Chapter Fourteen #3
Then Darcy quickly untied Georgiana’s hands, and both he and Elizabeth assisted her to a seat between them. “Are you injured?” he asked as he massaged her wrists.
“I am well, dear brother,” she responded. “Thanks to you.” Turning her head to Elizabeth, she said, “And thanks to you, dear sister.” She leaned against Elizabeth’s shoulder and sobbed.
Darcy cupped Elizabeth’s chin with his palm and, leaning across his sister, kissed his wife’s lips tenderly. “Thank you for saving both of us.”
Tears misted Elizabeth’s eyes, but she raised her chin in defiance. “I could not become a widow so soon after my marriage,” she declared.
Arriving at Darcy House, Darcy sent servants scrambling for the ladies’ pelisses and his overcoat before they departed the carriage.
It was a facade of normalcy, played out for the benefit of the neighbors.
What each of them wore under their outer garments might be tattered and torn and smudged with dirt and blood, but no one would be the wiser.
Darcy followed his ladies into the house’s interior.
They would deal with this together and in their own time.
“Mr. Thacker, please have tea and brandy sent up to Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room.
And order a warm bath for each of us.” Elizabeth and Georgiana ascended the main staircase to turn towards the family quarters.
“We are not to be disturbed. I will ring when we wish supper,” he ordered.
Elizabeth waited patiently for Darcy’s staff to set up the tub before the fireplace and bring in the water. Then she assisted Georgiana to undress. They had said little to each other, too exhausted to chat. Once the water was changed out, Georgiana returned the favor.
As Elizabeth slid into the warm water laced with lavender oil, the realization of what she had done found a target.
She slid down so the water would cover her face so as to wash away the horror.
To make herself clean again. How long? How long will it take before the images of this ghastly incident fade?
The water caressed every inch of her, and she wanted to remain under it forever, to feel clean for an eternity.
She counted. How long could she hold her breath?
What would happen when the air ran out? Would she shrivel up like the woman in the alley?
She sat up, gulping for air, sputtering water.
She pulled her hair aside and wiped the water from her eyes, attempting to obliterate the images lodged behind her lids.
She sat quietly in the tepid water, seeing herself from a distant vantage point, stabbing the woman, again and again.
Painstakingly, Darcy completed his ablutions.
His appearance was the least of his worries.
He, Elizabeth, and Georgiana had survived.
Feeling the need to reassure himself, Darcy walked slowly towards his wife’s rooms. Georgiana sat sipping tea in Elizabeth’s sitting room.
“Where is she?” he demanded, consumed by his fears.
“Elizabeth is bathing.” Georgiana did not look up, and he noted she shivered.
Her distress pained him, and Darcy leaned over to caress her face and kiss the top of his sister’s head. “I am sorry,” he whispered before he moved on to find his wife. His need to look upon Elizabeth immediately outweighed even his duty to comfort his sister.
The screen blocked his view, but nothing moved in the water, and Darcy momentarily wondered if she was finished and dressed.
Then he heard a quick intake of air and a choking gulp.
Frightened, he rushed forward, but as he reached the screen’s edge, he held back.
Elizabeth swept her hair from her face. Ringlets of auburn curls streamed down her back, but his wife did not move.
She sat in the cooling water, lost in thought. Darcy could not disturb her.
At length, Elizabeth began to sob. At first, he thought to permit her a good cry, but then she purposefully sank into the water.
Her limbs twitched as if she mourned for someone she had not known, and she opened her mouth to permit the sorrow’s release.
Water rushed in, and Darcy moved to halt her madness.
Hands reached into the tub, lifting her from her watery grave.
She choked, coughed violently, and spit water.
Darcy firmly pounded on her back, forcing her to spew the last of the liquid.
He pulled her to her feet, and Elizabeth felt the warmth of a large towel surround her before Darcy lifted her from the tub.
She swallowed to clear the burn from her throat and attempted to say something, but all she could do was to cough and to lean against his chest— into his love—into his protection.
“I have you,” he murmured.
Elizabeth snuggled deeper into the strength of his arms.
“Do not leave me, Elizabeth,” Darcy whispered. “I cannot live without you.” She nodded mutely and so he sat in a nearby chair and settled her in his arms. “Please, love.You are everything.” He tilted her chin to where he could look upon her face. “Never leave me.”