When Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs, the silence that met her was deafening. There was no one about, not even a servant. Mr. Darcy and Captain Denny must still be searching for her sister, but she worried for how long they had been out in the storm.
She peeked into the dining room and then turned to go into the parlor. The fire greeted her with its warm glow. Shadows danced along the walls as she made her way to the hearth and sat there warming her hands.
Scotland seemed a wild and remote place but she was certain the cold and storm, along with the bandits on the road, influenced her thoughts on the matter. What would it be like to visit Fitzwilliam Manor in the spring or summer? She rose and walked about the room admiring the painted canvasses on the walls.
They were of heather and ivy, bright and cheerful in the dim room. She tiptoed to see who might have painted them and was surprised to find the name Anne Darcy signed in the bottom right corner.
She wondered what it was like to be mistress of a large estate in Derbyshire and a manor home in Scotland. Elizabeth had not been born to a titled family but her family home in Hertfordshire had always seemed adequate for the seven members of her family. They had all they required and plenty of frivolous expenditures had been made over the years to keep a wife and five daughters happy.
Before she might sit again before the fire, she heard the banging of the front doors as they crashed open to admit Mr. Darcy and the search party.
Elizabeth rushed to the entryway and stopped short when she saw the bundle Captain Denny held in his arms. Lydia’s hair was drenched by the snowstorm and parts were frozen and stuck to her face. Her skin was pale and bluish and Elizabeth covered her mouth in horror.
Mr. Darcy yelled for the butler and rushed past Elizabeth with Captain Denny. When the butler arrived, he ordered him to rouse Cook and have her set to work on hot soup for the search party and Miss Lydia. He added another directive as he followed Captain Denny upstairs. “Fetch Mordina and her healer’s bag. The young lady will need her expertise with no apothecary nor doctor available tonight.”
Elizabeth rushed after Mr. Darcy as the footmen went downstairs to warm themselves and wait. No mention had been made of Lieutenant Wickham.
When she caught up to Mr. Darcy, she turned him away from her rooms. “Papa is there, he could not make it to his own rooms in the state he was in after Lydia ran away.”
Mr. Darcy nodded and instructed Captain Denny to place Lydia in the room next door. He turned to Elizabeth to stop her before she followed the soldier. “We found her next to Wickham’s body. I do not know whether she might survive.”
Elizabeth took Mr. Darcy’s hands. They were so cold that fear struck her heart for his own good health. Tears shined in her eyes as she gazed at him with a mix of emotions. The lieutenant did not deserve to die, though he was a rake through and through. And she wondered briefly if she might lose her father and her sister the same night. “I have not the words to thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
Her voice broke as the tears poured forth. Mr. Darcy pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried. He whispered against her hair, “I have not enough words to express my deep and abiding love for you, my Elizabeth. ’Tis a terrible tragedy but I will sit with you and pray for your family.”
Elizabeth and Darcy were parted as Lydia cried out. She left him to go to her sister but her heart was changed by his sweet declaration. She would not allow the trouble with Wickham and her sister to keep her from loving Mr. Darcy in return. She turned to look back as she stood in the doorway of her sister’s sickroom. “I love you too, Mr. Darcy.”
He smiled and Elizabeth knew they would weather this storm together.
Mr. Darcy sat with Elizabeth in Lydia’s room all through the night. He came in an hour after Elizabeth, with the help of Fiona and Mordina, managed to remove Lydia’s half-frozen clothing and dress her warmly in layers.
Mordina had the footmen bring warm bricks to wrap and tuck under the covers at Lydia’s feet. Before they had dressed Lydia’s limp figure, Mordina had rubbed her entire body with a cream that smelled wild and resinous that she said would aid in the circulation of Lydia’s blood.
The old woman had remained until some pink returned to Lydia’s face and instructed Elizabeth to send for her when her sister awoke. Fiona had been reluctant to leave her side, but Elizabeth encouraged her all the same. “Someone must be awake to sit with her tomorrow and I will not leave her, or my father, this night.”
Now, as Mr. Darcy sat next to her, Elizabeth heard the rumble of her stomach. She had not eaten dinner. Mr. Darcy heard it too in the quiet peace of the room and rose to pull the cord by the fireplace. Elizabeth tried to stop him. “I will be fine until breakfast. I would not like to cause further work for your staff.”
“It is no trouble. If I know Cook, she has prepared a feast to see the house through the night. It is her way.”
A sleepy-eyed maid appeared and Mr. Darcy asked her to bring them a meal and hot soup. When the servant had gone, Elizabeth went to Mr. Darcy where he stood by the fireplace and took his hands once more. There was grave concern etched upon her face. “I had forgotten you in the work of saving Lydia.”
He smiled as he brought her hands up to his lips. “I have been warmed from the inside out since your admission of love for me escaped your beautiful lips, my dear. What more might a man require than the love of his perfect woman?”
Elizabeth frowned and he laughed. “I am certainly not perfect,” she said and smiled to see his mirth.
“For me, you are,” he said simply and pulled her close against him. Elizabeth rested her head upon his chest and breathed deeply. He smelled of the cold and storm and she shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked with concern.
Elizabeth answered in a shaky voice. “I am not but I cannot help to think of Lieutenant Wickham. Is he truly dead?”
Mr. Darcy held her tighter. “He is, Elizabeth. He was thrown from his horse that we found nearby. He must have hit his head upon a stone under the snow. Mother Nature in her cruel beauty finished him after that, I am sad to say.”
She had not expected to hear mercy in Mr. Darcy’s rendition of the end of the lieutenant’s life. “I am surprised his death is a cause for regret. I know Lydia shall be terribly sad to learn of it if she survives, but I did not think many others might share her bereavement.”
Mr. Darcy sighed a great heavy sigh. “It is difficult to reconcile, Elizabeth. We grew up at Pemberley together and while he made terrible choices after my father’s death, I am sad for all of us, but most especially for George. He had every advantage and chose to follow the wrong path time and again. I pray for his soul and that your sister may recover from her loss. I do believe now that she did love him.”
Elizabeth was struck by Mr. Darcy’s words. Lydia, in all her foolish splendor, had loved the lieutenant and pledged to be his wife in sickness and in health. Now, she would be a young widow and would see her husband buried in a snowy kirkyard in Scotland. One moment they have stood over the anvil, but the next she would stand alone over his grave.
A maid appeared at the door with a cart laden with food that smelled like heaven to Elizabeth. She stepped away from the circle of Mr. Darcy’s arms knowing their pose would certainly incite gossip. She supposed it did not matter as the gossip would surely slow on their long journey from Scotland to Derbyshire and on to Hertfordshire.