Chapter Fifteen #3
Resigned to what she must face, her body stiffened.
From the corner of her eye, she sought a weapon—one that might penetrate Wickham’s heart, for nothing else long affected him.
But nothing would serve her purpose. As if he anticipated her thoughts he waited for her survey of the room, permitting time for panic to claim her.
She knew he relished the moment, for he licked his lips in preparation to taste her, but a flicker of movement announced her husband’s arrival.
“You will deal with me first, Wickham.” Darcy’s voice echoed through the empty house.
Elizabeth gasped.
“Killing both of you on the same day will be a memorable occasion.” Wickham turned slowly to face Darcy’s ready stance. Before she could blink, he lunged, a maelstrom of power hitting Darcy full force and sending them both flying through the air, landing with a crash on the lower stairs.
As she watched in horror, Darcy’s powers propelled Wickham across the room, slamming the devil against the far wall.
She would swear later that the air filled with the smell of death.
Their enemy purposefully righted himself and then dusted off his sleeves before making his next move.
Meanwhile, Darcy staggered to his feet, preparing for a new offensive.
Elizabeth thought to intervene, but a raised hand from both stayed her movement.
With a debonair snap of Wickham’s fingers, three pale figures appeared in the long hallway.
One of them looked vaguely like the woman from the alley.
Elizabeth felt her body contract in response.
How does one kill something already dead?
Before she could claim reason, everyone moved at once.
Elizabeth saw Darcy knocked to the floor as the three ghostly figures swarmed over him.
Like wounded animals mad with rage, she heard his cries and the sound of tearing flesh, yet she had her own problems. As Wickham advanced, she grabbed the only thing available: the broken umbrella stand.
Flipping it over, she heaved it at him, hoping to retard his progress.
She had no time to assess the appalling futility of the act, for a cry frightened her, and Elizabeth looked to see a blood-covered Darcy beset upon by ghoulish figures.
“No!” she screamed, and charged forward to save the man she loved.
“Enough!” Time stopped as she bent down to wipe the blood from his face.
Moments they had spent together flashed through her memory— waltzing in an empty ballroom, holding each other during the night at Longbourn, and kissing for the first time.
“Oh, William,” she moaned. “Do not die. Do not leave me.”
“Elizabeth!” Darcy shook her shoulder lightly. “I am here. All is well.” He moved the hair draped across her face. “It was only a dream, Sweetheart.”
Elizabeth’s heart raced as if still in the middle of a life-or-death fight, and her breath came in short, ragged bursts, but the reality of what he said was clear, and she clung to him for reassurance. “I thought you were dying,” she whispered.
Darcy caressed her cheek and clutched Elizabeth to his chest. “I will not die soon. We will spend many years together.” He kissed the top of her head. “You dreamed of Wickham, did you not?”
“We went to Mrs. Younge’s house, and Wickham was there.
” She still whispered, the fear, obviously, still strong.
“Mrs. Younge and two of Wickham’s followers attacked you.
I saw it all.” Again, Elizabeth shivered with the image of Darcy’s bloody countenance.
A light tap at the door interrupted her words.
Elizabeth sank deeper into the pillows in fear.
“I will see who it is,” Darcy assured her. She clung to him as he rose.
Cracking the door only a little, Darcy peered out into the candlelight. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley stood dressed in night robes. “Yes, what is it, Georgiana?”
“We heard a scream.” Mrs. Annesley pressed. “Is Mrs. Darcy well?”
“It was a nightmare,” he said, attempting to assuage their concerns. “It makes sense after what happened today.”
“Naturally,” Georgiana said and turned to go. “Tell Elizabeth I will see her in the morning.”
Darcy meant to close the door, but Mrs. Annesley’s hand stopped him. “Find out something of Mrs. Darcy’s dreams,” she said. “Her dreams bear moments of truth.”
“How can you be so assured?” Darcy implored. “Have you seen something else?”
“No, Mr. Darcy, I have not, but Mrs. Darcy has.”
“I do not understand. Does Elizabeth also have the Sight?”
The old woman paused for a long moment before answering. As if in a trance, she said, “Not in the traditional sense. Your wife is not just your future. She has the ability to see the future. Look at her eyes. Nearly catlike at times, are they not?”
Darcy’s mind flashed to the many times he considered the compelling effects of his wife’s eyes. “Yes, they are, Mrs. Annesley.”
“Ask Mrs. Darcy to relate her recent dreams, especially ones of Mr. Wickham. Something in them is the key to this madness.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Annesley.” He watched as the elderly widow followed his sister to the suite they shared.
As he turned back to find Elizabeth curled up in their shared bed, he thought about what his sister’s companion had claimed.Years of fighting the unknown alone told him to listen to both his intuition and Mrs. Annesley’s advice.