Page 49 of Triumph at Pemberley

“You have Ysmeina’s Cuff?” Granny sounded astonished. “And you did not think to mention it?”

It was odd, now that she considered it, how easily she forgot the weight of it on her wrist, and even its existence. “There is something about it that makes me keep it private. When the Wicked King asked if I had it, I said no, and I practically believed myself. And he did, too, which surprised me.” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

“There are old stories about Artifacts which could not be mentioned,” Granny said. “But this is cause for celebration. This might be a real weapon to use against Napoleon. Where is it?”

“On my wrist. It looked perfectly normal when I found it, but as soon as I put it on, it disappeared. I can still feel it, though.” At least when she was concentrating on it.

Darcy was staring at her. “You never said anything about this.”

“I did not want the fae to know.” And she had half-forgotten it. Which seemed impossible, now that she thought of it.

Granny rubbed her hands together. “We must find out from the dragons what they know of how it works. May I see it?”

Elizabeth suppressed an urge to clutch the Artifact to her as protectively as she did her baby. “I...I do not think it wants me to show it to anyone. It wants to stay hidden.” And she doubted she could have said that much if she had not been speaking to a truth-caster.

Granny's eyes narrowed. “I do not like this.”

Suddenly it was all too much, the endless days of fear in the tower, the nights of broken sleep, the long ride back to Pemberley, the agony of her separation from Jenny. And now Granny was cross with her. Tears burned at her eyes, but she was too tired even to cry.

Careful not to disturb Jenny, Elizabeth rose slowly. “It is past time for me to retire. We can continue this tomorrow.” She kept her eyes resolutely turned from Granny's, to avoid seeing her disappointment.

Immediately Darcy was at her shoulder. “Yes, you need your rest. Pray permit me to escort you upstairs. I will return to answer what questions I can.”

His support warmed her weary heart.

Darcy placed his hand under Elizabeth's elbow as they left the nursery. The baby had slept through the transfer to her cradle, but Elizabeth's face was drawn. She must be exhausted, of course; he was, too, and he had not been prisoner as long as she had. But this felt like something more, some weight on her. Could the High King have done something to her? Or that damned Artifact which had led to her capture in the first place?

She leaned against his shoulder, clearly glad of his support, but said nothing as they made their way to her bedroom. Their bedroom, truly, since he hardly ever spent the night in his own, preferring to hold her in his arms. He had slept there even after her disappearance, needing the faint scent of her in the air and to be where he could feel her presence.

Chandrika was waiting for her. “Would you like a bath, Mrs. Darcy?”

For a moment Elizabeth looked tempted, but fatigue must have won. “Tomorrow. I just want to sleep.” She was already pulling pins from her hair.

“May I stay while you ready yourself?” he asked. As if he had not been in her constant company for days, apart from the brief time when she had changed her clothes after their arrival. That discovery about Ysmeina’s Cuff had shaken him, that she had not told him, and his fear for Georgiana haunted him.

And now this terrible news about Napoleon. Was Jack even now riding into battle against the greatest soldier in generations? His stomach churned.

There was nothing he could do about it, except to steal these moments with Elizabeth while there was still peace at Pemberley. It would not last long.

“If you wish,” she said absently, turning her back to Chandrika so the maid could unlace her dress.

Darcy settled himself in the chair in the corner to wait. Where was Georgiana now? She must be in Faerie by now, most likely terrified. What did the High King intend to do with her? He had seemed pleased to see her, but then again he had been glad to discover Darcy, too, even though he meant him no good.

Would he ever know what had happened to her, or would he wonder for the rest of his life what she had paid for his freedom?

Elizabeth was down to her shift now, and she sat down for Chandrika to brush out her hair. Darcy's hands ached to take over the task; he loved the opportunity to run the comb through her luxuriant locks, but no doubt her maid was both faster and more skilled at it. That was what was needed tonight, even if it meant leaving him with his painful thoughts.

Finally she was ready, in her nightdress and her braid. As soon as Chandrika finished turning down the bed, Elizabeth said, “You may go now. Mr. Darcy will help me with the rest.”

The Indian maid curtsied and left, and they were alone.

Darcy helped her into bed, more for his own comfort in caring for her than because she needed assistance. He sat down on the bed beside her. “Which wrist is it on?” he asked.

She sighed and raised her left hand an inch or two, as if it would be too much work to do more.

He could see nothing there. He lifted his hand and ran his fingertips down her arm from her elbow to her hand, slowing when he reached her wrist. It felt like her skin, silky and soft. But wait - there, right where a bracelet would lie - yes, it was flesh to his touch, but it was cool, not warm. He could almost outline the cuff by where the temperature changed.

A chill ran down his spine. Even the Artifact he had carried to France, which was hidden from everyone's eyes, could be felt. But not this one. He wrapped his hand around her wrist. Still nothing beyond that odd lack of warmth.