“Do you mean it?” he asked, not even certain she had spoken aloud on purpose.
“You were right, Darcy.” Her voice was only a whisper. “We cannot trust them to let us go if your aunt gives them the money. We have to escape.”
How awful that Elizabeth had trusted that these men had some goodness, that they would free her in return for money, and now that faith was shattered. She had to be terrorised before she could see it clearly.
“If we intend to get away, we must make a plan,” he said, sitting up to better look at her. “And be ready to act with some violence ourselves, if need be.”
She finally met his eye with a steady stare, the intelligence in her gaze restored. Elizabeth nodded. “I can do it.”
Darcy nodded in return, feeling relieved that she had returned to herself and was willing to risk escape.
“You had more discernment than I did,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “You saw it plain yesterday, and we might have had a chance then, if I had known…”
“Do not apologise for being a sincere person with integrity.” He moved to sit on the floor across from her, facing her, bending his knees so his legs fit in the tight space next to her between the box and the bed. “We will get another chance, and this time we will be prepared to take it.”
She said nothing, but at least the brightness had returned to her eyes. “What can we do to overpower men like that?”
Darcy reached into his sleeve and pulled out the quill knife, holding it out to her.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You have not had that this whole time.”
He shook his head. “When Steamer used the chamber pot, and they all laughed about your mistaking his nickname, I put away the writing supplies.” He took back the knife. “And I took something for myself.” He held it against his thumb. “It is not very sharp, but it is more than we had before.”
“Clever of you,” she murmured. “They are all armed and so violent.” She sounded as though wanting to be given some hope.
In truth, he had little to give her—as desperately as he wanted to—but he had been considering their options. They typically sent the boy Kirby to unlock the door, but harming him was out of the question no matter who his uncle was. “I am uncertain what you heard after Steamer struck you, but Colton has gone to Hunsford with the letter, and they intend to move us to another house.”
She brought a hand to her cheek, touching it gingerly and wincing. “Perhaps we can escape when they stop to change the horses.”
Darcy thought over how complicated escaping from a carriage would be. “No, we will have better luck if we got out of the house here. Someone in the village is bound to help, especially if it isyouthey see.”
Elizabeth’s intelligent gaze hardened. “If we escape, we do it together.” He nodded, but she leant forward and said, “Promise me.”
“I promise, but you have to promise me in return that if something happens—if you can get away and I cannot—do not stop running.” His priority was for Elizabeth to be rescued.
He saw how she stared at him, weighing her answer. “I promise.” She sat back and sighed. “I am terrified to stay here. I know that we have to get away, but I am just as afraid to attempt escape and fail.”
They both had seen enough to know what might happen to her if they did not get away.
“We have to be brave,” Darcy said firmly.
She gave a sad little laugh. “Bravery is not as exciting as the novels and poems make it seem.”
“Or easy. But have courage, my dearest Elizabeth.”
Her name and the endearment fell from his lips before he could stop it. Darcy hoped she did not find him condescending or insulting. A faint breath escaped from her lips, and then she lowered her eyes. She might have blushed, but with the injury to her cheek and her previous tears, he could not be certain.
“How did you come up with Nan?” she asked when she could meet his eye. “Markle wanted an answer, and I had nothing in mind.”
He knew for certain that he blushed. “Oh, well, I thought of my mother. Her name was Anne, and although in front ofthe servants and in public my parents addressed one another as ‘Lady Anne’ and ‘Mr Darcy’, when they were alone my father called her ‘Nan’ and she called him ‘my dearest George’.”
It felt strange to relate something so personal, something he had not thought about for a long time. Elizabeth gave him a soft smile. “That is very sweet.”
After a moment, she laughed but said nothing. They sat facing each other, their legs outstretched alongside each other and almost touching, and Darcy tapped his foot against her hip to prod her to say what was funny. “I am struggling to imagine Lady Catherine as a young girl, being called Cathy and running around with a little girl named Nan.”
At the mention of Lady Catherine, Darcy’s spirits fell. A flat, heavy feeling settled over him like a fog. “How do I apologise for what she?—”
“You don’t,” she said plainly. “You are not the one who went into business with violent smugglers, or who tried to cheat them. You did not kidnap anyone, or threaten anyone, or illegally run any goods.”
