Yet he did not move. He stood there, his gaze locked with hers. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then asked, “Will I see you at Lucas Lodge this evening, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You will.”
His expression lightened and he bowed. “Until then.”
Elizabeth dipped a curtsy. “Until then.”
She stepped back as he made to mount, her attention returning to the sky. She would never make it home in time toavoid suspicion now. Fitzwilliam swung into the saddle. With a final nod, he set out for Netherfield Park.
Elizabeth turned to the low hill to her left. She would have to cut across Farmer Grason’s land, past the ramshackle shepherds’ hut they used to play in as children. She thrust her shoulders back, throwing off memories of childhood beratings, and started up the hill. She was a grown woman now and simply cutting across a pasture. Besides, they hadn’t played in the hut in years, so Mr. Grason would no longer be checking for them. He would never know she’d been there.
Elizabeth strode up the hill, amused by how brave she felt. As if Mr. Grason would ever do more than shout, bluster, and demand she get off his land, which she fully intended to do as speedily as possible. She crested the hill, autumnal gusts yanking at her, and started down the other side.
The hut still stood, the stacked stone foundation crumbled and shifted, putting the whole structure askew. Holes gaped in the wood plank walls, and birds and wind had long since stolen most of the thatch from the roof. Looking at the crooked little building, Elizabeth didn’t half wonder if the reason Mr. Grason yelled at them so much when they were children was out of fear for their safety. The hut appeared ready to topple given the slightest encouragement.
She shook her head as she drew near, for her path home led directly in front of the old hut. To think, one of her greatest childhood fears, an angry Mr. Grason, might simply have been a grouchy farmer trying to protect a gaggle of children. Why, all the times he—
Something moved inside.
Elizabeth went still as stone, save for her racing heart. She looked up the hill she’d just descended. But, no, Fitzwilliam would be far away by now, ahorse. If she called out, he would not hear her. In all likelihood, no one would, except whatever hid inthe spattered darkness within the old sheep shed. She raised a booted foot, inching it backward, trying not to make any sound.
“Madam,” a weak, yet distinctly masculine, voice croaked out. “Help me. Please.”
Dull daylight streaked the inside of the hut, slipping through holes and loose boards, but the angle of the sun kept any such illumination from entering through the open door. Elizabeth glimpsed what might be a blond head, a trembling hand reaching out.
“Please,” the voice said again, weakly.
Her thoughts darted to the man in the alleyway, crying like some small, distressed creature. Could this be a similar ruse?
Yet…that hardly seemed possible. No one could be expected to come past this hut for days at a time. Weeks, even, or longer. Why lurk here waiting to lure someone? And why her? She was not Mr. Darcy, with his enormous fortune. Anyone could see that from the lack of ostentation in her unmodish garb.
She looked about, but the scrubby brambles around the hut offered little in the way of makeshift weapons. Dipping down, she hoisted a fist-sized rock, the largest she saw.
“Please.” The man’s reedy voice cracked. “I am in need of assistance.”
The pain in his voice as much as the cultured accent drawing her, Elizabeth inched forward until she could peer inside.
A man sprawled within, propped against the back wall and wrapped in a greatcoat of the finest wool. What she could see of his trousers, coat, and waistcoat, spoke of superior quality as well, the latter two thickly embroidered. He had no hat or gloves, but his boots, even inside the dingy hut, gleamed, polished and nearly new. Thick blond curls topped his head and the face beneath them proved handsome enough to be so even though his skin stood shockingly white except for the dark rings beneath his eyes. A sheen of sweat coated his brow.
He raised an arm that trembled with the effort. “Please. I am so parched.”
“I do not have anything with me.” Elizabeth looked about, but saw nothing with the man, either. Only the clothing he wore. “What has happened to you? How do you come to be here?”
He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. “I was abducted. I escaped on the roadway, but they shot me as I fled.” He gestured limply to his leg. “I made my way here.”
A closer look revealed something white, likely a handkerchief, bound his left leg where it protruded from his greatcoat. “How awful.” Realizing she still held the rock, she dipped to set it on the ground. How could there be so many criminals bent on abducting wealthy gentlemen? Elizabeth hadn’t realized it was so dangerous to be a man of means. Surely, something should be done to root out the ne'er-do-wells responsible for such affronts. “I will fetch help.”
The man’s eyes flew open. “No. You cannot bring anyone. You cannot trust anyone. They will be searching for me.”
“Surely the local apothecary can be tr—”
“No,” the man before her gasped out. “They will be watching. They will not give up. Not for the sum they believe I—” He broke off with a grimace. “Believe I am worth.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, uncertain if the man was cautious or paranoid. “I am afraid that if you must rely on me alone, it might be hours before I can return.” She would be under enough suspicion when she finally got back to Longbourn this morning without attempting to depart again with immediacy. It might not even be possible for her to slip out again today.
“I would rather await one so lovely as you for hours than risk being found by those who did this.” Though stiff with pain, his smile revealed even white teeth.
He could not be in too dire a state, if he would still seek to flatter. “I will return as swiftly as I can, Mister…” She trailed off, awaiting a name.
