Page 33 of Secrets Across the Sea
Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 15
“Elizabeth!” Darcy continued to shout into the wind, his voice growing hoarse as he trudged through the heavy snow.
Her faint tracks wound every which way, he frowned as he worked to follow them in the fading light. There was no way she knew where she was going… Still, they had been straighter before. Something was wrong; he had to find her.
“Elizabeth!”
Nothing.
“ELIZABETH!”
Only the infernal moan of the wind.
Stilling, he blinked.
Perhaps? Yes!
“ELIZABETH!” he cried again, racing forward to a patch of red, the long shawl he had seen her wearing earlier meeting his gloved hand. “ELIZABETH!”
Eyes searching the area, his stomach dropped as he caught sight of her curled under the tree, her exposed face unusually pale.
Rushing to her side, the lantern slipped from his hand into the snow, the flame extinguished as the glass shattered.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed as he used his body to shield her from the wind; lantern forgotten in the snow as his hands fumbled to untie the blanket from his back.
“Dar… Darcy.” Mumbling, Elizabeth’s eyes met his, her brow crinkled as she studied him, “I… I dreamt. You came. Just like I dreamt… I.”
Her eyes closing, Darcy shoved the snow away, wrapping her from head to toe in the blanket as he spoke hurriedly, “Elizabeth, stay with me. It is as you said, I came for you… I know I made a horrible mistake, but please forgive me, my darling. Stay with me… Always with me. Yes. That is right. Keep your eyes on me; I will get you home.”
Grabbing up her scarf, Darcy used it to tie the blanket around her, as he continued to speak, “My sisters will love you, you know. They will. And all of your sisters besides. Can you imagine Pemberley when they are all there to visit? A houseful of women! Though I know Fitz and Bingley will be happy for it; they each plan to marry a sister of yours if you let them. Bingley is hopelessly in love with Jane, and Fitz, well, you have seen him and Mary–they belong together. Come, tell me what you think?”
Working Elizabeth into his arm, he fought the wet behind his eyes. She would be alright. She must.
With her safely in his arms, he pulled the blanket higher around her face to keep the wind and snow away, her half open eyes watching him as he did.
“With Kitty, them, and us married… Lydia… she… What was I thinking? About a house? Yes. Pemberley? Should she live with us?”
“Anything you say, my darling,” he whispered to her, his eyes crinkling as he smiled beneath his scarf. “Anything you say.”
Following his tracks, Darcy held her close, the deep snow causing him to stumble time and time again.
∞∞∞
A little longer. Just a little longer, he lied to himself as his left leg gave way beneath him, his tracks continuing forward into the low light–the loss of the lantern unsettling as day shifted to night.
His knee stuck in the snow, breath coming in short, shallow bursts, Darcy closed his eyes as he urged his body to cooperate, his arms and legs all but shaking from ramming his way through the snow.
A little longer.
Forcing himself unsteadily to his feet, he continued to follow the path his earlier trek had left behind; Elizabeth held firmly in his arms as he sought to carry her to safety, his gentle whispers to her no longer enough to cause her to stir.
The tracks turning left, he squinted as he moved with them, the wind for once providing help as it shoved him onward into the last moments of day. The eerie blue light reminding him of the need to hurry.
“A little longer, Elizabeth,” he whispered as he stumbled again, his legs at first refusing to stand. “I… I promise you.”
Growling as he heaved himself to his feet, Darcy plodded onward, his stomach dropping as he realized he had lost all trace of his former path. The wind, or his own carelessness, had stolen it.
Eyes moving across the snow laden earth for some sign, his hope died. No prints. Only a darkening world and no light to guide him. Lifting his head, he squinted; the snow softly drifting toward his face, the harsh wind which had raged so long no longer driving the powdery flakes.
“Lord,” he murmured toward the sky. “Give me strength.”
Feeling the weight of Elizabeth in his arms, Darcy gazed down at her. He made a promise, but even if he had not… he loved her. Squeezing her, he whispered his promise again and continued forward in the direction he last recalled seeing tracks.
Time without meaning he continued on, few memories lingering save his search for Elizabeth and however long he had been carrying her. Years was it? It seemed as such. Years and years threatening to run into decades.
Nearly falling flat on his face, Darcy’s brows lowered as he sought to take another step, a strange pressure on his waist blocking his progress. Shifting Elizabeth, he stretched out his arm until his hand stilled. Lips curling, Darcy pulled Elizabeth to his chest. “We are there! We are safe, my love. The ropes we set out will see us safe back… a moment longer. That is all.”
Taking the rope in hand, he hesitated but a moment as he wondered which direction to take as he recalled the places they had strung the ropes. Right? Unless they were standing by the rectory, right would see them there.
“Fitz! Bingley!” he shouted hoarsely as he continued along, a light which surely came from the house meeting his gaze. “Fitz! Reverend! Bingley!”
A figure with a light rushing toward them, Darcy hurried as fast as his unsteady legs might carry him, his cousin’s face at last visible as they met.
“Darcy!” Fitz exclaimed as he took Elizabeth, Bingley appearing but moments later. “Bingley! Help Darcy… We must get them warm.”
Within a minute Darcy stood blinking at the brightness of the roaring fire as Elizabeth’s sisters and Miss Umbridge tended to her, his cousin offering guidance where needed.
“Come, let us go into my study so you can take off these wet things,” the Reverend suggested as he led him there, his instructions to the two drivers lost to Darcy as the Reverend and Bingley worked off the many soaked layers he wore before wrapping him in a warmed blanket and sitting him by the fire.
“A nice, hot cup of tea should be just the thing,” Bingley said as he handed him a steaming cup, the warmth painful as feeling began to return to Darcy’s fingers.
“Are you alright?” Fitz questioned as he entered the study, the voices of the ladies in the room beyond echoing unintelligibly.
“How is she?” Darcy asked, ignoring his cousin’s question as he came to his side.
Arms crossed, Fitz’s eyebrows raised. “I will not lie to you, she has been through the wars, so to speak. Though I had her sisters examine her fully and her skin, though pale, showed no signs of discoloration; a physician need not take any drastic measures.”
“Drastic measures?”
“It is unimportant as there are no signs. She would do well with a physician though; I have seen exposure like this once before, but other than warming her, I know very little. One of our camp surgeons who tended them did not agree with the practice of rubbing the patient or warming them too quickly, though not many would approve his view.”
“Was the patient harmed by his treatment?”
“Not at all,” Fitz answered, a hint of surprise evident in his voice. “In fact, when our second surgeon at last arrived, he marveled at the rate of recovery.”
“What else did he do?” Darcy urged, Elizabeth’s cries heard from the other room.
“I was not there the whole time,” Fitz remarked, his eyes lifting toward the ceiling, “but I do recall he wrapped hot bricks in thick cloth and slowly began to introduce them beneath the blanket the man lay under.”
“Is that being done for Elizabeth?”
Spinning on his heels, Fitz moved toward the door. “It will be now!”
“The drivers are in the kitchen,” Mr. Moore rushed, “I have a large supply of warming bricks for the more delicate members of my parish on a Sunday; I will have them begin warming them immediately.”
“Bingley,” Fitz ordered as he paused in the doorway, “put another log on the fire and then boil some water; we will all need some tea before the day is done.”
∞∞∞
Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 16
Dawn brought with it a bright, near cloudless world which appeared in such stark contrast to the perils he and Elizabeth had faced hours before that one might wonder if the unpleasant events had been but a horrid dream. Yet, the sight of his own clothes in near ruin by the fire, the ache of every muscle in his body, and the lingering feeling of cold which could not be shifted, these all confirmed the truth of his memories.
Wincing as he stood, Darcy made his way unsteadily from his makeshift bed in the study to the front room where she–his Elizabeth–had remained all night.
Nestled by the fire Elizabeth slept amid a mound of blankets on the floor, Jane asleep beside her as Mary kept watch. Pale. She appeared much too pale. There ought to be something he could do for her. To help her heal.
Head whipping toward the doorway, Darcy frowned as Lady Charmane and Lord Brayburn opened the door without knocking, their slow entrance letting in far too much of the cold morning air.
“Close the door!” he barked, his knees threatening to disobey his desire to stand, much less oversee the completion of his order. “Do you want to see Elizabeth made ill?”
At his words Lady Charmane rushed to Elizabeth’s side, demanding a full account of what had occurred, the whole household soon joining at the commotion of it all; though Elizabeth continued to sleep, her steady, deep breathing as worrying as it was comforting.
Hand moving to his head, Darcy could feel the world swirling around, his knees weakening as he sought to stand.
“Here,” Lord Brayburn urged as Darcy swayed on his feet. “Let us find you a place to sit.”
He could not afford his cousin to keep him from Elizabeth. A little rest and then he might stay by her side.
“Not here… the study. My cousin you see…” Darcy worried as he allowed Lord Brayburn to take his arm.
“I understand,” Lord Brayburn answered simply, the pair making their way to the study. “Take this chair, I will obtain tea and toast, unless you desire more?”
Shaking his head, Darcy sunk heavily into the chair, his eyes closing as he sought to still the nauseating swaying. Elizabeth. He had to be whole for Elizabeth. Clutching the arms of the chair, Darcy fought the disconcerting feeling of being on a ship; everything rising, swaying, and falling in rapid succession.
Minutes ticked by and, though the world did not fully return to its usual steady form, Darcy could at last open his eyes without his vision crashing about like massive waves.
“Here, toast and tea; I made it myself, so it may not be up to standard, but considering how rarely I do this, I admit with no small amount of pride that it turned out better than I expected,” Lord Brayburn laughed as he set the tray on a nearby table. “You take yours without sugar if I recall correctly.”
Nodding, Darcy hissed as the motion caused the swaying sensation to return in some measure, his knuckles white as he gripped the chair.
“Are you alright?”
Preparing to nod, Darcy huffed as he managed to halt that foolish notion, his lips curling as he answered instead, “Yes. Well, alright enough. I suppose I am a little tired or hungry or… some such.”
“Though I am willing to keep all I have seen to myself,” Lord Brayburn remarked as he handed a cup to Darcy, “a physician will no doubt be here shortly, and whilst most of his time should be with Miss Elizabeth, I do believe he ought to examine you as well. The others will agree and likely press the matter; I trust I will not have to press it as well?”
Scowling at the man, Darcy said, “Very well. As you say, no doubt I will be pressed to do so by everyone else. As long as Elizabeth is seen first, I am satisfied.”
“Ah,” Lord Brayburn said as he glanced over his raised cup, “the rumours are true. Toast?”
“Yes,” he answered as he accepted the proffered toast. “What rumours?”
“That you are either promised to Miss Elizabeth or, at minimum, besotted.” Taking a bite of toast, the bread crunching as he did, Lord Brayburn shook his head. “A pity that. No, not what you think; I do not pity your feelings for her or your relationship… only your pig-headedness. The lack of trust which you admitted to having in her.”
Frowning Darcy set aside his toast. “I never meant what I said. My heart spoke of her honesty; I was reminded of her good character. Yet, this fear of her not truly loving me. Of her being like those in the Ton–like so many peers–that is what came tumbling out, though I did not believe them.”
“So,” Lord Brayburn smirked, “all peers are alike? And none are to be trusted? Lady Charmane. Myself. Even Miss Elizabeth’s beloved uncle. None of us can be trusted? Is that how it is?”
Brows meeting, Darcy’s finger rubbed over his lips. The man was right. When someone said it aloud, it sounded remarkably foolish. Foolish and prejudiced–almost as much as Mr. Thomson was toward anyone connected with America.
“That is how it was,” Darcy answered with a smile, the man before him far less disconcerting than he had been in the weeks they had known one another. “Though I could name a few peers unworthy of trust.”
“As can I,” he laughed, “How about Lord Ramsgate for a start?”
“Agreed,” Darcy answered with a chuckle.
“If only Mr. Thomson was titled; we might add him to our list as well, but alas, I suppose some untrustworthy men must arise from all walks of life.” Motioning toward Darcy’s uneaten toast, Lord Brayburn said, “You ought to eat. Keep up your strength so you can see your Miss Elizabeth, and tell her, if you have not, what you told me. She seems the sort to forgive you should you but ask…” Gaze dropping, he murmured, “A simple thing, if you are inclined to do it. Some men can be rather foolish though. Prideful and incredibly stupid.” Voice returning to its normal pitch, he nodded, “Yes. I am referring to myself, or myself two years ago. You see, I loved a lady of intelligence and beauty, and she loved me. Yet, though we courted and spoke of marriage, her person attracted the attention of many, many men. Men whom she behaved politely toward, but did not encourage. I, in my fear, my jealousy, behaved as though I did not trust her.”
“What happened?”
“I hurt her, deeply, by not trusting her… but I let my pride stay me from apologizing. From realizing that I had behaved poorly. Instead, I stood my ground, and pushed her away in turn.” Gulping down his tea, he turned his gaze toward Darcy, “Let this be a warning to you. Apologize as soon as you recognize any wrong… Pride is a poor replacement for someone you love.”
“She is married now?” Darcy questioned, the haunting eyes of the man before him saddening.
“I thought she would be, but no. She has not even come close from all I can tell.”
“Then why not swallow your pride,” Darcy urged. “If what you say is true of Elizabeth, that you think she would forgive me if I asked, then why would the woman you loved and who loved you not be willing to give you that same chance? It may not be easy, if indeed two years have passed, but it is worth the risk. Is it not?”
“Do you think she would? I do not deserve to be forgiven.”
“Neither do I deserve it, but I did not know that love or even forgiveness were as simple as deserving. You will never know until you ask her… just as I will not know until I ask Elizabeth.”
Refilling their cups, Lord Brayburn smiled as he returned to his seat, his delicate cup raised in the air, “To our success, and may we have the courage to see it through!”
Raising his cup in turn, Darcy sighed, “And may our ladies be inclined to forgive us.”
Taking a sip of his hot tea, Darcy’s gaze shifted toward the door. Yes. Courage. And forgiveness. But first, there was the matter of seeing her well.