Page 8 of Losing Lizzy

Frustrated, Darcy returned to the bookstore. He did not expect to find Townsend enjoying a drink at The Dingy Ros e , but he had hoped someone would know more of the man than they did.

“Did you learn anything?” Elizabeth asked when she opened the door to him.

He shook his head in the negative as he shrugged out of his coat. “People were purposely not speaking of the man, which likely means someone has paid for their silence. As many men are without work, they are willing to keep silent when the world erupts around them just for the pleasure of supporting their families.”

She said testily, “If they really wished to support their families, they would not waste their few funds on drink and on the women who frequent such places.”

Despite himself, he smiled. “Ladies are not supposed to know what men do in such places.”

“Perhaps other women prefer to bury their heads in fluffy pillows,” she replied with a snit of disapproval, “but I am not one of them. I would not tolerate a man who turned to strong drink when other solutions are required.”

Darcy did not tell her men saw things differently from women, but he refrained from remarking on her observation. “I let it be known I would pay for information on Townsend’s whereabouts or those with whom the man did business.”

Tears filled her eyes. “What must Lizzy be thinking? It is dark. She must be so frightened, William.”

He gathered her to him. “I know, love. We will find her. It is just going to take longer than either of us likes. You have my word I will bring our daughter home to you.”

She rested her head against his chest. “I cannot live without her, William. The surgeon who was brought in by the midwife said there was a strong possibility I might never have another child.” Darcy attempted not to react to her confession, fearing she would think he would reject her if she could not bear him an heir, but he knew he stiffened.

He stroked her back. “I promise I will use everything within my power to return Elizabeth Anne to her mother’s arms.”

* * *

As was typical of a man of his consequence, Fitzwilliam Darcy had taken charge of locating their daughter. In some ways, she was most appreciative of his influence; in other ways, she despised how he did it all without consulting her. Elizabeth knew it was his way of protecting her; yet, some of his exacting ways still grated against her nerves. Perhaps it was his training as the master of a large estate, or her lack, thereof, of knowing more of the world than how to run a manor house, that kept him a few steps ahead of her. Before she could think on the need for an evening meal, he had instructed Mr. Farrin to fetch meals from the nearby inn for all of them, even sending Jasper to carry one of the meals to Mrs. Harris and to assure all of the lady’s recovery. He had also contacted the local magistrate to inform the man of Lizzy’s abduction.

As the night wore on, he sent his men to an inn for rooms for the evening. Mr. Sheffield had returned below, leaving only the two of them. “I plan to remain,” he announced as he sat in one of the arm chairs across from her. His countenance held that same stubbornness she had observed when she had attempted to express her gratefulness for what he had done to save Lydia’s reputation, and, by connection, her and all her sisters .

“It is late. If I am to continue to search for Lizzy tomorrow, I should attempt to rest,” she said.

“Rest is advisable,” he said. “You have had a trying day.”

Although she knew him to be sitting across from her, her mind kept telling her none of what had occurred that day could be real. It was a nightmare she was reliving over and over again.

“Should you not join Mr. Farrin and Jasper at the inn?” she suggested. Elizabeth was not prepared to spend a night with him. Despite being grateful for his survival, she was not ready to fall into Mr. Darcy’s arms again and never come out, especially, if his presence in her life had placed Lizzy in danger.

“I will sleep on the floor or in a chair,” he said in customary calmness which occasionally drove her crazy, while, in reality, providing her confidence. “I will not leave until we know Elizabeth Anne is safe.”

“Why do you insist on calling our child ‘Elizabeth Anne’ when the world calls her ‘Lizzy’?” she charged.

His steady gaze held her in place. “For the same reason I have only called you ‘Lizzy’ upon one occasion—the evening I gave myself to you and you gave yourself to me—when I held you in my arms, and I knew we would end our days together. When I do the same with our daughter—hold her safely to me—when she becomes ingrained in my soul—becomes a living, breathing part of me, she will become ‘Lizzy Anne,’ and as I became ‘William’ to you rather than ‘Fitzwilliam,’ to our daughter, I will become ‘Papa.’”

She understood: He required distance to keep himself calm enough to handle the chaos. At that moment, she both admired how he could control his emotions so completely and despised him for his coldness. “You cannot sleep on the floor.”

“Elizabeth, for nearly four years, I often slept chained to the floor of a ship, a floor in a room with a fire will be a luxury.”

“Chained?” She knew instant regret for never having asked what had occurred to keep him from their wedding. She supposed she really did not want to know, for fear knowing would make her forgive him, and, without her anger, she had no defenses against completely trusting him again.

“I was wondering when you would become curious as to what prevented me from pronouncing our vows.”

Her brow knitted in shame. “It was wrong of me not to inquire. You deserved better of me,” she admitted. “Would you speak to what occurred? That is, if you are comfortable in sharing it with me.”

He paused as if considering how to answer. This was a different Fitzwilliam Darcy from the one she had come to love. There was a bitterness and a sadness about his countenance, and, despite her earlier observations regarding his “masterly” ways, he had lost some of his confidence. At length, he said, “As it is late, I will provide you the briefest of explanations.” She understood: He did not want to dwell on the past, a past that had reshaped their relationship. Neither did she, but, until they could come again to some easiness between them, their future would be doomed before it began.

He tapped his finger against the table as if doing so would drive away the obvious pain he was experiencing behind his eyes, where, she knew, he saw everything from the last four years flash through his memory. “As you are aware, I returned to London to retrieve the ring I had designed for you at Rundell and Bridge’s shop. What you do not know, or I am assuming you were not told, I received a message from Lord Matlock regarding problems with a shipment of silk and other items from the Far East in which we had both invested. We had already heard that the countess was ill and would not be attending the wedding and the new message said his lordship had been called home for some business that could not be neglected at the family estate. Therefore, I set out to visit both the jeweler and the docks with full intentions to return to Hertfordshire the following morning.”

“The colonel received a message saying you had been delayed and would arrive late Saturday evening,” she explained. “When you did not make an appearance for services on the Sunday before our wedding, I assumed your duties had delayed you. Although I had hoped you would arrive during the day on Sunday, I know you avoid traveling on the Sabbath unless your business is an emergency. Although I was disappointed not to have seen you before our nuptials, Mrs. Bennet had me running every which way to finish the details for the wedding breakfast. I thought you would leave at the crack of dawn and be in Hertfordshire well before our scheduled hour of half past eleven at the church.”

“I sent no message to Fitzwilliam,” he said.

“But it was on Darcy letterhead,” she argued.

“Nevertheless, whatever my cousin received did not come from me. Unbeknownst to me, when I left Rundell’s establishment, I was followed by two men to the docks.”

“Robbery?” she asked softly.

He shook off the idea. “Your ring and my broken cane were found on the docks near the ship Matlock and I commissioned, but I was taken to the docks further down the Thames toward where the river flows into the ocean.”

“Pressed?” Elizabeth sat heavily. She had never considered the idea of him being snatched away. She had played a thousand different scenes of his walking away from her in her head, but never once had she thought him kidnapped.

“Pressed into service upon The Lost Sparro w , a ship full of men with dark histories and questionable motives. I offered them a small fortune to release me, but they continually refused. I was kept aboard The Lost Sparro w for three years, eight months and two and twenty days—my feet never touching land until I made my escape and swam to safety when a British naval ship was in the same waters as us. The Resolutio n brought the Sparro w and its crew into custody in London on 3 August.”

“Lizzy’s birthday,” she whispered in remembrance. “I wish I had known—”

He questioned, “Then our daughter arrived early.”

She shook her head in the affirmative while attempting to keep the darkness of those days from showing on her face. He and she were very much alike in that manner. Elizabeth was certain he had only shared a fraction of what he had suffered during his confinement.

“In the beginning,” she chose her words carefully, “Mr. Sheffield and I stayed in Cumbria while he searched for an appropriate location to purchase. He had wanted a shop in London, but when he took on my care, his plans changed. We could not be seen in London, for too many people we knew were there. I always despised the idea Mr. Sheffield abandoned part of his dream to save me, but both Lizzy and I would likely have died if he had not. Our daughter was born there.”

“On his brother’s estate?” William had asked.

“No. In a cottage we let. We were in Cumbria some eight months, throughout the remainder of my confinement and a bit longer until I was well again, and we could depart for Brighton.”

“You were unwell after delivering Elizabeth Anne?”

Elizabeth did not dare to look upon him when she explained, “Lizzy had not completely turned when my pains started, and the midwife did not seem to know what to do other than to allow either me or the child to die. Mr. Sheffield would have none of her foolishness, so he dragged a surgeon in and stayed with me until the two managed to deliver our daughter safely. Unfortunately, what they first thought was childbed fever set in, but, later, my infection proved to be a different contagion. It was a terrible time for all concerned. While I recovered, Mr. Sheffield hired a wet nurse for Lizzy and tended me himself for more than a week.”

“He has earned my undying loyalty,” Darcy said simply.

In spite of the chaos around them, she could not resist teasing him. “Sheffield has seen more of me than have you. He bathed me and changed my gowns regularly when the fever laid me low.”

He offered her a small grin. “I will have his tongue removed and him blinded before offering my former valet my loyalty.”

There was still much to be said about their missing years, but she was not yet prepared to speak the words. “Why do you not use Lizzy’s bed? It is small, but much better than sleeping on the floor.”

“I would enjoy that. It would make me feel closer to our daughter.”

She stood then. “I shall see you in the morning.” Feeling conspicuous, she darted around him to enter her own quarters, preparing to close the door behind her before he thought to follow, but she foolishly looked back at him. He stood in apparent exhaustion. He rubbed his face with dry hands, and Elizabeth wondered again upon all he had suffered during their separation. She had thought him dead and no longer in pain, where each day she prayed no one would recognize her and name her daughter as illegitimate. Yet, he, too, had known the loss of his hopes for a bright future between them.

As he turned dejectedly toward Lizzy’s small room, she realized how alone he was. Painful stoicism. She knew him, perhaps, as he had said earlier, better than anyone else. She recognized how having no control of this situation laid him low. Quietly, she entered the room and eased the door closed. “What am I to believe? How can I ignore the fact William’s appearance stood as prelude to Lizzy’s abduction?”

* * *

Darcy entered his child’s room and stood quietly absorbing the essence of his daughter. He smiled when he noted the precise manner in which the room was organized. Certainly, Elizabeth would have assisted Elizabeth Anne in keeping order in the room, but he found himself drawn to the bookshelf where the books were lined up exactly as he would have done as a child. “My darling girl,” he said reverently as he ran his fingers across the spines of a dozen books upon the shelf, “your father will not rest until he is able to hold you in his arms for the first time.”

He glanced to the small bed and smiled. “Perhaps your father should sleep on the floor, after all.” He tugged the mattress from the bed frame, which would not suit him, at all. “Will you be petite, as is your mother? Or will you be tall like your father? This mattress will not answer that question for a father who wishes to know you, at last.” He laid the mattress out on the floor and began to undress, removing his boots, stockings, coat, waistcoat and shirt.

At length, Darcy sat upon the floor and inhaled deeply. “I promise you, little one, I will never give up. Your mother has done all she could to protect you. Now it is up to me to keep you safe.”

Although he knew he would not sleep, he blew out the candle and curled his large frame into a tight ball and attempted to imagine the look of his child. Someone, and he held his suspicions as to who that someone was, had stolen away precious moments with his child—memories he would never be able to recover.

He did not know how long he had remained as such, but when the door opened to permit Elizabeth in, Darcy was not surprised.

“Are you asleep?” she asked softly.

Despite his misery, Darcy smiled. “No. I was just considering what all I had missed with my child. I wonder upon her countenance. Her features. Her mannerisms. I wish there was a portrait of her.”

She took a step closer. “I have wanted to have her sit for one for some time, but Lizzy is always on the move. She is not an easy child to rein in.”

Darcy rolled to his back, his legs hanging over the edge of the mattress. “There is not much room, but I would gladly share our daughter’s bed with her mother.”

“I would like to be closer to Lizzy on this evening when I do not know her fate,” she admitted. “My room felt too empty, as does my heart.”

“Then come,” he said, lifting his arm to welcome her to snuggle in beside him.

Once she was settled on the small patch of mattress remaining, he turned on his side so they could speak honestly. “Tell me about Elizabeth Anne,” he encouraged.

She sighed deeply. “I am excessively prejudiced,” she began with what sounded of a smile in her tone, “but she is the brightest child I have ever encountered.” Her hand came to rest upon his chest, and Darcy closed his eyes for a brief moment to savor the feel of her near him again. They had many bridges yet to cross, but that moment was the first time he had felt whole for longer than he could recall. “Usually Mr. Sheffield reads to her each evening—often the same story multiple times. He is so patient with her, and Lizzy is so attentive. She loves stories of castles and knights and dragons and just about anything under the sun. Inevitably, within a week of hearing the story, Lizzy is able to ‘read’ the book back to us.” Elizabeth lightly stroked his arm as she spoke, and Darcy knew great contentment in the moment. “Naturally, she really is not reading the story, but she has memorized it, even knowing when to turn the page.”

With pleasure, Darcy visualized his daughter’s performance. “Go on.”

“She has the wildest imagination, always coming up with stories to entertain herself when we visit the park—a tree becomes a giant and a stick is sometimes her sword and other times her scepter, a queen presenting orders to the giant to assist her in defending her kingdom.” She laughed softly. “She has your mannerisms, William. You should see how she pulls herself up regally and eyes those who displease her. When she does so, Mr. Sheffield and I always provide each other a nod of approval when she looks down her petite nose at some injustice.” She paused before adding, “I often tell her stories of her father—simple ones so Lizzy will know she is loved.”

In spite of knowing a bit of disdain that she had essentially termed him “too proud,” Darcy found himself smiling at the idea his child had inherited more than some of his facial features.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said in true gratitude, “for allowing bits of me to be displayed in our daughter, when I know you must have felt I had abandoned you and her. You allowed me into her life, even at the risk of damage to your own heart.”

Although there was still much to be said between them, he nestled her closer to him. “We both require at least a few hours of rest if we are to find our daughter.”

She nodded her agreement and aligned her body with his upon the mattress, her head resting beneath his chin. With her beside him, Darcy allowed himself a few minutes of peace. So often he had dreamed of moments like this, minus the chaos awaiting them at dawn—moments of he and she lying in each other’s embrace. Allowing his eyes to drift closed, he had nearly reached sleep when he felt her stiffen and realized her hand was draped across his waist and stroking his back.

“William?” she asked in distress.

He, too, grew rigid in remorse. “It is nothing,” he said in stern tones.

She bolted upright. “It is something!” she insisted. “My God what did you endure?”

He attempted to make light of his condition so as not to tell her of the times he thought he would die. “Sometimes, as you well know, I lack forbearance and am too unmoving in my opinions.”

“Your captors whipped you!” she said on a hiccupped gasp. “You could have died!”

“As could have you in delivering our child,” he countered in even tones. He had always known he would have to share this part of his tale with her, but the idea of doing so in the mix of what had happened to their child had paled. If he had thought better of what he was doing when she entered Elizabeth Anne’s room, he would have put on his shirt before he had asked her to join him on the small mattress.

“Dear Lord,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “What sin did we two exact that brought us such punishments?”

Darcy knew, other than the anticipation of their vows, the sin was not on their part. Even that, awful as the realization must have been for Elizabeth when she came to know of her condition, he could not think upon their actions as a sin. They had conceived the child in love, and he would not think otherwise. God is all about love and family. He reached for her and edged her down beside him once more. “We cannot change our past,” he said as he soothed the hair from about her face. “All we can do is bring Elizabeth Anne home and consider a future together.”