“You would think so.”
Darcy offered her a formal bow. “I enjoyed our time together, Miss Elizabeth. It is rare to find a woman who converses on a variety of topics.”
“I think you would find, Mr. Darcy, that women are capable of many things; the lack lies in men, who, at present, do not accept accomplishment in a woman,” she said haughtily.
Darcy smiled, recognizing the source of her displeasure; it pleased him that Elizabeth would miss him. “I know barely a half dozen accomplished women, Miss Elizabeth, because I believe a truly accomplished woman needs to add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading. Although you do not meet some of Miss Bingley’s criteria of accomplishments, you more than surpass mine.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with the heat his words created in her heart. “I wish you a safe journey, Mr. Darcy.” She could say no more; her family waited in the carriage.
Darcy took her hand and brought the back of it to his lips before handing her into the carriage.“Au revoir, Miss Elizabeth.”
As the carriage pulled away, Darcy stepped to the road to watch her departure.At the curve, Elizabeth intuitively turned around for one last look. Hearts touched in the early dawn, and then she was out of sight. Dejectedly, he returned to the house to prepare for his own departure.
Elizabeth settled under the blankets of her bed, although light streaked through the slits in the draperies. She decided on a brief nap rather than sleep all day. Her mind remained on Fitzwilliam Darcy. Earlier that night she told a lie for him. How many lies had she told recently? More than she could remember ever telling, and they all revolved around Darcy—their clandestine meetings, his belief in a curse, their knowledge of the murders, his battle with Wickham, their intimacy, and his powers. How had she become so entrenched in his life? How had she become so needful of his attentions?
On second thought, most of her lies were not lies at all. They were simply half-truths—like telling someone her new dress created an “interesting silhouette” when one really meant it made her look as plump as a melon. Elizabeth laughed at her own ability to justify anything she said. She did what she did in order to protect Fitzwilliam Darcy. She needed no further justification than that.
A vicious wind chased her. Debris swirled around her feet, churned by the force following her. Elizabeth ran through the trees; shadows, kept in place by the drapery of overhanging branches, stretched across the path.Vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind her, Elizabeth hurdled over fallen trees and gnarled roots, trying to escape. A black adumbration flitted by the corner of her eye, but she did not break stride. Sweat streamed down her face, and she wanted desperately to wipe it away, but that would break her concentration.
The foliage thickened, reaching out for her, tearing at the sleeves of her dress, pulling the strands of her hair free from its chignon. Suddenly, dark eyes penetrated her consciousness as she skidded to a halt in front of a copse of trees.
Wickham stood among the shrubbery, wrapped in a cape of blackest ebony, so dark that it gleamed blue, even in the impenetrable murkiness.“Miss Elizabeth,” his words slithered through the air, “I am happy you joined me.”
Elizabeth wanted to flee, but his eyes held her in place.The sweat continued to flow down her sides and between her breasts; yet nothing else moved. She stood there, transfixed by the sight of him.
When the rain started, Elizabeth wondered irrationally how it could penetrate the thick foliage, which even light could not reach. Soaked immediately to the bone, her vigil continued—Wickham’s eyes—his smile—only on her. “Come to me,” he whispered, his words caressing her cheek.
Elizabeth’s footsteps made a sucking sound—pulling free from the mud in which she now stood—the sound reminiscent of a person inhaling quickly. She moved towards him, and Wickham’s
Then, miraculously, a deer stepped from the shadows. Its eyes were the color of ice. Intuitively, she knew what to do. The deer bowed its head, and Elizabeth reached out to its antlers. Her hands encircled the base, and she lifted the antlers above her head.Without ceremony, she charged at Wickham, who now stood as transfixed as she once was.
A sound of terror filled the air, along with the crack of bone as each of the antler points pierced his body—blood oozing from each puncture—the blood, a rainbow of colors, as if it came from many sources. She heard herself say,“Not so happy to see me now, are you, Mr.Wickham?”Then he disappeared, vanishing in a puff of grey ashes.
She bolted upright, her heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the noise of the busy household. The image of Wickham’s blood seeping out onto her hands still clung to her mind. On impulse, she studied her hands, expecting to find a rainbow of blood across each palm. Elizabeth shook her head to clear her thoughts and to make sense of the nightmare—Wickham was obvious, and the deer with Darcy’s eyes made some sense. But why would a deer’s antlers kill Wickham? Heavens! Falling to sleep with thoughts of Darcy and the lies she created to protect him left her sensibilities in the dust.
Forcing herself from the bed, Elizabeth drifted to the window, wondering how the day would greet the chaos of her mind and the void she felt without Darcy. You will just have to go on without him, she told herself as she opened the drapes wide. The early winter sunlight danced across the floor, revealing flecks of dust floating in the air.
At first, she squinted into the brilliance of the light—so bright it half blinded her. She had always loved the view from her bedroom—the rolling meadow behind the garden, so green during the Ceres!
Grabbing her dressing gown, Elizabeth snuck down the back stairs, making her way to her father’s study.
“Papa?” She tapped lightly on the door to draw his attention. “What is Ceres doing in the meadow?” she asked as she approached her father’s desk.
“Ceres?”
“Mr. Bingley’s horse, Papa.”
“Ah! Of course. Ceres,” he said absent-mindedly. “Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield for awhile; he asked if I would house the animal until he returned. He left me a generous allowance to tend to her.Another horse on the farm will be useful.”
“Mr. Bingley is gone? Jane will be devastated!” Elizabeth realized that Darcy really was gone if Bingley no longer was in residence at Netherfield. He certainly could not be there without his friend.
“The man should return in the spring, I would suspect. Mr. Bingley’s sisters left Jane a note. It is on the table in the foyer.They left one for you also, Lizzy.” Her father shifted his attention back to the book he read. “You take Jane’s to her, Child. She might need you when she reads it.”
Elizabeth’s heart jumped to her throat when he mentioned the note from the Bingley sisters. She knew it was from Darcy; Caroline Bingley would never bid her farewell. “Yes, Papa.” Elizabeth started towards the door.“Do you suppose I might ride Ceres occasionally?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.You mentioned Mr. Darcy gave you lessons. I imagine that could be arranged.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth slipped from the room. Darcy had brought her the horse; she was sure of it. Somehow he had manipulated his friend into sending Ceres there. Elizabeth hurried to the entranceway to retrieve the notes before someone else found them.
Grabbing the sealed missives, Elizabeth felt a sense of anticipation, recognizing his distinctive script. Once she read the directions, she slid hers into the pocket of her dressing gown before bounding up the steps to her room. She would not give Jane’s to her immediately; she doubted her sister was even awake. She would read hers first. Slipping in the door and locking it behind her, she scrambled to her bed and tore at the seal, anxious to read Darcy’s farewelclass="underline"