Chapter Three
Caroline was a convenient way to pass the time.
It was easy to bed her and even easier to leave her.
She would, of course, be angry in the morning, but she would forgive his sins soon enough.
She always did. They had played this game for years and, Darcy had to admit, riling her up and fucking her back into complacency was more than enjoyable.
Even if he had not had the charge of witchcraft to hang over her head, he could have ruined her easily enough by destroying her chances for a good marriage with proof of their affair, which was a tiny birthmark on her inner thigh to act as insurance should she ever tire of his toying with her.
Unfortunately, he had called her Elizabeth.
The moment had gone crystalline as her body stiffened beneath his and her anger rose, which delighted him.
Caroline was so easy to pull reactions from.
He had smirked at her and finished up, leaving her in limbo.
Forced to play nice after that or risk her irritation—an irritated Caroline proved to be a horror to deal with—he had given her the smallest bit of courtesy and brought her to climax.
Afterward, she fell asleep which allowed his escape.
Darcy climbed out of the bed and pulled on his breeches.
His physical lust sated for the moment, he restored his clothing, slipped out of Bingley's ancient castle at Netherfield, and crossed the courtyard for the stables where he instructed a sleepy stable boy to ready his mount.
Once free of watchful eyes, he whipped the steed to a furious speed, letting the rush of air sting his eyes and burn his cheeks.
The horse, a great, grey stallion, flew over the road, through pastures, around rocks, and never missed a step.
Eventually his steed slowed at the scene of one of Darcy's crimes against Elizabeth’s folk.
The reality of what the place represented did not affect Darcy at first. A good review of the mangled bodies of the sheep that a few rats had helped themselves to ensured his grasp of the situation.
In the moonlight, it was a grotesquely peaceful scene, like a lesson out of one of the morality fables his father had told him as a child.
The horse stepped around gingerly as Darcy surveyed the damage.
He had asked Caroline to destroy the fortunes of the men who held Elizabeth in their hands, and she had done so with a flame, some paper, and a few words.
For a moment, he was excited by her power and all the possibilities that came with it.
His brain flicked back to those morality tales again, and his father’s deep, gravelly voice boomed loud in his head.
Father would never have stooped so low as to use witchcraft to attain the affection of a poor girl, no matter what she felt about him.
If she had hated his father, the former High Lord would have dismissed the chit as unworthy and carried on.
Father had not loved Mother. Father had not loved anyone.
Love? Where the hell did love fit in this picture?
He cleared his throat and, with a satisfied smile, rode on.
His horse had cut through the churchyard and was boldly trotting over the graves of the Bennets and Lucases of the past when all of a sudden, he spotted a small, pale heap amongst the shadows in the cool light of the moon.
Steering the stallion in the direction of the pile, Darcy's mouth curled in triumph at the prize on the grave.
Elizabeth, the flowers in her hair crushed and her fine gown ruined, was fast asleep on the ground. Deftly, he dismounted and gathered the girl in his arms, brushing a victorious kiss over her cool, colourless lips before placing her over his saddle.
“Soon enough, my lady, you shall be mine. Soon enough.”
* * *
As the sun painted orange hues on the wall across from her window, Elizabeth awoke.
Thankfully, she was in her own bed and with review, was of the belief that the terror of the previous evening had been nothing more than a horrific nightmare.
She gasped, though, at the sight of her hands.
Her knuckles were bruised, and her nails were in tatters.
Tears welled in her eyes; a lady's hands were a sign of her station, and the ruined flesh was just another symbol of her impending doom.
She sniffled, which caused Hill to awaken.
The old nurse fluttered about, pulling bell cords and uttering assurances to her charge.
Servants appeared in order to draw her bath and bring her food, but the girl would take neither.
She could do no more than stare at her battered hands as silent tears trailed down her cheeks.
“Pray, my love, eat.” Hill’s brow was furrowed as she wiped gently at the tears.
“I am not hungry, nurse. Leave me be!” She looked up at Hill with weary eyes. “I am pleading with you!”
A knock fell on the door, and the old nurse made haste to answer. Papa poked his head inside, his face pale and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He appeared several years older than he had last night.
“Beloved, how do ye feel? Ye were an unnatural blue colour when ye were returned to us.”
“Tired. Pray, do not trifle with me, Father. How bad is it?”
“I shall not lie to ye. I have gone over the ledgers time and again and each time another figure seems to be off. I cannot explain it. In a mere few days, we have lost over three quarters of our holdings.”
She sobbed then. Her life had been ripped away.
If George's flock had not been destroyed, she could have married him, and they might have been able to save Longbourn.
Even if they could not save her father's house, they still would have been able to care for him. But now, she had not the smallest hope. She brought both hands to her face; her heart felt like it had been shredded into tiny ribbons. She allowed herself to wallow in the despair, letting the emotion soak through her like being pushed into a pond on a cold, bleak winter’s day.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the pain and heartache.
She had other matters to attend to.
“How did I come to be in my bed?”
“Ye do not recall?”
“Would I ask if I did?” Even in the direst of situations, she remained flippant.
“Quite right. High Lord Darcy was out horse riding and was unaware ye had gone missing. He found ye by chance at thy mother's grave.”
“How providential for him.” Oh, no! He had imposed a kiss on her the previous evening.
“He awaits below stairs for news of thy condition.”
“Ye may tell him that I am fine, and he may return to that from whence he came. Likely the pits of hell will take him back.”
“Elizabeth! That is a severe lack of gratitude on thy part. The man saved thy life and, even had he not, his station in life deserves a trifle more respect than ye have previously bestowed.”
She sighed heavily. “I cannot agree with ye, Papa. That man has a repugnant air about him. He has not acted well in the past, and I fear he has no good at all in him.”
“I am pained to hear ye say that.”
“Why ever so? Have ye not always taught me to speak the truth? I have no particular regard for the High Lord. I have no care for his station, and should I be set to swing for saying so, I should still not be sorry that I pronounced my truth.”
“Perhaps I was wrong in letting ye run so wild for so long.”
“Why would ye regret allowing me to have my own mind?”
“To lessen my own guilt in the matter, I suppose,” Papa replied almost absently. He patted her hand, flinching ever so slightly at the tattered knuckles.
Embarrassed, Elizabeth pulled her hand from his and slid it beneath the blanket.
“What guilt?”
He stared at her as though he had seen her for the first time. His grey eyes grew watery; he diverted his gaze to the window. Her father remained silent too long, and Elizabeth sighed impatiently.
“What guilt?” Her voice was hardly steady despite her forcefulness.
“I shall have to marry ye off for a bride-price, beloved.”
She shook her head even though it had been her one thought for the last several hours now.
Her bright, happy future with George was gone and she herself had been a fool for ever retaining an expectation that she might live in bliss.
Lower people made difficult choices every day and were better for the decisions; she would simply have to do the same.
It was to save her family, her home. Her sacrifice was hardly in vain.
“I understand,” she whispered just as a realization flashed through her mind. “Is Lord Darcy aware of my being on the block?”
“I have not spoken of the matter with anybody but ye, my daughter, but I fear that if he becomes informed and makes the best offer for thy hand, I shall have no choice but to accept.”
“Ye cannot be serious! Ye would marry thy only child off to a man she despises to save thy own hide! That is deplorable behaviour, Father!”
“I like it not, either, child,” he said in a soft tone. “And ye will not speak to me in such a manner. I am still thy father and ye shall show me the proper respect. I shall tell Lord Darcy that ye have returned to thy former humour.”
With that, her father retreated, leaving Elizabeth to fume.
Her whole life had unravelled in less that twelve hours.
She had had the perfect life and now she was going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder like some prized sow.
She loved Longbourn and all the people who depended on her father for their livelihoods, but she was not about to be their virgin sacrifice. She had plans! Hopes! Dreams!
Alas, she was but a daughter and she had no real say in her future.
* * *
“She is awake and feels better, Lord Darcy. I thank ye once again for thy kindness.”
“It was no trouble, sir. Your daughter is a fierce creature, is she not, to have simply taken to the road at such an hour? I wonder that her sweetheart did not go after her. Regardless of my own condition, if your daughter was mine, I should trail her to the corners of the world.”