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Chapter Thirty-Four

March 14, 1812 Montrose House Elizabeth

T onight would indeed be memorable. Elizabeth’s grandmother had sent her to her rooms at noon to begin preparations, a full six hours before the guests were due to arrive. Her maids bathed, brushed, and perfumed her until she felt like a pampered princess. Then, dressed in her nightgown and robe, she took tea and light refreshments before the next ordeal began. Two maids worked on her hair, curling, twisting, pinning and poking for what felt like hours. At last, they helped her into her gown, with only an hour to spare before she was needed downstairs.

“You look beautiful,” her grandmother said as she entered the room, two jewel cases in her hands. “Now, for the finishing touches.” She opened the first case and drew out a heavy gold necklace. A deep blue stone, set in gold, hung from the center of the chain, with matching stones spaced evenly along either side. She fastened it around Elizabeth’s neck.

It felt cold and heavy against her skin, but not unpleasantly so. “It is beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

“It is from my personal collection,” her grandmother replied. “It is yours now. I have not worn it in years, and this piece deserves better than to sit hidden in a safe. There is also this.” She opened the second case and revealed a tiara, gold and set with the same rich blue gems.

Now Elizabeth understood why no jeweled pins had been placed in her hair. Lady Montrose gently lowered the tiara onto her granddaughter’s head and made sure it was secure. “You are ready,” she said reverently.

Elizabeth did not feel ready. Yet instead of protesting, she took her blue silk wrap from one of the maids. Together, she and her grandmother went to meet their guests.

Darcy met her on the stairs, his steady presence soothing her nerves and providing comfort. "You look ravishing," he murmured, his gaze moving from the tiara to her slippers. She saw admiration in his eyes, but more than that—love. Wonderful man that he was, Darcy remained at her side in the receiving line. Lady after lady, gentleman after gentleman, they welcomed each arrival in turn. At last, the guests began to move into the ballroom. The lack of declined invitations meant the space was filled to capacity. The first set was called, and Darcy offered his arm. He had claimed her for the first, supper, and final sets, a declaration to all that she would soon be Mrs. Darcy.

The evening passed more swiftly than she could have imagined. Elizabeth had just enough time to greet Jane and Charles before Lady Montrose whisked her away once more. Supper followed, then the evening’s entertainment. At last, one of the musicians broke a string, and she was able to rest for a moment.

Darcy went in search of punch, and Elizabeth slipped out onto the terrace. The night air held a chill, but after the warmth of the ballroom, it felt wonderfully refreshing.

“You look lovely, Lady Montrose.”

Elizabeth turned, surprised to see a man standing in the shadows. Something niggled the back of her mind. She knew that face. As he swayed slightly, a wave of recognition washed over her. Suddenly, she was no longer at Montrose House, but hiding next to the desk in her papa’s study, watching as this man argued with him. “You.” she whispered. “It was you.”

“Do not tell me you remember now . I had so looked forward to helping you along.” He stepped forward and caught her around the waist, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Come along, my dear. We had best take our meeting to a quieter place.”

She struggled, but his strength seemed unnatural. Her wrap slipped from her shoulders, and one slipper came off as he dragged her down the short flight of terrace steps and out through the garden gate.

The gate, hidden at the back of Montrose House’s garden, opened near Hyde Park. He took her there. Elizabeth fought with every step, praying that Darcy would soon notice her absence. Rocks and twigs dug into her bare foot and she lost her second slipper when she tried once more to pull away.

They reached a small grove set back from the main path. Still holding her firmly, he drew a rope from his pocket. “Scream, and I shall take extreme measures,” he hissed. Dropping his hand from her mouth, he seized her wrists and bound them together so tightly that the rope bit into her skin. Her gloves offered some protection, but not enough.

Once her hands were secured, he pushed her roughly to the ground. Turning away, Mr. Winters took a flask from his pocket and drank deeply.

“This is all your fault. You could not stay dead. Everything would be fine if you were dead.” He chuckled, low and dark. “And so you will be—very soon. The ton will revel in the tragedy. As much as they have celebrated your discovery, they will mourn your death twice as much. And why should they not? Your tale is so very gothic.”

“Why?” she cried. “I do not understand.”

“I want Henry’s company. All of it. I have debts, you see, and what I can withdraw from the business without harming it is not enough. But if I had access to your father’s shares, and the funds accumulating in the trust, it would solve everything.”

“I offered to sell it!”

“A hundred thousand pounds?” He scoffed. “What right have you to demand so much? You have had no hand in managing my business. I have done everything!”

Elizabeth trembled as he leaned over her. The smell of spirits was strong on his breath and, and she turned her face away in revulsion. He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.

“You are the very image of your mother.” He shuddered and shoved her back to the ground. “I did not mean to, you know. That night, when I met Henry, I was in my cups. He had discovered my gambling debts and the embezzlement I used to conceal them.” Winters shook his head slowly. “Henry was very disappointed, but he refused to listen to reason. My memories after that are unclear. But you…you would know all about that, would you not?”

He took another drink. Elizabeth knew if she could keep him talking, it might buy her a few precious moments. The tiara dug into her scalp, and she longed to remove it. The necklace pressed against her throat, and she shifted slightly, allowing the gem to fall to the side so she could breathe more easily.

Mr. Winters turned back to her. “I awoke before dawn, still in your father’s study. There he was… In a stupor, I wandered the house. First, I found your brother. And then Amelia.” He choked out a sob. “She, who had never spoken an unkind word to me—and I had done that to her. But you…you were nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere. The door stood ajar, and I realized you had wandered off. There was nothing to be done. I slipped away and returned home, pretending I had been there all night.”

He took a long, shuddering breath and looked at her once more. “All would have gone well if your dear grandmother had not poked her nose where it was not wanted. She refused to declare you dead. Your father’s will left his shares equally to me and Bingley if his family were gone. I knew I could persuade Bingley to sell. He would not want to remain in Yorkshire without his dearest friend . But I could not touch anything else unless your death became official. Instead, I was forced to place your father’s income into a trust. Lady Montrose sent funds for expenses, and I managed to convince her of my need for more. But it was never enough.”

“Why did you not leave her alone once she refused?” Elizabeth asked desperately. He seemed to be reaching the end of his wretched tale, and she needed more time. Oh, Fitzwilliam, where are you? Her mind cried out into the darkness, hoping he would find her in time. Surely someone must hear. Can the park truly be so empty at this hour? How had no one heard her?

“I needed the money!” he screamed, kicking her leg. She cried out, and he swung to kick her again, but in his inebriated state, he was thrown off balance. “The men I owe are dangerous,” he spat. “I sent those people to your aunt, pretending they had found you. I hoped she would give in to despair and declare you dead. And I might have succeeded, if not for that meddling whelp of Bingley’s. His timing was dreadful.”

Winters took another long swig from the flask. If he was not foxed upon entering the park, he certainly was now. “Enough,” he muttered. “It is time to end this.”

He grabbed her arm and dragged her from the grove. Elizabeth stumbled beside him, silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she prayed for help. When they reached a fountain, her heart sank.

“Not long now,” he muttered. He dropped her at the edge of the stone basin, then shrugged out of his coat and let it fall to the ground. Rolling his shoulders, he reached for her. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. She would not just lie down and die. Not without a fight. If he wanted to kill her, she would not make it easy. Hands still bound in front of her, she turned and ran, trying her best to stay upright and not trip over her skirts.

He caught her easily, clamping an arm around her waist yet again. “No, no, little bird,” he snarled. “It is time to clip your wings.” His breath was hot against her neck, making her skin crawl. With a cry of rage, she threw her head back and struck his nose. The satisfying sound of a crunch made her gasp. He cursed and released her. She ran again, ducking into the bushes, forcing her way through the branches as she tried to escape him. Brambles tore at her gown, and the delicate fabric ripped in several places, but she did not stop.

“Elizabeth!” Darcy’s voice rang out across the park and she collapsed in relief. Curling up at the base of a tree, she did not dare cry out. Winters was too close. Twigs snapped as he came closer, but she remained silent lest he find her.

“There you are!” He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. “Enough!” He ripped the tiara from her head and tossed it aside. Her necklace followed, pulled from her neck. She closed her eyes against the pain and tried once more to resist, but her legs did not support her. This was it. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do. Her captor held her in complete control.

Suddenly, he released her. She opened her eyes to see Darcy tearing Winters away from her and striking him—squarely in the face. Mr. Browning and two other men appeared and seized Winters by the arms.

“We have it from here, sir,” Browning said.

“Not on your life!” Winters bellowed, blood pouring from his nose. He thrashed violently, elbowing one man as he broke free. Darcy pulled Elizabeth close, shielding her as the struggle became heated, both on guard as they watched.

Winters staggered back and drew a pistol and leveled it at Elizabeth. A single crack split the air, but it was not his weapon that fired.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped from the shadows, smoke rising from the barrel of his pistol as Winters dropped to the ground. “Death was too good for him,” he muttered grimly.

Browning’s men stood, both groaning. One bore a lump upon his head; the other’s nose bled. Elizabeth took it all in with a strange sense of detachment.

“Dearest?” Darcy whispered in her ear. She whimpered, then burst into tears, burying her face against his chest. He tightened his hold, murmuring soothing words as his hands moved to untie the ropes about her wrists.

“We must get her home.”

“Are you mad, Darcy? Montrose House is full of guests.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Take her to Darcy House. I shall speak with Lady Montrose and contrive an excuse for your lady’s absence. The ball is nearly at an end. Perhaps a headache?” He bent to retrieve the fallen jewels, sticking them into his pocket. “Browning, see to that loathsome carcass, will you?”

Elizabeth felt herself lifted into Darcy’s arms. She still trembled, fear and relief warring within her. Shock set in, and as she drifted in and out of consciousness, someone began tugging on her gloves. Panic seized her, and she thrashed, crying out in terror.

“It is I, dearest.” Jane touched her hand and Elizabeth’s vision cleared enough to recognize her sister. “All is well. Come, let us remove this gown.” The gloves came off, and Jane undid the buttons of her gown. Elizabeth sat motionless, half her hair falling from its pins, whilst Jane gently guided her this way and that, removing the soiled garments and bathing her wounds with a warm cloth.

A nightgown was drawn down over her head, and Elizabeth flinched anew. Soon, though, Jane led her to the bed, tucked her in and handed her a cup of tea. She tasted the laudanum and drank eagerly, anticipating the dreamless sleep it would bring.

She awoke the next day, sore from head to toe. A large bruise marred her leg where Winters had kicked her; her feet were cut and swollen. Her wrists, though covered by gloves, had not been spared—the delicate skin was bruised and chafed from the tight ropes.

“How do you feel?” Lady Montrose stood in the doorway, looking far older than her years. The worry for Elizabeth had clearly worn on her.

“I believe I look worse than I feel.” In truth, Elizabeth felt much improved. Her heart no longer raced, and though the memories would surely haunt her dreams, she knew Winters was now dead and he could no longer harm her.

Grandmother came forward and folded Elizabeth into an embrace. “It is over,” she wept. “It is over.”