Why was she trying to comfort him when she was the one thrown into a furnace? “It was all over with Markle and the officers in five minutes, but then we could not find you—” His voice broke. “I was afraid we would find your body somewhere amongst the wood piles or once they dredged the river.”
This time, he could not stop a few hot tears from falling. Darcy clutched her tighter, pressing his face into her neck until he could feel that she was alive and whole, until he could convince himself that Markle was never going to hurt her again. Everything had gone wrong, and yet here she was, still willing to be in his arms.
After a while of enjoying the calmness of lying peacefully with Elizabeth, he said, “I need to go before your sister or someone else comes in to check on you.”
“It feels more natural to have you here with me than to send you away. I enjoy sleeping in the same bed with you.”
“Me too,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to her neck.
She turned in his arms, putting a hand on his cheek and lifting her head until her warm mouth touched his, carefully, as though to test his willingness. He kissed her slowly, with all the tenderness he felt for her and his heart nearly beating out of his chest. She breathed an endearing little sigh that vibrated against his lips.
This kiss was far gentler and less urgent than their embraces in Dartford. It was a calmer moment of contentment amid all the turbulence and terror of the past week.
“Now is hardly the moment for anything more,” he said when Elizabeth gave a little frown as he pulled away.
“Did that thought cross your mind as often as it did mine last week?” she asked, smiling and keeping her fingertips along his neck. “I thought ‘but now is not the time’ so often.”
He gave a little laugh. “It did, and I think it best to keep that thought in mind until we are married.”
“Be prepared for a very sincere fuss to be made when we announce our news at Longbourn.”
“Be prepared for a very long season of courtship to satisfy your father.”
Her bright expression faltered. “Did my father not give you what you asked for?”
“What I want is for the love of whom I love best on earth to be wholly mine, under any terms you set. You have already agreed to that.” When she pressed him, he added, “He consented because he did not feel that I was a man he could refuse, but he hardly approves of me.”
Elizabeth shook her head over it. “He must have been angry after what I did, but he is wrong to blame you for it. It was my choice.”
“He was afraid for you,” Darcy said, understanding completely. “And quite confused as to why you would want to marry me at all.”
“Then I will have to tell him, tell everyone, that I love and admire you, that I am challenged by you, and that as confident and clever as you are, you are also able to listen to me and respect me as your equal.”
Darcy closed his eyes and held her close. To think all that force of character, all that subtle kindness, might have been wiped out in an instant.
“Won’t you kiss me before you go?” Elizabeth said when he sat up to leave. “I need a reminder that you love me if I am not yet allowed to sleep next to you.”
Darcy bent his head to kiss her, lingering over her lips as he whispered, “I shall love you until the last breath leaves my body.”
Epilogue
Four months later
Elizabeth had thought that by living in such a large and fine house as Pemberley that she would never feel stifled, trapped, or confined. The rooms were lofty, there were many windows, and she was the mistress of it all. She was the happiest creature in the world, and Darcy was a devoted husband.
But every once in a while, a sudden and forgotten fear struck her.
She no longer started when someone knocked on the door. But sometimes an immobilising fear came over her. It had happened while she was at Longbourn, but it had happened only a few times in London after she finally married Darcy. Her father had insisted on a long engagement—much to her mother’s dismay—but she and Darcy married on the same day in June as Bingley and Jane.
Now that she was finally at Pemberley, now that she was Mrs Darcy, she should be feeling all the elation and joy a new bride typically felt.
When an episode came, the fear was uncontrollable, unpredictable, and completely without cause. There was no reason to feel afraid in this neglected sitting room. It had once been a favourite of old Mr Darcy’s, rarely used and never changed. She only entered it because Mrs Reynolds had previously shown her the miniatures above the mantelpiece, and Elizabeth intended to rearrange them to make sure Wickham was hidden from view. Georgiana was now at Pemberley, and Elizabeth wanted nothing to distress her.
Wickham’s reputation had been diminished in Meryton. Hints to her mother and sisters about his debts and dalliances, without any mention of Miss Darcy, had been enough to ensure neither shopkeeper nor young lady trusted him. Elizabeth would never lay eyes on him again, and she would purposefully misplace this small portrait so no one at Pemberley would have to look on him either.
As she removed his miniature, she looked round the room. It was small with a lovely view of the garden, but with the curtains drawn and the door closed, with only a smoky candle for light, Elizabeth’s mind went back to the night they had captured Markle. What Elizabeth felt now was akin to panic—even though nothing was wrong.
“Elizabeth?”
