“George is a fool,” Fitzwilliam almost spat. “Heaven knows I love him. He is my brother, my responsibility, my blood. But had he even a shadow of a spine, he never would have let you go. Or, being committed elsewhere, he would have protected your heart from the first moment.”
I laughed. “And that is what you did?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes shifted to my uncle, who was already closing in, his arm beckoning me, and he stiffened. “I wanted you to know your worth. To believe from the very core of your being that others, besides faithless George, would see you for the treasure you are. You need not depend on a childish infatuation—not when you dazzle and sparkle as you do. As you always have.” His throat worked, and he closed his eyes. “But God help me, all I managed to accomplish was to lose my own heart. Forgive me, Elizabeth.”
I had no words for that. I could hardly tear my eyes from the anguish in his face, but when I did, it was to plead wordlessly with my uncle. Ihadto hear the end of this!
“Lizzy, the carriage…” Uncle Gardiner urged. “We should go.”
“Please!” Fitzwilliam erupted, risking a step closer with hand outstretched. “One day! Two, if you feel generous. I beg of you, let me search… find the truth. There must be a way we can protect all concerned, and yet—”
“Yet what?” I challenged softly. “Would you make a foundling, a woman with no name of her own, mistress of Pemberley?” I scoffed. “With George poised to marry into nobility, and your own prospects no less rosy?” I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “Uncle is right. It would be better if I left Derbyshire this minute and never looked back. I will sell this property, if it is mine to sell, and I will go back to Hertfordshire, where I belong.”
“Eliz—”
“Do not address me so informal, sir, I beg you.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and let Uncle wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Take me home, Uncle.”
Uncle Gardiner guided me outside to where Jane awaited. I caught her gaze through the windows of the carriage and saw the compassion shining in her eyes. I ached to unburden the secrets churning inside. But then, a dark plume caught my attention—smoke boiling from over the hills.Pemberley!My heart seized with panicked denial… until I swung back toward Fitzwilliam.
He was staring at his feet as he followed me out, his jaw working and his cheeks crimson with shame. But when I stopped, his head came up, and his eyes followed where I was pointing. And then I saw bleak devastation, draining all color from his face.
“The mill!”
I looked back at the plume of smoke. He was right—it was not Pemberley’s house rising into flames over that hill. The smoke came from farther to the west. George Darcy, Senior’s dream, his hope for a better future for his workers, now engulfed in rolling black smoke.
Fitzwilliam bolted for his lathered horse, wild to respond. But Uncle Gardiner barked and cut him short. “Your horse is done in, Darcy! Turn him in the field there and send someone to fetch him later. We shall take you by carriage, and Johnson can drive like the very devil. There is more at stake than property!”
Fitzwilliam wavered at war with himself, rage and helplessness fighting for control. But finally, he stripped his saddle off his horse and turned him loose in a pasture behind the house. An instant later, he flung himself inside to join us, hardness settling over defeated features as he took the bench beside my uncle, opposite me. My hand found Jane’s, clenched tight in voiceless hope.
“How many workers?” Uncle Gardiner asked tightly.
“Sixty-seven,” Fitzwilliam rasped. “And over half of them are women.”
“Good God.” Uncle Gardiner put his head out the carriage window. “Hurry, Johnson!”
Ourcarriagecareenedaroundthe final bend, granting Mr. Darcy at the window—and me, seated across from him—a sickening vantage directly into the hellish inferno. Pemberley Mill raged, engulfed amidst smoke and human figures scurrying ant-like whilst flames roared malicious victory.
Even as the wheels slowed, Fitzwilliam sprang free with single-minded focus, shrugging off our protests for caution and barking orders. “Where is Harris? Report!”
I could not help wandering closer, despite shouts from my uncle to stay clear. I had to know that all was well… and I had to be near Fitzwilliam. My eyes roved about the scene in awe. Where the proud mill had once stood was a blackening inferno. I could still see steel beams where the flames had gnawed ragged holes in the walls, and no doubt it was due to these that the main roof had not yet collapsed. But walls had crashed in, whole floors buckling to the flames. I think my heart stopped.
Younger workers milled about in confusion ‘til the overseer elbowed through, his features shining with sweat and streaked with soot. “The whole east wing’s gone already, and my men are hauling buckets from the river. But no doubt how this evil started!” He sent a venomous glare toward a sullen knot amidst the frantic crowd.
Fitzwilliam cut him off. “Later! Are all hands accounted for? What casualties thus far?”
Harris shook his head even as another section crashed inward with a fountain of sparks. “No telling yet, sir! We scrambled free as the alarm went up, but that lot are vultures to disaster, raiding supplies and making free of the place!” He jabbed an accusing finger toward the workers.
Fitzwilliam barked at the overseer. “Forget their plundering! They can have the whole bloody lot for all I care. Direct the firefighters! Ensure every soul is safe first!” A terrific crash from within sent flaming planks belching outward. I flinched, but before I could cover my eyes, Fitzwilliam had turned and shielded my face with his body as fiery shrapnel raced past. I had no idea he even knew I was there, but now I gripped his arm, unwilling to let him go.
Harris waved an arm. “Bah! Let the devils reap what’s sown! I warned you they meant trouble by those racketing committees!”
Uncle Gardiner strode past me, tossing his coat and hat aside to take his place in a line of men passing buckets up from the river. “Less assigning blame, more quenching flame if you please!” Water splashed on the nearest outbuildings amidst choking smoke. “Lizzy, Jane, see to the injured while we douse this blaze!”
Fitzwilliam slid his hands up my arms and held my gaze steady. I swallowed as I looked up to his dear face—grim and frightened. I had never seen Fitzwilliam afraid of anything in my life. He swallowed and gave me a single nod, and I squeezed his hands as they slipped away from me. “He’s right,” he said. “Be careful, please, Elizabeth. Go!”
I could only nod and swirl away, eager for a purpose. Jane and I flew toward a cluster of wounded sprawled on the grass. A young washerwoman held her blistered hand aloft, stumbling blindly whilst tears streaked her sooty face. Jane rushed to her side. “Here, some cool water! This way, you’re safe now.” Jane gently urged the sobbing girl toward the stream.
But more staggering figures emerged from the swirling haze, and my hands flew swiftly to a boy’s head that was gushing crimson. I ripped part of my petticoat for a bandage to try to stop the bleeding, but the larger struggle was keeping him still. “My Molly!” he kept sobbing. “Did she get out? I’ve got to go back!”
