He closed his eyes, a mournful groan rumbling in his chest. “I do not know.”
“You are not hurt, senhor? You can walk, no?”
“I could, were I not shackled to my bed,” he growled.
There was a muted “Oh!” from behind the door, then a moment of thoughtful silence. He feared that she had decided him a hopeless case, beyond rescue, when the soft words came again. “I will find a way to help you, senhor!” his unseen knightess vowed. “What is your name?”
He narrowed his eyes. Was he truly still himself? The name he had borne since infancy seemed now unknown to him, attached as it was to another man—another life.
“Senhor!” cried the lady once more. “I have little time. Please, your name so that I may know to whom I speak!”
His chest heaved in desperation to accept this rescuing angel’s assurances. Could it be another trick, or had he at last gained a true champion? He gritted his teeth, flexing his fists in doubt. For himself alone, he would never have trusted another in this dark place. But forher…for a chance, even the ghost of one, to assure himself of Georgiana’s safety and to seize his constant prayer of once more seeingher….
“Senhor!”
He drew a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering closed as he tried to gather his courage.Elizabeth, he groaned, in his ever-soothing mantra. Aloud he heard his own voice, cracking and unfamiliar, speak the name that for so many years had been his greatest source of pride, and had now proved such a liability.
From outside the door he heard a small squeak, a sharp indrawn breath, and his stomach lurched nervously. Had he spoken rashly after all? His brow pinched, he demanded, “Madam? Are you unwell?”
The voice returned, strained to a higher pitch now. “Your name again, senhor? Ididhear you,no?”
He wetted his lips, and this time his voice came more clearly despite his growing fear. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, Madam.”
There was dull sound, as though the lady’s forehead had crashed into the door on which she leaned, and then a scuffing noise of soft leather against stone. He heard her scrambling to her feet and then she gave a hasty cry, as though an afterthought cast over her shoulder. “I will do all I can, senhor!” Then, rapid slapping sounds announced her hasty retreat.
He slid back down to his bunk. She was gone, just as if she had never been. He scraped his hands roughly over his eyes, dazed. Had she been a mere phantom? Had the sweet delirium of his dreams at last invaded his consciousness to the point that he could no longer determine fantasy from reality?
Slowly he eased backward on the miserable bed that was his prison. His arm he crooked over his eyes, blotting out all visions but those he chose for himself. It was the one power that remained to him. He thought fleetingly upon his sister, but an instant’s glance at her china blue eyes filled with tears was nearly enough to nauseate him by his own impotence. Swiftly he replaced the image with one that always brought him peace—a playful smile, a maiden’s blush, and fine sparkling eyes.
He sighed, his pulse calming. She was playing the piano for him at Pemberley once more, glancing teasingly up at him through thick lashes as her fingers danced over the keys. His closed eyes flickered as that foreign voice, so musical and soreal, tickled his ears again. Had he truly won a friend who might help him regain his freedom?
Elizabeth’s brow puckered in his imagination as she embarked upon a challenging section of the piece she had chosen—a sliver of pink tongue touching her lips, pert nose wrinkling deliciously. He smiled at the memory.
Perhaps it was not impossible that he might one day have the pleasure of seeing her do so again. For the first time in months, he permitted his feelings to reach for her in hope rather than despair—a faceless hope that spoke now in exotic, daring tones.
Chapter eighteen
Longbourn
“Oh,mydearestgirls,”Mrs Bennet sniffed, “promise me I shall see you again soon!” She stood beside her husband, fluttering her tear-stained handkerchief as Elizabeth mounted the coach.
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled upward and she allowed her foot to drop from the step as she turned back to face her parents. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had offered his assistance for her to mount, dropped his hand as yet another flash of concern lit his eyes. She offered him a thin smile of reassurance, then dashed back to embrace her parents once more.
Her mother was sobbing theatrically, and Elizabeth, softened at last by some sympathy for her mother’s regrets, patted her back as she kissed her cheek. “Mama,” she soothed, “you know that our travels shall depend upon the roads for yet a few more months. I shall write often though, and I am certain that I shall be returned by the summer.”
“Aye, I know well enough thatyoushall return, Lizzy, for there are like to be no marriageable men in the wilds of Derbyshire. I still know not why your father permitted it, but there, I am not consulted in anything! Oh, but dear Lydia’s absence is to be of such a duration, for once reunited with her husband, I am certain that they shall nevermore return!”
Elizabeth sucked her lips against her teeth and turned a grim gaze to her father. He seemed even older on this day than he had on the two days previous, the dark circles below his eyes telling the tale of his worry for his daughters. He cleared his throat and took Elizabeth by the elbow to escort her back to the carriage, and out of his wife’s hearing.
“Papa,” she whispered, “are you certain it is wise for Lydia to accompany us? I do not believe Mr Wickham to have been well-liked in Derbyshire. I fear that Lydia will receive a rather cool welcome from the local gentry when we arrive, and I scarce dare imagine whatever discredit her company may bring upon our hostess!”
“Is not Miss Darcy herself from Derbyshire? I think you must allow the young lady to determine for herself whom she invites to her estate. Lydia and Miss Darcy got on famously from the moment they were introduced—though, I confess myself in as much awe of that as yourself. I believe the young lady as blinded by sentimental pity as you—nay, more so, for did she not spend full half an hour dabbing her eyes with lace on Lydia’s account? I say, Lydia’s sordid tale of woe has got her from fortune to fortune. Next I know, she shall be a Lady in Waiting at St James’.”
Elizabeth bit her lips together and sighed. “I cannot but think it all a rash scheme, Papa. Miss Darcy felt some sympathy for Lydia’s circumstances because she… well, she is familiar with Mr Wickham’s character flaws. Others are less likely to feel so.”
“The colonel gave his blessing to the notion,” he reminded her.
“The colonel overlooks Lydia’s circumstances because he is so desperate for my aid, and he saw an opportunity to secure a more lasting promise from me if my own sister were to accompany us. The truth of the affair, however, shall be less comfortable. A girl of Lydia’s… situation… cannot mingle in the same society as Miss Darcy of Pemberley without consequences to both!”
