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“And I am the Prince Regent!”

William groaned as he proceeded up the steps to find Mr. Walker opening the door. “Mr. Darcy, sir, Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is so good to have you both back so soon. I hope your trip was pleasant.”

“Yes, Mr. Walker,” William responded. “The trip was not as difficult as I imagined it would be.” By that time, Mrs. Reynolds had joined them, and he addressed her. “Please have a room prepared for my friend here, Arthur Fielding.” He nodded in the direction of the boy. “Richard will, of course, be staying in his usual rooms.”

The elderly housekeeper smiled at the young boy before promptly returning her attention to William. “Very good, sir. I am so pleased you are home.”

William took note of the meaningful look Mrs. Reynolds gave him. Nearly a lifetime spent with her had taught him what that look meant. She needed to speak to him in private.

Before he could say anything, however, she gave instructions to the maid that had followed her to the foyer. “Constance, show Mr. Fielding to the green bedroom, the Colonel knows where his rooms are located—they are always kept ready.”

As the maid bobbed a curtsy in reply, Mrs. Reynolds focused on William. “I shall order hot baths prepared for you immediately and send everyone a tray with supper afterwards, if that meets with your approval.”

Before William could answer, Richard crowed, “Mrs. Reynolds you are a mind reader!” Then motioning for Arthur to join him, he slung an arm over the boy’s shoulder, and they ascended the stairs behind the maid. “Come, young man, as a future soldier, you have much to learn about enjoying the kindness of generous people.”

William and Mrs. Reynolds both watched with amusement as Richard continued his banter up the stairs and on down the hallway, his voice still loud enough to be heard long after he was out of sight. Turning to each other, they smiled and shook their heads in mutual acknowledgement. Then the housekeeper’s mien sobered.

“Would you have just a moment, sir?”

“Of course. Shall we go to my study?”

Without any further words, she followed Mr. Darcy down the hall.

~~~*~~~

Elizabeth had fallen asleep rapidly, but the scenes running through her unconscious mind brought worse night terrors than she had experienced in the past. This time she could see him clearly.

A tall, blond-haired man, obviously drunk, his face distorted with rage. He was waving a pistol, yelling obscenities, and accusing her of disloyalty. He grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully behind her as he hissed, “You plotted to leave me—your husband! After all I have done for you, this is the thanks I get!”

Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, twisting the linens first one way and then another, as in her dream she tried to break free of him.

“You shall learn what happens to those who betray me!”

Suddenly a young woman holding a child came from somewhere behind, interrupting his fierce rant and trying to distract him. He swung the gun in her direction.

“You! You were the one who assisted her! I should kill—”

Elizabeth stepped in between them just as a loud blast reverberated through the room. Her head exploded with pain at the same time she caught sight of the mother and child being splattered with blood. Was it hers? Suddenly a large red stain began to spread across the mother’s breast. Horrified and unbelieving, she watched as the woman and the child sank to the floor. Abruptly rough hands were grabbing her arms, pulling her back around. The madman’s face was only inches from hers, and he appeared to be shouting, though Elizabeth could hear nothing as the darkness claimed her.

Bolting up in the bed, Elizabeth’s breath came in great gasps. Immediately, a certain phrase broke through the chaos—your husband.

With that horrible revelation, the veil that had begun to lift since she had been at Pemberley slammed shut, and Elizabeth slipped back into the abyss she had occupied after the fire.

In her current state, she now believed that Pemberley was Northgate, and she reached for the doll lying by her pillow and slipped out of the bed. She ran from the bedroom into the sitting room and finding it locked, went on into Mrs. Drury’s room. The elderly companion, asleep for hours, did not hear Elizabeth slip through her room and into the hall. Completely unaware of her state of undress, Elizabeth ran through the house, her sole focus on escaping from him.

The household was asleep except for the servants patrolling the halls and William, who was completely unaware of her distress. Swiftly she navigated the long hallway to the grand staircase, only encountering the footmen once she got that far. She eluded the first by swiftly sitting down on the stairs as he passed below and another by rushing into the lone room downstairs that was familiar—the library. Going straight to the doors that opened onto the terrace, she worked for some time before she managed to unlock one. Flinging it back, she ran out onto the terrace unsure of which way to go. The familiar gravel path to the stables caught her eye, and she began to run.

~~~*~~~

The hour was late by the time William finished bathing and eating, and though he was weary, sleep would not come. Mrs. Reynolds’ account of how Elizabeth had thanked her for pouring a cup of tea intrigued him. Could it be that she was coming to her senses? And, if she was, what would it mean for their relationship? If she truly remembered everything, would she hate him as she had after Kent? Every dreadful thing he could imagine kept him from finding any rest.

After two hours of staring blankly into the flames still flickering in the hearth and consuming two glasses of brandy, the overwhelming desire to see Elizabeth overrode his better judgment. Pulling his robe on over his nightshirt, he opened the door to the servants’ hall, and grabbing a candle, advanced in the direction of her bedroom. Since he was well familiar with the house, it took little time for him to arrive at the secret opening. He blew out the candle and stepped inside, standing perfectly still until his eyes adjusted.

It was several moments before he realised she was not in the bed or even inside the room. Moving closer, he touched the mussed sheets, evidence that she had lain there earlier, and found them cold. His eyes flew to the French doors, which were closed. Moving swiftly to them, he tried the handle but found it locked. Something compelled him to go onto the balcony, and as he stepped into the cool night air, he caught sight of something moving across the manicured lawns below, but he could not see it clearly.

A paralysing fear washed over him. Was it Elizabeth or was she elsewhere in the house? And if it was Elizabeth, why would she wish to escape? Had someone or something scared her? Had he been foolish to believe she was improving because she had not once tried to escape Pemberley as she had Netherfield?

Twirling around, he reached the servants’ hallway in a few long strides and began the trek back to his room. Arriving there swiftly, he pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat off the back of a chair, racing into the hallway. Reaching the grand staircase, he cleared the stairs faster than ever before, slowing down only when approached at the bottom by a footman.