Her thoughts wandered, drifting past Devonshire and its honeyed edges, past the mother who had given her life but never direction. And without quite meaning to, her mind settled back on the place she had just left behind.
Longbourn.
A creaky old house, cluttered and chaotic, full of mismatched furniture and louder voices than she had ever been raised to bear. And yet—
There had been laughter. Music. Banter over breakfast and squabbles over gloves. Hands reaching for hers without calculation. Faces lighting when she entered the room.
And one man seated behind a newspaper who never asked questions he already knew the answers to.
A father...
Not the Marquess. Not the title.
The other man. The one who gave her sanctuary. Who made her laugh when she thought she had forgot how. Who looked at her with knowing eyes and said nothing at all when everything hurt.
Mr. Bennet.
Her hand reached instinctively for the small bundle she had found earlier—tucked into her satchel with neat care and quiet foresight. A parcel. His writing on the paper, just a few words.
A few things in case you need reminding that someone expects you to come home.
Home!Such a fond word for a place she had known so little. She did not open it. Not yet. But she held it tight against her chest.
A fortnight.
That was all it took for one man—and one messy, imperfect, beloved family—to make her feel more like a daughter than her own ever had in twenty years. She blinked back the ache behind her eyes.
And then—there was Darcy.
She turned slightly, glancing across the room.
He had not shifted in sleep—too tired for that, probably. One arm flung across his eyes. The rest of him too long for the narrow cot, his boots still on. She had watched his chest rise and fall for nearly ten minutes before he made a sound.
Then came the snore.
Soft, a bit uneven. The sort that caught in the throat and hiccupped out again.
She smiled. It should have been irritating. But somehow, it was not. Somehow, it was… right.
He had brought her here. He had guarded her steps, watched her sleep, refused food and drink so she could have more. He had held her world together with nothing but sheer force of will.
And when this ended—ifit ended—what then? Logically, something must change, for they could hardly hide here forever. Long enough for the scent of their trail to fade. The heat of immediate exposure to cool, and her stubborn knight errant to recover the strength to stagger back to his horse, back to the hunt.
Surely the assassins would be caught. Maddox exposed. Cunningham dragged from whatever darkened parlor he was hiding in. The Crown would thank its faithful servants. The scandal would fade. Eventually.
Even if it did not, how long would they really keep hunting her? Surely, at some point, they would either succeed in silencing her or just… give up. If no one caught the wrongdoers, if they had seemed to get away with it, why would they keep up the risk of exposing themselves trying to kill the daughter of a nobleman? Would there not come a time when her father’s name protected her more surely than Darcy’s arm?
Someday, somehow, this would end—it had to. And then what?
Would she go back to London? Back to her father’s house, where the chandeliers gleamed and silence passed for affection? Where her absence had been tolerated with equanimity—perhaps even preferred?
The thought felt like putting on a gown that no longer fit.
She shifted, curling her feet more tightly under herself, still staring at the far corner where Darcy slept. He stirred a little now—the snoring stopped when he rolled into a deeper slumber, one arm flung carelessly off the cot so his hand scraped the floorboards. The cloak she had balled up under his head for a pillow had been pushed off the mattress, but she resisted the impulse to rise and fix it. Let him rest. Let him have this moment of peace. Heaven knew he deserved it after all he had endured for her sake.
That was when a cold stab crept down her spine—a thought she had never encountered before. Would she ever see him again? What would happen to him after this ended—after they survived it?
Ifthey survived it.
