Two hands were on her shoulders and it took her a moment for her gaze to return to see Darcy in front of her, giving her a soft, concerned look.
“Did it happen again?” he asked.
She nodded, taking stock of how she felt: rapid heart, quickened breath, and a sensation of being frozen with fear. But as swiftly as the feeling of dread and incapacity had hit her, now it was fading.
“You make it sound as though I am always being carried away by some strange old fear,” she said, forcing a smile so Darcy would not worry. “It rarely happens now.”
Darcy gave her a knowing look and held out his arms, and as much as she wanted to show that she was brave and healthy, she would not say no to a hug. She put her arms around him and he held her tightly. The feel of him breathing against her was calming. “Where did you go this time?” he said into her hair.
“I don’t go to the house in Shoreham anymore. It is the dry-house memory that provokes such a reaction. Maybe because when I was in Shoreham, I was with you, and not as frightened as I was that night at the timber yard.”
Darcy kissed her forehead before letting her go. He opened the door and led her back into the brightly lit hall and then blew out the candle. “Maybe it was the smoking candle along with this dark room that prompted the memory.”
It might be true, and it made her angry. Why could she not walk into any room of her own beautiful home and not be reminded of something terrible? “I am tired of these intrusive and distressing symptoms hitting me when I least expect it. The same events happened to you, or nearly so. Why are you not suddenly and inexplicably sent back to some dreadful experience?”
He looked as though he wished he had an answer. “What is it like for you when it happens?”
She thought about how best to describe it. “It is like my body is reliving the feelings of that moment, when I knew Markle wanted me dead, knew he wanted to hurt you by killing me, and then the dry-house was getting hotter and not enough smoke cleared the chimney so I could breathe.” She felt embarrassed under Darcy’s concerned look. “I know it is foolish to be overtaken by the memories, especially now so many months after, when we are finally where we belong.”
Although they had lived together in the house in Charles Street, bringing Elizabeth home to Pemberley last month had been the culmination of months of unease for the both of them. She wanted to enjoy it, and for Darcy not to be preoccupied by concern for her.
“You are not weak, you know,” Darcy said gently. “You are the bravest woman of my acquaintance.”
“Well, I did handle town society and keep my patience with the gossip about your aunt, but we can call that a virtue rather than courage.”
Lady Catherine had called in Charles Street, but Darcy refused to let her in the house. She had been forsaken by every reputable connexion even though the magistrate did not issue a warrant for her treasonous smuggling. She was still a woman of rank and connexions; no man of equal rank was willing to prosecute the daughter of an earl. The only justice served was of a social nature.
She was ostracised in Kent and shunned in London for her part in the Markle scandal. Even Mrs Jenkinson had left them, unable to tolerate living in a house with criminals and social outcasts. Her ladyship’s money was gone, her land and possessions sold bit by bit until Rosings itself was sold to satisfy her creditors. She had not a friend to help her, and in order to preserve his only living sister from penury, Darcy’s uncle Lord Fitzwilliam allowed her to live in a small establishment on his estate, where she was visited by no one.
If Lady Catherine could never be truly punished, it had satisfied Elizabeth and Darcy to know that her ladyship no longer had any influence. She had no one on whom to dispense advice or hold power over, not even her daughter, for Anne de Bourgh was removed from her mother and the laudanum to live quietly with the Fitzwilliams.
The spectacle of Lady Catherine’s fall from grace lessened the gossip about Elizabeth and Darcy regarding the abduction, the smuggling, and Markle’s trial. They had been a curiosity rather than a scandal, but it still tired her to have her first month of marriage visits not be about the new bride and her happiness but requests to say what was it like to survive a kidnapping as though it were a grand adventure.
Neither of them discussed the matter in public, and it turned out that Darcy had been right: since gossip could not hurt either of them and they contributed nothing to the story, people soon tired of it. New crimes, assassinations, and town talk took its place.
“You know very well what I mean, dearest Elizabeth,” he said pointedly. “To be seized by the occasional bad memory cannot be unexpected, given what we experienced.”
“You don’t struggle in the same way, though.” She had never come across Darcy in tears in a dark room.
He gave a rueful smile. “I still don’t like it when someone surprises me from behind, especially while on the street. It takes my mind back to when Markle accosted me and I thought he would kill me then and there. And, as your father noted during our courtship, I do not like to let you out of my sight.”
She laughed. “You have become much better at that, especially now that we are truly home.”
Darcy turned a little red, but he held her gaze. “Well, I cannot keep you on a leading string.”
“Fortunately for you,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I do not mind being close to you.” She stroked her fingertips along his jaw. “It must have been hard for you to not be in control of everything that awful night.”
“No harder than it was for you to endure it,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. “It was difficult because people I love could have been harmed and there was nothing Icould do to stop it. I am not ashamed to seek counsel, although I still prefer to have the power of choice.”
“I would expect nothing less from you. The Gardiners and the Bingleys will be here soon,” she said brightly. She did not want any unpleasantness to disrupt their families’ visit. “Let us find Georgiana and wait in the drawing room.”
She turned to go down the stairs, but Darcy took her hand and held her back. “Do not judge yourself harshly, my dear. We had both been badly frightened, and such a deep terror could not possibly instantly disappear.”
Four years later
Darcy observedthat although his ward would never be tall, at sixteen Kirby no longer had a gangly and underfed appearance. He applied himself to his studies, was well-liked by adults, got reprimanded for playing pranks with the other boys boarding with Mr Gates, and rode too fast for Elizabeth’s liking. All in all, he was everything a sixteen-year-old boy ought to be.
“She can hold up her own head now,” Elizabeth said, laughing at Kirby’s frightened expression while staring at the infant on her lap. “She is much stronger than when you last saw her.”
