Page 16 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Fifteen

T he snow began falling at midnight.

It was light at first—a gentle cascade of white, dancing in the moonlight. But soon, the flakes thickened, growing larger, tumbling faster, until the world outside dissolved in a flurry of movement.

Darcy knew all this because he spent the next two hours sitting in the high-backed chair by his bedroom window, the soft crackle of the fire doing little to relax the restless anticipation stirring in his chest.

He could not stop thinking about Elizabeth Bennet.

She had been quiet at dinner, and in the drawing room afterwards. Too quiet. And while her relations had readily attributed her behaviour to the headache she had claimed that morning, Darcy knew better. Judging by the deep flush that had overspread her cheeks every time their eyes met, he was certain she was reliving their time together in the orangery, just as he was.

What had possessed him to act upon his impulses in such a way? He, who had always prided himself on his integrity and restraint, to have taken such liberties and then told her he had no intention of ever making her his wife—it sickened him to his very core. He was no better than the gentlemen he had always despised; men like George Wickham, who kept mistresses and used women for their own gratification with nary an honourable thought in their heads.

His breath fogged the glass as he exhaled, the warmth of the room meeting the cold beyond. Somewhere, under his roof, Elizabeth Bennet slept…

Or perhaps she did not. The thought unsettled him further, and he quickly stood, stalking to a nearby table and pouring a glass of brandy—an indulgence he only permitted himself on rare occasions, and then generally only in the privacy of his own rooms.

Returning to the window, he gazed out at the snow falling silently beyond the glass. Did Elizabeth lie awake, even now, staring into the darkness as he did? Did regret weigh as heavily upon her shoulders as it did upon his own?

He closed his eyes, but the memory of her touch returned unbidden—the softness of her hand against his cheek, the way her lips had yielded under his. Cursing himself anew, he took a long swallow of his drink, hoping it might banish the image that was now seared upon his mind.

He never should have kissed her—never should have let her set so much as a foot inside the grounds of Pemberley. Not when he could offer her nothing.

By the time Darcy finally sought his bed, the snowfall had thickened, blanketing the estate in a pristine, unbroken layer of white. And though he settled against his pillows, sleep eluded him. Instead, his mind wandered, painting visions of Elizabeth strolling along snow-covered paths, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her joyful laughter carrying on the wind.

Darcy awoke at daybreak to a countryside transformed under a shimmering cloak of snow. The pristine expanse seemed to stretch endlessly, reflecting the morning light and giving the grounds an ethereal glow.

Without waiting for his valet, he swiftly washed and dressed, eager to seek out his steward and ensure that his tenants had weathered the storm unscathed. His mind, however, was not entirely occupied with estate matters. Peering through the frosted glass, Darcy’s thoughts once again turned to Elizabeth. Was she awake? What would she make of such a snowfall?

His lips curved upwards as he imagined her expression—eyes bright with wonder, her breath catching in anticipation as she gazed out at the altered prospect. It was still early, but he could picture her already up, perhaps seated in the breakfast room, marvelling at the view through the mullioned glass. The thought stirred a thrill of expectation within him, though he quickly chastised himself for indulging in such fantasies.

Leaving his apartment, Darcy descended the staircase at a brisk pace, his footsteps muted by the plush carpeting but quickened by a sense of purpose. He was just passing the library when a flicker of movement within caught his eye. Pausing, he peered through the partially open door and saw a lone figure standing by the tall front windows, her delicate profile framed against the silver light. To his surprise, it was not Elizabeth but her sister Jane.

Stepping into the room, Darcy approached quietly so as not to startle her. “Miss Bennet?” he said gently when he was a few feet away.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her pale features softening into a faint smile. “Oh, Mr Darcy. Good morning.”

“Is anything the matter?” he asked, his gaze sharpening at the slight tremor in her voice.

The lady hesitated, her hands twisting together nervously.

“I…yes, that is no,” she began haltingly before shaking her head. “What I mean to say is that it is Lizzy I am concerned about. She went for a walk over an hour ago, and she has not yet returned.”

Darcy felt his pulse quicken, his earlier enthusiasm giving way to alarm. “Alone, in weather such as this? What could she have been thinking!”

To Darcy’s chagrin, Miss Bennet blanched at the gruffness in his tone. He moved closer to the window, scanning the horizon. Snow had once again begun to fall in delicate, swirling ribbons. But even as he watched, it began to gather speed, obscuring the distant hills in a haze of white.

“It was not so terribly bad when she left. She promised she would not go far and that she would come back directly should the weather worsen. But now I am beginning to worry. Perhaps she merely walked a greater distance than she intended, but what if she has lost her way, or worse?”

Before she had even finished speaking, Darcy had stalked to the bell pull, giving it one brief tug and then summoning the footman who knocked on the door a moment later to enter.

“Have my horse saddled and brought to the east gate at once. And tell Pierce to lay out my warmest clothes. I shall be up directly to change.”

The footman bowed his understanding before scurrying away to do his master’s bidding, and Darcy returned to where Jane Bennet still stood, watching the quickly falling snow.

“Miss Bennet, pray, do not make yourself uneasy. I will find her. But it would be helpful to know where she went. Did your sister happen to tell you in which direction she intended to walk?”

“N-no,” she stammered, her voice tight with concern. “She only said that she would not be gone long, so I assumed she would remain in the gardens, close to the house. But now…”

She turned her attention back to the frosted windows, and Darcy could see that the reality of her sister’s predicament had truly set in. The temperature was dangerously low, and visibility was becoming increasingly poor. Pemberley was a vast estate, and Elizabeth could have gone in any direction.

Miss Bennet pulled her gaze away from the expanse of windows, shifting her attention to the clock on the mantel. Reading her thoughts, Darcy replied decisively, “If your aunt and uncle should awaken before I return, tell them what has happened, but pray, do not raise the matter with anyone else. There is no need to alarm the others unnecessarily. For all we know, your sister is even now on her way back and merely delayed by having to move at a slower pace. If all goes well, I shall be home with Miss Elizabeth before the conclusion of breakfast.”

“And if not?”

Darcy frowned. “If I cannot locate her quickly, I shall return so that we can mount a proper search.”

Jane Bennet nodded, and Darcy turned, moving towards the entrance hall with hurried steps. He had just reached the stairs when he heard the patter of slippered feet on the marble floors, and Miss Bennet’s voice called after him in breathless tones.

“Mr Darcy, wait, I have just remembered something! I think I may know where Elizabeth has gone.”

Darcy pushed his mount through the swirling snow. He could only hope that Jane Bennet had the right of it and that Elizabeth had indeed gone to the rise they had visited on their walk, where the village of Lambton could be viewed in the valley below. If not, he was wasting valuable time, riding off in completely the wrong direction.

He urged his horse forwards, the animal’s hoofs crunching through the thick snow. The air was heavy with the weight of falling flakes, obscuring his vision and deepening the unease that had taken root in his chest. The chill bit at his cheeks, but he scarcely noticed it; his thoughts were consumed by Elizabeth.

She had been gone too long.

Shaking his head, Darcy cursed his own stupidity. What on earth had he been thinking, setting out to find her all on his own? He never rode alone, even in the best of circumstances. He should have apprised Mr Gardiner of the situation at once. Surely Elizabeth’s uncle would have wished to join the search. Or, at the very least, he should have collected Atkins, his steward, to accompany him. What had possessed him to throw all caution to the wind when Elizabeth’s very life might be at stake?

But even as the question formed, he already knew the answer. It was not his steward or Mr Gardiner he had been avoiding, but Bingley. Bingley, who was all but betrothed to Elizabeth, should have, by rights, been the one to search for her. Yet Darcy had taken it upon himself to play the role of her deliverer—compelled not only by concern but by the unbearable thought of Elizabeth turning to Bingley in gratitude for her salvation. If anyone was to be the recipient of Elizabeth’s appreciation and regard, he had wanted it to be him.

And now his selfishness had endangered the life of the woman he loved.

He was so lost in his musings that he almost missed the turning that led to his destination. Tugging sharply on the reins he wheeled the horse about before spurring it into a gallop.

The skeletal branches of the trees loomed overhead, their limbs weighed down with snow, casting eerie shadows in the dim light. Darcy continued to scour the wintry scene, calling her name, but the wind seemed to snatch the words away, carrying them off before they could travel very far.

Then, through the silvery haze, he saw it—a flash of crimson—and his heart leapt.

“Elizabeth!” he shouted, urging his horse towards the splash of colour. As he drew closer, the shape became clear. It was her coat.

Elizabeth stood amid the trees, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her head bowed against the wind. At the sound of hoofbeats, she looked up, and Darcy could see that her face was pale, her cheeks flushed from the cold, but relief overspread her features.

“Mr Darcy!” her voice called back to him.

He dismounted in an instant, striding to her side. “Thank God you are safe!” He grasped her gloved hands, feeling the icy chill that seeped through the fabric. “You are freezing.”

“I-I lost my way,” she said, her voice trembling along with her body. “The snow—I could not see where I was going.”

“Come.” Without hesitation, Darcy lifted her onto his horse, removing his greatcoat and wrapping it around her shivering body. “We must get you inside.”

Taking the reins, he turned his mount and began leading it through the deepening snow.

After a few moments, Elizabeth glanced down at him as they pressed forwards, her breath unsteady.

“H-how did you k-know to come looking for me?” she called through chattering teeth.

“Your sister,” Darcy called back. “She grew worried when you did not return from your walk. Then she remembered you had made a remark when we viewed Lambton from the nearby summit about how lovely the village must look in the snow, so I came this way first. I am glad her instinct was correct.”

Elizabeth nodded, wrapping his coat more tightly around her body.

“I am exceedingly grateful to her, and to you. And thank goodness you found me when you did, as it appears I was walking in the wrong direction entirely.”

“No,” Darcy replied loudly over the roar of the wind, “you were not so far off. You were moving towards the formal gardens. But once you reached the next rise, you would have been able to see the house, so no doubt you would have corrected your course.”

“I do not understand. Then why are we now going in the opposite direction?”

“Because I am not taking you back to the manor. At least not directly. We are much closer to the dower house. Indeed, you would be able to see it from here if the visibility were better. We shall be there within a matter of minutes.”

It was not long afterwards that the stately stone edifice became visible through the gloom of the falling snow, its dark windows promising shelter and warmth. Although it had not served as a permanent residence since his grandmother’s time, Darcy had always ensured it was kept furnished and ready, should the need for its use ever arise.

When they reached the door, Darcy gently lifted Elizabeth down from his mount. Her legs wobbled slightly, and he steadied her with a firm but careful grip.

“You are safe now,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. “I shall have you inside in a moment.”

Elizabeth managed a faint smile, her pale lips just beginning to regain some of their natural colour. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Leading the horse to the stables at the back, Darcy made quick work of securing the animal before returning to Elizabeth’s side. From the inner pocket of his coat, he withdrew a heavy brass key, thanking providence that he had thought to bring it with him—though he would have broken a window to gain entrance had it been necessary.

The lock yielded with a solid click, and he pushed the door open, holding it so that Elizabeth could step into the dimly lit hall.

The air within was cool but dry, and Darcy wasted no time. Striding to the hearth in the front parlour, he set kindling and logs into place, striking a flame with practised efficiency and slowly coaxing it into a steady blaze.

Elizabeth moved closer, extending her hands towards the fire’s warmth. The flickering light danced across her features, easing the tension that had been evident in her expression.

“You should sit,” Darcy said with quiet insistence, motioning towards a nearby chair draped with a woollen blanket. “I shall fetch more wood in a moment and then see about tea.” Elizabeth nodded, slowly lowering herself into the chair and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and there Darcy saw a mixture of gratitude and discomfiture in her gaze.

“Mr Darcy, I do not know how to thank you. I feel very foolish for having risked not only my own safety but yours as well.”

Across from her, Darcy offered up a small smile. “We all occasionally do things we later come to regret. And there is no need to thank me. I am only glad to have found you before… Well, I am only glad to have found you, and to know that you are unharmed.”

After that, they drifted into silence, Elizabeth curled up in the overstuffed armchair, and Darcy, standing before the hearth, staring into the shifting firelight.

The steady heat from the flames seeped into the room, but a sudden chill traced its way along his spine. He blinked, willing the sensation away, but his vision wavered, and the edges of the room suddenly seemed to pulse and quiver.

He gripped the mantelpiece, his knuckles whitening as a prickle of unease settled like a weight upon his chest. The faintest hum filled his ears, growing louder with each passing moment. A surge of dizziness washed over him, and he steadied himself, breathing deeply. Not now, he thought. Not here .

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, but the sensations only intensified. Flashes of light burst behind his eyelids, and the tingling in his fingertips crept upwards, spreading through his arms.

He smelled the acrid aroma of smoke, sharp and disorienting, and he felt his knees begin to buckle. He opened his eyes, and the room tilted. And then the darkness swallowed him whole.