Page 150 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
I dressed and pushed through the flaps of the tent. There were a dozen vaguely familiar faces around the clearing, but no one I knew. I went to Aggy’s cottage. Her door stood open, so I poked my head in.
“Lizzy!” she exclaimed and came to take my hands. “You two surprised us last night! This will be a storied Beltane. I am so happy for you.” Her smile became predatory. “And such a man! I would still be abed.”
“Yes, I… have you seen Mr. Darcy this morning?” I was embarrassed by the question but too uneasy not to ask.
“No. Is he out and about, then? Here, let’s find Ed.”
She led me to where several men were talking, including Mr. Digweed and Lord Wellington, who rose as I approached.
“Good morning…” Lord Wellington’s greeting trailed off. Probably he wondered if he had actually witnessed a wedding.
“Mrs. Darcy,” I confirmed for him, and he nodded. “Have you seen Mr. Darcy this morning?”
“No,” he said, becoming brisk and efficient. “He is not in the camp. When did you see him last?”
“An hour ago. Or more. He said he wished to check if sentries were placed. I expected him back long before now.”
We walked to a group of boys talking in a mix of childish sopranos and freshly deepened men’s tones.
“Has Mr. Darcy been to see you this morning?” asked Lord Wellington. There was a chorus of No’s, but the boy who had met us in the woods pushed to his feet. With nervous eyes, he held out a folded paper.
“Here you go, ma’am,” he said. “He made me swear to wait ’til you come out.”
The paper was addressed with a single word in Mr. Darcy’s hand:Elizabeth. A rush of foreboding made my fingers tremble as I unfolded it. Tucked inside was a folded envelope of different paper. I put that aside and read his note first:
“Dearest Elizabeth,
Forgive me for not seeking your permission. In this one thing, I have no choice. I will do all in my power to return to you.
Your loving husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
With a shaking hand, I pushed that into Lord Wellington’s fingers, then picked up the other envelope. It was addressed in savage, large letters:DARCY. A two-inch vertical slash severed the R in Darcy.
The boy said, “I found that when I checked Pemberley House this morning. The house was empty, but that was on the door. Stabbed through by a big knife.”
I pulled the envelope open and something sparkling fell into my palm. But my eyes were fixed on the text, which I recognized as Wickham’s hand:
“Life has a funny way of balancing the scales. Come alone and unarmed. We will be at her favorite place. Hurry, or I shall grow bored and amuse myself.—GW”
In my palm was a few broken inches of fine gold chain and a golden musical note.
“Wickham has Miss Darcy.” I said it even as terror froze my breath in my throat. She had planned to return to Pemberley a day after me. But if she traveled fast with few stops, she could have arrived last evening.
Men began running and calling. I was rooted by my frightened imagination. This would not be an honorable meeting. There would be no duel. Wickham would simply kill my husband.
Lord Wellington was beside me and repeating something. Finally, he said, “Miss Bennet!” I realized he had been addressing me as Mrs. Darcy. I must learn my new name.
He stood with another grim-faced man, both of them armed with musket and pistol. “Do you know where they are? Where Miss Darcy’s favorite place is?”
“She enjoys her music room at Pemberley,” I said. “But it cannot be that, if the house is abandoned.”
“You have no other idea?”
I shook my head. The men turned away and began conversing at a furious pace.
“I can find them,” I said. The ability to act altered my terror. Compressed it. Throttled it into a hard core of fury.
Lord Wellington turned, his cool eyes assessing me.
