Page 20 of Until My Last Breath

“Sir, Mr Darcy is nowhere to be found. His valet said he must have left very early for his walk. His horse is still in the stable, sir. In the kitchen, one of the maids confirmed she had seen Mr Darcy leaving the house very early. She thought he was going out for his usual walk.”

Richard closed his eyes in agony.

Oh, Darcy.

Looking down at the bonnet in his hand, he tried to make sense of it. Had Elizabeth been holding her bonnet when she was shot? Or Darcy? Whose blood was this?

In the end, he abandoned his useless attempts at trying to figure out what had happened. In any case, despite whoever had been shot, the victim was not dead; otherwise, the perpetrators would not have taken the troubleof carrying the body.

After ensuring that they had not missed anything else, Richard asked Mr Collins to fetch his wife and meet him at the manor house, then send another man to the village for the constable.

Due to the circumstances, they had no time to waste.

They were already back at the stables, when the footman returned from the village with information.

“According to some of my acquaintances, a strange rider, quite bruised, stopped by the apothecary and asked for some provisions. Apparently, when questioned about the reason, the gentleman said one of his servants had been seriously burnt in the furnace of a local blacksmith, some place north from here, and they were on their way to London to look for a doctor. When the apothecary offered to see the victim, the gentleman said he was in a carriage further ahead and he had to reach it by horse as soon as possible. ‘The poor man must be in agony,’ he had said. He then ordered quite a lot of bandages and a small bottle of laudanum. Before that, the baker said the same man had stopped at the bakery to buy some bread.”

By that extraordinary account, Richard did not have any further doubts. Both Darcy and Elizabeth had been taken, and one of them, if not both, was seriously wounded.

~ ♥ ~

Despite his agony and the sickening pain spreading throughout his entire body, Darcy managed to open his eyes and recognise his companion. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, trying to reach for her hand on his face, closing his eyes again.

“Oh, Mr Darcy. Thank God you are alive,” she whispered in relief. “I am so sorry, but before anything else, I need to try to stop your bleeding, and I need your help. Do you think you can sit?”

Darcy took a deep breath and nodded. Elizabeth stood, helping him to sit up. He winced but managed to keep his position.

“You must forgive me, but I will need to remove your coat and waistcoat, and check for more bleeding on your back.”

Darcy just nodded.

As she pulled pieces of clothing from his body, her suspicions were confirmed; he had another hole on his back. The bullet had torn through his body.

She repeated the process of pressing his other wound, torn apart by his agonising moans of pain. Once she was satisfied with her efforts, she wrapped him with the bandages and put his clothes back on him, helping him to sit on the ripped seat of the carriage.

“It will keep your shoulder immobile and, I hope, will help you with the pain,” Elizabeth concluded, accommodating Darcy’s left arm inside the improvised sling she had made, then sat opposite him.

“Thank you,” he said with a weak voice. His painful expression was replaced by one of rage as his gaze rested on her face. “You are hurt! What have those bastards done to you?”

“I am fine. I mean, it is nothing serious,” she said, touching her mouth. “It is a little sore, but apart from this cut, I am well. I think I put up too much resistance when they were trying to take me away…”from you.

Elizabeth’s voice cracked and she lowered her eyes to Darcy’s neck, then to where his arm rested in her improvised sling. She stopped and covered her mouth as a new flood of emotion brought tears to her eyes; tears she could not fight again as she remembered all that had happened. The memory of her bonnet flying in the air, just a couple of inches from her head, confirmed how close she had come to dying. “But I am alive, and because of you. Thank you.”

“Please, do not thank me. I did what needed to be done.”

Shame and embarrassment overflowed, and she shook her head, trying to find words to express her confusion, to make sense of the thoughts crossing her mind. “Why, sir? Why did you do that, after… after the way I have treated you?”

Darcy swallowed hard. “When I heard you saying Wickham’s name, and then one of the other men shouting for Wickham to duck… and saw the gun… I understood what was happening. It was when…” He paused, swallowing again. “They were holding me tight. I could not fight them, but I could… knock into him.” He stopped again, frowning, and then looked back at her. “I could not live in a world if you were not in it, Elizabeth. I could not live without the hope of being able to see you again, look into your eyes, even knowing… how little you think of me.” His eyes lowered to where his hand was pressing his thigh. “I love you, Elizabeth. That is why.”

Listening again to his declaration stirred violent emotions and made her feel completely unworthy. More than she ever thought possible. She brought both hands to her face and cried until she had no tears left.

All her dislike for him was not just because of his prejudice against her family or Mr Wickham’s words, but, in fact, a defensive response to his rejection of her, and his abandonment of Hertfordshire.

But now, whatever the reason he had to leave her behind, they did not matter, not after what he had done for her.

He had no way to know he would survive that gunshot.

Now that the hard truth had finally been admitted, she knew what she needed to do.

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