Chapter nine

Liz lay in bed with her eyes closed, willing herself back to sleep. She reached out to her dream, wanting to sink back into it, like settling into a warm bubble bath. This time there had been no unsettling premonitions, just the usual ordering of her memories.

As though filing away the previous day’s events, her subconscious had assessed William’s movements and mannerisms, exulting at each lingering touch or comforting stroke. She wondered if he’d been aware of the kiss he’d placed on the top of her head. Perhaps it had been an unconscious gesture on his part. She couldn’t afford to read anything into his behaviour. He might have done the same for a three year old who’d skinned her knee.

Liz smiled at that thought, imagining how good he would be with children.

No, it was no use. She wasn’t tired enough to fall back to sleep and her brain was too full of William to think about anything else.

He’d asked her to stay over the weekend. Granted, he’d meant she could work on her project for two extra days but the thought had been there. She’d been so tempted to take him up on his offer and had considered phoning Natalie to ask if she might return her car on Sunday instead of Saturday as she’d promised.

Liz rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. No, she needed to leave on Friday night for the sake of her sanity. Even here and now, if she breathed in deeply, his scent permeated her pillow as though he’d been there with her.

He hadn’t, unfortunately, but being so close to him yesterday had left his mark on her.

When she arrived in the office later she found William waiting for her, his hair damp and his legs propped on the table as he flicked through an old book. When he saw her, he smiled.

Ignoring her quickening pulse, she dropped her notepad on the other desk. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, not long. I took Romulus for a ride this morning then had a shower, so I missed breakfast.” He tossed the book on the desk and stood up. “So … what can I do?”

She could have answered his question in so many different ways, but she chose the most innocent. “I’m trying to identify and record all the minor improvements made to the structure of the house since its last major redevelopment.”

“You might think this a stupid question, but why?”

Liz shrugged. Few people understood her fascination with old buildings. “The best evidence showing how houses change and adapt over time can be found in those properties that have remained as private homes, because they tend to be the least altered and best recorded.” She moved a stack of dusty boxes across to his table. “These are some of the receipts for work carried out on the property. They mainly cover the early twentieth century. The older ones are still in the strong room. Perhaps you can help me with those later?”

“I can get them now if you’d like.” He walked across the room and dialled the combination. The heavy door swung open just wide enough for William to walk through. He flicked the light-switch on the outside wall as he passed. “I haven’t been in here for ages. Where are the boxes?”

Liz squinted up at the higher shelves, trying to spot the records she’d identified on Tuesday. The feeble light from the forty watt bulb barely penetrated the gloom. “Those there I think.” She pointed to a clump of sagging brown cardboard.

As William stretched up for the boxes, Liz stared at the muscles moving across his lower back, highlighted by his figure-hugging t-shirt. His posture had been one of the first things that had impressed her. Unlike many tall men these days, William didn’t slouch.

“Liz?” He still held the box in his hands, but he’d turned his questioning eyes towards her.

“Yes?”

When he smiled she suspected he was repeating himself again. Concentration was a definite problem when he was nearby. “Where would you like it?”

“Oh, on the table, please.”

He carried the box out to the office, placing it carefully on her desk before settling down to look through the pile of papers she’d given him. “You know, the steward’s day book recorded all activity in the house, including repairs and alterations.”

“Yes, but that information isn’t enough on its own. There are no costs listed in the day book and they don’t specify the work in any detail. A combination of the steward’s summary and the receipts will give a better overall picture.” Liz raised her eyes from the page to glance across the room, listening to William hum something classical as he worked. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I am, actually. I spent quite a bit of time in here when I was younger. The steward employed at the time had the patience of a saint and was happy to assuage my curiosity during school holidays.”

“And were you a very curious child?”

William looked up and caught her glance, holding it. “Always.”

Liz’s heart raced as she dragged her attention back to the work in hand. The next few hours continued in much the same vein. She would find herself watching William work, without realising her eyes had strayed. Sometimes he remained oblivious to her stares but on more than one occasion their gazes snagged like tangled fishing lines and she found it almost impossible to pull away.

Some time later William sat back in his chair, stretching his arms. “As much as I would love to stay longer I do have a little work of my own to do upstairs.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped all this on you.”

“I didn’t mind at all, in fact I quite enjoyed working in here. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” As he passed her desk William reached out his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone.

Liz felt the heat flare in her face as her breath caught in her throat.

“It’s a dirty job,” he whispered, wiping something from her face, “but I suppose someone has to do it.” Letting her go, he slipped the hand into his pocket.

Embarrassed by the nervous giggle that escaped from her lips, Liz covered her face with her palms. “Am I very dusty?”

“No … no, it’s nothing. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking.” A fleeting smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be back later.”

Dropping down into her chair, Liz tried to calm her ragged breathing. Her brain always turned to mush whenever he came close. It was embarrassing that something as simple as wiping dirt from her face could send her melting into a puddle.

Liz took in an exaggerated breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out. There had to be a way of spending time in William’s company without making a complete fool of herself.

Later that afternoon, Liz returned to the strong room, hoping to find the last box of receipts. She knew she could’ve asked William to help find it before he’d left but she’d had trouble thinking straight while he was there.

Reaching up on her tiptoes, she felt her way along one of the shelves until her fingers hooked around something smooth; a polished wooden case, its hinged lid fastened with a curved clasp at the front. She inched it closer to the edge to get a better grip and lifted it down.

Liz placed the box on one of the lower shelves and wiped away the thick layer of dust, curious to discover the contents. Lifting the lid, she found an old fashioned writing case with a drawer in the bottom for paper and bottles built into the back for ink. The silk-lined body of the case held two piles of letters, wrapped in dark purple ribbon. Curious, she picked up one stack and pulled at the bow.

There were no envelopes. The papers, folded upon themselves, still bore remnants of broken wax seals. The masculine copperplate hand slanting across the first letter she opened seemed familiar. It had come from Grosvenor Square in London and the date, written at the top of the page, read the fourteenth of September 1813. Liz skimmed to the bottom to read the valediction: Forever yours, Fitzwilliam.

No wonder the writing looked so familiar. She’d seen enough correspondence in the steward’s files signed by this particular Master of Pemberley.

Liz settled on the floor, her back leaning against the shelves. She felt a momentary guilt about reading such personal correspondence, but as the letter was almost two hundred years old, and the parties involved had long turned to dust in their graves, her natural curiosity won through.

My dearest Elizabeth,

Business delays me in London, as I feared it would, but know that I will be home on Friday. Your Aunt and Uncle were kind enough to invite me to dinner last night and they send their love. Little Edmund is growing so quickly I hardly recognised him, and young Jenny is becoming ever sweeter.

The days seem endless without your company and—

Hearing a sound in the office, she refolded the letter, hurrying to return it before anyone found her. There was something about the location of the box that made her think it had been hidden away on purpose and she wasn’t sure William would appreciate her snooping around among such personal family papers.

As she lowered the lid of the box, the sound made her jump. It wasn’t the clunk of wood closing onto wood, but a deep metallic thunk. Liz turned, realising too late that someone had sealed the heavy door as the staccato tick of the dial spinning free echoed around the small space. Then the light went out.

She reached the door in two steps, beating against it with her fists but they hardly made a sound. “Hey! I’m in here. Open the door.” Liz slapped the heels of her palms against the solid iron. “Can you hear me?”

Her heart beat faster in the darkness. Surely this was a mistake. William knew she’d been working in here. Why would anyone shut her in? Was this a trick? She thought it unlikely. He hadn’t seemed the type to play practical jokes. She closed her eyes trying to remember whether she’d noticed any ventilation holes. They designed strong rooms to be fireproof. Were they also air tight? If so, how many minutes did she have left before she found it difficult to breathe? Her heart rate increased again and she renewed her ineffectual tattoo on the heavy door, each strike growing more frantic until she slumped, exhausted, against the shelves.

She leant her head against the cold iron, but heard nothing except the drumming in her ears. Was the room outside empty, or did sound not penetrate the thick metal?

Time passed, but with no light and no way of counting the minutes she hadn’t a clue how long she’d been there. She’d started marking the time in her head, but lost count a while ago. Her palms stung and her bruised knuckles ached, but that didn’t stop her from kicking at the door every so often.

What would William think of her disappearance? Had anyone noticed she was missing? She doubted there was enough oxygen to keep her going more than a few hours. Although Liz had never been claustrophobic, the idea of suffocating inside a sealed metal box made her breathe faster as her heart raced. She closed her eyes again, picturing William sitting at the desk, his long fingers holding up the dusty pages. When he concentrated on the faded writing, a tiny crease grew between his eyebrows and occasionally he bit his lip. Smiling, she remembered how his hair would fall forward onto his face and he’d brush it away like an annoying fly.

Holding this image of William in her mind helped to calm her panic. They’d see the car parked outside and know she hadn’t left. All her things remained upstairs. It was only a matter of time before someone found her.

Loud in the silence, the tick of the combination dial woke Liz from her contemplation. Relief coursed through her as the crack of light grew wider and she pulled herself up using the shelves as support and collapsed against William’s chest. This time she didn’t question his arms folding around her. She welcomed them because it meant she was safe.

“Liz? Are you alright?”

 She nodded, scrunching the cotton of his shirt in her fists.

Another voice came from behind them. At first Liz didn’t recognise it, but then she realised Mrs Ellis was far from her usual calm self. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bingley. I had no idea Miss Bennett was inside. I thought the door had been lef—”

“Just leave it, Marge. We’ll talk about this later.”

The secretary mumbled a “Yes, sir,” before scuttling from the room.

William touched his forehead to her hair. “I would never have left you alone if I’d thought this would happen. It was an honest mistake … you know that, right?”

Liz nodded into his shirt, her bottom lip trembling too much to reply. At this point she didn’t care what had happened; only that William had been there for her.

He squeezed her closer, close enough for her to hear the solid thump of his heart beating and inhale his familiar scent. “I thought you’d gone, but when I found your car I knew you must still be here somewhere. Mrs Ellis said she’d found the office empty and complained about you leaving the strong room open. That’s when I knew ...” He ran his fingers through her hair. “God, I’m just so relieved you’re okay. Let’s get you out of here.”

* * *

“We’re going up there?”

“Why not? Come on.” Taking her hand, William started walking up the hill behind Pemberley.

The incident in the office had left her feeling shaken, but otherwise unharmed. Although she hadn’t said a word, William seemed to recognise her reluctance to spend any more of the afternoon indoors and instead had offered to show her one of the best views the estate could offer.

The incline was moderate but she wasn’t used to the exercise and if it hadn’t been for William’s support she might not have made it to the top. Once there, they walked side by side across a meadow before heading into the trees that crowned the hill. In places the terrain forced them to walk in single file but he only let go of her hand once. She’d become so used to the warmth of his fingers around hers that when he released her she’d felt adrift, cut off from the anchor that held her in place.

Finally, they broke through onto a plateau that dropped away dramatically, as though someone had cut a slice through it. Turning around, Liz could look back at the village, laid out below them like model houses strewn on a green and brown blanket. From their viewpoint she could also see Pemberley, watching over the land like a shepherd minding his flock.

She glanced at William, who seemed to be waiting for her reaction. “Mrs Reynolds told me you owned the whole village. Every brick, she said.”

“That’s true.” He started towards a trail that led off to the right.

Now they’d reached the top of the hill, Liz realised the only way was down. She hurried to catch up with him. “How can one man own a whole village?”

“They began building houses for the employees in 1815. Every one remains part of the estate today.”

She felt a great surge of pride for William’s values and his modesty. He could have made a fortune selling off those cottages, but instead he was more interested in the welfare of his pensioners. “Your position here comes with great responsibility.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“As the landlord, and main employer of the village, you hold those people’s lives in your hand. When I think of how much my landlord charges me for that poky flat in Pimlico, I’m so jealous. I wish I lived at Pemberley.”

“So do I.”

She looked up at him, not wanting to read too much into his comment. Because she wasn’t watching where she was going, Liz caught the toe of her shoe under an exposed root, and fell forwards, landing on her hands and knees across a tussock of grass.

He was by her side before her heart had a chance to take its next beat.

Pulling her up, William checked she was steady on her feet before they carried on walking in silence.

The other side of the hill didn’t so much resemble a grassy slope as a series of large stone steps. On this side the prevailing winds had worn away the top soil over the years, exposing the dark grey granite beneath, but it looked as though some time in the dim and distant past a giant had used the hill as a target for rock-throwing practice. From her perspective some of the drops appeared very steep indeed.

As she paused uncertainly, William held out his hand toward her. “Coming?”

“Down there?”

“Yes.”

“Is it safe?”

“I’ve been walking here my whole life. Of course it’s safe.”

Sighing, she shuffled closer to the edge. The first step was almost a metre deep. Liz wondered whether he would laugh if she sat on the boulder and swung her legs down that way.

“Would you prefer me to carry you down to the village?”

She felt a little jolt in her chest at the thought of being in his arms. “No! I mean … no, thank you. I can manage.”

“Whatever you say.” He jumped down, landing easily. Holding out his hand to her, he said, “Come on. You can do it.”

She accepted his support and jumped, stumbling as she landed. He adjusted his grip as soon as she was steady before continuing down the hill, their fingers intertwined.

In places, the muddy path wound between the exposed boulders. At other times, the huge stones formed a barrier they both had to negotiate. On each occasion, William took care to make sure she didn’t stumble.

There was a thick covering of trees on the lower half of the hill, and they reached a point where some of those trees limited their options as to the best route down. They walked along a rocky edge, looking for the next step. William could have climbed down anywhere, she was sure, but he was searching for the safest place for her.

“I think this is the best we’re going to get,” he said after some time. “I’ll go down first.” He sat on the boulder, pushing himself off and dropping the rest of the way. He looked up at Liz. “Do what I did. Sit on the edge and push yourself off. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

Liz perched on the edge of the rock, her ankles dangling level with William’s head. It still seemed a long way down from where she sat.

He held out his arms. “Just push yourself off. You’re in no danger.”

Liz knew that wasn’t true. If he caught her in his arms, as he wanted to do, she was in danger of not wanting him to let go. “Can’t I just hold your hand, like before?”

“It’s too high for that and I don’t want you spraining your ankle.”

Why did he always have such a reasonable excuse? She shuffled forward, barely clinging to the rock now and yet not wanting to take that final plunge.

“I’m here for you, Lizzy,” he said, his arms open, ready. “Trust me.”

She pushed off and for a second she felt as though she was flying. Then William caught her around her waist, crushing her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on as though her life really did depend on it.

When Liz opened her eyes, she could look William straight in the eye as her legs hung in the air. She had no idea how he was holding her up like that, and couldn’t tell whether the frantic heartbeat she could hear was hers, his or a little of both.

Time stood still in that isolated pocket of Derbyshire. A raven cawed in the branches above while a rabbit hopped from beneath the tree roots, searching for food. Liz and William saw nothing but each other.

Staring into his eyes, Liz wondered whether she would ever meet another man like William. It was almost as though she had been waiting for him; a part of her existence she’d been missing for so long. Looking back, she could see how empty her life had been before they met.

Then he kissed her.

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter ten

Liz gasped as her heart jumped in her chest. It felt like she’d just fallen into a barrel of freezing water, stealing her breath away. She instinctively tightened her hold on him as his soft lips teased and tasted, caressed and worshipped, and everything suddenly felt right, as though she’d discovered the reason for her existence.

After a minute or two William lowered her to the ground, her body sliding against his until her feet touched the grass below. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.”

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears, and much faster than when they’d been walking. “Please, don’t apologise.” She reached out to touch his jaw, her thumb grazing over the hint of stubble on his chin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

Needing no other encouragement he pressed her back against the rock, one arm braced on the granite as his other hand lifted her face towards his. He seemed eager to recapture her lips, his mouth sliding over hers as they both lost themselves in a perfect moment.

They might have stayed there for the rest of the afternoon had the cold, damp rocks not sent a chill between her shoulder blades.

William pulled away, smiling, and she realised she’d never really seen him smile until now. He brushed his fingertips against the spiky ends of her short hair. “Your hair is … it’s softer than I imagined.” Gaining confidence from her silence he buried his hands down to the roots, cupping her head with his palm as he pulled her closer.

His lips explored along the line of her jaw to her ear. “I keep expecting to find this is all a dream. If it is, don’t wake me.”

She felt herself blushing, partly because he seemed so convinced but also because his hand, locked in her hair, still held her close and he didn’t seem in any hurry to release her. “Should we be getting back? We’re a long way from the house and the days are getting shorter. It’ll be falling dark soon.”

“It’s not that far.” William trailed his fingers down the back of her head, lingering over the sensitive skin of her nape as he kissed her again. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I first saw you,” he whispered against her lips. “From the moment we met you made me curious. I wanted to know more about you.” He leaned back and grabbed her hand, turning it over and tracing the lifeline down her palm with a fingertip. “I’ve never felt comfortable with people I don’t know … not until the day you arrived at Pemberley. You seemed more like a long lost friend than a stranger. For a while now I’ve sensed a … a connection to you. It’s as though we’re joined together by a chain and every time you walk away from me I feel a tug.” He grabbed her hand, resting it against his chest. “Just here. Can’t you feel my heart? It’s only beating for you.”

Her stomach danced and her heart fluttered as though it was full of butterflies. Overwhelmed by the beauty of his words, tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Liz looked up and found him staring back at her. What had she done to deserve such contentment? She opened her mouth, longing to describe how he made her feel, but didn’t know where to begin. “I … um.”

William sighed and released her hand as a frown creased his brow. “Have I said something wrong? Perhaps that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“No … no, it was so beautiful. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”

“Why?”

The question made her pause. It wasn’t something she’d spent much time thinking about. “I never met anyone who was interested … in me, I mean.”

The back of his hand brushed the side of her face. “I find it hard to believe you’ve never received any compliments.”

“Well, I was always a bit of an ugly duckling, plain and awkward, and I didn’t exactly push myself under anyone’s nose.”

William smiled again and Liz thought she might melt right into the rock behind her. “Then I’m fortunate your transformation to an elegant swan was so recent.” He ran a finger along the line of her eyebrow and down her cheek. “Besides, you also have a beautiful soul, which should have been apparent to anyone who spent the least amount of time with you. If no men could see that before, that’s their loss.” He held out his hand. “Let’s head back.”

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, peeling her away from the granite. There seemed, at least in Liz’s mind, to be a difference between William’s touch when he held her hand on the way up and how it felt now. Previously it had been assistance, but now the warmth of his skin encircling hers suggested togetherness and a sense of possession, as though she belonged to him in some intangible way.

They made their way carefully down the hillside, with William taking every opportunity to help her negotiate the tricky sections. When Liz failed to notice a fallen log, or caught her toe on a tussock, their joined hands ensured she didn’t end up sprawled across the grass. The third time she’d tripped, because her eyes were busy watching him instead of the path in front of her, he’d threatened to carry her the rest of the way home. The way he’d said home, as though she belonged there, sent a shiver of satisfaction through her.

Pemberley came into view as they rounded a stand of densely packed trees, rising like sentinels over the valley. Liz had studied the relationships between grand estates and their surrounding communities but had never truly appreciated how much they relied on each other until today. William might own everything he could see, but the responsibility of that ownership lay heavy on his shoulders. That he could take on the management of an estate like Pemberley at such a young age only made her love him more.

Her footsteps faltered as she replayed her last thought. She loved him?

William wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I know you’re tired, but there’s not far to go now. Look, we’re nearly home.”

Liz’s heart took flight in her chest and a surge of emotion overwhelmed her as she looked into his eyes. She had no idea whether love felt like this but she didn’t know what else to call it. She only knew that she’d never been happier, even when her father was alive.

She hung onto William’s waist as they walked down the path that led past the stables. “I can understand why you enjoy riding now. It’s quicker than walking and must be less tiring.”

“A horse does allow me to cover more ground, that’s true, but there’s a lot to be said for a gentle ramble.”

“You call that gentle? I doubt I’ll be able to walk tomorrow. I’m a city girl. The most walking I do is to and from the bus stop, and going out to buy my lunch.”

“I could teach you to ride.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“It’s a lot like driving. You steer with the reins and pull back to brake. You use your feet to tell the horse to go faster. They’re very intelligent.”

Liz laughed. “They’d have to be. No, I prefer driving. You can’t fall off a car.”

“You can’t jump over obstacles in a car either.”

“Thank you for reminding me. Another reason for me not to ride. I like to keep my feet on the ground.”

He gave no warning. One minute Liz was standing on the path, the next William had caught her up in his arms, twirling her around. By the time they stopped spinning, he was already kissing her. As much as she wanted to stay there forever, the rows of dark windows staring out of Pemberley’s façade seemed to be watching her, making her uncomfortable.

William let her go. “Sorry, I forgot you’re tired.” He took her hand, pulling her forwards like a sleepy toddler.

By the time they crossed the threshold into Pemberley’s cool marble-sheathed hall, Liz’s legs had already started to ache, but the afternoon’s walk had served its purpose; relegating the harrowing events of the morning to a dim and distant memory.

He didn’t stop in the hall, instead walking her up the stairs and along the hallway to her bedroom. Liz stumbled through the door while he leaned his shoulder against the threshold. “A soak in the bath would relax those muscles. I’ll send Kelly up with something Violet swears by. If you put it in the water I promise you’ll be ready to do it all again tomorrow.”

“Again? You’re joking, aren’t you?”

William smiled. “You know me too well.”

Liz thought his words humorous. In reality, he was still a stranger and she needed to remember that. “I’d like to know more.”

“Well, perhaps when you’ve had your bath and something to eat we can chat for a while.” He chuckled when she failed to stifle a yawn. “At least until you fall asleep, which won’t be long if I’m any judge.”

Liz was about to protest she wasn’t that tired but William stepped forward into the room, his expression morphing from amusement to something more solemn. One hand wrapped around her waist as he lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. “How did I live without you?”

She gave him a shaky smile, confused by the question. “I don’t know.”

His dark gaze was serious. “I know, far too well, and I don’t want to go through it again.” Instead of letting go he clasped her tighter. “That’s why I need you to stay a while longer. I’m not ready to lose you just yet.”

“William … I … I can’t. We talked about this yesterday. There’s Nat’s car to think about and my editor is expecting me back at work on Monday.”

“Resign.”

“That’s not possible. I have loans to repay. My rent is due in two weeks.”

“I’ll cover your debts. You won’t need to pay rent if you live here.”

“I can’t accept your charity, William. I’ve always paid my own way, and I’m not about to change. When I said I’d like to live at Pemberley, I didn’t mean … I wasn’t trying to suggest we should—”

He silenced her with a finger against her lips. “I know what you meant. You’ve done nothing you need reproach yourself for. The thing is, I’m not sure I can let you go.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to smile and say ‘April Fool’, but then she recalled it was the middle of October and he was completely serious. “I don’t have much experience at this sort of thing, but it all seems to be going very quickly. Don’t people usually go on dates first before they make these kinds of decisions?”

He sighed. “You’ve been living in my house for five days already.”

“Only five days! As a visitor … working.”

“You might have been but I haven’t done much work this week.” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Mmm … dates. Well, if it makes you feel better you could call the night we had dinner together our first date. We were together all day yesterday, so that’s two. I also helped you in the office—”

“That was work so it doesn’t count.”

“Fair point, but we’ve just spent another afternoon together, so I make that three dates. Satisfied?”

Liz couldn’t help but smile at his reasoning, but it soon disappeared as she shifted her aching feet. He bent his head, his kiss light and gentle. Somehow, the tentative touch of their lips didn’t seem enough any more. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, and moved her mouth across his as though his kiss was her oxygen and she was asphyxiating from needing it. For a moment they seemed fused as one, but William began to pull away. She followed him, desperate to stay with him, but he broke their contact, gasping as he did so.

“You’ll be the death of me, Lizzy. Relax.” He kissed her again, a gentle response, the light touch of his lips to the side of her mouth.

“I’m sorry. You know all this is sort of new to me.”

“And I like that. I hope I don’t sound too much like a caveman when I say I’m pleased you’ve had no other … suitors.”

“You mean boyfriends?”

“Whatever they’re called, I’m glad you haven’t had any.”

The implacable tone in his voice made her pause. “Would you have been jealous if I had?”

He caressed her cheek. “I don’t like to think of myself as a jealous person, but I feel as though I’ve missed so much of your life already.”

Liz blushed as she dropped her eyes to gaze at the intricate pattern on the rug. “If you say so.”

“I do. I also think you’re tired and you should get in that bath before your legs seize up completely. I’ll ask Kelly to serve dinner in here and we can talk more about what we’re going to do next.”

Liz knew his words made sense. Perhaps she did need time alone to process what she’d been through that afternoon. He left with a promise to return later.

She closed the bedroom door behind him, leaning against it, struggling to believe the last few hours she’d just lived through. Was she dreaming? She pinched the skin on the back of her hand and winced. Not a dream then, but surely some kind of miracle.

William’s presence affected her in strange ways. She tried to stop the grin on her face but found it impossible to quell. His smell—a sweet mixture of soap, laundry detergent and him—seemed oddly addictive. The look in his eyes turned her legs to jelly and his kiss … she’d never imagined anything could be so wonderful.

Liz hobbled over to the bed, her legs stiffening now that she’d stopped moving. If she did come back to Pemberley she would need to get used to the exercise because William seemed like the outdoors type. But was the idea of staying even feasible? Natalie expected her at the weekend and there was a meeting scheduled in the office on Monday morning. She didn’t want to let anyone down, but she wasn’t sure whether she had the willpower to turn her back on what William was offering.

As she tried to imagine leaving a twinge cut through her chest. Liz looked across the room, out through the windows to the darkening sky beyond. Pemberley had been part of her life for so long, even though most of the time it had been no more substantial than ink drawn on paper. She’d craved the opportunity to visit and now she was here she’d discovered that the house was everything she’d imagined. It already felt more like home than anywhere else she’d ever lived.

But her attachment to Pemberley was no longer an attachment to stone, wood and slate alone, but to a living, breathing part of the house with soft brown eyes and a smile that made her heart sing.

A knock on the door distracted Liz from her pleasant reflections. By the time she’d limped across the room Kelly had disappeared, leaving a glass jar standing on the worn carpet. Liz bent to pick it up, gritting her teeth as her muscles protested. She collected her wash bag and book before shuffling down the hallway to the cold bathroom.

As the hot water filled the cast iron tub, Liz pulled the cork stopper from the jar and sniffed. The white powder smelled of lavender and some herb she couldn’t identify and it had a lumpy consistency, like bicarbonate of soda. Knowing it couldn’t make her feel any worse she sprinkled it over the water, watching as some of the bigger lumps sank to the bottom. Liz swirled them around with her hand, turning the water a murky grey before undressing. She climbed into the bath, sinking to her shoulders in the warmth.

Liz leaned over the rim to grab her book from the floor, opening it to the page she’d marked. She sighed as Mr. Rochester began to describe his grande passion for Celene Varens.

“You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away…”

Although she was not quite as naïve and innocent as Jane Eyre, Liz knew she too had never experienced love until she’d arrived at Pemberley. She couldn’t imagine what else would cause those exciting spasms in her heart every time he touched her. A look or a smile from William made her happier than she had any right to be.

Would she have ever experienced such a strong reaction if she’d never written that letter? Liz pushed that thought away, not wanting to consider how her life might have continued to flow quietly past if she had never come to Pemberley.

Liz turned the page, the rustling paper making the only sound in the room. There wasn’t even a dripping tap to break her concentration.

After a few minutes reading she heard faint footsteps echoing in the corridor outside, and Liz recognised the secretary’s voice coming closer.

“…what do you want me to do with them?”

William’s soft reply sounded loud in the noiseless void. “Dispose of them in the usual locations. Just make sure they cannot be traced back to me.”

“Of course.” Mrs Ellis seemed offended that he’d needed to add such a warning. “And what would you like me to do with your wife?”

Liz held her breath, waiting for William’s answer as they passed beyond the bathroom door.

His voice faded as they walked away. “Take her back upstairs. I don’t want Liz to see her.”

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter eleven

Jane Eyre fell to the linoleum, creasing the pages, but Liz paid it no attention as she replayed William’s words. She hadn’t been asleep so knew it wasn’t a dream when Mrs Ellis had asked about his wife.

Her mind spun as she thought back to some of their previous conversations. He’d spoken about his wife’s favourite part of the garden, mentioned them being together briefly and how hard it had been for him to deal with. She’d assumed he’d meant her death, but now it sounded like she wasn’t dead at all.

Liz climbed out of the bath and draped a towel around her shoulders, wrapping it tight as though she could hold in her dismay. She pulled the plug and sat on the toilet lid, staring into the murky whirlpool as the water emptied down the drain. Something tickled her nose and she scratched it, leaving a tear on her fingertip.

She dried herself, only half paying attention to what she was doing, and threw on her clothes. As she walked back to her room, Liz noticed that the muscles in her legs didn’t feel as stiff or as heavy as they had before. William might not have been honest about his marital status but he’d been truthful about the efficiency of Mrs Reynolds’ home remedy.

Once inside, Liz slumped with her back against the bedroom door, trying to keep out the reality beyond. She slid down, collapsing on the floor as her tears returned afresh. Why? Why would William ask her to stay at Pemberley when he had a wife living there?

Liz wondered what reason William would have for hiding her. Perhaps Mrs Bingley suffered from some kind of sickness and he needed to keep her away from visitors, but then why did he act as though his wife didn’t exist? She glanced down at her copy of Jane Eyre, half sticking out of her wash bag. Was Mrs Bingley crazy, like Mr. Rochester’s wife; someone they needed to restrain for her own good?

It had all been too good to be true. She should have known that half the handsome princes turned back to frogs in the end.

She pressed her lips together, dragging a hand down her damp cheeks as she stumbled across the room to collapse on her bed. Perhaps William had invited her to stay at Pemberley because Mrs Bingley was bedridden or disabled; his situation leaving him starved of companionship or conversation. Maybe he did love her …

No. It didn’t matter how many excuses she offered for his behaviour. It couldn’t change anything. Liz punched her at pillow, desperate to release the strange jumble of emotions that tugged and pinched inside her chest. She’d been naïve and ignorant, quick to adore the first man who had shown her the slightest particle of affection. Liz had given her heart too freely, not realising the pain she would have to endure when he broke it in two and tossed it on the ground.

She would have to find a way to switch off her feelings for William, if it was possible, because she would never consent to an affair with a married man, particularly one who could not be honest about his true situation.

Despite her desolation, her mind continued to dwell on the more curious half of the problem, picking at the scant clues like a bird digging for worms. Where were they keeping Mrs Bingley? And why had she never seen or heard anything that suggested another person lived in the house? William had ordered her taken her upstairs, so she must be somewhere on the second floor, but Liz had already seen the main rooms up there and there had been no sign of anyone living in them. Perhaps he’d missed a room and her attention had been too focussed on him to notice the omission. She revisited each moment of their time spent upstairs, recalling the dust, the lack of pictures and the little table they’d rescued.

Her eye drifted to the corner of her room where that same table now stood. The fine dark grain and shimmering inlays called to her. Now clean and polished, the rich chestnut gleamed, making the small item one of the loveliest pieces of furniture Liz had ever seen.

She blotted her eyes with a tissue. There were many handsome things at Pemberley, but she would still leave them behind in the morning. She would not accept William’s offer to return, even though it would mean never finishing her project.

Liz glanced across to the dressing table, where her notebook lay open next to her computer. The hours she’d spent in the office had barely scratched the surface of Pemberley’s rich history and she mourned the lack of opportunity to discover more. Perhaps that had been the reason for William’s flattering attention. Had he distracted her when she came too close to discovering something that would uncover his secret life?

Well, if that was the case he was welcome to it. If she’d not already filled her curiosity this revelation would definitely cure her obsession with his house. William had suggested they might talk about their future during dinner, but there could be no future for them now. How could she broach a subject he’d never meant her to know about? Maybe she should feign a headache and forego their dinner in favour of an early night and an earlier escape.

Or perhaps they would have more to discuss if she found Mrs Bingley’s room and discovered his secret for herself.

Liz pulled a jumper over her head and slipped her trainers on before returning to her bedroom door. She turned the handle, opening it a little to listen for footsteps. Hearing nothing, she moved out into the corridor and crept towards the staircase. The house felt empty. Even keeping to the carpet her footsteps echoed off the plaster. As she reached the banister she glanced down into the cold depths of the entrance hall before climbing up to the second floor, all the while straining her ears for voices or the mindless screechings of a mad woman.

This time, Liz saw the things she’d been too distracted to notice on her first visit. Dusty cobwebs clung to the plain cornice like thick grey strands of embroidery silk and a chill breeze whispered down the corridor from the stairwell beyond. She continued forward in the silence and paused when she reached the bottom of the attic stairs.

The narrow staircase rose up into a dark void. She couldn’t see how high they went. William had said they led to the old servant’s quarters and storage space and yet she’d seen Mrs Ellis coming down and her hands had been empty. Why would the secretary be up there? Putting something away or visiting someone? Could Mrs Ellis be both nursemaid and jailer, as Grace Poole was to Bertha Rochester at Thornfield?

Liz looked around for a light switch but found nothing in the hallway. She stood on the first step, her hand shaking as it slid over the crumbling plaster. Climbing a second stair she reached higher, finding the switch with her fingertip. Liz pressed it and squinted as a bare bulb flared at the top.

She squeezed the rail as she climbed the stairs, holding her breath when a creak reverberated in the silence. At the top, two doors stood on either side of a small square landing. Either might lead to Mrs Bingley. Liz turned the handle on her left but found it locked. The one on the right opened under her hand.

The room beyond was the last thing Liz expected to see. The plain white ceilings were low, but only when compared to the proportions of the rest of the house. To the right an overstuffed sofa sat squarely in front of a wall-mounted flat-screen television. Along the wall, on either side of the TV, shelves supported an expensive looking sound system and a large array of CDs and DVDs. Having spent the past week working in a time capsule, it felt as though she’d stepped through the door into the twenty-first century.

Someone had been using the left half of the room as a study. Three flat screens sat next to each other, angled around the keyboard like an old fashioned dressing table mirror. Liz moved closer. The first showed ever changing stock prices; some of the flickering numbers were in red, while others were green and tiny arrows flashed up and down. The middle one was a normal desktop screen showing a photograph of Pemberley at sunrise.

The images on the third screen caused her to wonder what sort of man William Bingley really was.

The picture changed every ten seconds or so, offering her different black and white images of Pemberley. Room after room came up on the screen: the salon, the library, the hall, the office, even the stables. A network of cameras covered all the principal rooms and corridors of the house, all feeding to this one location.

What kind of man would spy on visitors to his home? How could he justify such an intrusion? Even a crazy wife hidden in the attics would be better than this.

Ever since their first meeting Liz had felt safe with William. His presence had never given her one moment of concern, but now she’d never been so frightened of anyone in her life before. If this was where William spent his time, where was his wife?

Liz dropped into the chair and ran her fingers over the keyboard, wondering if she should send Nat an email in case she never made it out alive. The camera flicked to the kitchen, where Kelly was checking an oven, then Mrs Ellis walking down a hallway, notebook in hand. Her attention drifted to a notice board fixed to the wall behind the screens. One of her articles published in the previous month’s edition had been pinned to the cork. Another from the month before hung next to it.

An open envelope on the desk by the computer bore her name. Normally she would never consider looking at someone else’s correspondence, but after everything she’d seen and heard Liz no longer had any qualms. She pulled out a letter and a handful of photographs spilled onto the floor. Leaning over to pick them up a cold spike of dread went through her as she recognised the subject.

The pictures were recent, taken within the last four weeks and usually from a distance. One caught Liz on the way from her most recent dentist appointment. Another showed her walking from the bus stop to work, oblivious to the photographer who’d probably used a long lens.

A quick scan of the letter confirmed her fears. Mr. Bingley had paid a firm of security consultants to check into her background, but there was no clue as to why. The report described where she lived and worked, and gave a list of the places she’d been in the last few weeks. It didn’t delve into her history and gave only the bare facts about her family, but the idea someone had searched for those names and dates was more than enough to unnerve her.

The security firm had written their report less than a week before Mr. Bingley had invited her to Pemberley. Had he distrusted her motives for contacting him? Or did he want to know whether she had any family to complain if she never returned home?

Stuffing the pages back into the envelope she took it, closing the door behind her. Liz didn’t relax until she’d returned safely to her own room, worried all the while that she might meet William or his pit-bull of a secretary. She dragged her small bag out from the back of the wardrobe and began throwing her clothes inside. Despite it being dark outside, Liz didn’t care. She didn’t want to stay another minute longer than necessary.

As she snapped the case closed she heard a knock on the door.

“Lizzy?”

Liz bit her lip. Her stomach might have flipped at the sound of William’s voice but she couldn’t afford to let her emotions get in the way of her escape. Her heart just hadn’t caught up to her head yet.

He knocked again. “It’s me … William. Have you recovered yet? Dinner’s on its way.”

She crammed her research files into the pocket of her laptop bag, hoping he wouldn’t try the unlocked door.

This time his voice was louder. “Liz? Are you awake?”

She watched the handle turn and backed further away. Apart from the windows—too high to jump—there were no other exits.

William peeked around the door. “Oh, sorry. I thought you’d fallen asleep.” His brow creased into a frown when he noticed her case on the bed. “Going somewhere?”

Liz silently debated whether to lie but knew there was little point. “Yes, home.” 

“But … but I thought … Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

She avoided looking at him, instead checking around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “No, I’ve changed my mind.”

He moved closer, too close. She always had trouble thinking straight when her nose caught the scent of him. Stretching out his hand he ran his fingers along the side of her neck. “If you’re worried what people might think …”

She shivered and jerked away, stepping back out of his reach. “Tell me, what will happen if I stay? Will I ever see my friends or family again? Will I live another week?”

“A lot longer than that, I hope.” He spotted the envelope where she’d thrown it down by her bag and sighed. “You’ve been upstairs.”

“Yes … yes I have.”

“Why?”

Her suspicions stuck in her throat. “I was looking for something. You told me the attic space was old servant’s rooms and storage.”

“Some of it is, but it’s also my private space, where I go to be alone.”

She flung her arm wide, no longer able to hold back her anger. “You have a house full of space. Why do you need more?”

“I haven’t always been on my own here.” He took her hand, guiding her to sit on the end of the bed. When she yanked her fingers from his grasp he glanced at the envelope again. “So, you’ve seen the photographs and now you think me … what? Some kind of maniac stalker who’s going to slit your throat as you sleep? Had I wanted to, I could have done that any night this week. All I want is to love and protect you. I would never hurt you. I couldn’t. Can’t you sense that, Lizzy?”

“I thought I did but everyone makes mistakes.”

“I can understand why you might be worried by what you found, but there’s a perfectly rational … well, there’s an explanation, if you’d like to hear it.”

Her heart wanted to hear his reasons but her head kept reminding her why she couldn’t believe him. He was married and he’d lied to her. No matter how she felt about him he belonged to another. “Why the cameras? Were you spying on me?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I installed those cameras years ago, although I can’t say I haven’t used them to keep tabs on you since you arrived because that would be a lie. I couldn’t stop myself from checking the screens occasionally. I love to watch you work.”

She looked around her room, remembering the times she had undressed in front of the thick radiator, grateful for its heat. Had he observed her every move? As much as she didn’t want to know, Liz had to ask. “Is there a camera in here as well?”

“God no, they’re mainly in the downstairs rooms and hallways. There are a couple in the gallery but nothing in the bedrooms. I’m not a peeping Tom, if that’s what you think.” William reached out to stroke her arm. “I thought you were happy here, with me.”

She flinched away from him. “I was.”

“Then what’s changed?”

Liz grabbed the envelope, shaking it at him. “Don’t you think this is enough to change everything? How can I trust someone who has his visitors investigated? You paid people to follow me, taking pictures of me in the street. It’s creepy.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t understand. There were reasons. I have to be careful who I invite here. Like it or not, you are a journalist—”

“I’m a historian first.”

“Maybe, but I needed to know your interest in Pemberley was genuine and not some ruse to get you in the house. It wouldn’t be the first time someone became curiousabout me.”

“Is that what you told Mrs Ellis to dispose of? The bodies of people who came too close?”

“Bodies?” William grinned. “No, I asked her to sell some paintings.”

“Then why didn’t you want them traced back to you?”

“Because I wanted the best price for them.” He took the report out of her hand and threw it down on the bed. “Will you come upstairs with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

Her mind whirled with possibilities and she blurted out the first thing she thought of. “You’re going to introduce me to your wife?”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t have a wife.”

“I heard you and Mrs Ellis talking in the hallway. You told her to take your wife upstairs. You didn’t want me to see her.” The words came out all in a rush and as soon as she’d spoken them Liz wished she could take them back.

William turned pale and he shook his head. “My wife died … giving birth to our son.”

“You have a son?” For a second, she imagined a little boy sharing William’s dark eyes and serious expression.

“No, he … he died too. Look, I can explain this better upstairs.” He held out his hand. “Will you come?”

She backed away. “I don’t—”

“Please believe me. Hurting you is the furthest thought from my mind.”

Liz felt like screaming. On one hand, she’d seen and heard enough to believe she couldn’t trust William, but even his strange behaviour hadn’t diminished the feelings in her heart. That stupid organ had no sense of self-preservation. It still reached out, craving him, as though his presence was as vital as sunlight and water.

If there was the smallest chance he could explain himself, she would be foolish not to give him the opportunity to do so. “If I do as you ask, will you let me go home after?”

“If you still wish to leave.”

William led the way from her room, ascending the staircase to the second floor. “On occasions I’ve shared this house with other members of my family. Sometimes I’ve slept downstairs…” They reached the narrower wooden stairs to the attic and they climbed to the top. “But these rooms have been my retreat when I needed to be alone. They never understood.” He drew her through the door, closing it behind them.

The room looked exactly as Liz had left it. William walked between the living area and the office space, towards a door at the back Liz hasn’t noticed before. He turned a key and pushed it open, stepping back for Liz to precede him.

Crossing the threshold she took in the overflowing book cases, the battered leather topped desk and the large, comfortable looking bed pushed into the corner. An old gramophone stood on a cabinet, a pile of long playing records leaning against it. Somebody had spent a lot of time in this bedroom over the years. Liz took in a breath, recognising his familiar scent. “You sleep here?”

“Occasionally.”

Liz took in the sights and sounds of the dusty room. A clock on the mantelpiece had stopped working and a pile of journals were stacked on the edge of the desk. On one wall a picture showed a family she hadn’t seen before, a mother, father and three young children, their style of dress dating to the first half of the nineteenth century.

Before she could ask, William said, “That’s Thomas and Georgiana Hudson with their three eldest children, painted in 1829.”

Her gaze continued around the room. Opposite the Hudson painting, an old portrait of a pretty young woman with dark hair and sparkling eyes hung over the fireplace. Liz stepped forward for a closer look. “Who is it?”

William moved to stand by her side. “Elizabeth Darcy. Formerly Elizabeth Bennet.”

Liz studied the picture more carefully. Elizabeth Darcy’s high-waisted dress shimmered in the light and a single strand of pearls circled her long neck. Chestnut curls separated by a centre parting surrounded her face, which seemed to glow with an inner happiness. Liz could guess where that happiness might have originated from. It was the look of a woman in love. “She’s beautiful.”

“I always thought so. The artist started work in December 1813, the week after our first wedding anniversary.”

It took a moment before she could identify what troubled her about his words. “Did you say your anniversary?”

“Yes. Elizabeth was my wife.”

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter twelve

Liz studied the painting again before looking at William. “This portrait is almost two hundred years old. She couldn’t have been your wife.”

“Yes, she could.” He paused, his gaze holding hers. “My mother gave birth to me, here at Pemberley, in 1784.”

She snorted, working out the most likely year in her head. “You mean 1974.”

“No, I mean the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty four. I celebrated my two hundred and twenty-fifth birthday this year.”

She’d assumed William to be a sane individual but now Liz realised she had made a terrible mistake. He’d not been hiding a mad wife in the attic, like Mr. Rochester. He was the crazy one. She glanced at the door, knowing the only way she might make it out alive would be to humour him. “Really? That’s very interesting. That would also make Georgiana Hudson your sister.”

William smiled, but it wasn’t the crazed smile of a madman. He almost looked normal. “I don’t expect you to believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either. I wish I knew what I could say to convince you of the truth.”

“You don’t have to say anything but you could let me collect my things and leave.” She kept her tone light and calm, but underneath her heart pounded and her palms were damp. If she ran now, how far would she get before he caught her?

“There are more pictures through here, the ones you asked me about at the beginning of the week. Perhaps they will help?”

He pulled back a curtain, revealing another door. As he went through it, Liz took her chance and sprinted in the opposite direction, but her escape plans fell apart when she found the exit at the top of the stairs locked and the key gone. She sobbed as she banged on the wood with her fist, desperate to escape from the lunatic even as she realised no one would hear her.

“Liz?”

She leant her forehead against the cool door, not wanting to face him.

William laid his hands on her shoulders, his touch gentle as he turned her around. “I’m sorry. I know this is a shock to you, but there’s no need to run. You’re quite safe here.”

Liz looked him in the eye. “Then let me go. You promised.”

“Not until I’ve have the chance to explain everything … until you understand.” He fixed her with a determined stare. “I once had words with … Elizabeth,”—his lip quirked into a brief smile—“or perhaps I should say she had words with me. I could have cleared the air there and then but instead I walked away, leaving her with the wrong impression of me. This time I want to tell you everything now, not write it all in a letter and hope you’ll read it.” He brushed away her tears with his fingertips. “Please, just listen. If, at the end, you still don’t believe me and you want to leave I won’t stand in your way.”

She didn’t feel as though she had any choice. Reluctantly she agreed to listen and allowed him to take her hand. He towed her back through the bedroom and into the mysterious space behind the curtain.

At least he’d told the truth about one thing. The plain white walls were full of paintings, lit by a series of roof lights set into the ceiling. Most of the portraits included a face that had grown so familiar to her over the last week she would recognise it anywhere.

William stood beneath one large canvas, which showed someone remarkably similar to him, dressed in the khaki uniform of the British Army. He wore a flat topped hat and carried a cane. “This was done in 1914, just before I went out to France, while this one,” he moved across to its neighbour, “was painted in 1892.”

Liz studied both pictures. Although one was in uniform and the other in a dark frock coat and cravat, the subject was definitely William. Not an older or younger William, but exactly as he looked now. Only the style of his hair and dress was different. However, for someone with money it would be no problem to fake a painting or two. “What about this one?” she asked, pointing to a group. An identical William sat in the blue drawing room, next to a grey haired couple. “Who are they?”

“That’s Charles and Jane. You saw a larger portrait of them downstairs, painted when they were younger. “Charles died about five years after this. He was a good friend and brother-in-law. I still miss him. Jane lived here for a further seven years.”

Although she looked closely, the painting didn’t appear to have been altered or tampered with. She moved on to the next, another picture of William wearing a blue coat. There was a name engraved on the bottom edge of the gilded frame. “Why does this say Thomas Bingley?”

“It was the name I used at the time. I’ve been known by many names during my lifetime. Maintaining one identity for almost two hundred years might have made people a trifle suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Hold on, though. You said you were more than two hundred years old.”

He sighed. “I’ve been stuck like this since I was thirty-three. That’s a hundred and ninety two years without aging.”

“But I thought Thomas Bingley was Charles and Jane’s son?”

“Their Thomas died of measles when he was thirteen. As a great favour, and to help me avert suspicion, they allowed me to take on his identity and I wrote a will leaving Pemberley to Thomas … to myself. The high infant mortality rates of the times meant there was always another name I could use when needed. Samuel, David, Luke and now William.”

“And this...”—she pointed up at a full length portrait of a man with breeches and riding boots, wearing a green coat, and the face of the man she thought she knew—“this is labelled Fitzwilliam Darcy. I suppose he also died young.”

William shook his head. “No, that one is my own, the name I was born with, to honour my mother’s family as you so rightly pointed out. I was younger then. That picture was painted before my father died.”

Liz felt sick as he confirmed her worst suspicions. “You are mad.”

He brushed the hair from his eyes. “I was once, mad with grief. Made mad by a pain I thought would tear me apart. When…”

She waited, wondering what the madman was going to say next, wondering why she even cared. She didn’t want to listen to any more of this sick fantasy. But then she glanced up at his face—the face she’d grown to love—and saw his pain. No matter what wild claims he might make, she still loved him. She couldn’t turn it off with a flick of a switch. A long, thick rope now joined them together. No, it was more visceral than a mere rope. It was an artery, and something like blood flowed between them. Whatever illness he was suffering was now her fate as well. “What?”

“When Elizabeth died we’d been married for five years. She’d had problems conceiving and it was her first successful pregnancy. I had considered myself the luckiest man in the world, but in less than twelve hours I lost both my lover and my heir, and my world quite literally fell apart.” He spoke with such conviction, such distraught passion. Despite the reality of the situation it was clear he believed he was speaking the truth.

Liz couldn’t help being curious. “What did you do?”

“What any man made mindless with grief might do. We brought them back to Pemberley, and buried them in the churchyard. One morning, about a month after the funeral, I took a pistol from the drawer in my desk and rode out to find a quiet spot.”

“To kill yourself?”

He shrugged his shoulders but avoided her eyes. “It seemed to make sense at the time. There was a gaping hole in my life I thought I would never be able to fill. You can’t imagine I was thinking very clearly.”

“No, I suppose not.” She looked around the room but it was bare of furniture so she sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall. “What happened then?”

He seemed to be looking outside the walls, beyond the confines of the house. “I found a spot, out of the way where I wouldn’t be disturbed and then let my horse go. There was no need to upset it with what I was about to do.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

William chuckled. “Yes, wasn’t it?” He settled down on the floor next to her, taking her hand in his. “I sat on a rock, remembering every detail about Elizabeth, relishing the pain as though I was poking a festering wound. I must have been daydreaming for an hour or more before I plucked up the courage to get the job done. I wanted to be reunited with her so much ... with her and our son. It didn’t seem fair that they’d left me alone. I could feel her, out there somewhere, just beyond my reach. I even thought I could hear her calling to me. I wanted us to be together.”

Liz sighed as he began to rub his thumb along the back of her hand. She found it easier to deal with if she pretended he was just telling her a story. “Couldn’t you go through with it?”

“I placed the gun against my head but as I was about to pull the trigger there was a noise behind me and I turned to find an old gypsy woman standing there. She was angry with me. She looked at the gun in my hand and told me not to be a bloody fool.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t very gentlemanly at all. I told her to go to the Devil, but she said that that was exactly where I was destined if I didn’t stop what I was doing. I remember the conversation as if it were yesterday. She said it wasn’t the right time.”

“A strange thing to say. I wonder what she meant by it?”

“Now I think she meant Elizabeth wasn’t supposed to die, but at that moment I didn’t care. All I wanted was for us to be reunited. It was wrong, I know that now, but I was in too much pain and I couldn’t think clearly. The gypsy warned me that if I didn’t stop this nonsense and return to the house, she would curse me ... for my own good.”

“A curse?” Liz laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“I thought the same, but I’m still here. I think I look pretty good for someone who’s past his second century.”

While she couldn’t argue he looked good, she still wasn’t convinced that the man she was talking to could be more than two hundred years old. “So she cursed you with long life.”

“Nothing as simple as a long life, but a kind of immortality. Since that time I’ve been unable to die, either by my own hand or that of others.”

“Did you try?”

“To kill myself? Of course! I didn’t believe her then any more than you believe me now and nothing she’d said had diminished my pain. As soon as she’d left I was even more determined to finish what I’d started. I put the pistol to my head again and pulled the trigger.”

“Oh my God, you didn’t.”

She felt his grip tighten around her fingers and he frowned, as though reliving an unpleasant memory. “That first time, the pain was so bad I blacked out. When I came around, it was dark and I had the mother of all headaches. I assumed I’d botched the job, so I walked all the way back to Pemberley and fell into bed. When I woke the next morning there was a bare circle above my ear, where the hair had gone ... just here.” He tapped the side of his head.

“Perhaps you weren’t as badly injured as you thought.”

He shook his head, a half-laugh escaping from his lips like a hiss. “My head, neck and shoulders were covered in dried blood and my clothes were ruined. It looked like I’d slept on the floor of an abattoir.”

Liz shuddered as she pictured the scene. “That’s not possible.”

“No?” William grabbed her hand, pulling her up with him. In a few steps they were back in the bedroom and he set her on the end of the bed before rummaging in one of the drawers in his desk. When he turned to face her again, she noticed a glint reflecting from the pointed blade of a knife.

Gasping, she threw her hands up, adrenaline sending her heart pounding as she looked for another way to escape. 

But rather than attacking Liz, William turned his left hand palm upwards, plunging the blade through the middle of his forearm until the point stuck through his skin on the other side, dripping blood onto the carpet. With a strangled cry he yanked the knife free, his fingers curling into a fist as he watched the rivulets of red running down his skin.

Liz fought against the suffocation, her head spinning from lack of oxygen. She turned away, her hand covering her mouth, sure she would throw up at any moment.

At once, William was at her side. “Breathe, Liz, for God’s sake. I had no idea the sight of blood would affect you like this.” Yanking on another drawer he pulled out a t-shirt, wiping the mess from his arm. “Look … here. It’s fine. See?”

She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the blood again, but it was right in front of her and hard to miss. A few crimson smears stained his skin, but there was no sign of the injury she’d just watched him inflict. Nothing. Not even a pink line to mark the point where she’d witnessed the knife pierce his skin.

Her first thought was one of relief that he was okay, then gratitude that he hadn’t wanted to attack her. She let out a deep breath as her eyes roamed across his face, looking for some sign that it was all a trick. Then she looked down at the blade, still covered in blood. There was no way … it couldn’t be true, and yet she couldn’t think of any rational explanation that would fit.
 
“How do you feel?” He seemed more worried about her than himself.

Running her fingers across his arm, she looked on both sides for his injury. She’d seen the knife poking through the skin. “I … you … how did you do that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. All I know is I’ve lived through wars, plague and pestilence. I’ve been shot, stabbed and my neck’s been broken twice, but I’m still here.”

Liz shuddered as though someone had walked across her grave. Her fingers traced the contours of his neck and the stubble under his chin, before running along his collar bone. “You said a kind of immortality? What does that mean?”

“The gypsy woman told me one more thing before she left. Considering everything that’s happened, I’ve clung onto it for dear life ever since. She said that if I was patient, Elizabeth would come back to me one day and things would go back to how they were—the life I should have had. I just had to wait.”

She looked up into his eyes. “And did she come back?”

He held her gaze before releasing a breath, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know. I’m hoping you can tell me.”

For a moment his words meant nothing. Then, like the flick of a light switch, Liz understood what he meant. “You think I’m your wife? No, no … that’s not possible. I might have the same name but it’s a complete coincidence.”

Sensing her unease William looked away. “I don’t believe in coincidences any more.” He lifted her hand, holding it against his chest as his eyes sought hers again. “All I know is you hadn’t been at Pemberley a day before the empty feeling I’d been carrying around all these years disappeared. Even before that, as soon as I held your letter in my hand, I recognised something inside; hope, excitement, a sense of being complete. You’re the other half of me and I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

She wanted so much to believe him, to believe she was the missing piece of his soul. What if it was just as he said, however crazy the idea might be? Surely stranger things had happened?

He seemed to sense she was wavering. “How do you explain the feelings you had about the Bancroft print? Pemberley drew you in so strongly that you were compelled to research its history. What about the herb garden? You knew it was there, even before you stepped through the gate. Elizabeth set out that garden and she loved it.”

Liz recalled the strong sense of longing she’d experienced when she’d first seen the picture by Bancroft, as though she were looking at her most favourite place in the world. She’d known that if she could just get there, she would be happy. During her student years, Pemberley had been her escape; somewhere she could retreat to and dream about.

Dreams. Before coming here, she’d never thought much about dreams. They were nothing more than a phenomena people experienced when they had too much on their minds; their brains subconsciously processing the information it had taken in that day. She had never experienced anything unusual—such as accurately imagining a real room that she hadn’t yet stepped foot in.

Not until she came to Pemberley.

“Mrs Reynolds made you all Elizabeth’s favourite foods, including the strawberry ice cream. You enjoyed them all.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. Lots of people like strawberry ice cream.”

“It doesn’t mean much on its own, I grant you, but surely all the evidence combined has to weigh on the scales in my favour.”

Liz curled into a ball as his revelations danced around her brain. True or not, William believed he was over two hundred years old. She’d seen the knife go through him, yet leave no mark. That was hard enough to process, but now he also thought she was his dead wife? “I’m sorry. This is too much for me to deal with right now. It’s bad enough you’re asking me to believe you’ve lived here all those years, but this thing about us being married in the past? There’s no such thing as reincarnation.”

William sighed, but seemed more resigned than disappointed. “I’m not going to argue with you over metaphysical beliefs, Lizzy.” He stroked a hand across her hair before coaxing her to face him. “It’s a lot to take in but if you’re open to the possibilities I know we can work through it.”

She pulled away, not sure whether they could work through something of this magnitude. Liz rubbed her eyes, trying to relieve some of the tension behind her eyes. Having him so close made it difficult for her to concentrate. “I’m going to need time … time to think, to get used to the idea. Am I allowed to leave now?”

His eyebrows rose at the question, then he sighed. “Of course you can.” His hand reached across the space between them, but when she didn’t move he pulled it back. “I love you and I don’t want you to go, but I would never force you to remain. No matter what has happened to me in the past I am still, first and foremost, a gentleman.” He stood up then, walked across to the door and reached for the key he’d hidden above the architrave. “If you really cannot bear to remain at Pemberley then I understand.”

Liz almost smiled. She’d only wanted to leave the room and hadn’t actually got as far as thinking about going home.

When she started down the stairs, William followed her. “Can I get you anything? A glass of brandy? I don’t want you going into shock as soon as my back is turned.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” She was pleased her voice remained steady as the lie tripped off her tongue.

They walked the empty corridors in silence until they reached her bedroom. Kelly had visited while they’d been upstairs, leaving two covered plates on a square table in front of the fireplace. The delicious aroma made her stomach rumble. She glanced at her case, which lay on the bed where she’d left it, all packed and ready to go. When Liz turned back to the door, William was standing on the threshold, watching her.

He pointed to the dark parkland beyond the windows. “It’s late. You don’t want to be driving three hours tonight. Have something to eat and consider what I’ve said. We can talk again in the morning.” William’s fingers rested on the door handle. “I love you, Liz, and earlier today you felt the same for me. Does anything else matter?” His gaze, locked with hers, seemed to be entreating … pleading almost before he closed the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Liz’s hands trembled as she sank onto the end of the bed, wondering whether the hours left before morning would be enough to decide something so impossible.

~~<>@<>~~

Page 2 | Page 4

Web design and content © 2009, 2010 by Heather