Page 129 of The Difference of a Darcy
The earl’s brows rose, and the countess’ fan snapped open with a sharp flick.
“My niece?” she repeated. “Mrs.Wickham? I had understood her husband to be… unfortunate, but not life-threatening.”
“Her situation has grown dire, my lady.”
The earl stepped forward, the weight of his scrutiny falling fully upon Darcy. “And why, pray, should I trust the word of a servant whose coat has seen better days and whose face I do not recognize?”
Darcy met his gaze steadily. “Because, my lord, whether you know me or not, your niece is in danger, and every moment we waste brings both her and her child closer to danger.”
A heavy silence followed. The countess’ fan stilled. The earl studied Darcy a long moment, weighing him.
Whatever he saw there must have convinced him, for he gave a long, weary sigh. “Very well, then. But if this turns out to be folly, you will answer to me for it.”
Darcy bowed deeply. “Yes, my lord.”
“And if harm comes to son because of my niece’s foolishness, then you will answer tomeas well.” The countess punctuated her veiled threat by snapping her fan shut, then turning on her heel and striding from the room. Her husband followed close behind.
Darcy remained in the room, impatiently watching the bustle in the hall as servants passed in hushed agitation. From somewhere deep within the house came the muffled sounds of orders being given, shadowed by the steady tick of the great clock in the vestibule.
When it struck the hour—one solemn chime after another echoing through the hall—Darcy felt the weight of every moment pressing upon him. He had not slept since the night before, and his limbs ached with fatigue. How easily he couldsink into one of the chairs by the fire, close his eyes for but a moment—yet he dared not. If he allowed weariness to claim him, the colonel might change his mind, or reason might cool what pity had stirred his heart.
So, he paced the room instead, his steps quick and uneven, his thoughts urging them to hasten.If only I were myself again,he thought bitterly.Then I could be at Richard’s side, urging him to move more quickly.
Of course, if Richard knew me as he once did, then I would not need to beg for his belief, nor wait while he deliberated. He would have been gone before the hour struck.
He turned sharply at the sound of boots in the passage. Colonel Fitzwilliam entered, his coat buttoned and sword buckled at his side. “We are ready,” he said shortly.
Darcy followed him out into the chill night air. The courtyard was alive with movement—lanterns swinging, horses stamping against their tethers, grooms tightening girths. Darcy glanced about, seeking the familiar outline of Nell, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“The nag you rode in on was near spent,” the colonel said, adjusting his gloves. “She would not see the end of the lane, let alone the road to Pemberley.” He gestured to a tall bay whose eyes gleamed with fire beneath the torchlight. “Can you manage something more spirited?”
Darcy’s only answer was to seize the reins, swing himself into the saddle, and bring the horse firmly to hand. The animal tossed its head once, then yielded to his command.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “I see you can,” he said dryly. Turning his gaze upward, he added, “We are fortunate—the moon is full and the clouds have cleared. It will give us light enough to ride swiftly, though we must take care. The roads are slick with ice from the rain earlier.”
Darcy nodded. The air was sharp with the scent of wet earth and horseflesh, the cobblestones glistening like mirrors under the pale light. Without another word, the two men set off, hooves striking against stone as they cleared the gate and took to the open road.
The countryside stretched before them in shadow and silver. Every gust of wind seemed to whisper of Pemberley—of home—and of the woman who waited there in fear. They would not arrive before dawn, perhaps the sixth hour at the earliest, but Darcy pressed his mount onward, his heart a silent, ceaseless prayer.
Please, let Elizabeth be safe.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth awoke with a start, uncertain at first what had roused her. The faint clatter of crockery and the low murmur of voices reached her through the half-open door to the kitchen. Dawn’s first light filtered dimly through the scullery window, painting the flagstones with a thin, cold gray.
Her neck ached from the angle at which she had slept, half-propped against the wall with Georgiana’s head upon her shoulder. The girl still slumbered, her fair hair spread over the folded blanket that served as a pillow. For a moment, Elizabeth simply watched her, relief softening the edges of her exhaustion. Georgiana’s breathing was even and untroubled at last.
Gently, Elizabeth eased herself away, careful not to disturb her companion. At once the chill crept back into her limbs, biting through the thin gown she had worn since the day before. The small scullery felt colder than ever, the air heavy with damp stone and the faint smell of ashes from the dead fire.
She moved softly to the corner where a small basin of water and a bowl had been set aside. When she returned, the distant hum of the kitchen had grown louder—the scrape of pans, the thump of a kneaded loaf, and the unmistakable voice of Mrs. Wells giving brisk orders.
Elizabeth moved as close to the door as she could before the barrels impeded her movements. “Mrs. Well?” she called softly.
The noise in the kitchen paused, and Elizabeth could hear the sound of footsteps approaching the door. “Oh, Beth, I wondered if you were awake. It is a wonder if you were even able to sleep at all, you poor lambs. I was just saying to Mrs. Reynolds that I hoped you two did not freeze to death sometime during the night.”
Elizabeth managed a faint smile. “We are quite safe, thank you. Has there been any word from my husband or Matlock?”
“None, I fear.” The cook’s voice trembled slightly. “Johnny never lit the lantern last night—neither your husband nor Mr. Wickham has returned or sent word.”
