Page 71 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

Elizabeth placed a marker in her book and closed it, then followed her aunt from the room.

“My dear, Edward tells me Mr. Darcy is taken with you.”

Elizabeth brightened.

Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “It appears to me that you suffer from the same condition.”

Elizabeth took her aunt’s hand. “Everything would be perfect if not for Lydia’s ruin. Mr. Darcy has a young sister who would also be tainted should Lydia’s fall ever become known. How could I do that to him or to his sister?”

“Lizzy, love is a powerful thing. When one loves deeply, much may be overcome. Give love a chance.”

* * *

That evening, after Elizabeth had taken tea, conversed with the family party, and played and sung at the request of Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff, she at last returned to the table in the corner. She carried a branch of candles with her and placed it near enough to cast its light upon her book.

She opened Brand with care. Already halfway through the volume, she had found no further accounts of mysterious disappearances. Would the book prove a waste of time? She had no choice but to finish every volume and record anything that might offer a key.

Did the veil truly thin on the eve of the winter solstice and allow one to pass into another time? And if such a thing proved possible, how could she ensure she returned to the time when all had been right? When Papa still lived and teased them. When Mamma harried poor Hill. When all her sisters lived at home, innocent and hopeful.

She returned to her book and continued reading, making notations as she went. That night, when the others finished their game of whist and rose to retire, she did the same.

She consulted her watch. Eleven o’clock. She would not read in bed, for she must sleep. She meant to run in the morning and, if all went well, would go as far as Arbor Low, now that she knew the way. The path seemed easy enough to follow, and there were no houses on that open moor. No one should encounter her at the hour she intended to go, at sunrise, when the sun painted the sky in colors that defied description.

She followed the others upstairs, kissed her aunt and uncle, and retired to her chamber.

While Anna helped her prepare for the night, Elizabeth’s thoughts strayed to Mr. Darcy. In a matter of days, he had come to mean nearly everything to her. She felt as though she had known him all her life. She was at ease in his company and, surprisingly, often wished he might touch her. Kiss her. She had never desired such intimacies from any man.

Of course, he could not. She would not esteem him so highly had he attempted anything so improper. Beyond his beauty of face and form, she acknowledged that much of his appeal lay in his goodness and decency.

Still, she wished to know what it was to be kissed by Mr. Darcy, to be held in his arms, and to feel the warmth of his embrace.

Anna’s practical voice recalled her to the room. “Miss Elizabeth, the fire is banked. Is there anything else I can do for you before I retire?”

“No, thank you, Anna. I am going out for a walk tomorrow at dawn. You need not bring the hot water until eight o’clock. If I have not returned by then, leave the water and do not worry. It will only mean the beauties of Derbyshire have beguiled me.”

“Yes, miss.”

After Anna departed, Elizabeth extinguished the candle, slipped beneath the covers, and fell asleep within minutes.

The following morning, she rose at six, slipped into her trousers and blouse, twisted her hair into a chignon, and drew on an old pelisse shortened to allow greater freedom of movement. She slung a canvas bag over her shoulder and descended the servants’ stairs.

By a quarter past six, she had passed the kitchen gardens and entered the park. Beyond them, she found the narrow path, scarcely visible in the early light, which led toward the open moor and Arbor Low.

She glanced back. The house had disappeared from view, and no one occupied the gardens or the road beyond. She passed through the gate into the wilderness, removed her pelisse, tucked it into the canvas bag, and prepared to hang the bag upon a low branch.

Hawthorn. It was a hawthorn tree hung heavy with clusters of red haws.

Elizabeth recoiled, then mastered herself. With a laugh at her own foolishness, she said aloud, “It is all superstition, Lizzy. Never mind the hawthorn or the fairies.”

She hung the canvas bag from the branch and set off along the faint path in the first light of dawn. She hoped to reach the henge by sunrise.

Holding her watch in one hand, Elizabeth began to run at a moderate pace. When she finally ascended the bank of the henge, she was panting. She had time enough to reach the causeway and enter the circle before sunrise.

She ran along the bank, crossed the causeway, and continued to the center of the circle. There she climbed onto the stone Mr. Darcy had helped her mount the day before. The memory filled her with pleasure. He had been so attentive, so kind. He had treated her as though she were something precious, something to be cherished and protected.

From atop the stone, she waited for the sunrise. Then the few clouds that were scattered across the sky were painted red, gold, and dark maroon as the sun broke over the horizon. A faint mist rose from the open heath, where low outcrops and loose limestone lay scattered among the grass.

The morning seemed magical. She would scarcely have been surprised to find a fairy or two dancing along the banks of the henge.