“I told her she shouldn’t walk whilst indisposed.”
“Indisposed?” Darcy questioned. “Why did you not inform me that Mrs Darcy was ill?”
“She is not exactly ill. But she must have swooned due to her monthly…um…”
Darcy nodded his understanding. He had thought she might be with child, but apparently not.
“She’s drowned in the Serpentine,” Martha sobbed.
Darcy ran out of the house and down the street, indifferent to the incredulous stares his behaviour garnered from his servants. Disregarding his burning lungs as he entered the park, he immediately noticed the gathered flock of onlookers and raced to the riverbank. An empty boat had been pulled ashore, a solitary green slipper lying on the thwart. Elizabeth had many slippers, but he was absolutely certain that she had a pair in that exact shade.
On the river, boats were circling a particular spot, and men were driving long sticks into the water. On the dock, a man was wrapped in a blanket. He was shivering with his head bent to the ground. His hair was soaking wet. He must be the rower.
Darcy strode to the dock with only one question in his mind.
“How long has she been under?”
“About half an hour, sir.”
His life passed before his eyes as he waded into the murky waters. Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him ashore despite his valiant fight to free himself.
“Go home, sir. I shall notify you as soon as we have found her.”
It was then he noticed the grim faces of Georgiana and Mary. They must have followed him out of the house and were staring at him with their arms intertwined in a fierce hold.
“Go home,” he ordered, none too subtly.
“Not without you, Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana spoke softly.
“There is nothing you can do here,” Mary added. Always the voice of reason. She did not even cry, though his own cheeks were wet.
Insensible, he allowed his sisters to take his arms and haul him back to Darcy House, or rather the hollow shell that was left of his home.
Why had Elizabeth set foot in a boat? He must have said it aloud because Mary answered.
“Elizabeth has always enjoyed fishing and often acts impetuously. According to a witness, she rose and unsettled the balance. She fell through no fault of her own.”
He stared at Mary. Did she suggest that Elizabeth might have wanted to end her own life? No! Elizabeth was life itself. An unshakeable strength of joy and wit. She could not have been that miserable. He would have known. Or was she acting? Had the disapprobation made her tire of life with him and his obnoxious acquaintances?
Darcy could not abide the pity in Georgiana’s eyes, nor the resemblance, however small, between Mary and her sister. Although he would prefer to bury himself in his wife’s pillows and weep, he must await the discovery of the body. He must see her—hold her. One last time…
#
The study was dimly lit as the sun, fittingly, had disappeared from the east-facing window. He poured himself a generous amount of brandy, not remembering how he had come to be here, nor whether he had excused himself before he left the ladies.
Darcy stared at the mantel clock. Two hours had come and gone. An eternity. No visitors.
“Dear God, Darcy. What is the matter? You look positively feral!”
He stared at a diminutive slipper on his desk and could not muster a reply. When had he retrieved that? It was too dreadful to mention and too wretched to comprehend.
Colonel Fitzwilliam must have noticed where his eyes rested because he strode to the desk and picked up the wet shoe.
“What is this, Darcy?”
It was quite obvious, but he mustered a reply. “It is Elizabeth’s slipper.”
“That much I can see. She has even smaller feet than Georgiana. But why is it wet?”
