Page 47 of Triumph at Pemberley

But she was determined to steal a different sort of opportunity now. “Sparrow, now that Miss Darcy is here, are we permitted to leave?” She had to get back to Jenny; every minute apart was more slow torture. Would her baby even remember her?

The little fae sidled closer to her, as if she wished to avoid Georgiana's notice. “Only the High King can lower the wards,” she said apologetically.

But would he? The bit of hope left in her crumbled and she sank back against the wall. She had been putting on a brave face ever since Darcy's arrival, but she could do so no longer.

The High King and his lynxes materialized in the room as abruptly as before. Somehow Elizabeth managed to struggle to her feet, in case showing some respect might make him more likely to release them.

Or perhaps it was simple desperation.

He ignored them, instead addressing only Georgiana. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasure to see you again.”

Georgiana ducked her head. “It has been too long, great lord. You were very clever to find me a way to escape from Pemberley.”

Elizabeth stared at her. Did she believe that Darcy had held her prisoner there? Or was it Elizabeth's own mind going, that she remembered it so differently?

“I would never permit such a situation to continue,” he said.

Georgiana gestured towards Darcy and Elizabeth. “Since I am here, will you let them go?”

He stroked his chin. “I do not know that they deserve it, after how they have treated you.”

Elizabeth caught her breath. Surely he did not mean to break his bargain! Fear trickled in her throat. Would they ever escape this place?

Georgiana said, “I do not like that Fitzwilliam took my freedom, but he has been good to me in the past, continuing to support me and to pay for anything I asked for, even when he had every right to throw me out onto the streets. It is a debt I owe him, and you told me I must always pay my debts.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Impertinent kitten, using my own words against me!” But his tone was indulgent. “I will let your precious foster brother go. I have learned everything he knows, and there is little else I can do to him. Were it not for my promise to Ysmeina not to harm any of her blood, I would have ended the threat he presented long ago.”

Elizabeth cast her eyes down, lest her expression expose her shock. The Wicked King had sworn not to harm any of Ysmeina’s descendents? Is that why he resorted to spying on them, since it was all he could do?

He waved towards the door. Relief made her suddenly weak.

There was no way to tell if he had removed the ward, since it had never been visible, but she would take the chance. And not say a word, since anything she said could be used by the High King.

“You first,” Darcy said in a low voice, meant only for her, as she took her first step towards freedom and Jenny.

She did not even hold out her hand to test the ward as she ought. There was no tingle when she walked through it, but as she did so, a motion behind her caught her eye. She half-turned back, just as Darcy shouted, “Run!”

She ran down, or at least as much as she dared on the slippery, uneven steps, leaning against the outer wall for the little protection it gave her. Darcy's feet pounded behind her. What had he done?

Then she was out of the tower. A dozen men were sitting on the ground outside, with horses tied up nearby. They looked up, startled, as she emerged.

Jasper Fitzwilliam was among them, and apparently in command. “Horses, now!” he ordered.

One of the men raced to the mounts and returned with a familiar mare with a side-saddle. It was Flora, the horse Darcy had given her. He offered her his hands to mount up. As she swung herself up, she could almost taste her freedom.

Behind her, Darcy said, “Georgiana is still in there. I must go back for her.”

“Georgiana can take care of herself,” Jasper said impatiently. “She has a plan. Now get your wife out of here. Quickly.” He moved to stand beside Elizabeth's horse and slapped its side. “Go!”

Elizabeth clutched the saddle to keep her seat as the mare took off at a brisk trot.

Two of the grooms from Pemberley mounted and rode to each side. “Hurry, Mrs. Darcy,” one said.

She cast a glance back. Darcy was mounting up, still arguing with Jasper, and then he tugged on the reins and set off after her.

“Faster,” urged the groom. “We must get past the wards.” He urged his horse into a canter, and her mare followed.

Elizabeth's heart pounded. She was a better horsewoman than she had been at Longbourn, for the practical reason that Pemberley was too large an estate to efficiently go everywhere on foot, but cantering over an uneven, untracked moor felt unsafe. Just like everything else that had happened since she left the Nest that day. Perhaps she had run out of fear to feel. But she leaned over Flora's neck, praying that might help her stay in the saddle.