heard.
“I have returned, my girl,” he said as he made his way to her.
Then, she launched herself into his arms, nearly sending them both to the ground. However, Darcy locked his knees in place and absorbed the impact. Tears of what he assumed were joy dampened the coarse fabric of his borrowed shirt.
“All is well, Georgie,” he whispered close to her ear. “I am home, and I will see all is set right. I am grieved you suffered in my absence. Just know you were never far from my thoughts, and if I could have returned to you quicker than I did, I would have claimed that opportunity. It was not my choice to leave you.”
“Where?” she managed to ask on a hiccup.
“It is a long tale,” he said softly. “The short of it: a press gang removed me from London.”
“Come, my dear,” Fitzwilliam said from somewhere off Darcy’s shoulder. “There is more than enough time for Darcy to explain it all. I do not want you to become upset. Think of the child.”
It was only then that Darcy realized his svelte sister was pleasingly plump. He leaned back to look upon her more fully. “You are with child,” he stated in awe. Looking to his cousin, he said, “I thought you indicated you had thwarted Matlock’s plans to marry Georgiana off to Lindale.”
His cousin led Georgiana to a nearby settee and supported her to the seat. Standing tall again, he settled a steady gaze upon Darcy. “I did thwart the earl’s plans by marrying Georgiana myself. We married a little over a year ago, and our first child will be born sometime in the next month. If the child is a male, he will be your heir presumptive, replacing Samuel Darcy, until you choose to marry and produce an heir of your own.”