Chapter thirteen
Ice cracked under the tyres as Liz drove towards the old black gates. She yawned and had to turn the windscreen demister up another notch so she could see enough to keep within the tracks.
The exhaustion didn’t surprise her. In fact Liz was more shocked that she’d woken up so early given the turbulent night she’d had. Her brain had been turning over and over, pondering the information William had revealed. He’d been right. She did love him and he was not married. Under normal circumstances that should be enough, but these circumstances were anything but normal.
In the cold light of morning, Liz still could not reconcile William’s story of living for hundreds of years—cursed like a mythical beast to an endless life of solitude—with what she knew about the real world. Immortality might be a popular plot device in films and novels but it didn’t exist outside the realms of those fictional narratives.
Just because she loved William it didn’t make it any easier to believe him.
Liz parked the car and pushed one of the gates open, wincing as it squealed in protest. She followed the lane to the village, passing the shop and the pub before she paused outside the small stone cottage. Liz followed the crumbling path and knocked on the door.
The smile on Mrs Reynolds’ face wrinkled her skin like crazy paving. “Good morning, my dear. What a lovely surprise.” The older woman wore a quilted dressing gown. Pink fluffy slippers peeped from beneath the lacy hem.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s a little early for social calls. May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped back, waving Liz into the sitting room. “Shall I put the kettle on?” The old woman’s smile faded as she looked at Liz’s face. “Or I still have some of Miss Fisher’s elderflower wine if you need something stronger?”
Liz tried to smile. “Tea will be fine, thanks.” When her host left, she concentrated on the noises coming from the kitchen, finding them soothing, even mundane. The normal, everyday world hadn’t stopped just because she’d discovered strange, unbelievable things might also be possible.
“So,” Mrs Reynolds began as she brought in the tea and sat in her favourite armchair. “How can I help you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The thought of other supernatural elements distracted Liz. “Are there ghosts at Pemberley as well?”
The former housekeeper added milk to the cups before pouring the tea. “There might be, but I’ve never seen one.”
Liz looked down at the carpet, unsure how to begin. She needed someone else to confirm William’s story. Mrs Reynolds had worked at the house for forty years and had been more welcoming than Mrs Ellis. Surely people employed at Pemberley would have noticed if William hadn’t aged. Liz imagined asking the question and receiving only strange looks in response. Had it all been a lie? Perhaps William really did suffer from delusions and the thing with the knife was no more than a clever trick involving retractable blades and fake blood.
Mrs Reynolds passed her a cup and offered the sugar bowl. “You know, I’ve lived here my whole life, as did my parents before me. In fact, my great great grandfather Thomas Annabel came to Pemberley with the Bingleys. My husband’s family have been here even longer. The Reynolds’ have worked at the house since the eighteenth century. I can’t remember anyone ever mentioning ghosts.”
Liz took a moment to formulate a question in her mind, one that wouldn’t sound too crazy. “What is your earliest memory of Mr. Bingley?”
The old woman sank back into her chair, the lines on her face deepening. “What did he tell you?”
“That he’s older than he looks. Tell me the truth. Is he … mentally unstable?”
Mrs Reynolds pursed her lips and shook her head.
“But … but the story he told me. It can’t be real. No one lives forever, as much as we might want them to.”
“That is generally true, but I’ve lived long enough to know there are exceptions to almost every rule. I understand how you are feeling. I might not have believed it either had I been in your position.” The corners of her mouth lifted, making her seem younger. “If he has told you about … about his life, then he must have reason to believe you are the one he’s been waiting for.”
“So he says.”
The old woman raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t believe him.”
“Yes … no …” Liz sighed. “I don’t know what to believe. It’s impossible.”
“Highly improbable, I agree, but not impossible. Tell me, dear, do you love him? Be honest with me.”
Liz sipped her tea. She’d debated the same point all night, always reaching the same conclusion. “Yes … yes I do.”
Mrs Reynolds leant over to pick a thick book off the shelves built into the alcove by the chimney breast. She brought it to rest on her lap. “You asked me about my memories of Mr. Bingley. It’s difficult to pick out one particular moment, because he’s always been a part of my life … a part of everyone’s life in the village.”
She passed the old book to Liz, who turned the heavy cover. The black and white photographs inside were all small, their white borders cut with wavy edges. The first page showed a smiling family; mother, father, a young boy and a baby wrapped in a long white shawl.
“These are my parents and my brother, taken on the day of my christening.” Mrs Reynolds drew Liz’s attention to the second picture on the page. William Bingley, still recognisable despite his slicked hair, held the baby in his arms. A third picture showed a smiling William with the baby’s parents, looking as proud as though it was his own child lying there. “Mr. Bingley is my godfather.”
Liz couldn’t tear her eyes from the photograph. After a moment Mrs Reynolds leaned across, flicking through the pages as though her fingers were dancing across time. When she opened the next page, they’d moved forward a quarter of a century. Liz recognised the hints of post war austerity in their surroundings, and the cut of their clothes, but some things never changed.
A slim and pretty young woman stood next to a serious looking man, a child wrapped in her arms. Liz couldn’t doubt the boy would grow up to be tall, not when she’d already met him at the house. “The baby is your son?”
Mrs Reynolds smiled. “Yes. He does take after his father, doesn’t he?”
The picture on the opposite page no longer had the strength to shock her. William looked so handsome with his shorter hair brushed back from his face. She assumed it had been taken in the summer, because he carried his jacket over one shoulder, leaving him in his shirt sleeves and braces. He seemed so relaxed, so happy.
“Was he godfather to your son as well?”
“Yes, but not just our family. Mr. Bingley is godfather to every child born on the estate. It’s a sort of tradition. He looks after us and we all take care of him in turn. Pemberley has been keeping his secret for a long time.”
Liz flicked through the album, seeing countless photographs of other baptisms and weddings. Most of the people held no interest—they were strangers to her—but occasionally she would catch a glimpse of one familiar face.
On one of the wedding groups Liz recognised a young Mrs Reynolds as the bridesmaid. William stood at the back, his height an advantage over everyone else. The blushing bride seemed familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d seen her before. She pointed to the image. “Who is this?”
Mrs Reynolds laughed. “I would have thought, considering her grudging reception, you might struggle to forget her.
“Mrs Ellis?”
“Yes, or Margery Harrison as we knew her back then.”
“But why is Mr. Bingley standing there? Isn’t that where the bride’s parents would stand?”
“You might say she’s a special case.”
“Special? In what way?”
The old woman shifted in her chair, making herself more comfortable. “In all the years Mr. Bingley has stood sponsor to the children of the estate, she was the only child who ever needed his help. Without him she wouldn’t even be alive.”
* * *
The dust swirled around the stable, tickling his nose as he forked fresh straw across the floor. Remus bowed his head over the partition and snorted.
“I know, I know. I’ll do yours next.”
As a child, Darcy had often stolen away to watch the stable hands as they mucked out the horses. Occasionally, they’d even let him do some of the work, as long as his father wasn’t at home. Human nature meant people always wanted what was out of reach, whether it be too high, or in his case, too low.
His parents had instilled their values and principles, but it wasn’t until he’d met Elizabeth that he had realised just how much they had failed to teach him. Marrying Elizabeth had marked a turning point in his life. The time they’d spent together had been an education surpassing anything he learned at school.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead onto his shirt sleeve. Honest sweat, borne of hard work. More satisfying than almost anything else.
Propping his fork against the wall, Darcy led Romulus back into his stall, settling him with a pat on the rump. The animal nickered and lipped some straw from the manger. He turned to Remus, slid back the bolt and opened the door before leading him to one of the many empty stalls. If it hadn’t been raining they’d be out in the paddock now, but neither liked getting wet.
He plunged his shovel into the pile of dirty straw and heaved it into the waiting wheelbarrow. Usually, physical activity like this would clear his mind but today he doubted anything could take his mind off Liz, or the decision she would make.
His plan had been to convince her to extend her visit until Sunday. Darcy had hoped that a couple more days would have matured their relationship enough that he could start dropping gentle hints about the long life he’d led and perhaps encourage her to remember a few more things of her own before he told her the truth. He’d been trying to avoid frightening her, and yet circumstances had forced them both down the opposite path.
Liz had left early that morning. He’d heard the engine start and watched through the window as she drove over the bridge and up the hill on the other side. Fearing the worst, he’d gone to check her room. Her suitcase lay on the bed, open but packed, the final decision not yet made. She would return but he wasn’t convinced she’d stay.
It had been a lot for her to take in, he knew. In all his dreams and imaginings he’d often played out his confession in his head, testing how it might sound to any rational, sane human being. Sometimes his imaginary Elizabeth had fallen into his arms, easily accepting his strange tale. Other times she’d run off screaming. Some Elizabeths had been calm, others hysterical.
But things never quite worked out how you imagined them. He hadn’t once dreamed of her fainting at the sight of his blood.
Darcy knew he could prove everything beyond doubt, but he needed Liz’s trust and, above all, he needed time. He’d spent too many years looking forward to finding Elizabeth again. To lose her so soon would be a bitter twist indeed.
Romulus gazed over the partition, his large brown eye rolling up to the ceiling.
“Do you have any ideas?” The animal huffed, shaking its mane. Darcy’s voice resolved into one of determination. “She can’t leave me. Not now.”
Twenty minutes later he walked out of the stables, welcoming the rain sharpened air in his lungs. Ignoring the drops splattering on his shirt he cocked his head as he recognised the sound of tires on the gravel.
Liz had come home.
Lengthening his stride, Darcy entered the house through the side door, hoping to catch her in the hall, but he found it empty. He paused, lifting his eyes to the first floor landing, wondering if she’d gone to retrieve her suitcase. Despite knowing this incarnation of Elizabeth for such a short time, he felt sure she wouldn’t appreciate his presence right now. She’d asked for time and that was the only thing he had in abundance.
He turned his back on the staircase and walked towards the salon, feeling helpless that he couldn’t do more. Although he was ready for the curse to end, it was no longer his primary motivation. The thought of not being able to see Liz every day of the rest of her life caused an uncomfortable spasm in his chest. Darcy didn’t know how he would cope if she rejected him now. It would be like losing Elizabeth all over again.
The doors were already open when he arrived. Walking through them he found Liz sat on the settee, waiting for him.
Darcy searched her eyes, wondering whether he’d be able to identify her decision from her expression. Her lips lifted into a slight smile as she dropped her gaze to her hands, but not before he’d seen the blush on her cheek.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat, wondering how he would begin to form the question he had to ask. He needed to ask. Not knowing was driving him insane.
“Liz?”
She looked up, flinching at the sound of his voice. “Yes, Will—?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “You aren’t William. What should I call you now?”
Darcy gave one side of his mouth permission to smile. “I’ll answer to anything. I’ve been William Bingley for almost twenty years.” The fact that she wasn’t ready to run screaming from the house he took as a positive sign.
Liz stood, her attention caught by some of the photographs on the sideboard. She picked one up, studying it for a moment before returning the frame to its place.
He crossed the room to stand by her side. His fingers itched to touch her but he folded them behind his back, not wanting to frighten her away.
“Who are all these children?”
Seeing the way she’d smiled as she had asked the question, he suspected she already knew. He pointed to each picture in turn, smiling at their youthful faces as he named them. None of them were children anymore. He’d attended some of their funerals.
From the moment he’d married, Darcy had wanted children. Lots of them … a whole nursery full. When none had arrived he’d accepted the fact with as much grace as he could muster, while hoping things would one day change.
Committing himself to the children of Pemberley had served a dual purpose. It had tied the tenants and other families to the estate, binding them with both loyalty and love to keep his dark secret from the outside world. However, he had also benefitted, giving him something to care about and live for during the desolate years when he’d despaired of ever finding Elizabeth again.
“You are Godfather to them all.”
He knew then she’d been to the village, probably to see Violet. “Who else was more suited for the role? At least I knew I would always be there for them.”
“Mrs Reynolds mentioned Mrs Ellis.” She left the words hanging in the silence. Although she hadn’t couched her words in the form of a question, Liz nonetheless wanted to know.
It took a moment to relax his jaw. The memories of that night still had the power to hurt him, even after all this time. “Margery’s parents died and I took her in.”
“Yes, that’s what Mrs Reynolds said.” Liz paused as her eyes lifted to meet his. “She also told me you saved her.” When he didn’t reply, she grabbed his arm. “You saved her life.”
His shoulders scrunched into a half shrug and he pulled away, too embarrassed to admit his painful failure. “I did nothing special.” Darcy’s heart began to pound. Memories of the thick black smoke billowing out of the broken doors and smashed glass almost made him choke. He walked away to stand in front of the window, looking out over the murky sky as though the sight alone would clear his lungs of the stench of death.
Liz followed him, hands on her hips, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Nothing special? You ran into a burning building.”
He took in a breath, blowing it out in a sharp burst. No heat, no cinders, just old memories. “Not soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“There were eleven people in that house, Liz. Eleven.” He rubbed his eyes but couldn’t remove the image of the ten coffins lined up outside the church. “An entire family. I could have saved them all if I’d arrived earlier.”
“Mrs Reynolds said you got there as soon as you heard.”
“But still too late. What’s the point of being like this if you can’t help when people really need you?”
“You mustn’t blame yourself.”
He felt the familiar heat building in his gut, like stinging bile. “Who else should I blame? The boy who ran all the way from the village because he didn’t have a horse? The men and women who carried buckets of water from the duck pond? The Harrisons were my responsibility. I should have made sure everyone could contact me in an emergency. I could have paid for a telephone exchange in the village, or built a water tank, but I didn’t think…”
“Living for hundreds of years doesn’t mean you can see into the future.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “You’re not omnipotent, just really old. You couldn’t have foreseen the fire or its consequences. Mrs Reynolds said you rode to the gatehouse as soon as you heard and crashed through the door without a second’s thought, despite the house being well alight.”
“Violet was a child herself when that happened. She can’t remember that far back.”
“No, but her parents could. Those living in the village knew you did everything you could. She said you were badly burned.”
Darcy clenched his jaw. For a moment he was back in the house, the shirt burning on his back, his skin singed and blackened and his hair alight. He’d sloughed the blistered skin away, leaving healthy, scar-free tissue behind. The bodies he’d helped to carry from the burnt out shell had not been so lucky. “Only for a few minutes.”
“And you pulled the baby from the smoke and made her breathe again.”
Hearing Margery cry, seeing the tears run down her tiny smudged face, had been one of the few worthwhile events of his existence. Still, it had been nothing more than instinct. “The army trained me in first aid.”
Liz’s hands felt hot on his skin as she placed them on either side of his face and pulled him towards her, her expression severe. “Stop downplaying it. You’re a hero.”
He spat out the truth. “No, I’m a freak. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“If you hadn’t been, Mrs Ellis wouldn’t be here either. You brought her to Pemberley and treated her like your own daughter. I knew she cared for you but it’s only today that I understood why she’s so protective. You’re like a father to her, the only family she’s ever known.” Liz released him, the fingers of one hand running through his hair. “You’re amazing.”
His heart missed a beat and he caught his breath hoping it would start again. When the steady thump resumed he closed his eyes, concentrating on her lingering touch. He wanted more. “So are you.”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “Me? I’m nothing. I’ve never saved anyone’s life or looked after so many people.”
Darcy took her hand in his, holding it to his chest. “Never say that. You aren’t nothing. Don’t you understand? You might not be physically saving my life but I need you as much as I need oxygen to breathe and water to drink. I’ve been waiting all this time, hoping the gypsy’s words were true. Before your letter came I was almost ready for giving up. I’ve been on my own too long.”
Liz raised her eyes to meet his. “I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to live like this for almost two hundred years.”
“Then you believe me?”
“After seeing that trick with the knife and the photographs in Mrs Reynolds’ album, I can’t deny it any more.” She withdrew her hand, turning away. “There’s only one bit I still cannot accept. You must know I’m not really Elizabeth.”
“I know it sounds impossible but I can’t help that, any more than I can help loving you.” William spun her around, lifting her chin. “It’s the truth. I’ve known it from the moment we first met. I can see it’s you … here, in your eyes.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And I can feel it in here. You were like a star, hanging high up out of my reach. Now I don’t feel alone any more, I feel alive.”
William stared into her blue eyes, willing her to see or feel that same spark of recognition that had left him speechless the first morning they’d met. If she could only open her mind and accept the possibility then she would recognise the truth as he had.
Liz frowned. “But … but if I was really Elizabeth, wouldn’t my being here end the curse and allow you to age again?”
“I hope so, yes.”
“But that hasn’t happened yet or you would have carried on bleeding when you stabbed yourself.” She turned away, looking down at the floor. “That proves I can’t be Elizabeth.”
“No, you’re not Elizabeth, you’re Liz, but you have an important part of Elizabeth inside you. You have her soul. That’s the part that is so familiar to me.”
“You don’t know how much I wish that were true. It would explain how I can feel so strongly about someone I’ve only just met. But what if you’re wrong and this curse doesn’t end?”
William reached out, enfolding her in his arms as he kissed her forehead. “Regardless of what happens I love you for who you are now, not who you were in a previous life. Even if nothing changed and I was stuck this way for another two hundred years, I would still want us to be together, no matter what.”
Liz looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He dropped his head, drawn to her lips. Every time he kissed her it felt like coming home. This time, however, he sensed a reticence. She was holding part of herself back and he understood why.
“You are, and always have been, my soul mate … the missing part of me. The one person that fills this void in my life. Together, we complete each other. I know you don’t believe it yet, but there is one way I can prove it to you.”
Chapter fourteen
William pulled Liz across the room to his favourite armchair and handed her two hardback textbooks off a small pile nearby. One was a study of past lives. The other described the theories and practice of hypnotic regression.
“How will these help?”
He pushed his fingers though his hair. “For more than a hundred years I’ve been imagining having exactly the conversation we’ve just had. I thought I might have trouble convincing you of our connection. You won’t truly believe it until you remember for yourself.”
The jumbled confusion of hope and fear spun around Liz like planets orbiting their star, tugging on her conscience. She wanted so much to be a part of William’s life and wondered how he would feel when he discovered she wasn’t the one he’d been searching for after all. He’d said he wanted her regardless, but he seemed convinced there was some mystic link between her and his former wife. Would he still want her if she proved him wrong? She didn’t think she could leave him now. “I can’t remember something I’ve never experienced.”
“But a part of you has been with me before and it’s those memories we can unlock. When I read about the theory of regression in 1959 I realised how I could apply it to this situation. I went to London, studied the subject, then came back and practiced on some of my staff. It seems to work as long as you’re open to the experience. One of my gardeners turned out to be a Roman soldier with Hadrian’s army and our old cook recalled life as a climbing boy during Victoria’s reign. All I need to do is relax part of your conscious so I can direct your subconscious memories back to the point when we were together.”
Liz perched on the edge of the chair, her hands resting on her knees as she glanced at William—her husband in a former life, or so he believed. Her soul mate. His explanation made sense when she thought about how quickly she’d become attracted to him. There was something inevitable about her feelings for him, as though her life had been marking time until they’d met. “I’m willing to give it a try. Just tell me what I have to do.”
“You need to relax, so sit or lie in whatever position is most comfortable.”
Liz kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up onto the seat of the sofa. William reached for a cushion, placing it under her head. His hand brushed against her shoulder, sending another shiver down her spine.
“Are you cold?”
How could she tell him that it was his touch, rather than her temperature, that affected her so? “No, I’m fine,” she lied. “What happens next?”
“I’m going to put you into a relaxed state, a light hypnosis. You’ll still be aware of everything around you. Different people experience regression in different ways. Some hear voices or smells, while others only visualise events or feel emotions. If you want me to stop at any point just let me know. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re sure.” He sat in one of the armchairs, about four feet away. “Now close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Focus on pulling the air deep into your lungs. I want you to relax your body. Let yourself float. Release the tension in every limb. Start with your toes and work upwards, relaxing every single muscle.”
She listened to his soft, slow voice and concentrated on her feet, visualising them floating. Her attention moved to her legs, her arms and her torso, feeling the weight lifting as William continued his soothing litany of words. After a few minutes she’d lost all sense of time, seeming to float in a void of nothingness.
“Now, imagine yourself in a garden. You’re lying on the soft grass and you can hear the birds singing in the trees. Above you, the sky is blue and you are imagining pictures in the fluffy white clouds.”
Although Liz knew she was still lying on the sofa, somehow she could also picture the garden in her mind, only it wasn’t just any garden. She lay on Pemberley’s south side lawn where the grass stretched down to the lake. Wood pigeons and doves cooed from the branches of the Spanish chestnuts. Somewhere a honeybee buzzed lazily around the daisies growing in the grass.
William sounded as though he was calling to her from a distance. “I’m going to count down from ten and as I count you will move backwards in time to the point when you last knew me. Imagine you are flying, hovering suspended in the air. In front of you is your past. I want you to move towards it. Ten … nine … eight …”
As William continued to count Liz pushed herself forward. The cold whistled past her cheeks as the clouds melted. She didn’t look down, just kept her attention on the horizon.
“… three … two … one. You are no longer moving. You’re on solid ground now. What can you see?”
Rough mud walls stood inches from her face. Turning around she found men in uniform on either side of her. They laughed and talked, their mute voices reminding her of a silent movie. At that moment, Liz understood who and what she was, as though someone had slotted the information into her brain, like a video tape. “I’m in the trenches. It’s the Somme,” she whispered.
“What year?”
“Nineteen sixteen. The beginning of July.”
“What’s your name?”
The answer came unbidden to her lips. “Johnny. Johnny Greeves. Private, 359722, second Lincolnshire regiment. We’re just about to go over the top. I’m scared.” Her reflection in the bayonet caught Liz’s attention. She saw a distorted image in khaki with short black hair and a thin moustache. Studying her companions in the trench, Liz gasped as she recognised the soldier leaning against the wall next to her. “You! Oh God, you’re there as well.” She watched as William passed Johnny a cigarette before rolling another for himself. “You haven’t changed at all. We’re … we’re friends. You took me under your wing when I first arrived in France, looking after me. You’re talking to me but I can’t hear what you’re saying. I think you’re giving me advice for the upcoming battle, telling me to stay behind you.”
The image in Liz’s head changed. Now they were crossing no man’s land and she could feel the debilitating fear as they ran across the pock-marked sea of mud and grass. William went ahead, his arm held in front of her like a shield. It didn’t work. The bullets from the machine gun emplacements behind enemy lines ripped across her stomach, leaving a scorching trail of fire behind. She fell to her knees, just one stalk of wheat among many, scythed to the ground, the pain unbearable.
Liz lay in the mud, her eyes unfocussed as her blood soaked into the French soil. The battle continued as her comrades fell around her. They’d all known it for a lost cause.
William, his uniform blackened and mud-splattered, appeared above her cradling her head in his arms. Tears streaked his dirty face as he pressed down on her wounds, trying to staunch the blood. As she felt the life draining from her body William leaned down, pressing a single kiss to Johnny’s forehead.
A tear ran from the corner of one eye as she described the scene. She heard William’s quiet laugh.
“You don’t know how relieved I am to know that was you. I thought it might be but I’d always wondered.”
The last part came out as a whisper, but with her eyes closed all her other senses seemed heightened. “You loved me, even then?”
“I don’t know. I felt protective towards the new recruit … very protective. I couldn’t deny there was something between us, though. Perhaps, if John hadn’t died …” He didn’t need to say any more. Liz had sensed his interest and the confusion that had accompanied it.
After a moment, William’s voice came again from the darkness, stronger this time. “Lift yourself above the battlefield, Liz. It’s time to move on. Let’s go further back...”—his words seemed lighter now, happier—“… back to the moment you first fell in love with me. Ten … nine … eight …”
This time, Liz knew what to expect and she allowed her subconscious mind to fly through her past.
“… two … one. Where are you now?”
Liz found herself in a room lined with portraits. Although the arrangement of the pictures and furniture were different, Pemberley’s gallery hadn’t changed. Stopping in front of one canvas she lifted her eyes to gaze up at it.
The picture was one she recognised from the private collection she’d viewed upstairs. The Master of Pemberley. Fitzwilliam Darcy, wearing cream breeches and a white shirt with a waistcoat and dark green frock coat over the top. Not surprising, then, that it bore such a striking resemblance to the William she had come to know. She recognised his smile, having seen it often during the last week.
But who was she? The name, whispering in her mind, bore all the familiarity of frequent use. Of course she’d recognise it. It was the name she’d been born with … Elizabeth Bennet.
An older woman dressed in brown, her grey hair poking from beneath a lace cap, began speaking to her. Although Liz couldn’t hear the words, she felt her memories of the conversation were just out of reach. Her stomach tingled, as though merely being in the presence of the picture on that day had made her happy. She’d recalled Mr. Darcy with a fondness that startled her. His house and his position in the neighbourhood had impressed her, but not in a mercenary way. His housekeeper had painted a glowing picture of an excellent man. On that day she’d remembered the feelings he’d had for her and had been grateful for them.
That was the moment when she’d realised, not only how important he was, but how important his good opinion was to her.
“It’s your housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds. Wait, another Mrs Reynolds?”
“The Reynolds family has been at Pemberley a long time. What is she doing?”
“She’s showing me around. I’m not alone. Are they my parents? No … no, my aunt and uncle. Yes, I can see them now. We came to view the house. When I heard they wanted to come here, I was almost too embarrassed to join them, but I’m glad I did. It’s shown me a side of you I’d never imagined. My first sight of Pemberley almost took my breath away.” The scene changed. “Oh, now we’re going to walk around the gardens, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve learned things I never expected to hear. You are a far better man than I realised. I feel as though someone has removed a blindfold from my eyes and I can see you clearly now.”
She gasped. “Oh, you’re here! No more than twenty yards away. You’ve appeared out of nowhere. I didn’t expect to meet you and … oh God, I’m mortified.”
“I remember” William whispered. “You were the last person I expected to find here that day.”
Liz cringed as she experienced all the emotions released from her subconscious. “I feel as though I want the earth to open up and swallow me, but you’re in front of me now and I don’t know where to look. My heart is beating so quickly I’m surprised you can’t hear it.”
“I had no idea you felt that way, but my own confusion was too great for me to notice. I have never been as bereft of speech as I was that day. It took a moment for me to collect myself and address you, but even now I can’t remember what I said. I might not have been composed but I believe I was civil at least.”
Although immersed in the memory, Liz could still view the scene with a certain detachment. “I can barely lift my eyes to look at you. I feel sure you will ask us to leave—this has to be one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life—but you’re asking after my family and my sisters. You … you look so distracted. It can’t be because of me. Ah, you’re leaving now, going into the house. I’m struggling not to turn, to watch you every step of the way.”
“I wish I’d seen that.”
“My aunt has started talking, asking me questions, but I feel overpowered by such shame and vexation. I don’t know how you feel about me being here. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to throw myself in your way on purpose.”
Liz heard muffled footsteps and felt the cushions of the sofa dip as he sat by her side. “Shhh, relax. I would never think that.”
William’s calming words made Liz realise how agitated she’d become. Her breath came in quick pants and her fingers had curled into a fist. “You know, I hate going places when people aren’t expecting me. I always like to know I’ve had a proper invitation. I wonder if this is where the anxiety comes from.”
He took her hand, opening her fingers before lacing them with his. “It’s possible. Through regression many people discover they can identify a past event as the root of a present problem, like unexplained fears and unusual dreams.” William brushed a stray hair back from her forehead. “Let’s move on to more cheerful times. Think of your happiest moment during our life together. I want you to picture it.”
This time he had no need to count. The image in Liz’s mind changed like the turning of a page. She looked around at the scene before her. “I’m in a room. I don’t recognise it.” Liz moved to the tall window, watching horse-drawn carriages roll up and down the street below. The house sat on one side of a square. It had a garden in the middle surrounded by iron railings. She could see children playing on the grass, while nursemaids stood chatting nearby. Women promenading past the house wore long dresses, and carried parasols to shield them from the sun.
Words echoed in her head and she repeated them. “Grosvenor Square.”
“What year?”
She knew the answer without a doubt. “Eighteen sixteen. I’m waiting for someone.” Liz let her gaze wander around the room. A large mirror hung on one wall and she drifted over to look more closely. The woman staring back at her seemed familiar. The shape of her face, her dark expressive eyes and rich brown curls parted on her forehead. She’d seen the same features in a portrait upstairs.
Elizabeth Darcy.
A starched young man entered the room and bowed. He wore a black coat with gold braiding and a short white wig, the kind barristers still wore in court. Some sort of servant, Liz thought.
Behind him were two more people she recognised from the paintings at Pemberley. A woman with blonde hair and a kind face walked into the room and embraced her. The man entering behind her smiled. His short curly hair looked just as she remembered it from the pictures.
William’s voice sounded loud in the silence. “What do you see, Lizzy?”
More tears spilled down her face, but they were tears of happiness now. She didn’t need to hear words to feel the love the two sisters shared for each other. “Jane and Charles are here. She’s so beautiful.”
As Liz studied the young woman who had been her sister and best friend, she felt a surprising flutter low inside her stomach, as though a butterfly was flapping its wings. Her hands crossed protectively across her abdomen. Elizabeth Darcy was pregnant, and this was the first time she had felt her child move within her.
Feeling the wonder and sheer joy that it could happen during Jane’s visit, Liz wasn’t at all surprised that this would be her happiest memory. How could anything else compare?
Then the door opened again, and this time Liz’s heart stuttered as William entered the room. His hair was slightly shorter, his clothes immaculate, and he carried himself with grace and nobility like an actor on a stage. She wished she could hear his voice as he greeted their visitors, but sound wasn’t necessary to interpret the smile on his face when he looked into her eyes. He had always loved her.
“Fitzwilliam.” Liz realised she wasn’t just calling to the man she could see, but the one who sat next to her.
“Yes, my love?”
“You’ve hardly changed. You’re just as beautiful now as you’ve always been.”
Although she kept her eyes closed, she heard the smile in his voice. “I wanted you to have something recognisable to come home to.”
The scene continued to play out as Elizabeth Darcy told her husband about the miracle that had just occurred. The rapture in his expression said everything about the love he held for her.
She’d been wrong before. Seeing her husband so delighted by the news of their child’s first movement … that had been her happiest moment.
The image in front of her changed again. Now they lay in each others arms, lost in the aftermath of their passion, their very souls intertwined. A marriage of true minds. It all made perfect sense to her now. The Bancroft print, the longing for a place she had never been to, how quickly she had fallen in love with William.
Pemberley was her home and William the only man she had ever loved.
“Are you ready to come back now?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “I’m ready.” Liz imagined herself floating again, rising up into the clouds, but this time all she could think of was being back with William at present-day Pemberley. The wind whipped past her face, blowing her hair, but she ignored the sensations, concentrating on her destination.
In the distance, William’s voice slowly counted down from ten. When he reached one, Liz opened her eyes to look at him. She gasped as she saw him clearly for the first time.
How had she not noticed it before? It was as though Liz had been seeing the world in black and white and now life was presenting itself in rich, vibrant colours. Even his eyes were different. There was a depth and intensity to them, a familiarity. A sense of recognition that her conscious mind had locked away, unable to break through that final barrier until William had provided the key.
Liz reached up to run her finger along the line of his brow. “There you are.”
He didn’t answer, except to gather her in his arms. As they kissed Liz felt those last few wisps of doubt melt away. They were together, as fate had decided centuries before. For a few moments they were both lost in their happy reunion, neither wanting to separate.
Then William pulled back, just far enough to whisper against her lips. “I’ve missed you. You don’t know how much.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to wait, but I’m so glad you did.”
William slid off the seat and onto his knees, cradling her face in his hands. “I still love you as much as I ever did, and I want you back … I want my wife back. Marry me again, Lizzy.”
Chapter fifteen
In the moments following his proposal, a small part of Liz’s rational mind screamed out that she couldn’t marry William when she’d known him less than a week. The rest of her craved him: his smell, his kiss, his touch. She tried to imagine the rest of her life without him but the thought repelled her. “Yes, of course.”
A smile lit up his face. “Next week?”
She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back so she could focus on him as the heavy weight of reality settled around her like a thick winter coat. “As much as I’d like to, we can’t get married just like that. Weddings take ages to plan. Why are you in such a hurry?”
William returned to her side, sliding his arm along the back of the sofa before resting it on her shoulder. “Well, part of it comes back to the reason the knife wound healed. Your presence should have ended the curse but it didn’t, so your homecoming alone isn’t enough. The gypsy didn’t specify the terms of the curse, and at the time I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, but I’m guessing I need to get my life back to how it was in 1817 and back then I was a married man.”
“That sort of makes sense. You said part? What’s the other reason?”
He looked into her eyes as his fingers slipped beneath the neck of her t-shirt, caressing her skin. “Because I need you as my wife … in every sense of the word.”
Liz felt the heat in her face as she realised the significance of his comment. “But surely we don’t have to be married to—”
His grip on her shoulder tightened. “No! Absolutely not. I will not casually ruin your reputation for my personal gratification.”
“This isn’t the Victorian age, William. Everyone else does it.”
“I am not everyone, and neither are you. Besides, my father taught me to respect women. The idea of stealing your … innocence, outside the bonds of marriage, is abhorrent to me.”
“You’re serious.”
“I’m very serious. I love you, more than I ever expected. Even though you share Elizabeth’s soul, I wasn’t sure that alone would be enough. For many years I waited, hoping to find a carbon copy, some sort of twin who would look and act just like she did. I never dreamed I could feel anything like the passion I felt for Elizabeth with someone whose features were so different. But I’ve realised that our connection was never purely physical. There has always been a deeper, more spiritual link that has nothing to do with a person’s outer shell. I love all of you, I would lay my life down for you, and because of this I have to do things right. Do you understand?”
Liz looked into his earnest eyes. William Bingley had always seemed so modern, but time had not diminished many of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s old fashioned notions. The fact he wanted to do things the traditional way appealed to her. “Yes, I do and I love you all the more for it. But even so, we can’t get married next week. Don’t you have to book a church or something?”
“There are advantages to being the godfather to so many children, particularly when they grow up to take holy orders. I think you’ll find the Reverend Phillips quite amenable to the idea.”
“That’s convenient.”
He grinned. “Of course, the private ceremony he performs will not be legal under current civil law. As Fitzwilliam Darcy I do not technically exist in the current government’s computer system, but it will be valid in the eyes of God and that is what matters most. We can arrange a second, public wedding for William Bingley that you can invite all your friends and family to, as large and as lavish as you wish.”
“I don’t have a big family. It’s just Amanda and Michelle, plus a couple of aunts and uncles I’ve not seen or heard from since my dad died.”
“Still, they’re family and you should tell your stepmother you’re getting married.”
“Why? She never told me. Amanda talked my dad into eloping instead. They even did the whole Gretna tourist thing in the old blacksmith’s shop over the anvil. I was staying with my Aunt Rose while they went on a week’s walking holiday in the Lake District. When they came back I had a stepmother.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
William wrapped his free arm around her. “I imagine their marriage was an unpleasant shock to you.”
Liz nodded her head, still confused by her father’s choice of wife. “They had so little in common, each having different interests and hobbies. The only things that bound them together were his love and his money. She basked in dad’s adoration, although the only time I ever heard her say she loved him back was when he bought her something.”
“Still, we should inform her we’re getting married. Family is important.”
Liz laid her head against William’s chest as she imagined how Amanda would take the news. “You do realise she’ll think I’m pregnant.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course she wouldn’t think that.”
“You don’t know her. It’ll be the first thing that pops into that empty head of hers … trust me.”
He gave her a comforting squeeze then took her hand. “Forget Amanda for a minute. She’s not worth getting upset about. I have something that will take your mind off your family issues.” He stood up and walked Liz towards the library door. “There’s something I need to give you.” William pushed the doors open and flicked a switch to his right.
Liz blinked as hidden lights above the book cases lit up the painted ceiling, brightening the dark room. “You want to give me a book?”
He walked across to the nearest column of shelves. “No, not a book.”
She heard a click and the whole shelf swung forward like a door, revealing a safe behind it. “Hey, that wasn’t on those blueprints.”
“There are a couple of things the plans neglected to include. I had them drawn up especially for the electrical contractors.”
“Don’t tell me, one of your godsons was a draughtsman?”
“Still is. He has a very successful practice in Manchester.” Dialling the combination, he opened the safe and brought out a battered black box, about the size of three stacked telephone directories, which he placed on his writing desk. There were a dozen small cases inside of different sizes and colours. William chose one nestled in the corner and opened it, offering it to Liz.
The light bounced off the facets of the diamond, sending sparkling reflections dancing across the leather bindings. She’d never dreamed of wearing anything a quarter of the size. “It’s beautiful—”
“I’m happy to hear that.” William plucked it from the case and took her left hand.
Liz pulled away. “But I can’t accept it. Not a family heirloom. It wouldn’t feel right.”
His grip on her fingers felt a little firmer the second time as he slipped the ring on her third finger. “You would reject a personal bequest in your favour? This is rightfully your property.”
“It can’t be.”
“It belonged to Jane and she gave it to me just before she died to keep for you. I think she hoped you might come back while she was alive. That thought kept her going after Charles passed on. She knew I’d given Elizabeth my mother’s engagement ring and she was wearing it when we buried her. Jane wanted you to have hers. It’s not as old, but quite pretty don’t you think?”
Liz wanted the ring, but she’d never had much experience accepting gifts. “Well yes, but—”
William raised her hand and pressed a kiss on the back of her fingers. “And you wouldn’t want to refuse your sister’s dying wish.”
“Of course not, but I—”
He turned her hand over, running his lips across the inside of her wrist. The whisper of his breath against her skin made her heart dance. “It suits the shape of your fingers, almost as though it was made for you.”
“I couldn’t poss—”
His mouth came down upon hers, stifling further protest as he kissed her into submission.
* * *
Liz bent her left hand into a fist. The gold band felt warm but unyielding against her skin, reminding her a little of William. His proposal had been more than she’d ever dreamed of, and she couldn’t imagine herself being happier, but in the matter of the engagement ring he would not budge. She smiled as she remembered the efforts he’d made persuading her to accept the precious heirloom. She would never have chosen something like this herself. Not because she didn’t like the ring—it was beautiful—but because she’d spent so long being careful with money her natural reaction would have been to choose something more modest. Cheaper.
The thought that Jane Bingley had given William the diamond ring, in the hope that one day in the future he might bestow it upon someone who held Elizabeth’s memories, left her with mixed feelings; pleasure that she had something so personal to remember her once sister, combined with a sense of dread that she might yet wake up to find this had all been some disturbing dream. She wasn’t sure she deserved such good fortune.
She looked around her bedroom. Her suitcase was back in the wardrobe and some of her things remained scattered on the dressing table. She’d expected to return to London today with her research complete, but nothing had turned out quite as she’d expected. Her departure this morning was of a temporary nature. If everything went to plan she would be back at Pemberley before the end of the week.
Liz grabbed her handbag and the car keys and started down the hallway to the top of the stairs. She paused against the banister as, below in the hall, Mr. Reynolds eased a calf length coat over William’s shoulders. She still marvelled at the fact that such a glorious specimen of manhood actually wanted her above all others. “Are you going somewhere?”
William turned to watch her walk down the stairs. “I’m coming with you.”
The imposing butler brushed a speck of lint from his master’s shoulder and then cleared his throat.
“Yes, John?”
“May I take this opportunity to offer my congratulations to Miss Bennett, sir?” Mr. Reynolds looked at Liz, an almost smile on his face. “The other members of staff and I were all very pleased to hear the news of your engagement, Miss. We hope you will be happy here.” He glanced at his master. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?”
“No, I think that’s everything. Is my bag in the car?”
“Yes, sir. Everything is ready, just as you instructed.” He dropped a set of keys in William’s hand.
William thanked him and turned his attention back to Liz as he pulled on a pair of leather driving gloves.
“I thought we agreed you’d come to fetch me, once I’d sorted out my job and given notice on my flat?”
He grabbed the lapels of her jacket and pulled her closer. “It wasn’t as easy to let you leave as I thought. Besides, I want to speak to Amanda and I’d rather do it soon.”
Liz dreaded the thought of introducing William to her stepmother. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I know you’re over twenty-one but I cannot marry you without at least telling her of our plans. I’ll feel more comfortable once I have her blessing.”
“She won’t care, honestly. You’re not going to mention your … condition, are you?”
“You speak about my immortality like it’s some kind of embarrassing disease. Of course I won’t say anything to her. It has no bearing on the matter. However, if it makes you more comfortable we’ll work out tonight what we’re going to say then visit her tomorrow.”
It seemed to Liz that the drive from Derbyshire took even longer than it had the previous Sunday. Despite singing along to the radio, she couldn’t ignore William’s car following behind. It was strange, seeing him in her rear view mirror. It reminded her of the detectives on TV, tailing the bad guy.
Of course, if William had been a detective he would’ve probably had a classic car, like Morse or Bergerac. She smiled at the reflection of the Toyota Prius. Yes, it was black, and almost any car looked good in black, but had she spent time thinking about it, she would have probably expected the Master of Pemberley to drive an old Jaguar or Bentley.
He’d noticed her sideways glances as they shared a farewell kiss, chuckling at her reaction.
“Think about it,” he’d said, as though explaining to a child why two and two made four. “Half the world’s problems today stem from the fact that the general population assume the environment is going to be someone else’s problem. Nuclear waste? Dump it in the sea. The melting of the polar ice caps? Propaganda from eco crazies. Finite oil and gas resources? Everyone assumes they won’t be around long enough for it to become their problem, so they’re happy to leave it for their children to deal with. I, on the other hand, have never had that luxury. I had to think about the future, because I knew I might live to see it, and that was a frightening prospect.”
Liz still couldn’t come to terms with the concept of a never-ending life, even when the only known example wrapped his arms around her. All the things he’d seen and done, the inventions he’d embraced. William was probably the most adaptable person she’d ever known.
She was still mulling over this thought when she arrived at her friend’s to drop the car off. Liz parked on the drive and rang the doorbell.
Natalie opened the door, her black curls bouncing as she threw her arms around Liz’s shoulders. “You made it! Come on in.”
“Sorry. I’d love to stay and chat, but I can’t.”
Her shoulders dropped. “But I’ve hardly spoken to you all week. I want to hear more about the mysterious Pemberley. Did it look like the picture? Was it everything you’d hoped for? Don’t make me wait until Monday. Spill the beans, Girl, just for five minutes.”
Liz smiled as memories from the previous week ran through her head. “Pemberley is beautiful, more than I ever expected. I don’t think I could do it justice in five hours, let alone five minutes.”
“Come on,” Natalie begged, tugging on her sleeve. “You can stay for half an hour, can’t you? I’ll put the kettle on, you can tell me what you’ve been doing, and I’ll drop you off at home to save you catching the bus.”
“I already have a ride home.” She glanced behind. The Prius now waited by the pavement.
Her friend followed Liz’s gaze. “Nice car. Who does it belong to?”
Liz’s throat dried as William climbed out and walked towards them. Having not seen him for the last three and a half hours—except for the occasional glimpses through her rear-view mirror—his classical beauty struck her anew. She swallowed, wondering what her friend would think. “Nat, this is William. William, this is my good friend, Natalie, who was kind enough to lend me her car for the week.”
He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Natalie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She blinked, looked at Liz and then glanced back at William again. “Er … yes, nice to meet you too.”
Fortunately, William didn’t seem to notice her distraction, or perhaps he assumed she always behaved like that. Whatever the reason he smiled at Liz, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Her friend followed William’s retreating figure down the drive until Liz waved a hand in front of her face. “Should I fetch a bucket?”
Nat grinned, unrepentant. “That bad, huh?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Do they all look like that in Derbyshire?”
Liz laughed, remembering the Dawson brothers. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Shame.” She heard her friend sigh. “So you go out into the middle of nowhere to visit some old guy and his house, and you ended up with … that? Some girls have all the luck.”
“Nat, William is Mr. Bingley.”
“No way!”
“It’s true.” Liz caught her lip between her teeth and sighed, knowing it was better to pull the plaster off quickly. “And there’s something else you need to know.”
“Don’t tell me. You slept with him? Wow.”
“God, no. Nothing like that. William’s a real gentleman.”
“And a mighty fine one from what I saw. Either that or he’s gay. The best looking ones always are.”
Liz’s gaze drifted back to William’s car, hoping he wasn’t going to come to his senses and change his mind. She cleared her throat. If there was anyone she wanted to tell, it was Natalie. “I can promise you he’s not gay. Actually, we’re … we’re engaged.”
For the second time that morning, her usually imperturbable friend was lost for words. She spluttered, gasped and shook her head. “But … but you were there for less than a week. You hardly know him. Are you mad?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “There’s no way I can explain it to you. Have you never met a guy where everything felt right? As though you were meant to be together?”
Natalie growled. “Would I still be single if I had?”
“Well, that’s how it felt with William.” Liz would have loved to say more, to explain just how amazing he was, but knew that was impossible. She couldn’t tell anyone the truth, even her closest friend.
“But marriage? What’s wrong with living in sin like everyone else? Just for a few months, see if you like it. You know, try before you buy. I can recommend it. Don’t you remember Nigel? He was an absolute lamb when we dated, but turned into a right miserable sod before he’d been here a month. And don’t get me started about the toilet lid.”
Liz laughed, remembering poor Nigel’s foibles very well. “William’s kind of … old fashioned. I think the idea of us living together without being man and wife would horrify him.”
“Don’t tell me, he wants a virgin bride, right?”
She dropped her eyes to the tarmac, chewing on her lip.
Natalie’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I think it’s nice. It’ll make it special.”
“God, Liz, for your sake I hope so.”
William turned over the ignition, letting the car idle by the pavement—an action that probably went against the grain considering his thoughts on the environment.
“Wow. He’s missing you already.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. He’s probably watching the clock. William knows we have a lot to talk about tonight. We need to work out what I’m going to say to Amanda tomorrow.”
“That’ll be a laugh, at least. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell her. Didn’t she say you would never get married because no one would want you?”
“Yeah, more than once.”
“And you’re going to end up as Lady of the Manor, living in a beautiful stately home with Mr. Tall, Dark and Gorgeous. If that’s not hitting the jackpot, I don’t know what is.” Natalie reached out, pulling Liz into another hug. “God, Girl, you deserve it all. After everything that bitch has put you through. I hope you rub her face in it; her and that snotty-nosed step sister of yours.”
~~<>@<>~~
Authors note:
Anyone who has read 'Driven to Distraction' knows I take my cars very seriously. I spent a long time choosing a car for Darcy, a model that was recognised worldwide as an ecologically friendly substitute. It's been in the story for more than six months. Following Toyota's recent well-publicised safety issues I did consider changing the Prius to something else, but I couldn't find anything that was as well known as the Prius, so I decided to leave this chapter as I'd originally written it. Hopefully this story will last longer than their problems.
~~<>@<>~~
Chapter sixteen
Darcy watched Liz bid her friend farewell, but he didn’t relax until she settled into the passenger seat beside him.
It had been a long drive down to London, following Liz as she returned Natalie’s car. A momentary slip in concentration in the fast moving traffic could have snatched her out of his grasp, but they’d arrived without incident. He leaned over the handbrake, his hand caressing her face as he kissed her.
“What was that for?”
“I missed you.”
Liz laughed. “That’s what Nat said but I didn’t believe her.”
“You’ll have to learn to believe. Did you tell Natalie your good news?”
She blushed and looked down. “I mentioned I’d acquired a fiancé while I’d been gone, but I haven’t told her about work yet.”
He knew why. Her employment was the one thing Liz was being stubborn about. “You think I’m being old-fashioned because I don’t want my wife to work. You have to remember I’ve been on my own for too long and I want to spend as much time with you as I can. I don’t want to waste another moment.”
“Being with you doesn’t stop me earning money, William.”
Darcy sat back. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Money isn’t the issue. Even if I never earned another penny I think I can afford to keep a wife in the manner to which she is accustomed … or in your case far better.”
“And I’m a twenty first century girl who is used to paying her own way. Surely we can find some middle ground here.”
Her petulant tone made him smile. He was willing to relent for the moment to keep her happy. “I’ll think about it.”
They set off towards Pimlico, heading for Liz’s flat. Although it was only five miles away they ended up driving around for an extra fifteen minutes looking for somewhere to park.
“I’m sorry. Parking’s a nightmare. It’s not too far from here though.”
Darcy glanced at the leaden sky and the darker clouds poised to roll in from the west. He draped his arm around her shoulder, protecting her from the elements. “I can see why you don’t bother with a car of your own. I’m surprised you could afford to learn to drive.”
“I was lucky. One of the girls I worked with in Bristol had an uncle who was a driving instructor. I sat in the back during some of her lessons, because he’d drop us off at work when she’d done. After watching Sarah make all her mistakes he let me have a go. In the end, he traded me lessons for babysitting his twins. They were little devils so I was fortunate to pass first time, although I’m not what you’d call a confident driver. Lack of practice. How about you? I suppose you had one of the first cars.”
Darcy remembered his initial sight of a steam-driven automobile, broken down by the side of the road as the scalding hot contents of its burst water tank ran down the hill. “No, not at all. I thought they were a crazy fad that would never catch on. Of course, the people who bought them lived mainly in the towns and cities. On the estate we found horses more reliable.”
“So, what happened to change your mind?”
He tightened his grip on Liz as the memories flickered through his mind, like those early moving pictures he’d seen in the theatre. “The Great War happened. The army took cars and trucks over to France for moving supplies and men and to carry the wounded back to the casualty clearing stations. Of course, there were still plenty of horse-drawn vehicles alongside the horseless variety, but I realised then the motor vehicle was here to stay.”
Liz looked up and down the street, where cars parked almost bumper to bumper on both sides. “You weren’t wrong.”
“Sometimes I wish I had been. The early cars were simple to drive and maintain. It’s only recently they became so complicated and the roads so overcrowded.”
“I imagine you wish things had stayed as they were, don’t you?”
“There are always occasions when I long for the old days, but that doesn’t happen often. Life has improved in too many ways for me to mourn the simplicity of the past.”
They turned into a terrace of three storey houses dating from the first half of the 19th century. Darcy smiled, recalling a time when the whole area was still marshland, before developers had built these smaller properties for the wealthy middle classes and the poorer gentry.
Liz stopped in front of one house, remarkably similar to all the others on the street, and reached into her bag for her keys. She let herself in, leading him through the hall and up two flights of stairs. On the narrow landing a second key opened the door to the place she called home.
Many years ago it had been one bedroom of a large family house, but now it served as the self contained living space of someone on a tight budget. Cushions covered a single bed, pushed against the window to make the most of the space. A small television sat on a chest of drawers. On the opposite wall, three cupboards, a fridge and a sink formed a basic kitchen while a narrow pine wardrobe, listing to the right, stood in the corner. The room was little warmer than outside and Liz pushed the ignition on the gas fire two or three times before the flame caught. “Make yourself at home.”
Darcy peeked around a sliding door that led into what was once a separate bedroom. A previous owner had knocked through and converted it into a shower room, at a time when some considered avocado green to be the height of fashion.
“That’s one great thing about this place. My own bathroom. Although it means they can justify calling this a studio flat instead of a bedsit and charge more for the privilege.”
The whole place—bathroom included—covered less square footage than his bedroom at Pemberley and he suppressed an unexpected flare of indignation at her living conditions. “You’re not staying here.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at the yellow and brown floral carpet, threadbare in places. A faint shadow of black mildew stretched up from the skirting board between the bathroom and bedroom. One of the old sash windows rattled in the wind and the scorched radiants in the ancient gas fire showed their age. He reached across to Liz, running his fingers through her soft spiky hair. “You shouldn’t have to live in a place like this.”
She smiled. “Oh, it isn’t that bad. At least the neighbours are quiet. No loud music after ten and we don’t have more than the average amount of crime. If I catch the C10 bus I can get to work in less than half an hour on a good day. There are many people out there worse off than I am.”
He couldn’t believe how upbeat and positive Liz was, but then Elizabeth had never been one for bemoaning her fate either. She’d always preferred to accept things she couldn’t change and see matters in the best possible light. Well, once they had sorted out the unfortunate misunderstandings from their earliest meetings.
The sound of running water startled him from his memories. Liz was in the kitchen area, filling the kettle. “Can I get you anything? Tea or coffee?”
Three strides took him across the room until he could circle his arms around her waist and bury his nose in her hair. William took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it dissipate. She was the only thing he needed. “I’ll settle for coffee. Black, no sugar.”
Liz blushed, dropping her eyes to the worktop. She wriggled out of his embrace to reach for two clean cups off the draining board and a jar of instant coffee from one of the cupboards.
Meanwhile, Darcy wandered. The newest piece of furniture in the room was a cheap desk, piled with notebooks and magazines. A collection of paperbacks huddled on a shelf fixed to the wall above, the creases on their spines almost obliterating the titles. Still, he recognised many nineteenth century novels, books he had first seen advertised as new works. The authors had never realised then how their writings would endure to become classics.
He crossed to the bed and peered through the window. Rain now splattered the grimy pavements below. Two cars drove past but otherwise the area seemed peaceful. A plastic wallet pinned to the wall by the bed caught his attention. He would have recognised its contents anywhere. Bancroft might have been an ingratiating fool, but no one could fault his work. He’d brought out the warmth in the limestone few others had noticed, let alone appreciated.
“My Bancroft print.” Liz handed Darcy a chipped mug. “I was looking for examples of Gothic window frames for a project. When I saw Pemberley I … it’s difficult to describe how I felt. The house seemed so familiar I was sure I’d seen it on TV or in another book, yet I didn’t recognise the name at all. I tried turning the page but my hands wouldn’t move, almost as though they no longer belonged to me. In the end I had to bookmark the image with a scrap of paper and even then I turned back two or three times to stare at it again. Now I know why I reacted so strongly but at the time I thought the hours of study were overwhelming my mind.”
She reached past him to close the curtains, her arm brushing against his shoulder. “I wonder what would have happened if I’d chosen a different subject? I might never have discovered Pemberley or written you that letter.”
The same question had generated countless nightmares for Darcy. “I hope fate would have put our feet on the correct path, regardless of the profession you chose. I had to believe that. The alternative would have driven me crazy long ago.”
Liz sank onto the bed, tucking her legs beneath her as she invited him to sit down, apologising. “The room isn’t big enough for an arm chair as well. It’s not often a problem. Like you, I rarely have visitors.”
He wasn’t sure the battered computer chair pushed under the desk would take his weight. Instead, he drank his coffee as his gaze drifted around the room, mentally cataloguing the contents. “Is this the sum of your belongings?”
“Yes, apart from a few bits in the bathroom, although the bed was second hand…”—she pushed down on the corner of the mattress and he heard the old springs protest—“and my clothes are the only thing holding the wardrobe up.”
“Well, at least it won’t take us long to pack the rest and take it home.” In these familiar surroundings Liz seemed more comfortable. She’d relaxed on the bed, one arm propped against her pillow. He sought another subject to discuss, something that might take his mind off where they were. It had been a while since he’d found himself alone with a woman in her bedroom. The fact she was his intended bride didn’t help. “What do you usually do when you’re home for the evening?”
“It depends. I often have one or two articles I’m working on, and I might type up my notes if I’ve been in the archives or at the library. For fun I’ll surf the internet or read.”
“That sounds like a typical night for me too.”
Liz’s attention fell to a loose thread hanging from her sleeve. “What did we do … before?”
He perched on the end of the bed, as far from Liz as he could get. “Dark winter afternoons like these were your favourites. You had the idea for picnics in the gallery. You’d spread blankets in front of the fireplace and Mrs Reynolds would pack a basket with meat and fruit, and you would always order your favourite puddings for dessert. We’d drink champagne and watch the flames dance. And, of course, the servants were forbidden from entering for the rest of the evening.”
Liz’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“Well, let’s just say it’s fortunate that the portraits hanging in the gallery back then couldn’t talk.”
She sighed. “I wish I could remember that. Outside of the regression, the only other things I remembered have returned as dreams and odd feelings of déjà vu.”
“You dreamt about me?”
Liz looked at him from beneath her long lashes. “Yes, but only one was a memory … or at least I think it was.”
Darcy’s heart beat a little faster. “Tell me about it.”
“I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
Seeing the pink tinge growing on her cheek made him more curious. He moved a little closer, just close enough that he could reach for her hand. “How did you know it was a memory and not just an ordinary dream?”
“I didn’t realise at first. I thought …” Liz shook her head. “I recognised the decoration when you showed me around the main suite.”
He cast his mind back to the previous Tuesday night. He’d arranged for dinner and shown her around the house, hoping the sight of something familiar might encourage another memory to surface, as it had in the herb garden. “You recognised your room?”
“The birds on the wallpaper. I’d already dreamed about them.” Her blush deepened. “You were there as well. We … we were together in that room.”
He tugged her hand, urging her closer. “Yes, many times. Most of the time actually. The wallpaper was your choice. That’s why I wouldn’t let anyone redecorate, why no one else ever slept in that suite. I hoped it might spark some kind of recognition, but when you fainted all that went out of my head. All I could think about whether you were alright. It never occurred to me that the sight of the room had caused you to faint.”
Liz moved until she was sitting right next to Darcy, her thigh close to his. “You were showing me things to see if I’d remember?”
He curled his fingers around her shoulder. “I wanted my Lizzy back.”
She raised her eyes to his. “I’m here.”
The sight of her smile quickened his pulse. He’d barely thought about kissing her before he felt the warmth of her soft skin against his lips. Darcy closed his eyes, inhaling her now familiar scent. It was different from Elizabeth’s but no less tempting. His mouth trailed across Liz’s cheek to the hollow beneath her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
She melted into his arms, clinging to his shoulders as he lowered her head to the quilt. Liz raised her fingers, brushing back the hair that fell over his eyes. Then she took his face in both hands, drawing him towards her. Their kiss was gentle at first, a mere sensation as she pressed her lips against his cheek, his nose, his chin. It wasn’t enough, though, and Darcy slid his mouth across hers. With his eyes closed he could feel their connection, the sizzling rope of awareness binding them together … that had always bound them.
As they kissed he reached out with his mind and his hands, pulling her nearer, as though they could meld into one. Who knows how far it could have gone if Liz hadn’t broken the spell, gasping for breath.
Darcy’s mind snapped back to reality, realising they were lying together, on her bed, with Liz pinned beneath the weight of his body. He rolled away. No, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Everything in the right order or his patience might have been for nothing.
Liz lay on the bed, breathless, her cheeks flushed. “What’s wrong?”
Frustrated by the limitations he was imposing on himself, his answer came out sharper than he’d intended. “Nothing. I really should go.”
She frowned. “But I thought you wanted to talk about what I should say tomorrow, to Amanda.”
Darcy returned to the end of the bed, away from her temptations as he straightened his shirt. He took a breath to calm himself and softened his voice. “I can understand why you’re worrying but there’s no need. Our quick engagement might seem strange to those on the outside. They could never understand the circumstances and we cannot tell them the truth. If you think she’s going to be difficult then leave it all to me. I will tell your stepmother the news and ask for her blessing.”
“I told you before, we don’t need her blessing. Besides, she couldn’t care less what I do.” She sat up and curled herself against him, pushing her cheek against his chest, like a cat.
“Her answer isn’t as important as my asking the question. She’s the closest thing you have to family and I was educated with certain expectations of my behaviour.” He tapped the side of his head. “My brain has been programmed from birth, rather like a hunting dog trained to retrieve a bird. We are both products of our conditioning.”
She sighed. “So it’s your conditioning that wants to get married first.”
He paused, working out how to put into words the instincts he felt. “You know I’ve had many years to think about how I would deal with it when you did come back. You’ll probably think I’m being superstitious, but I believe the curse is like one of those three-dimensional wooden puzzles. It’s not enough just to have you back in my life. I think I have to put the pieces of the puzzle back in just the right order for me to become free.
William curled his fingers around her chin and drew her closer. “Believe me, all of me wants you. Only the rational, thinking part wants you as my wife first.” As he brought his lips to hers he felt a tickle on the back of his neck. He took in a breath, exhaling slowly. “It’s the same part of my brain that’s telling me I should leave while I still can.”
“Where will you go?”
“I won’t be far. I have a room booked at Claridge’s.”
“Do you still own the house in Grosvenor Square?”
“No. I bequeathed it to my cousin Richard. When I realised I might be stuck like this for a while I knew it was necessary to make a clean break from the life I’d known and I accepted I wouldn’t be able to visit London as often as I had before. Only a handful of people knew the truth. Georgiana, Thomas and their family stayed in the US. Charles, Jane and their children moved to Derbyshire, along with the most trusted staff we had between us. As far as everyone else knew, I died in America and was buried there. Once Thomas Bingley and his family took over Pemberley my own relatives had no reason to contact them, which allowed me to live there in peace.”
Liz grabbed his hand. “I wish you could stay and tell me more about your life. Do you have to go now?”
For a moment he debated whether to stay. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in the morning. You’ll be too busy sleeping to miss me.”
She reached for her bag, rummaging around in it for a moment. “Take these with you.” Liz handed him her door keys. “The buzzer downstairs is broken and I don’t want you to be waiting on the step for half an hour.” She pointed out the brass key for the main door and the smaller silver one that would get him into her flat. “Just let yourself in.” She flung her arms around Darcy and gave him a squeeze. “I love you.”
He returned her hug. It was becoming more difficult to leave her at night but he knew he had no choice. A few more days of patience now would hopefully reward him with a lifetime to spend with Liz.
That was all he wanted.
~~<>@<>~~
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