AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“We were on the servants’ staircase, sir, nearest her room. She fled up the stairs. I have completely searched the floor above and all the servants’ rooms. The staff is still downstairs, so we have time if you would like to start over.”
Where would Elizabeth hide? She had mentioned hiding in trunks as a girl.
“Slipworth,” Darcy asked, “have you searched the attic?”
Slipworth’s face paled. “No, sir,” he said, closing his eyes. “It did not even occur to me. There is naught up there but locked trunks, and the door is so difficult to open.”
Darcy knew a frightened Elizabeth would be able to push her way inside, but had she? With an assurance he did not feel, he said, “Ask my cousin to wait here for me.”
Slipworth lit a lamp for Darcy, who made quick time up the servants’ stairs. He located the door to the attic, shoving it open with a shoulder and stooping to enter. He was careful as he walked up the steps, for he could fit only half his foot upon each tread. When he reached the top, he could not stand straight—the ceiling was at most six feet from the floor and perhaps a little less. He held the lamp up high, the flames throwing eerie shadows along the floor and walls. He gazed at the wooden boxes lining the back wall, and then at the trunks, which were strewn about.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he called, keeping his voice low. “Are you here?”
There was no answer, and he was just about to raise his voice and try again when he heard something.
“AHH-SHOOOO!”
He tipped his head to one side.
“AHH-SHOOOO!”
The stifled sound was coming from inside a trunk, one lying on its side up against the wall and separate from the others. Darcy strode over to it.
“Elizabeth?” he asked from only an inch away.
“Mr. Darcy?” came the muffled question, then a sniffle and a plaintive explanation. “The lock is stuck.”
The release of tension was exquisite; Darcy had to quash a powerful desire to laugh. Instead, he brought the light close to examine the lock. The brass was sound, but the trunk was old. He gave it a little tug just in case, but it held fast.
“I will have you out of there shortly,” he assured her. “Please await my word. I should not like you to be injured.”
Darcy removed the knife he kept in his boot when he traveled and, after a few minutes, was able to separate the top half of the lock from the splintering wood. He slid the blade back into place.
Elizabeth rolled out of the box and onto the open lid. She sat up, the sleeve from one of his old shirts draped over her face.
“I did not say it was safe,” Darcy chided her gently, plucking the shirt from her head and tossing it aside. “You must learn to be more patient.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I have been in this box for hours, Mr. Darcy,” she said stoutly. Darcy wondered if anyone else would notice the slight trembling of her bottom lip. “I have been patient long enough.”
They looked at one another without speaking before Elizabeth abruptly threw herself at him without warning and wound her arms around his neck. Darcy felt her body shaking with soft sobs, and he knelt there, holding her as she explained what had happened. He pulled her close and whispered words of comfort, his cheek resting against the top of her head.
He had nearly lost her again.
His staff had detained the men downstairs. They would all be receiving a generous bonus this quarter. He told her as much, and felt her fear give way to relief.
Eventually Elizabeth regained control of herself and he stood, gently lifting her to her feet. He held her left arm gently and frowned. “You removed your splint?”
She stepped cautiously from the lid and onto the floor with a sniff and a glare. “Yes.” Her eyes narrowed, and she touched his sleeve. “What are you wearing?”
It was so different a meeting than the last time he had removed her from a trunk that he was quite overwhelmed. He laughed a little and shook his head. What a very odd thing to think. What a very odd thing to experience!
Had Elizabeth been brought to Darcy House only just more than a week ago? He hardly recognized himself, and she was the reason. Darcy pulled back so he could see her face. He swallowed, he blinked, he stared. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice resonant with emotion. With fear. With longing.
With love.
“I ardently admire and love you,” he blurted out.
Elizabeth’s dark eyes met his, warm and happy. The elegant proposal he had composed on the ride back from Hertfordshire slipped completely away.
