Page 1 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

Chapter One

Elizabeth Darcy idly ran her fingers over the planes of her husband's chest and down to his stomach before repeating the motion in reverse. After more than twenty years of marriage, the dark hairs were now sprinkled with grey and he was a little thicker around his middle, but he was still a fine, strong man and she felt the same pull to him as she had in the early years of their relationship. He was staring up at the canopy, one arm around her and one hand pulling at the bed linen, clearly lost in thought. She snuggled closer to him and could hear his heart thumping hard beneath his chest.

"My darling William, as much as I would like to think my mere presence would cause your heart to beat faster, I suspect that is not the case this evening."

He turned his head and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. "Dearest Elizabeth, you know that being close to you causes such flutterings and tremblings." He slipped into a high falsetto in an affectation of her dear, departed mamma at the end of the sentence. It was a well-worn joke between them.

Elizabeth laughed and propped herself up on her elbows. "Do not think you can distract me, you dear man. You should know that I am like a hound on the scent. What took you so far away and caused you such agitation?"

He pulled her back to him and tucked her in close. "I was thinking on Bella. She failed to attend her lessons with Samuels and me to review the estate accounts today. I found her sitting under the oak tree in the eastern woods. She was reading The Pirate. Again."

"Scott? Well, that's hardly a surprise. He is one of her favourites."

"Yes, but she was avoiding her responsibilities. It is the third time this week. I spend half of her lessons searching the estate for her. And when she does attend, it feels as though she is there in body rather than mind."

"I know the responsibility of the estate does not come easily to her. But she is a good, bright girl and still full young. She just needs a little time."

"Elizabeth, I was master of this estate when I was not three years older than she is now. And I am a man."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed on.

"I do not mean that makes her any less capable. I know, indeed, that she has much more intelligence than many men of my acquaintance. But it does mean she will have to work harder to prove herself, as unfair as that is, and that she shall be seen as a target. What if I were to contract a fever or fall from my horse?"

"Fitzwilliam Edward Darcy." Elizabeth pulled away from him, once again propping herself on her elbows and regarding him fiercely. "Do not speak of such a thing. You are hale and hearty."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "I am, my dear, but these things occasionally prey on my mind. Would you talk to her? Sometimes she reminds me so much of you."

"You say that like it is a bad thing, William!" Elizabeth said, smiling against his hand.

"Never," he said. "But you were always so free, striding around the wilds of Hertfordshire, so certain of your place in the world. You were certainly able to put me in my place, and I fear she has inherited your skill in that regard."

"She loves you very much, you know," she said gently.

"And so I love her beyond all measure." He sighed deeply. "It seems not two minutes since she had me on my hands and knees in the parlour, acting the part of her trusted steed as we conquered Camelot. How do we have three daughters almost fully grown, Elizabeth? And how am I to guide them as they take their place in the world when I so often feel unsure of the right path?"

"They are wonderful girls, and that is in great part because they have had you for a father. You must remember that my own Papa spent most of his time in his book room, content to let us muddle through without him. You have never done that, William. You have always known your daughters, known what delights them and what troubles them, and they have never once had cause to doubt how very much they are loved."

Elizabeth settled her head back against his shoulder. "And Bella is hardly the only daughter capable of giving you grey hairs." Kate, at least, rarely troubled him. She had always been the quietest of the three, happiest when buried in some scientific volume and blessed with a steadiness Elizabeth could only suppose had come from her father. Mina was another matter entirely. Their youngest had been indulged by all of them from the moment she first opened her eyes and now spent much of her time with a sketchbook in hand, dreaming of one day seeing her work hung in some great London gallery. Bella had always been different again. She wanted some adventure she could not quite put into words, only that it lay somewhere beyond Pemberley and all the expectations waiting for her there.

She leaned closer. "Now, enough maudlin thoughts. All will be well." She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his face to hers. "Come here. Let your devoted wife discover just how fast she can cause your heart to beat."

Chapter Two

Arabella Jane Darcy, known to her family and friends as Bella, sat before the glass at her dressing table as her maid, Marie, made the final adjustments to her toilette. Her dark hair was gathered into two large coils, pinned elaborately to the top of her head, while the front was parted and set into stiff curls. Her hair was naturally thick and heavy, very dark brown as her father's still was, although his was now silvered at the temples. Already, the weight of the coiffure was causing her head to ache. Marie was French and came highly recommended by her Aunt Anne, but the woman was obsessed with ensuring Bella wore only the latest styles, and it had made the whole process of dressing exhausting.

She smoothed out the full skirt of her cotton day dress, which was printed with tiny bluebells and pulled in at the waist with a belt of the same material, secured by a gilt buckle. She had picked it out herself at the modiste, charmed by the delicate flowers, but today it felt tight and uncomfortable, the voluminous leg-of-mutton sleeves heavy and restrictive.

"Voilà," said Marie, stepping back with a satisfied smile. "You see, mademoiselle? I have a gift. Even with all this hair, I make perfection." She gave one of the towering coils a final, unnecessary adjustment before fastening a gold locket around Bella's neck. It had been a present from her parents on her eighteenth birthday and was usually a source of comfort and calm. Today, as she closed her fingers around the heart-shaped pendant, she felt only a wave of anxiety. She knew her Papa was coming to the end of his patience with her avoidance of all estate matters.

She loved her home. She had grown up surrounded by love and laughter and the rugged beauty of the Derbyshire landscape. But something within her screamed that there must be more. Why must she fit the mould she had been born to fill? She devoured Scott and Byron and dreamed of great adventures and distant places, interacting with people who were not her family or of a ‘suitable’ rank. Should she not experience something of the world beyond Derbyshire and London? Was that so wrong? Her father spoke of responsibility and the weight of the generations that came before, but where did Bella herself fit into all of it? Sometimes it felt as though her whole life had been decided before she was old enough to understand what any of it meant. Pemberley would be hers one day. She knew that. She only wished she might have the chance to discover who she was before that day came.

Her coming-out in London the year before had not been a great success, but neither had it been a complete disaster. It had simply been uncomfortable. Like her overly elaborate coiffure or the new day dress, the ballrooms and drawing rooms made her feel itchy and contained, filled with overly eager young men and their mothers, all hoping to catch the attention of the heiress of Pemberley, or ladies with brittle smiles and blank eyes. She had railed against the whole affair. After all, her mama had never had a formal coming-out, and she had not suffered for the lack of it. In the end, Bella had spent only a few short months in the capital before begging her papa to let her go home. As no admirer of the social whirl himself, he had been quite happy to retreat to the sanctuary of Pemberley, though not before making her promise that they would try again the following year. Bella had agreed because she had been desperate enough to escape London to promise almost anything. Now, with the next season creeping ever closer, she was beginning to regret it.

She stood and thanked Marie, who responded with a sniff as she folded Bella's nightdress. Her last maid, Katie, had spent her whole working life at Pemberley, rising from scullery maid through numerous positions until she became a lady's maid to Bella and her sisters. She had spoken to Bella as though she were a person rather than a doll to dress up, shared the downstairs gossip and listened with kind attention. Marie, for all her sartorial gifts, was much less inclined to conversation. Bella took one last look at herself in the glass, gathered her courage and left the room to breakfast with her family.

As she neared the breakfast room, she heard the familiar burble of lively chatter. Her papa always said that Pemberley had been a quiet place in his youth and that, as a child, the echoing footsteps of servants in the silent halls would scare him so much that he would run and hide beneath his bedclothes, imagining them to be ghosts. She could not imagine it so. She and her sisters could never have been described as quiet, and her mother's laughter was a constant bright noise filling Pemberley's vast rooms. Add to that a steady stream of visiting friends and family and there was little chance of avoiding conversation or fuss of some sort or other.

She pushed open the door and found her family already assembled. Her papa sat at one end of the table, the newspaper folded in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Her youngest sister Mina, Wilhelmina to give her her Sunday name, sat to his right, ripping apart a sweet roll and talking at a mile a minute. Bella suspected her father was not fully attending. At just sixteen, Mina was the youngest of the sisters, but with her wide blue eyes and long blonde curls, currently loose down her back, she looked even younger. Though Bella and her other sister, Kate, had inherited their parents' dark looks, Mina was the double of their dear Aunt Jane, who, even in middle age, retained her ethereal beauty. Bella had no doubt Mina was speaking of her latest artistic project. Indeed, she could see a smudge of charcoal on her cheek.