He had to.
“Wait,” the Reverend called as he strode toward the door. “Let me go with you.”
Shaking his head Darcy motioned toward the ladies. “There will need to be a fire; when the others return then a rope can be strung from the door to your stockpile of wood. This is your home, you know where everything is, how best to keep everyone safe here. Stay.”
Brows pulled, Mr. Moore appeared at war with himself. “Very well. Here, take my coat. It never did fit me well, perhaps it can go over yours. Do not concern yourself over me, I have a worn, but serviceable one up in my room.” Sighing, he glanced about the space. “A pity I did not keep my housekeeper on while I was away. In any case, wait but a moment to leave. You ought to take a lantern… we can bind a blanket to your back–Miss Elizabeth may need it when you find her. Oh, and that hat you are wearing is insufficient; I have an unfashionable fur one, and a scarf for your face.”
Within four minutes Darcy, wearing as many layers as they might manage, with a blanket tied to his back, a scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth, and a lit lantern in one hand, made his way to the door, the rest of the men returning as he left. Ignoring the questions of his cousin, Darcy pressed between them and out into the raging cold.
Tufts of wind-swept snow pressed into the cracks and crevices of the stone walls, a cold wrapping as soft and delicate in appearance as a fur muff as Darcy sought to follow the edge of the house toward where Elizabeth had been headed.
Faint traces of what had once been footfalls appeared more as slight imperfections in the snow than anything else, though he followed them all the same, his breath continually stolen by the wind as it whipped one way then another.
“Elizabeth!” he shouted into the wind, his words flung back at him with a far greater force than he had managed. “ELIZABETH!”
Would she even be able to hear him?
Reaching the edge of the house, the faint tracks led back, at first nearer the wall than they had been, then jutting away.
“ELIZABETH!”
Chapter 32
Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 15
Though well dressed, the wind pierced through Elizabeth, unhindered by the wool of her pelisse or the leather of her boots. In nearly every winter she had known, her clothing would have been enough; this particular December proved another beast altogether, its sharp, biting fangs overpowering.One would think her long hours of walking in almost every sort of weather would have steeled her. That snowball fights and the winter treks to tenant houses would prove enough.
Turning her back to the relentless howl of the wind, dozens of pleasant snowball fights with her sisters flitted through her mind, before the reality of her situation returned as cold and unfriendly as the snow around her.Would she ever see her sisters again? Or would she perish as Aunt Phillips had?
Face pinching as memories of her aunt’s demise threatened to overwhelm, Elizabeth took a deep breath.You are not your aunt.
A shifting wind holding the snow midair before flinging it in her face, Elizabeth squinted as she sought any signs of something familiar.Nothing. Not even a tree.
Should she wait for help or continue to seek it out?
Shaking her head, she drew her shawl tighter around her face; her body racked with uncontrollable shivers.
Shelter. She had to find shelter!
Already she had wandered far too long, the early sunfall of December would arrive and she, like her aunt, would succumb without shelter.
∞∞∞
The day dimming, the short line of sight left to her lessened; the world, well tinged in blue, preparing for the night to come.She had to be back before then. She had to. It was dangerous enough in the daytime. Night would challenge even the mythical men of old, putting to death those not deemed strong enough. What then would it do to her?Squinting into the growing dark, she set her mouth, face grim with determination.She could not think of death. It would not get her home. It would not spare her sisters’ pain. She had to keep going. She… She… What had she been thinking? Mythical men? No. Her sisters. Yes. Her sisters. Remember them. Remember.
Toes numb, fingers clutched to her body as they fought for warmth, Elizabeth continued onward, face aching from the wind that flung thousands of biting shards into her.
Swaying on her feet, she placed one foot in front of the other, strange words and thoughts passing through her mind as quickly as the wind passed through her clothes.
Tea. Yellow flowers. Horses. Sleep. Yes. Sleep would be nice. The ground, soft as a pillow.
Bunnies. She had never asked Darcy if he liked bunnies.
Falling face first into the snow, she sputtered and swatted wildly as she stood unsteadily.
She would not see her pretty shawl turned white!
“Over there,” she cried as she pointed toward a tree.
