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Darcy’s heart turned over. In her innocence, she had no words for the place where she had been held prisoner. “In a house of ill repute, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.

“In a house of ill repute. I was there for three days. I was found and rescued, taken out of there, in a gown that barely covered me. They were planning to sell me to the man who would pay the best price for me. And I did ride for three hours in a closed carriage with some man or other. Oh, let us face it. I rode for three hours in a closed carriage with that insect, Wickham. The fact that I was blindfolded and tied hand and foot will be ignored by most people. Lady Catherine was right. What decent man would want to connect himself with such a family or with such a girl?”

“I would,” he said. “And I believe myself to be a decent man. No man worthy of the name would abandon you after such an ordeal. The empty-headed will wag their tongues as much as they wish. The decent, thoughtful, honorable people will understand what happened. And believe me, Elizabeth. When the woman who said those words is brought to book for her crimes, any credit you have lost in the eyes of the world will be fully restored. You are not among the guilty here. Far from it. You are among those who have been wronged. And let us not forget that murder has been committed. An innocent man has lost his life.”

At that, he found he could no longer remain seated.

He stood and gathered her into his arms. He could feel himself beginning to tremble with a physical reaction to the horror they had just lived through.

“My God, Elizabeth. I feared I had lost you. I would awaken at night, suddenly imagining you cold, lost, injured, abandoned.” He turned up her chin so that he could look into her eyes.

“Through it all, I felt some connection between us, between our spirits or our souls. It told me you were alive. It told me to continue without losing hope.”

“What have I done to deserve such a man?” she whispered.

“You do not have to deserve me, Elizabeth. I am yours without conditions or reservations. I hope equally that I do not have to deserve you, for no one could.”

This time her tears fell more softly. “I was so afraid I would end up by not being yours,” she said simply.

“That was the worst of it. At first, they gave me laudanum, and I awoke in a dark cellar with another girl.

Her back was covered with dreadful wounds and scars.

She had been beaten by one of those men in the club with a carriage whip!

That strange woman, Mrs. Oliver came, and I tried to get her to talk, but she would not.

When she took me to the other house, I began to be sure of what sort of place I was in.

They let me have a bath, and they took away my clothes.

And they brought gown after gown and fitted them to me.

And they were all perfectly useless to any decent woman.

“But it was not until the next day, when I had my interview with Mrs. Younge, that I began to feel despair.” She shuddered.

“She slapped me whenever I failed to show proper respect for her. Several times, in fact. She told me then that several gentlemen would be watching me with an eye toward a dishonorable relationship. She told me that this would be to my advantage. And then she told me that I would be charged for my room, board, clothes, maid, and transportation to London.” Here Elizabeth laughed, but it was a laugh bordering on hysteria.

“Imagine, I already owed her eight hundred pounds!” She drew in a breath on a great, gasping sob before continuing, and when she spoke, she whispered into his shirtfront.

“But, oh, that was not the worst of it. She told me that if I did not do exactly what I was told, my skin would be torn apart with coach whips like the girl in the cellar, and that I would be forced to earn my living at Covent Garden or even end up in the Thames. There are men who like to do that. They enjoy it!” Elizabeth looked up at him.

“She told me that I was now her property. I did not know such evil existed, Fitzwilliam! And she laughed as she told me. When I began to dress last night, I felt it was the day of my execution.”

“Of course, you did not know, my dearest, sweetest girl. You should not have to know those things.” Darcy seated them again, laid her head on his shoulder, and held her as she wept yet again.

This time, the tears began to ebb naturally.

While they might return, for now the quiet but sure presence of her natural optimism had returned.

The two sat without moving for many minutes as Elizabeth was soothed by the sounds of Darcy’s breathing and his heartbeat.

“Elizabeth, do you remember a conversation we had at Netherfield while your sister Jane was ill? You asserted that poetry was highly efficacious at driving away love. I argued that poetry was the food of love. You advanced the idea that it would nourish only a fine, stout, healthy love.” He looked down at her.

“Elizabeth, we have a fine, stout, healthy love, and everything will nourish it. It will not be starved by idle gossip.”

She leaned over and kissed him shyly, and he said, “Marry me tomorrow, dearest. Let me have you safe in my house and in my arms. I never want to be parted from you again. And I want God and the world to know it.”

“I will marry you tomorrow or any day you choose,” replied Elizabeth. She took his hand and kissed it, and he smiled down at her. “Now, we should see to our task before my aunt comes out to pick the cherries herself.”

The lower branches of the tree were filled with luscious, perfectly ripe fruits, and they had filled the basket before they knew it.

“We should take this to your aunt,” said Darcy, hoisting it to his shoulder.

“I cannot bring myself to go in just yet,” replied Elizabeth. “The kitchen steps are there, at the back corner of the house. Go down two steps, and there will be someone in the kitchen to take the basket. I will be able to see you almost the whole time.”

“You will feel safe? There are two men outside the wall, and one at the gate. I will be back immediately. ”

“Perfectly safe.” Elizabeth stood waiting beside the tree.

Her eye was attracted to a stout limb extending from the trunk just above her head, well concealed by other limbs.

She tested it carefully and was seated upon it mere moments later.

She used her time to fill her apron pocket with unripe fruit.

Then she began sampling the ripe fruit, which was delicious.

In short order, juice covered her lips, ran down her chin, and made her hands sticky.

∞∞∞

Darcy emerged from the kitchen, carrying the empty basket and showing all the satisfaction of a job well done.

A small green missile flew past his ear.

The next found its mark, dealing a stinging slap to his cheek, while a third went wide.

“Death from above,” he mused just loudly enough to be heard.

But he had been watching carefully. He strolled innocently through the garden, being struck several times, and stood just beyond the offending limb.

A hail of unripe cherries rained around him, most simply dropped, some aimed and thrown with varying degrees of accuracy.

A few hit home and stung like tiny wasps.

Alas, she had reckoned without his speed, developed through years of fencing practice.

Before she was aware he had been looking at her, a hand flicked out and seized her wrist, and she was suddenly in his arms. “There is just one difficulty, Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice against her ear.

“You throw underhanded. Practice your overhand shot, and you will improve your aim.” He moved quickly back into the concealing depths of the tree as she shook with laughter and imprisoned her body between his own and the strong trunk.

He could feel the sticky fruit juice on her hands, and he licked them clean, leaving kisses in his wake and taking each finger into his mouth, one by one.

Her laughter died away as he moved on to her face, lapping at the sweetness until his mouth found hers.

Elizabeth astonished him by jumping up into his arms, not even waiting to be sure he would catch her.

As his arms went around her, she took his face in her hands and began to kiss him, pressing her soft lips gently against his at first, then becoming fiercely demanding as she felt him respond.

She tasted of sweet cherries, and he wanted the kiss to go on forever, but when he felt her gasp and press herself more closely against him, he knew that he must put an end to it.

He set her down gently and smoothed the hair away from her face.

“Tomorrow, dearest Elizabeth, there will be no more barriers between us.” He placed her arm in his, and they walked slowly back to sit on the bench.

“I am very glad to see that my bold Elizabeth has returned,” he said with a smile .

“You may live to regret those words. My young life was a continuous crisis of skinned knees, bruises, muddy boots, and dirty hems. On one occasion at home, I did fall from a tree, and I had the wind quite knocked out of me. My mother said that she hoped and prayed I would grow up and have a little girl just like myself.”

“I quite agree with her. It is my hope as well.” Darcy, remembering her bright eyes and dirty petticoats on the morning of her arrival at Netherfield, could not help but remember also that those eyes had placed him utterly in her power, a place where he still resided quite happily.

He pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her, again, gently at first and then with increasing hunger.

She threw her arms around him to pull him closer, and so they remained until Darcy came to himself and laid his cheek on her soft hair. “We must go in.”