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“Have you seen any guests downstairs since you have been on duty?” William asked a little too forcefully, his composure almost spent.

Taking in the Master’s unkempt appearance and never having seen him in such a state, the footman replied nervously, “No, sir.” He swallowed a large lump in his throat, wondering if he might not have been diligent. “I have been on duty since dark and have seen no one.”

“Carry on,” William declared in his Master of Pemberley voice, and the footman, eager to be out of sight, bowed and hurried back the way he had come.

As the footman scurried away, William noted that the library door was the only one not entirely closed and hurried there. Once inside, he found the door left open and ran through it onto the terrace. Now convinced that the figure he saw earlier must have been Elizabeth and that she had escaped via that door, he followed the gravel path, zigzagging through the gardens towards the stables. Not slowing, he reached the tree-lined lawn in front of the stables and stopped abruptly, scanning his surroundings with no sign of her. He began to question his decision not to alert the staff straightaway.

No! If Elizabeth sees strange men combing the grounds, looking for her, it would only exacerbate her fears.

It was a moonlit night, but a cloud passed over at that moment, making it impossible to see anything other than the outline of the barn. William cursed the fact that he had not thought to grab a lantern but as he waited for the light to reappear, suddenly Elizabeth’s destination became clear. Moving swiftly around the barn to the back, he entered the same door he had used to show her the kittens. Silently, he stepped inside and stood deathly still, praying he did not frighten her.

At last, the sound of hay being moved about assured him she was indeed in there. With very few steps, he stood at the entrance of the stall that held Stockings and her kittens. He waited for the moon to illuminate the barn through the tall windows that ran along the walls, and when it did a moment later, Elizabeth was clearly visible. She was sitting atop a large pile of hay in one corner, her knees pulled towards her chest, clutching the doll she had previously given up. She had all the kittens about her, as though they might afford protection from whatever demons pursued her.

Even in her dishevelled state, she was beautiful, and it took his breath. In her haste to escape, her loose braid had become undone, and her tresses hung down her back and across her shoulders—unrepentant dark curls flying in all directions. A white cotton gown with blue satin trim along the neck, sleeves, and under the bosom was all she wore. One thin cap sleeve had fallen off her shoulder, causing the neckline to slip lower on that side, exposing the top of a breast. If not for the frightened look in her dark eyes and the way she scooted further away when she saw him, he would have thought this the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld.

“Elizabeth?” His voice sounded more composed than he felt.

She violently shook her head. Then wrapping her arms around her knees, she buried her face there, atop the doll, and wept. His heart broke.

“Elizabeth, it is Fitzwilliam Darcy ...William. I will not harm you.” He took a small step forward, and she whimpered.

Knowing he must take control, he commanded stridently, “Look at me!” Adding in a much softer tone, “Please, Elizabeth.” Slowly she raised her tearful eyes to study him.

“I am not him. I am Fitzwilliam ...your William. Say my name, Elizabeth. Say William.”

Time stood still until she murmured, “William.”

Letting go of the breath he held, William deliberately moved closer, one step at a time. He soothed her as he neared with tender words. “That is right, sweetheart. It is William, and I have never ...nor will I ever hurt you. In your heart, you know that.”

Her eyes never leaving his, he finally got close enough to extend his hand, palm up. Elizabeth’s eyes flicked from his face to his hand and back. He nodded and cautiously she extended her hand until it lay in his larger one. He smiled reassuringly and brought his other hand to cup her small one.

“You are safe with me, sweetheart. Now, let us get you back to the house.”

Helping her to her feet, he noticed for the first time that she was not wearing any shoes, and her feet were scratched and bleeding. He adjusted her sleeve back where it belonged, took off his coat and draped it around her as she clasped the doll. Buttoning two buttons to keep it around her, he slipped his arms under her knees and picked her up.

Meeting her dark eyes from only inches away, he pleaded, “Trust me, Elizabeth. I will protect you with my life.”

Her only answer was to lay her head against his chest.

London

Lady Rutherford’s Ballroom

Lady Gwendolyn Waltham surveyed the ballroom from the doorway. Her dark blond curls, swept up into an elaborate display, were interspersed with ruby-encrusted combs. Her burgundy velvet gown was of the latest style, cut exceptionally low, displaying her ample cleavage and still-small waist. A single large ruby, surrounded by diamonds, dangled dangerously between her breasts, while the matching earrings adorned her ears, both had been presents from her late husband. Every eye turned to stare, before returning to their conversations.

Now that she was no longer the single centre of attention, she despised these events. At one time, her entrance would have stopped the music and the conversations. Now, there was a new crop of debutantes every season, all younger than she, if not more beautiful, and it forced her to work harder for male attention. Her inspection of the occupants of the room ended with the sight of Cecile Preston at the other side of the ballroom, locked in an animated discussion with two women.

So, the ugly duckling has returned to London. Perhaps, Gwendolyn thought, she would glean some information from Cecile regarding Fitzwilliam, since she had so little luck in Derbyshire. That accursed Georgiana had been no help at all!

With a great deal of practiced theatrics, she crossed the room, meeting the eye and nodding to every man in her path. Her lips were barely lifted in a knowing smile as she skilfully conveyed her availability. Only the swift poke of an elbow by a diligent wife kept some of the men from returning her greeting, and she suppressed a laugh. Now it was up to them to make a move.

If she could not convince Fitzwilliam to share her bed, she was not above securing another man’s devotion—even one with a boring, stupid wife—but only if he were wealthy enough to merit the trouble. However, until someone more tempting came along, she still meant to concentrate on the most devastatingly handsome man of her acquaintance. Moreover, though Fitzwilliam seemed impervious to her machinations at present, she felt confident that he would eventually surrender to his baser instincts. As she considered this pleasant development, she slowly made her way to Cecile Preston.

Oblivious, Cecile was in the middle of a lament over the same handsome man. “And I am sure this cousin has used her illness as an opportunity to seduce him. Otherwise, why would Fitzwilliam’s feelings have changed so drastically after having practically courted me for weeks? Why would a man, who is known for his reticence, take in this mysterious cousin, allowing her to reside at his beloved Pemberley? No, I am convinced there is something more than meets the eye in that relationship.”

The other ladies nodded in agreement, which only encouraged Cecile to continue boldly. “Knowing Fitzwilliam as I do, I imagine he feels he is under some obligation to this woman. I would be very surprised if an announcement of their engagement is not forthcoming.”

Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had positioned herself behind the trio and overheard this bit of news. She was incensed! Surely, the Fitzwilliam she knew was not enamoured of that small, dark creature. Why, she was not even beautiful! Promptly burying her annoyance under an abundance of boldness, Gwendolyn stepped in between the ladies, facing Cecile.