Chapter Two #3
The silence in the hall grew thick as Darcy hovered about them. Would the plain friend ever disappear? Finally, when Elizabeth asked for a glass of water, and Lady Charlotte went to retrieve it since the servants seemed to think better of approaching the parlour in the least.
“My lady,” Darcy said.
She barely looked up, her eyes trained on the door across the hall and what might possibly be taking place within that room.
“My lady,” he repeated and stepped away from the wall he was casually leaning against.
“My lord?”
“Pray allow me to express my sympathies towards your plight.”
“I offer thanks.”
Did she know how badly she made him desire her? Even with tear-stains for another man on her cheeks, she was magnificent. His hands itched for her and his breeches had become unbearably tight. Three steps and he was before her, taking her hands and pulling her from the chair.
“Sir!” She exclaimed, shocked. “Pray unhand me.”
“I shall do no such thing until you listen to me.”
Her blue eyes flared with anger, and she struggled to escape his grip, but the harder she fought the faster he held. Finally, she was still.
“That child in there is nothing. He will never have you.”
“Sir, ye forget thyself!”
Now, he could not stop what had been started.
The force was too strong. He spun hopelessly out of control and crushed his mouth to hers.
She gasped in surprise, giving him an excellent window of opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.
Her taste—wine and berries—awoke his senses and sent his brain into a spiral.
Seconds of bliss flew by before a spear of pain and the intense, tangy taste of blood both came to his tongue.
Her fists beat against his chest even as he released her.
The sharp, quick sound as her hand made contact with his cheek bounced off the walls. “Ye should think very carefully about where thy lips are placed, sir, for now I shall consider keeping my person armed.”
He only grinned, which infuriated the girl all the more. Pain seared his shin. The chit had kicked him! He released her.
“I have put people to death for lesser offenses, my lady.”
“News that does not shock me, I assure ye. Ye may choose to punish me, but it would be on thy conscience, if it could be assumed that ye have one!”
Darcy took a step back, pretended to be properly humbled by her chastising, and gave her a shallow bow.
“I should not choose to punish you, my lady, for I am the one at fault. Your beauty stripped me of coherent thought, and I was unable to do naught but act on my impulses. I beg forgiveness.”
Before she could answer, the parlour door opened and Sir Thomas appeared, his gentle face heavily lined with worry. He stepped into the hall and held open an arm to his daughter. Lovingly, he kissed her forehead.
“Beloved, he wants to see you.”
The girl clearly forgot Darcy in the space of a single heartbeat and abandoned him in the hall, leaving him to fume.
The doors closed behind them while the taste of her mingled with the blood in his mouth.
Never before in his life had he seen somebody, not to mention that the particular somebody was a beautiful woman, forget him so completely.
Usually, he was a man who left an impression, a man of power and passion, and people fell at his feet.
But Elizabeth had not. She had not considered his power, nor had she responded to his passion. And she had kicked him! Nobody had ever retaliated against him physically before.
He squared his shoulders as Lady Charlotte returned with the promised glass of water. She glanced around for her friend and, not seeing her, left Darcy to his thoughts.
* * *
What Elizabeth would later remember would be that George was bare to the waist. If she struggled, she could recall that his shirt had been ripped to shreds so its removal was logical.
The blood had been wiped away and the basin next to the chair was filled with red water.
She knelt at his feet immediately and gently kissed his palms. Propriety was the last concern on her mind now.
Her sweetheart was safe, and he did not appear to be injured in any way, yet he carried a blank expression in his eyes.
“Dearest George? What has happened?”
He did not immediately respond, so Elizabeth had to speak again. “What happened? Naught was wrong when I left ye this midday.”
“I brought ye home,” he said, his voice a mere whisper.
“Aye. What happened after that?”
“I returned to Bishop's Hill. The flock, Eliza, the flock is gone.”
“Ye mean they ran off, and ye cannot find them?”
“Nay. They were attacked. Soter is dead and my flock has been. . .”
“Ye must be mistaken. They were fine!”
His eyes were dull as he regarded her. “Pray, allow me recount what took place.
When I returned to Bishop's Hill, thoughts of our engagement danced in my head.
My reverie was broken when I glanced about and could find no trace of Soter nor the flock where I had left them.
‘Soter,’ I called, but no answer came. I yelled louder since I thought my voice might have been lost on the wind, but still, no sign of my beloved dog or my prized flock was evident.
Before I was aware, my feet hastened to the other side of Bishop's Hill, searching for my future. I slid to a halt as I came to the northern slope. My blood cooled considerably, like the air around me, all my warm thoughts vanishing as though they had never been there at all and oh, Eliza. Eliza! Before my eyes was the most horrible of sights.” George bent over at the waist, his hands covering his eyes.
“What was it? What could have frightened ye so?” Even as she said it, icy tendrils of dread clutched Elizabeth’s heart.
“There, in the cold, crisp light of day were wolves, bloodied and greedy, ripping the flesh from the bones of my valuable flock.
Panicked, I yelled once again for Soter, My poor Soter.
My gaze settled on my loyal hound's bloodied corpse. The wolves, deeply involved in my destruction, did not even bother glancing up as I fell to my knees and purged the meal that ye had been kind enough to bring me.”
All she could do was stare at him in shock. “Surely it was only a few that were gone, and Soter was merely hurt?”
George shook his head as he stared at the floor. “Not a one was left alive. I examined every single animal. They were all killed, and Soter along with them.”
His gaze settled on Elizabeth's face. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and attempted to plaster a brave, clever smile across her lips.
“We shall overcome this. Papa can help reinstate the flock. It shall be fine.”
George gazed over at her father with sorrow in his eyes and shook his head. “Beloved, thy father cannot help.”
“What do you mean? This is not a time for pride, George. Ye must accept his help.”
“No, dearest, ye misunderstand. He cannot help. He is having money troubles of his own.”
She stood, glancing from her distraught lover to her shamefaced father in disbelief. Her voice was lost, but her cry of sorrow was there, lurking behind the pit of fear in her stomach. How had this happened? How had she gone from a girl with a bright future to a pauper in just moments?
Unable to cope, she spun on her heel and ran from the room, from the house, from the horror that overwhelmed her.
She darted outside, her lungs filling with the cool night air.
Her legs carried her quickly, her skirts hiked up, while her silk slippers shredded along the gravel path as she kicked up pebbles.
Upon reaching the churchyard in Meryton, Elizabeth fell to her knees and allowed the tears to fall. Papa, a man who had married for love and had always wanted the same for her, had silently informed her that that destiny was no longer possible.
She glanced down. She found herself on her mother's grave!
A new grief washed over her. Her mother had been so very young when she had died, and Elizabeth could not recall ever having needed her before.
Wailing, she pounded at the ground with vicious effort until she was exhausted.
Unable to feel anymore, she closed her eyes and curled up on the grave.
“Mama, my life is over,” she said in a pained whisper. “I just want to die.”