Page 2 of The Mistress of All & Torn

“You should not come, dearest.”

“Lizzy, I will never leave you alone again! We all go together.”

“Very well. Jane, how is Sarah? I have not had time to speak to her today.”

“She is resting. I checked on her before I came to you and she was sleeping soundly. The doctor gave her some herbals and demanded she not leave her bed for at least a week. She needs rest. And so do you!”

“Yes, I know that. She must rest—she has not slept properly in months. Jane, I wish a maid to be near her all the time. I wish her to be taken care of as if she were family. She was my only comfort all those months, Jane, and she suffered even more than I did. Please tell Mr. Darcy...”

“Do not worry—she is being cared for in the best possible way. Mr. Darcy allowed me to take charge of everything. We are taking care of Sarah. What about you? Would you like a cup of tea? There is still time.”

“No, thank you. Jane, is Mr. Darcy downstairs, too?”

“Mr. Darcy? Yes, of course. He is with Charles and Uncle Gardiner.”

“Could you ask him to come here? I wish to speak to him for a few moments.”

“In your room? Alone?” Jane withdrew from her sister, looking at her in disbelief.

The answer was cynical, mocking, jeering.

“Surely you are not worried about propriety and decorum, Jane. Are you?”

“Lizzy…”

“I wish to speak to Mr. Darcy now before we leave. If he is willing to talk to me.”

“I am sure he is. I will send him to you shortly.” Jane finally surrendered, with a last glance filled with sorrow and compassion.

The door closing brought back other recollections and for an instant, she felt the urge to run and lock it. For several weeks, she had been torn between dreading and praying to hear the door lock, between being trapped or being hurt.

Another knock on the door sounded and a shiver ran over her skin. She felt her cheeks burning with too many feelings to even count or name.

“Come in.”

The door was slowly pushed open and he remained still in the doorframe. He was as impeccably dressed as always, only his hair looked slightly messy, and she suddenly remembered his gesture of running his fingers through it in moments of distress. Just as he had done that day at the parsonage, when he had proposed to her. And she had rejected him. The day that her own choice had ruined her life.

“Please do come in,” she whispered a weak invitation.

Darcy stepped in, hesitantly.

“Forgive me for bothering you, Mr. Darcy. I am already in your debt with my life and yet, I dare ask for more.”

“Lady Barrington, I am at your service. How may I help?”

She glanced at him, then averted her eyes. She felt his scrutiny through the veil, she knew he was searching for her wounds, she could feel his frown every time his eyes spotted something.

He had seen her two days ago when he came to her rescue. When he put his life in danger to save her. When the terror ended. If not for Darcy, she would have still been there, with her spirit buried in darkness, struggling for another breath, for another day.

“Do not call me that. At least not when we are alone,” she pleaded, turning her back on him.

“How should I address you?” he asked hoarsely.

“However you prefer. You may call me Elizabeth. Or any other name. Please, sit down, just for a moment. There is something of great importance that I wish to beg of you.”

“There is no need to beg me, Lady…Just ask.”

It was obvious that, despite her request, he could not call her by her Christian name. How could he? Last time they had properly met was in Kent, when he gave her the letter and they had separated like the worst of enemies. Since then she had only seen him once in London, very briefly, and then two days ago.