Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth and William had been dining with the Bingleys when Henry Drake, William’s steward, appeared at the doorway.
Concern weighing heavy upon his lined face.
What could be bothering him so? Her husband immediately quit the room, only to return moments later, his countenance as grave as Henry’s had been.
“My lady, may I speak with you?” he asked of Elizabeth before he led her to her study, which was closer than his own.
“Some of my agents have heard rumours of a rebellion over the last several weeks, and it has come to fruition.” He informed her once they were settled in her private business chamber.
“They plan to strike, oddly enough, from the south. If I can reach them before they put their plan into effect, you shall be safer.”
“Me?”
“They plan to abduct you.” A dangerous edge to his voice made her shudder.
Her legs became weak and Elizabeth sagged against her desk, all the fight drained from her.
After all the work she had done, after all the baskets of food, after the physicians she had brought to sick children, she was still a target.
She was still an outsider. What would it take to get those involved in the rebellion to trust that she only had the best of intentions?
How had it come to pass that she had become a pawn, a political liability to her husband simply because of where she was raised?
In an instant, William gathered her into his firm embrace, scattering kisses over the top of her hair. Elizabeth’s stomach turned as the reality of the situation unfolded for her. She pulled away from him.
“What do you mean, if you can reach them? You have soldiers enough, men who would willingly die for you!”
“I have a wife I would move continents for, a wife I love beyond measure, but my men need me as well. I have to justify their faith in me. I must be as willing to die as they are.”
“Do not even jest!”
“I am not. This is deadly serious. I have no desire to leave you, but I will not send my men out on a dangerous mission in my stead.”
“You are being unreasonable.”
“No, my lady, you are being unreasonable.” He heaved a sigh when she turned away from him and stalked to the window.
He followed and grasped her shoulders, placing a kiss on her neck.
“My sweet Elizabeth, I know not which is worse: quarrelling with you or being parted from you. You cannot believe I actually want to go. Dearest, of course I do not, but I must. If I do not protect you and my position, then I shall not be fit to hold it.”
Not being a complete goose, she did understand, perhaps more than she would have liked.
She had enjoyed the perks of her position, a point she simply could not deny, but now came the price.
The revelation came to her all at once: her husband did not belong to her alone.
He was the regent of this land she had come to love, the ruler beloved by most of their people, and she merely shared him with them. Despite this, she was still unhappy.
“I know, but—” She loathed the pleading whimper that escaped.
“We have no choice.”
She huffed, still determined to be angry, though it was more at the world than at her husband. “Some claim you always have a choice.”
“Those people are fools.” Darcy's voice was tired. “Can we not bicker about this? Can we not enjoy each other's company instead?”
“We have to finish dinner, however unpleasant.”
“Actually, I cannot. I must assemble my men and ride out as soon as may be. I was hoping you would be at my side until then.”
“Can you not wait until morning?” She was light-headed, as though she might faint, the world was moving so fast. “I do not think I can let you go so easily!”
“You can. You must, my sweet. I shall be back within days. Pray trust me.” He held her fast. “When you know what I have to come home to, you will see I shall not die without a fight. I will battle hard and halt these men in their tracks.”
“I hate this,” she whimpered. She lifted her face and stared at him. “These men do not understand that I want what is best for the people of this realm. I shall not be sorry if you kill them all for putting us through this anguish.”
He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Come. I must speak with Charles to see to your protection while I am gone.”
“Charles Bingley? Why should he be the one to care for me? I want the Bingleys gone before you leave. I have Jane and Finn.”
“I must take Finn with me. I need you to rule in my stead. I believe you can do so with Henry’s help. However, I want Charles to be here. He is my old friend, and I trust him to protect you like I would.”
“And, yet his sister longs for my head upon a platter. Do you think me safe with that viper in our midst?”
William let go of her and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I do not have much of a choice.”
“Henry will be here.”
“Henry is an old man who can barely lift a fork let alone a sword! Pray, be reasonable. He is not a great fighter, but Charles can protect you better than Henry.”
“Fine. Leave.”
“Do not act like a child, Elizabeth.”
“Now I am a child? I advise you to quit speaking, sir, before you meet your fate on the end of my sword!”
He sighed, and Elizabeth became resigned to the fact that he was done arguing with her. She stared at him for a long moment, her heart bursting with love for him. For some reason, she still could not say the words. They were lodged in her throat as though somebody had stuffed her with a rag.
“I must ready my men. I shall seek you out before I ride.”
“Do not bother,” she said in a quiet mumble, part of her stubborn with the hope that he would not hear her.
Despite his pique, her husband allowed her to have the last word before he quit the room.
He must be truly aggravated with her. She remained at the window, staring out into the wild ground of Pemberley’s park.
A deer was munching on a low hanging branch.
Life was going on around her without pause.
She lightly touched the glass, feeling the chill through it. She could not remain angry.
She took a deep, calming breath and went to say good-bye to her beloved husband.
* * *
After Darcy obtained her brother’s counsel and the two removed themselves from the dining room, Caroline was left to stare at her glass of claret.
A malicious little smirk slipped over her lovely lips.
She took some dried herbs from her handkerchief and sprinkled them into the glass, whispering a few words, which made the candle flame before her dance.
In her mind's eye, George appeared. For a moment, he seemed startled but then smiled as if he had seen an old friend.
“My dear George, things are all going to plan. You shall have ‘your Liza’ soon.”
“I appreciate all you have done for me, my lady,” George said with a perfect northern accent. “You truly understand my sorrow.”
“I do. It is horrible what has been done to you. You should see the way she is treated here. It is appalling.” Of course, such a girl should have never been allowed to live in such splendour, have the adoration of a man such as Darcy, and possess the sort of power she was now coming into, but George need not know that.
“I can scarcely imagine, my lady.”
“Do not try, George. You would be fearsome if you did.”
“I should be fierce for Liza regardless, my lady. I have learned several things from my new comrades, but I dislike hearing them speak ill of my sweetheart.”
“We discussed this, George. You must pretend to believe in what your northern counterparts believe in. You need not have anything to do with politics, my friend. Simply use these men. They will help you attain ‘your Liza’.”
“Yes. My Liza.” George mumbled like a man who had too much drink.
Caroline fought to keep an unladylike sound from escaping her nose.
What was it about this tiny troll of a girl that had men so enamoured?
She lifted the candle she had used as a part of her connection to the young fool and drowned the flame in the herbed wine.
As an insult to the Fates she was now defying, she raised the glass to her lips in a mock toast and sipped the bitter, ruined liquid.
Darcy was on his way to kill George; of that much she was certain. The shepherd would die, and Elizabeth would loathe Darcy. Caroline would finally win. Of course, the idiot George had no idea he was a sacrifice, and Caroline could not help but find it ever so slightly amusing.
She threw back the last of her wretched wine and left the dining room. She had a prince to see off, after all.
* * *
“She means to unnerve you, my lady. Do not let her,” Jane whispered to Elizabeth when Caroline appeared in the large courtyard.
The depraved woman stood next to her brother with a solemn mien, her eyes fixed upon some fascinating stone on the ground while she was wringing her hands nervously. It seemed everybody but Bingley knew that her concern was merely an act, and he put a comforting arm around his sister.
“You mean to leave me with such a daft idiot?” Elizabeth whispered to her husband. “He cannot even see her obvious lies.”
“He loves his sister, my sweet. We rarely see faults in those we love.”
She bit her tongue to avoid pointing out that, at this particular moment, she was perfectly aware of every one of William's faults.
Instead, she forced herself to meet his eyes, and her anger instantly dissipated.
She blinked back her tears and tried to take a deep breath to keep from sobbing, but her lungs shuddered, and her tears tumbled out anyway.
She hated that Lady Caroline was present to witness her crying.
“I cannot do this. I feel as though—”
“Hush,” said William. “Do not say it. Do not even think it. Warriors are a superstitious lot, my sweet. We take things to heart.”