“No one will hire out a chaise or a room on credit, not even if you announced that you are Mr Darcy of Pemberley. And we will be two nameless travellers who appear in the middle of the night.”
They exchanged a worried look and then opened their coin purses to find only eight shillings between them. Darcy ran a hand across his jaw. Elizabeth watched him, her gaze absorbed by his fingers running across the stubble on his chin. She was probably lost in thought or equally annoyed at how little money they had.
“It is not enough to hire a post chaise,” he said, trying to keep his frustration at bay. It was scarcely enough to pay the tolls and tips to London. “It is enough to take a room and to hire a messenger to ride to Rosings, although we shall be poor tippers.”
Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, hesitating before finally saying, “What will you say to her? Do you want Lady Catherine to know that you are safe?”
“I want Fitzwilliam to know where we are.HeI can trust, and assuming he is at Rosings, he will leave for Dartford as soon as he reads my signature on the bottom of the page. Lady Catherine…” His aunt would not condone what had happened, but how would he navigate the now churning waters of that relationship? “I hardly know what I will say when I see her,” he muttered.
Elizabeth ran a hand up and down his arm, a comforting gesture that only made him want to hold her as close to him as was possible.
“Part of the reason she pushed so hard for my marriage to Anne must be because of her dreadful financial situation,” he mused. “All of her talk about what my mother wanted and that I have a duty to my family, and she was primarily concerned with her own wealth.”
“You must often struggle between duty and inclination.” Her voice was kind, more kind than he deserved given what he had said to her during his proposal.
“As far as Anne goes, it was a short-lived struggle. I do have a duty to my family”—he turned to look her fully in the face—“but a wife means a contract of a different sort. An honesty and a loyalty above all else, a true partnership.”
“Darcy,” she whispered.
“And I could never have had that with Anne.”
Could she hear the longing in his voice? Her dark eyes were gentle as they swept down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. His heart rate increased with every breath, and he felt something might be unleashed if only they would let it.
Elizabeth stared at him, lips parted, leaning forward slightly, but then she hesitated, exhaling lightly. Darcy dropped his gaze,and the moment passed. It seemed that her feelings for him had changed, but could she properly investigate her own heart and mind in such a situation?
He cleared his throat as she shifted on the bed, rolling her shoulders and stretching her back. He did the same, wishing that the next time he was kidnapped that his cell had a chair.
She gave him a long look and then came to some decision, grinning. “Right then, move here, sit on the bed this way.” She gestured for him to move to the centre of the bed with his legs stretched out. Elizabeth then moved behind him, and leant against his back, both of them bracing each other up. “You make a fine chair back.”
“I live to serve.”
She laughed, and she was right that this was more comfortable. He missed being able to look into her face, but the feel of her against his back was a comfort.
“You are right, of course, to consider your own happiness. I suppose duty was ingrained in you at an early age,” she said gently from behind him. “You have so much responsibility for your age. You were young when your father died?”
“I was about your age, twenty-two,” he said. “My life was beginning as my father’s was ending. I could ease his final days by assuring him that I was dedicated to Pemberley, to my sister, and to being a man he would be proud of.”
“I am sorry that I mistook your character for so long,” she said after a short silence, “but I know your father would be proud of you. And given your feelings toward Miss de Bourgh, he would not fault you for marrying elsewhere.”
It hung in the air that Darcy had wanted to marry Elizabeth, still wanted to if she would have him. His father would have liked her, he was certain. She had common sense, was quick and decided, cheerful, and charming and beautiful.
Darcy ran his hands over his face. Now was not the time to think of romance, not with smugglers roaming the countryside abducting innocent people for ransom. Even if Elizabeth confessed that she was not Anne de Bourgh, Markle had shown enough impulsive violence that made Darcy fear he would kill her out of anger.
If they did not escape in Dartford, he was certain they would kill Elizabeth. Markle would use her to get the money from Lady Catherine, and then he would murder them both. And Markle and his gang would not blink an eye before returning to running their illicit sugar and brandy and tea.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about sugar” was what he managed to say, not wanting to speak of their prospective murder.
“I am hungry too, but I am surprised that even you want a dessert in the middle of the day.” He envisioned the fond, teasing look, even though he could not see it.
Darcy smiled.She braces me up.He hoped he might do the same for her. “No, I was thinking about what Markle said about everyone buying contraband, even if they did not know it. It made me wonder how pervasive such goods are.”
“You wonder if you had bought West Indian sugar without realising it?”
He nodded. “If you purchase the commodity, you participate in the crime.” Slavery was institutionalised manslaughter. “The East India sugar I insist my housekeeper buy might be smuggled from the West Indies.”
“You seem determined to feel guilty about something.”
