For once in her life, money was no object to Elizabeth, and they swept south as fast as the horses could gallop. Frequent changes, a moonlit night, and good roads saw them dash into Hatfield not thirty hours later. Puttnam was collected, assuring her as he climbed unwillingly inside that no further letters of any description had been received. She did not wait to call at Longbourn, dearly though she would have loved to see Jane again, but set off south again, determined to reach the first tollgate on the road west as soon as might be.
As they raced through the countryside, Puttnam forever asleep opposite her, she attempted to subdue the wild imaginings of her heart. They travelled at such speed that reading was impossible and sleep only available to the exhausted or insensible. Time and again, she stepped from the coach to stretch stiffened limbs while the horses were changed or attempted to snatch a bite to eat, and time and again, she begrudged every second she was not upon the road.
The ten hours between London and Portsmouth seemed to her the longest day she had ever spent. At the post boy’s recommendation, the Darcy chaise pulled into an inn known for accommodating naval officers ashore, and Puttnam stumped in to make enquiries. He came back within minutes.
“He’s ’ere, ma’am,” he said, and Elizabeth felt again the terrible hollowness of anticipation. “Leastwise, he’s expected back from the dockyard later tonight.” She climbed from thechaise; her legs felt weak beneath her, and she was pathetically glad for a brief respite before she saw him.
She took rooms at the rear of the house, and the chambermaid helped her out of clothes and into bed. She had persuaded the inn servants not to mention her arrival to her husband, for instinct told her he might well flee her presence, out to some ship where she could not follow. So she told them her arrival was to be a surprise, and since they knew he was no libertine who might be surprised with a woman of the town, they took her coins and promised their silence with indulgent smiles. It was agreed that Puttnam would send the chambermaid to wake her the minute he arrived.
To her surprise, she slept deeply, and it was dark before the tap came on her chamber door. She dressed hurriedly but well, not ashamed to use every weapon in her arsenal. If he intended to set her aside, he would be brought to recognise what he had chosen to discard. She was so hurried that there was scarcely time to be afraid before she stepped out into the corridor to meet Puttnam. He took her to the next floor, and she was just in time to see a door open and a man who looked like a clerk come out.
“And tell those crooked hounds at the Victualling Board I know all their tricks. I am not to be bribed, and I am not to be practised upon.” It was his voice, strong and alive, and her knees weakened. The door shut, and she summoned the courage to approach it. However, before she could do so, Starkey came up the backstairs with a tray of food in his hands, the captain’s belated supper. He did not see her until she came round her corner, just as he knocked on the door and announced his errand.
She thought she heard him whisper some words of thankfulness for her arrival but she could not hear them. All she heard washisvoice from within, bidding her enter. She took the tray from Starkey’s hands, and he opened the door for her.
The captain was sitting at a table covered with official-looking books and papers. He was in his shirtsleeves and had loosened his stock; his eyes were closed, and he was resting his head against the back of the chair in utter weariness. Everything was made plain to her. His face—his dear, kindly, strong face—was ruined. A great scar covered the left side, from forehead to lips, obliterating one eye and twisting the corner of his mouth into an ugly sneer. He had grown his hair long to conceal it, but the puckered, pockmarked skin and his horribly damaged ear were still visible.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, and instantly he swept the candle to the floor and plunged the room into darkness.
There was silence, and she could hear her heart beating. She bent and set the tray on the floor and listened.
“You should not have come, Lizzy,” he said at length.
“Did you really think I would care?” she said, prepared for battle.
“You should care,” he answered harshly. “I care. Every man and woman I meet cares. They cannot look at me, and then they cannot look away. I repulse people, even here in Portsmouth where such sights are common.”
This was easy. “They may care if they wish, but they do not love you. I love you, Fitzwilliam.” She heard his indrawn breath. “I loveyou,the gentle man, the generous man, the brave, loving?—”
“I want no pity,” he interrupted fiercely.
“And for fear of pity you will turn away love?” The words were easy, flowing from somewhere deep inside her. “Oh, youfoolishman. I am not a child to worry over appearances. I love you; I think I have loved you for a very long time.” Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness now, and she saw him rise to his feet, silhouetted against the stars filling the window behind him.
“Can you kiss this mouth?”
“I shall kiss that mouth a thousand, thousand times,” she said, and in two strides, she was in his arms.
She could feel the linen of his shirt beneath her cheek and, under that, the pounding of his heart. His face was buried in her hair, and he was murmuring her name over and over again. “Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy.” She put her arms about his waist, feeling the hard muscles of his back flex. There were scars here too. He was, she realised, trembling, so she lifted her head for his kiss. Yes, his lips did feel strange, but it was his breath, his tongue in her mouth, and compared to that, what else mattered?
It was he who broke off first, his breathing ragged. “I did not think…no one has ever…” he began, and she knew he had never been the first consideration for anybody, had never known what it was to be the centre of anyone’s thoughts.
“You are mine!” she said fiercely. “And I will always be yours, and I am not to be set aside.”
She heard his breath hitch in a soft chuckle. “No, ma’am.”
“And we are not going to get an annulment!”
“Lizzy, have you really thought…”
“I have spent the last two weeks imagining horrors, nothing you can say or do—” This timehesilencedherwith a kiss that set her head whirling. “And you do not want me to go, do you?” she added breathlessly.
“God help me, I know I ought, but no, I do not want you to go, ever.” He was rocking her in his arms, his voice muffled in her hair. The trembling slowly abated until, in the silence, they both heard her stomach rumble and burst out laughing.
They fumbled around on the floor, found the candle, and called for a light and more supper. They ate at the table, the papers swept aside for the moment, and if he preferred her to sit on his uninjured side, she was not going to be so cruel asto comment upon the fact, especially if it meant that they could hold hands between mouthfuls.
“Will you tell me what happened?” she asked as they pushed their plates away.
He shrugged. “It was a slaughter,” he said simply. “I knew it would be, but the prize had we succeeded would have helped end this war so much earlier, so I felt I had to make the attempt. They were waiting for us in force, and we had to fight our way free.” He took a deep draught of his wine. “We did as much as any man can hope to do, and we died in our dozens. I have seen war at sea before; I have seen nothing like this.”
