Page 50

For a time, there had been nothing—it had been as though she had been asleep.

Then, all of a sudden, snippets of sounds flooded in here and there.

Fitzwilliam’s frantic voice pierced the fog in her mind, but she could not pull herself from wherever she was.

Was she dead? Had Anne drained her completely, and she was waiting in some sort of purgatory?

The cold was painful, as though a million needles poked her flesh over and over again.

The frigidness enveloping her was also interminable.

At first, she just had to bear it, but after a time, she trembled and convulsed in an attempt to generate some sort of warmth.

Slowly but surely, the voices became more frequent, and the chill began to give way.

As her body warmed, more voices reached her. Fitzwilliam saying he loved her and could not live without her. Her father told her he was proud of her—that they would be waiting for her to open her eyes.

A lady’s voice was there from time to time. Was it the duchess? She spoke of matters that did not make sense: a body protecting a child. Whose child? No child had been present when Anne had come for her and her father.

Soon, a familiar scent enveloped her. She had lived since her birth at Longbourn, so that smell would be recognisable anywhere, yet how was she cocooned in that comforting essence of her family—of her home for twenty years?

She was no longer cold. Wherever she was had become warm, and Fitzwilliam had never left her—at least she believed he was with her, but how? She was nowhere, suspended within a black void from which she could not escape.

“Elizabeth, I know you need your rest, but pray, open your eyes. I should trust that you will come to me when you are ready, but I miss you. A part of me is terrified you will never open your eyes again. I am certain my fear is nonsensical when the duchess says you will return when your body is able, but I have never been a patient man. I want my wife.”

If only she could reach for him, but how? Every last part of her mind worked to move her hand. If Fitzwilliam was speaking so, she had to be alive. She had to be with him. Her hand just had to squeeze, if for no other reason than for Fitzwilliam to notice.

“Elizabeth?” His voice was pleading. “Did you squeeze my hand?”

“Fitzwilliam?” Jane! That was Jane! Her sister had never addressed Fitzwilliam so informally before, but under the circumstances and if they were staying at Longbourn, likely any remaining hesitation had disappeared.

“Jane, I am certain she squeezed my hand. Elizabeth, your sister is here too. Georgiana has been waiting downstairs for word of you as well. Will you not open your eyes?”

If she could squeeze his hand, perhaps she could open her eyes if she really tried.

She focussed all of her energy towards her eyes.

First was a small sliver of light, but that small bit of brightness expanded into a blurry mess.

The intensity caused a sharp pain through her head, and she squeezed her eyes closed.

“Hurts.”

“Jane, would you close the bedcurtains on the other side?”

A warmth cupped her cheek. “Elizabeth, the sunlight from the windows is blocked now. Will you not try again?”

She pushed her mind, concentrating on lifting her eyelids just enough to see Fitzwilliam’s beloved face. She had been in this darkness for so long. She had a desperate need to see him as much as he surely needed to see her .

The room was dimmer when it came into view, and although her vision was not clear, Fitzwilliam was more discernible in the low light.

“There you are, my love.”

“So tired.” Her jaw was heavy, and her tongue was made of lead. Why was everything so difficult?

“Just sleep.” His warm hand rested upon her crown. “I feel infinitely better now that I have seen your eyes.”

“Wait, Lizzy,” said Jane. “Fitzwilliam, will you help me lift her a little?”

Her entire body protested as she was raised to a seated position and a bottle was brought to her lips.

“This will be of aid. Papa made a rejuvenation potion. Since it worked for the residual from your vision, he thought it may be of some aid now. The duchess agreed.”

The potion burned as the effect travelled through her, but she could not take much. Swallowing was too difficult.

“No more.”

“You can take more next time you awaken.” Jane kissed her forehead. “Just rest for now.”

Fitzwilliam’s low voice soothed her before she drifted off once more.

His hushed tones surrounded her again. The weight of her eyelids had lessened, and she was able to open them without the extreme effort that was required earlier.

“Fitz. . .”

The bed shifted as Fitzwilliam’s distinctive shadow loomed over her. “You are awake.”

“It is dark. ”

His warm chuckle soothed her. “Well, it is nighttime. Your family have all retired, but I had not fallen asleep. I cannot rest while you are still so weak.”

“Papa is here to protect us.” The words were raspy and required almost too much effort, but somehow, she managed.

He rose to shift the bed curtain, allowing more light into their warm haven. “Jane insisted you drink more of the potion when you awakened.”

The room became a little brighter. He must have lit a candle.

“Now, let us see if your father’s potion is of aid.” He lifted her and placed a small bottle to her lips. A trickle of liquid was tipped into her mouth. She swallowed before he allowed more to fill her mouth. Soon, he removed the bottle.

“Good. In the past, the effect was more pronounced, but you had not been subjected to Anne’s full ability, just traces.”

“What happened?”

He sighed. “I tried to stop her, but any spell I cast seemed to be absorbed by her. Your father believes the magic within her shielded her even though she did not know how to wield it. At some point, he thinks the power became too much for her since at the moment when she had begun to falter, Herne charged into the garden and ran her through.”

She inhaled sharply. “Is he. . . ?”

“Elizabeth, let us do this when you are well.”

“No,” she managed with a difficult shake of her head. “I want to know now.”

With a growl, he pulled her into his arms. “He was consumed by the explosion of magic. White fluff, similar to newly sheared wool after it is washed, fell to the ground and was absorbed.”

“The magic returning to the earth.” The words were easier to say this time .

“Yes, your father has indicated as much,” said Fitzwilliam while propping her up on pillows against the headboard.

He released her long enough to step over and pull the bell. “You need to eat something while you are awake.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days have passed. You first opened your eyes this morning, and Jane gave you that first sip of the potion, which I believe is helping. You seem to be speaking easier than before.”

“I am.”

“After Anne was gone, I took you to the duchess. She is now staying in the dower house and has come every day to ensure you are healing as you should.”

“She is kind to do so.”

At a knock on the door, he bade them enter.

Mrs. Hill bustled in with a tray and placed it on the table beside the bed. “Since you rang so late, I made the assumption Mrs. Darcy is awake. I am pleased to see that I am right. The fare is light since you are recovering. I have some broth and toast as well as tea. Will you require help to eat?”

“I believe we shall manage, Mrs. Hill. Thank you,” said Fitzwilliam with a slight lift of his lips.

“I thought you would, but I needed to ask.” The housekeeper departed with a light laugh.

Fitzwilliam sat facing her. “You have no idea how relieved I am now that you are so improved. I love you so much.” His hand engulfed hers and squeezed. She returned the gesture as best she could.

“Now, let us get you fed. I am certain you will tire yourself soon, and you require nourishment.”

2 0 th of January 1812

The entire Bennet family sat in the parlour.

A merry fire burned in the grate while Lydia and Kitty trimmed bonnets and Jane sat with Mr. Bingley in the corner where they spoke quietly.

Mama concentrated on her needlework, which seemed to be progressing well.

She had just drank Mrs. Hill’s special tea, but for the most part, Mama’s behaviour was improved of late.

Mary had confessed that when Elizabeth first appeared after the duel with Anne, that Mama had been in hysterics over the possibility of Papa dying, but at the news that Elizabeth had intervened and almost been killed in Papa’s place, her mother had not been venomous towards her.

Mrs. Hill also let it slip that Fitzwilliam had spoken to Mama, but he would not reveal the contents of his conversation.

He did not deny it occurred. Nevertheless, she was in the dark.

Her husband, however, sat by her side, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

He, no doubt, had estate business that had come from Derbyshire, yet he refused to leave her side.

Last night, she had awakened to find him hunched over the small desk in her room writing by candlelight.

She had attempted to push him into Papa’s study for such matters, but he refused. He was so stubborn!

At the familiar sound of hoofbeats on the drive, they all paused in their activity—not that she had much of one. A book rested in her lap, but she had read little with Fitzwilliam rubbing mind-numbing circles on her upper arm.

The knock at the front door rattled through the house, and everyone seemed to hold their breath at the voices in the hall. When Mrs. Hill opened the door, they all stood. Fitzwilliam helped her so she would not be rude to whatever guest was joining them.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Fitzwilliam’s breath rushed out, and his entire body tensed like a statue, yet when his aunt entered, she was altered .

“And Lord Glen.”