Chapter twenty-one



The fire crackled in the hearth as Liz sat on the sofa in the salon that evening. She felt comfortable, wrapped in William’s arms, as he described those moments from his life that had fixed themselves in his memory. He spoke fondly of his years in America, Georgiana and Thomas’s courtship, their children and how he had kept a watchful eye over their descendants.

“You met your great great nephew?

“Three greats actually, and yes. I attended his first art exhibition and bought one of his paintings. I didn’t tell him who I was, of course, but it was good to shake his hand. He has Georgie’s eyes and yet he probably doesn’t know anything about her.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Mr. Reynolds entered. “Miss Bennett has a visitor, sir.”

“Who is it?”

There was an odd tone in his voice as he said, “My mother, sir.”

Liz sat up, running her fingers through her mussed hair. “Oh please, show her—”

Mrs Reynolds pushed through the door, patting Mr. Reynolds on the arm as she passed him. A number of other ladies followed behind, some carrying bags or boxes.

“Violet?”

“Good evening, William. We have come to see your young lady, if you don’t mind.” Her brisk, business-like tone belied the suggestion that he had a choice.

“Of course I don’t mind. You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Glad to hear you say so. You won’t object to leaving us then, will you?” Violet nodded towards the door, where Mr. Reynolds now waited with two coats over his arm.

The butler coughed. “If you would care to accompany me to the village, I understand we are expected in the saloon bar of the Green Dragon.”

When William didn’t move, Violet tugged on his sleeve. “Well, go on. You don’t want to be late for your own stag night, do you?”

As she shooed him out the door, Miss Fisher sat down next to Liz and patted her knee. “Hope you don’t mind, m’dear. It’s a long time since we had a wedding in the village, and we thought it was such a shame you don’t have time to prepare properly. We’ve bought a few things for you.”

Liz heard a familiar rattle along the corridor outside and Kelly pushed her trolley through the open door. This time it carried cakes, pastries and other sweet treats, along with a large teapot and a bottle of sherry.

Violet settled into a chair, clearly at home in the large room. “Let’s get down to business. What are you going to wear for the ceremony?”

“Well … I wasn’t… I mean, we weren’t going to…” She took in the women’s horrified expressions and sighed. “I suppose I have that floaty skirt I wore at dinner last week, and I’ve brought a blouse from home that should go with it.”

Mrs Reynolds tutted. “Impatience has always been one of William’s biggest failings.” The other ladies nodded their heads, murmuring their agreement.

“Even you must admit, Vi, he has reason for haste. He’s already waited an awful long time.”

“But not even giving the gal time to find a proper wedding dress. It really is too bad.”

Liz felt she should stand up for her future husband. “Please, no. He would have bought me a dress if I’d wanted—”

“Regardless of the circumstances, every bride deserves to look her best on her special day.” Miss Fisher picked up a box from the floor. “Why don’t you see if this one fits?”

The long dress they unfolded from the layers of tissue was a simple design, with a sweetheart neck, long sleeves and a full skirt with a short train. It had probably been white at some point, but age had toned down its brilliance. Mrs Thompson shook it out. “There’s nothing on you, my girl, so we might have to take this in a bit.”

“It’s lovely. Where did it come from?”

“It was mine,” Miss Fisher said. “I would have been married in it if my Horace hadn’t…” She paused and sniffed. “It’ll be good to see it used at last.”

“The dress can be your something old, your wedding ring is new, I believe.” Violet glanced behind her. “Mary, have you brought them?”

Mrs Thompson reached into her handbag and brought out a small black box. Inside was a pair of earrings, the drop pearls dangling from gold studs. “You can borrow these, dear. All we need now is something blue …”

Kelly laughed. “And a pumpkin for the coach.”

Violet reached into the deep pocket of her cardigan and brought out a pale blue garter that swung from the end of her fingertip. “Tell him I expect it back in one piece.”

Liz couldn’t help joining in with everyone’s good natured laughter.

The rest of the evening passed making plans and drawing up lists. They coaxed Liz into trying on the dress and she stood patiently on a stool while they stuck pins all over. She wasn’t entirely surprised when Mrs Thompson brought out a sewing box and began to make the alterations, while still joining in with their conversation. Within an hour Liz was back on the stool for a final fitting. They all stood back, admiring their handiwork.

“Beautiful.”

“Perfect.”

“Yes, you’ll do very well,” Mrs Reynolds agreed.

Kelly carried in a full length mirror, propping it up against the wall. As Liz stared at her reflection she couldn’t believe the transformation. The ladies had worked some kind of magic. The silk glowed in the light from the fire and, for the first time that week, she really felt like a bride-to-be.

* * *

Darcy leaned into the corner, watching his friends celebrate his upcoming wedding by taking full advantage of the open bar. He sipped his pint and put it down on the sticky table, drawing a line through the condensation on the glass. “How would you choose?”

Henry tugged on his white collar. “I don’t know. Who do you like best?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s like asking a parent which of their children they prefer. Under any other circumstance I would have asked you but I know you’re going to be busy.” Charles had been groomsman at his first wedding. This time the decision on who could be his best man wasn’t as clear. “Joshua is the eldest.”

“He is, but you need someone who won’t lose the ring.”

“Good point.” He glanced around the room, where it seemed the entire male population of Pemberley was gathered. “I asked John, but he also thought I should pick one of the younger lads.”

Henry rubbed his nose. “If you really can’t decide, why don’t you let them play for the honour?”

“What? Like cards or darts?”

“I was thinking about dominoes. A tournament. Winner gets to be best man. That way you wouldn’t have to choose your favourite godson.”

Darcy grinned. “You know, I think you have something there. I’ll fetch the box from Patrick.”

He made his way across the room, smiling and nodding to those who congratulated him. Reaching the bar Darcy leant his elbow on the polished wood as the landlord served his customer. While he waited, old Gregory hobbled across the room to join him.

“Evenin’, Guv’nor.”

“Evening, Gregory. How’s life treating you?”

“Not so bad, sir. Not at all.”

“Did you manage to repair that bit of wall on the top field?”

“Aye. ‘Twere no problem.” The old man sucked on his unlit pipe. “So you’ll be weddin’ the blonde lass as turned up a week o’Sunday then.”

“I didn’t realise you’d already met Liz.”

“Oh, aye. She asked me for directions. Showed her to the visitor’s entrance myself, I did.” He tapped the stem against his lower teeth. “Pretty young thing.”

Darcy couldn’t stop himself smiling as he imagined Liz getting lost in the tiny village. “Yes … yes, she is.”

Gregory searched in his pockets. He threw a pair of bicycle clips and a ball of twine onto the bar before he fished out a stained leather tobacco pouch. “Fifty-eight years me and the missus were married. Fifty-eight years and never a cross word between us. You know why?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Because life’s too short. Well, a regular life is anyway.” He wagged a gnarled finger in Darcy’s direction. “That bane o’yours may be lifted, or maybe it won’t. Either way you’ll only have so much time together and if you truly love ‘er you’ll want ‘er ‘appy for every minute of it.”

“I certainly do want her happy, Gregory. I’ll keep your advice in mind. By the way, did you want to be my best man?”

“Nah. Too much standin’. Let one o’them with two strong legs do it.”

Nodding, Darcy slapped his hand on the bar to catch everyone’s attention. When twenty or so pairs of eyes turned in his direction, he cleared his throat. “Right, Gentlemen. Who’s up for a domino match?”

* * *

Liz wasn’t surprised when William didn’t join her for breakfast the next morning. She expected he’d be in bed, nursing a hangover after his night with the men of the estate. Instead she sat with Kelly, going through the plans they’d made for the wedding breakfast the following day.

Last night had opened Liz’s eyes to the realities of life at Pemberley. Not only did everyone know what everyone else was doing, they were all determined not to miss out on the celebration. William had attended their weddings and it would never have occurred to them to miss his.

After she’d finished eating Liz remained in the breakfast room, staring at the rose garden outside the windows. As they were well into autumn, only two of the plants were still in flower. A few bore cherry-red rose hips while others were already bare, their sharp thorns the only decoration.

The thorns reminded her of Mrs Ellis, William’s prickly secretary. Liz hadn’t seen her since she’d returned to Pemberley. She didn’t even know whether the older woman lived in the house or somewhere else on the estate. Violet and her friends hadn’t included her in their impromptu planning party the previous evening but she didn’t want the secretary to feel left out. Although William and Mrs Ellis were not blood relatives, she was part of his family and Liz hoped she would accept her request for help with the wedding as a metaphorical olive branch. 

After checking her office and wandering around the house for fifteen minutes, hoping to run into her, Liz asked Mr Reynolds who suggested she might try William’s office on the top floor. She climbed the stairs and peeked around the door, expecting to find her working at the desk, but the chair was empty. Instead, Mrs Ellis was sitting on the sofa, looking through an old photograph album.

“Hello. Do you have a few minutes?”

The secretary turned the page beneath her hands. “I was just coming to look for you, Miss Bennett. I wanted to show you something.” She held out the book. “Can you see here how happy he was?”

Liz moved to stand behind the settee, looking over Mrs Ellis’s shoulder. The photographs of William looked very similar to those in Mrs Reynolds’ album, except in each one he was standing with a pretty young woman with long blonde hair. In some they were walking hand in hand, laughing. One picture showed William with his arms around her waist. Two of the images had the couple dancing. The young woman looked about the age Liz was now. “Is that you with William?”

“Yes. Are you surprised that I was once so young and pretty?”

“Not really. Mrs Reynolds already showed me a photograph taken on your wedding day.”

A cloud seemed to pass over her eyes and she sighed. “Marriages do not always turn out as you expect … just as visitors are often more than they first appear. I’d hoped the unfortunate portent of your name was a coincidence. I knew, of course, what … I should say whom William waited for. At one time I thought … well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

Since finding out about Mrs Ellis’s past and her connection with William, Liz had been curious to know more about their relationship. When she’d asked him he‘d changed the subject. She moved around to stand in front of the sofa. “No, please. Tell me. I’d love to hear about your life.”

The secretary faced her. Her words were hesitant to begin with, growing stronger as she continued. “Mr. Darcy is the closest thing to family I have ever known. He was always honest with me, from the moment I was old enough to understand why he never changed or grew older like my friend’s parents. As I moved from being a child to a young woman I would have given anything to be the one he was waiting for. I began to believe his saving me from the fire was fate and that it was only a matter of time before he realised we were meant to be together. It was many years before I accepted the truth … that one day someone might arrive at Pemberley to take my place in his heart.”

Liz’s stomach twisted as she imagined how the young Margery Harrison might have felt herself in love with the man who had saved her life. The same man who had given her a place to live, an education and a family. “Pemberley can still be your home. I wouldn’t want that to change.”

“Do you really think I wish to remain here, now you are going to be his wife?”

“Please, don’t leave on my account. William would like you to stay, I’m sure.”

“He has you now. He doesn’t need anyone else.”

Liz imagined how he might react to the secretary’s departure. “I don’t want my presence to break up William’s family. Is there any way I can change your mind?”

She sat a moment, thinking. “Yes. Tell him you don’t love him. That it was all a mistake. Just because your name is Elizabeth Bennett it doesn’t mean you were ever his Elizabeth. You could never match up to her anyway. None of us could.” The secretary’s face cracked into a bitter smile. “Better still, don’t say anything … just leave and don’t return.”

Those last words sent a chill through her. She was asking for the one thing Liz couldn’t provide. “I realise it’s hard to believe but I do have something of Elizabeth Darcy within me. I can’t explain how or why, but I know William and I have been together before and I will not leave him again. It may seem to you like we’ve only been together a brief time, but I love him so very much—”

“So do I.”

“Of course you do. He’s like your father.”

The older woman laughed. “You think I love William as a child loves a parent? I worshipped him in my younger years because he was everything to me—father, mother and siblings in one. When I became a woman I did everything to gain his attention and make him love me. I even attached myself to a man who returned from the war battered and broken, hoping to make William jealous. I wanted him to recognise what he’d lose if he let me go. It didn’t work and I ended up tied to a pathetic cripple of a husband.”

Liz hadn’t paid much attention to the groom in the wedding photograph. She’d been too busy admiring William as he played his role as father of the bride.

“It didn’t matter what I tried, William could never see me. He was too busy waiting … always waiting for his Elizabeth. I have spent countless hours working by his side, helping him, organising his life.” She slammed the album closed. “I will not give him up now. I don’t care who you might have been in a past life. You returned too late, Elizabeth Bennett.”

A flash of silver in the secretary’s hand gave Liz a few seconds warning, and she jumped back as the older woman flew out of the chair towards her, her wrinkled fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife.

Liz recognised the blade William had plunged into his arm, proving himself impervious to injury. Unfortunately she didn’t have the same invulnerability. She held out her hands, knowing they would prove poor defence against the knife. “Mrs Ellis, please. Stop. How would William feel if he knew you’d hurt me?”

The frown creased across her forehead. “Why should he suspect me? Yours will be a tragic suicide. Two swift cuts to the wrists and you’ll slowly slip away. It’s quite the kindest method. I’ve already written a note for you.”

Liz glanced over Mrs Ellis’s shoulder to the computer behind her. The middle screen had a word processor open, the desk too far away to read the words. The images from the cameras continued to scroll between empty rooms on the right hand screen. There was no one around to help her, even if they did hear her scream.

As though she could hear Liz’s thoughts, the secretary said, “I don’t expect he’ll find you for a while yet. He’s out in the park, exercising his horses.”

Her heart rate doubled as Liz considered her options. “William won’t believe I committed suicide. He knows I’ve never been as happy as I am here at Pemberley, and I’m supposed to be getting married tomorrow. What reason would I have for killing myself?”

“Yes, that was a challenge, I’ll admit, but you young women are highly strung these days. His devotion to Elizabeth Darcy has carried him through almost two centuries. What made you think you were fit to take her place? You’re just not good enough for him. You will never give him what he needs.”

Liz almost laughed. “If you’re trying to talk me into slitting my own wrists, it’s not going to work.”

Mrs Ellis moved towards her. “Of course, when he finds your body I expect he might be a little upset. Fortunately, he will have me to comfort him in his hour of darkness.”

A movement on the screen caught Liz’s attention. William, walking down the corridor outside the estate manager’s office. Would he come looking for her? “Even if you kill me, you will never have him. If he didn’t want you when you were young and pretty I doubt he’ll fall in love with you now.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m too old and my beauty has faded, but at least he won’t change, and he’ll stay with me for the rest of my life. I won’t have to share him with anyone.”

Liz watched as the screen flicked to another camera. Now William was talking to Mr Reynolds in the entrance hall. The butler shook his head and pointed up the stairs. What might have happened if she hadn’t asked him where Mrs Ellis was this morning? “Suicide is a bit risky, don’t you think? As you say, an accident would have been better.

“I had considered pushing you down the stairs. You know how easily accidents can happen, just like the time you found yourself locked inside the strong room.” Mrs Ellis smiled at the memory.

Liz remembered the chill in her bones as the heavy door closed trapping her in the darkness. “You did that on purpose?”

She waved a hand. “A spur of the moment decision. If I had thought it through beforehand I would have hidden your car to make it look like you’d gone. William would have accepted my word and might never have checked inside the vault. Even when he found you I hoped it might at least frighten you away but you are too stupid to be frightened.”

Liz gasped, hardly able to believe that a silver-haired old lady would be capable of such wickedness and hatred. She glanced again at the monitor. Two empty rooms then a glimpse of William walking down the corridor towards her bedroom before the image flicked to another part of the house.

Mrs Ellis moved closer and Liz took a step back before she realised she was being herded into a corner. The old woman rolled the knife between her fingers, the blade flashing like a silver flame. On Friday, she’d been imagining the secretary in the role of Grace Poole when she should have cast her as the crazy Bertha Rochester who needed locking up. Liz had already seen that same blade covered in blood and once was enough. Just the memory of it made her nauseous.

“Come on now, Miss Bennett. Stand still and die like a good girl. I haven’t got all day.”

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter twenty-two

Another flicker of movement on the screen caught her eye—William, climbing the stairs to the second floor. She only needed to hold on a little longer. “If you seriously think I’m going to let you kill me without putting up some kind of fight you’re deranged. When William finds out he will call the Police. They’ll lock you up.”

“He would never do that. William loves me. Besides, I know too much. What would those Government scientists do if I told them about his extraordinarily long life? They’d be conducting tests and sticking so many needles into him he would be like a human pincushion. Can you imagine how valuable it would be if they could extract the curse in physical form and transfer it to others? An army of soldiers like William would be invaluable to any government. He will never turn me in to the authorities because he does not wish to draw attention to himself.”

As Mrs Ellis took another step forward every fibre in Liz’s body urged her to call out to William, to shout as loud as she could, but she knew that wouldn’t be enough. She had no proof of his secretary’s threats. He needed to witness them for himself otherwise he’d never believe it. She retreated, wincing as she caught her shoulder on the sharp edge of the shelf unit. Liz reached behind her, grabbed a handful of the plastic CD cases and threw them across the room. Two hit their target but the others clattered onto the wooden floor with a satisfying crash. She took another batch, hurling them through the air. The woman ducked, her reactions those of a younger woman. Liz hoped the noise as they fell would alert William and cover the sound of his approach.

Stung by the sharp corners, Mrs Ellis roared as she lunged forward. No longer attempting to hit the secretary, Liz began throwing anything and everything she could reach, her actions frantic as she swept the contents of the shelves onto the floor so the older woman couldn’t get close enough. As she focussed on her task, and with the silver blade reaching ever nearer, William burst through the door.

He wrapped his arms around Mrs Ellis’s waist and yanked her off her feet. The secretary thrashed in his grip, shrieking like a banshee and crying in her frustration as William dragged her further from her target.

“Fetch John. He’s downstairs.”

Liz wasn’t sure she could move at all. As the initial adrenalin from her brush with death began to fade, her legs started to shake and tears welled in her eyes.

William struggled with the older woman, who still tried to reach Liz despite her years. “Go now. Get John.”

He shouted the last with such authority that Liz was half way across the room before she realised. Her steps echoed on the wooden stairs and she sprinted down the corridor to the landing. She leaned over the banister looking for signs of life, her heart beating so fast she struggled to draw breath to shout. “Help. Somebody help!”  

Mr. Reynolds appeared in the middle of the hallway as he looked up to see where the cry was coming from. “Miss Bennett?”

For a moment she was at a loss what to say. She couldn’t force the words through her lips. How could she explain what had happened when she hardly believed it herself? “William … he needs you.”

Those simple words were enough. Mr. Reynolds had always impressed her, gliding around the house much like the silent, stately swans on the lake. He took the stairs two at a time and rushed past her, not stopping to ask questions. She’d given him as much information as he needed.

She paused at the bottom of the narrow staircase, not sure whether it was a good idea to return to the room. Had William managed to subdue the woman or were they still fighting? Liz dropped onto the bottom stair, tears chasing down her cheeks as the enormity of what had happened hit her like a sledgehammer. Twice now she’d been afraid for her life in William’s study. The first time, with William, when her imagination had conjured up a threat that hadn’t existed. Today her brain had not wanted to see the knife in Mrs Ellis’s hand. The idea that someone so calm, unruffled and competent would wish her dead had seemed inconceivable. Even now, she still couldn’t process how the secretary could hate her so much.

The scuff of a boot on the top step alerted her to someone’s approach and she dragged her hands down her face to dry her tears. She turned to look up the stairs. William was a grey shape, outlined against the miserable light from the weak bulb. His movements seemed stiff and controlled, as though he was considering each step he took. As he came closer Liz saw an irregular dark patch in the middle of his shirt.

“What did she do to you?” Her eyes fixed on the torn hole, blood blooming like a rose, staining the white linen.

When he spoke his voice sounded monotone, stripped of all emotion. “It was an accident.”

“What happened?”

He frowned. “Did she hurt you?”

“No. I’m just a bit shaken.”

Satisfied with her answer, he took her hand in a firm grasp and led her down to the first floor. They passed the corridor that led to Liz’s room, continuing to the other side of the house and the master suite. “I need to get another shirt.” He walked through the sitting room and entered his bedroom, not letting her hand drop until he stood before his wardrobe. “Marge is dead.”

“Dead?” Liz tried to process his words, but they seemed as unbelievable as the idea that the secretary would threaten her in the first place. “How?”

He shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite believe it either. “Heart attack, I think.” He stood, silently for a moment before he began to unbutton his torn shirt. “She wouldn’t let go of the knife. We struggled and somehow it ended up in my stomach.” The cotton slid down his arms, landing at his feet. A rusty red patch just below his navel stained where the blood had dried. He rubbed it with his palm, revealing unbroken skin. “It didn’t hurt for long but she … perhaps Marge thought she was responsible. She wasn’t … it was an accident. Not her fault.”

Liz wanted to point out that it was her fault—that the woman had set everything in motion by attacking her in the first place—but guessed he wasn’t ready to hear that. Not when he’d lost someone who had been a part of his family for such a long time. “I’m sorry, William.” That didn’t seem enough, so she added, “I know how close you were.”

His hand paused on the wardrobe door. “She was the nearest thing I’d ever had to a daughter of my own.” He took in a long breath, held it then exhaled so slowly she could hardly hear it. Then his focus jumped as he spun to face her. “Liz … I don’t know what to say. How can I apologise for th—”

She reached up, pressing her fingertips lightly over his lips. “Don’t. You have no reason to apologise. Do you really think you’re responsible for the actions of every person in your care?”

The bleak, lifeless expression in his eyes suggested that was just what he thought.

“No, I won’t let you beat yourself up over this. She attacked me. She wanted to kill me. How can you blame yourself for that?”

He kissed the fingers that still lay against his lips before taking her hand and holding it to his chest. “Because I knew what she was capable of. You wouldn’t have been the first person Marge hurt.”

For a few seconds Liz pictured herself in Mrs Reynolds’ cottage, the photograph album on her knee as she flicked through the pages. A young couple, newly married, their union a tool to incite jealousy rather than bringing together two people in love. “Oh, God. Not her husband?”

William nodded. “I couldn’t prove anything at the time. He was dying anyway but no one expected him to go so suddenly. Why do you think I brought her back to live here? I didn’t want her to hurt anyone else so I had to keep an eye on her. I never thought she’d try something under my roof, particularly not to you.”

“But she did. She locked the strong room door on purpose, knowing I was inside. She said she wanted to frighten me away.”

He shook his head. “Damn. I thought she was becoming old and forgetful. Her apologies seemed so genuine. Then … well, so many things happened and I never had a chance to think about it again.” He put his hand to Liz’s cheek, holding her a moment before running his fingers through her hair.

“Remember when I said you weren’t omnipotent? You couldn’t know what was going through her head. Please don’t blame yourself.” She laid a shaky palm on his stomach and felt that same spark of electricity she’d experienced the day he’d grabbed her hand by the lake. “Right now I’m grateful the curse hasn’t ended yet, or it could have been you lying upstairs.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. He smelled of sweat and horses but she didn’t care. He was safe. The vision of William dead on the study floor brought a lump to her throat. She bit her lip but a sob escaped. As she tried to swallow the tears began to flow.

William untangled her arms and drew her across to sit on his bed. He held her close as she cried; stroking her back while she processed the shock of that morning’s events. Liz found herself unable to speak as she relived the moments when the secretary had threatened her. At the time she’d been more concerned with her own survival, but seeing William’s injury had brought home how close she’d been to suffering his fate. She’d gone through two handkerchiefs before her tears subsided.

“Feeling better?”

She looked up into his eyes, realising they were almost as red as her own must be. “Oh, William. I’m so—”

He cut off her apology with a kiss, his mouth possessing hers completely. Through the gentle pressure of his lips he communicated his own sorrow and gratitude, but most of all his eternal, abiding love.

A discreet knock on the door brought them both back to reality. In answer to William’s question Mr. Reynolds explained that the doctor had arrived.

He crossed the room, taking a clean shirt from his wardrobe. “I have to sort some things out. I’ll send Kelly to keep you company.”

In the end, Liz decided to spend the rest of the day in Kelly’s domain, while William handled all the necessary arrangements. The young girl kept her busy, kneading dough, rolling pastry and preparing vegetables, the warmth of the kitchen enveloping her like a hug.

That night William escorted Liz to her bedroom. He’d been hovering around her all evening, not wanting to be out of her sight for a moment. She hadn’t argued. Being with him had brought a peace she hadn’t felt in the kitchens and she wasn’t sure she could face losing it.

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

William raised his eyebrows. “You do know it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding.”

Liz covered a yawn with her hand. “That’s tomorrow. After this morning’s events I … I don’t want to be on my own right now.”

Once Liz changed she slipped under the covers and William joined her, still fully dressed as he lay on top of the quilt. He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled into his embrace as he whispered a bedtime story to help her sleep; one he remembered from his childhood. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift as she half listened. His fingers stroked her shoulder and he leant his chin against her head as he spoke, his gentle touch leaving her in no doubt of his love.

When Liz woke she realised she’d slept the whole night and felt relaxed and refreshed. After the horror of the previous day’s events she’d half expected to have nightmares, but instead she could only remember the warmth of William’s arms around her as she’d listened to the soft beat of his heart. She took a deep breath, recognising his unique scent and stretched her arms, sliding her hand across the pillow he’d lain on.

She smiled. It was still warm. Her prince had watched over her through the long dark night.

* * *

Liz had never imagined so many people could fit inside Mrs Reynolds’ tiny sitting room. She’d been there for more than an hour, preparing for her wedding. The old ladies surrounded her, working their magic as they painted her nails, fixed winter blooms in her hair and slipped the silk dress over her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” Miss Fisher murmured as they stood back to inspect their handiwork.

Mrs Reynolds nodded. “Yes, quite lovely. If he doesn’t fall in love with you all over again, I’ll eat my hat.” She picked up a wide brimmed pink and cream hat from the sideboard and fixed it in place with a long pin.

The ladies fussed around Liz as she walked through the village to the chapel. Mrs Thompson held up the train while Miss Fisher kept a tight hold on Henry, lest the over affectionate terrier should jump up at Liz and leave dirty paw prints on the material.

As they entered through the stone porch, the ladies spent a few moments adjusting her dress and straightening the train until they all pronounced her ready. Most of them went to claim their seats, leaving Liz alone with Mrs Reynolds. “What do I do now?” she whispered.

“You stay here. Someone will fetch you when it’s time. Just repeat everything the Reverend Phillips tells you.” The older woman squeezed her hand before leaving her to join the congregation.

As Liz waited, she listened to the murmur of voices amplified by the high ceiling of the chapel. She poked her head around the corner, expecting to see a handful of villagers, but there were so many more people filling the chairs than she’d expected.

She spotted William standing in front of the congregation as he spoke with the Reverend Phillips. Her eyes traced the strong line of his jaw, his straight nose and gentle eyes. His countenance was, at the same time, both unfamiliar and yet almost wondrous in its familiarity.

For a moment, Liz doubted she was doing the right thing. They’d known each other less than two weeks … in this lifetime, at least. Having an insight into Elizabeth’s memories, she knew William hadn’t changed much over the years, but what if she had? Her life and her upbringing had been entirely different from that of Elizabeth Bennet’s. Surely that had to alter the dynamic of their relationship?

Liz felt the weight of William’s unspoken expectations press down upon her. Could she make him as happy in this life as she had during their previous time together? At this point she had no idea, but she was determined to try. She loved him too much to do otherwise.

William turned towards her and caught her gaze, holding her like a rabbit transfixed by headlights. Then he smiled, causing her heart to dance in her chest. His power to affect her had not diminished. She watched him as he walked towards her. The deep blue frock coat with gold buttons suited his height and stately bearing. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of those old portraits he kept in the attic.

“No second thoughts, I hope?”

Liz mentally shook herself and the doubts she had harboured vanished like a morning mist in sunlight. “Not really.”

He laughed when her shaky voice betrayed her thoughts. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing now. I’m fine.”

“You know, if you were concerned it’s nothing to be embarrassed by. A lot has happened in the last two weeks.”

“No, it’s not that. I just hope you aren’t going to be disappointed with me. After all, you’ve waited so long for Elizabeth to come back. How can I live up to that?”

William took both her hands between his as his eyes sought hers. “Lizzy, the only thing you have to do is live your life. The rest will take care of itself. We’re going to have an amazing future together, you and I.”

She looked around the corner at the congregation waiting for the ceremony to begin. “I wasn’t expecting such a large audience.”

He gathered her hands to his chest, leaning his forehead against hers. “They love you almost as much as I do. They all know how happy you’ve made me.”

Liz took in a deep breath, but couldn’t stifle the tears that gathered in the corner of her eyes.

“Are you ready, my love? If not, this is the time to say so.”

She imagined how her life would be once she married William. Then she tried to picture her future without him. She knew what she wanted. “I’m ready.”

William took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Come then, Miss Bennett. It’s time for us to get married … again.”

* * *

After the simple ceremony, Mrs Reynolds, Kelly and a group of ladies William described as “the Women’s Institute” went on ahead to finalise the wedding breakfast while William and Liz remained behind in the churchyard, accepting the best wishes of the remaining villagers. One of the Dawson brothers had brought his camera and everyone wanted their picture taken with the happy couple, particularly Tom Dawson who had made his mother proud when he’d assumed his place as the Master’s best man.

Liz lost count of the faces as she received everyone’s congratulations, blushing at the whispered advice regarding her upcoming wedding night. Slowly, the group moved out of the churchyard and down the lane towards the village green. Someone had decorated the oak in the centre of the grass with white ribbons, but Liz was most surprised to find Romulus and Remus standing beneath the spreading boughs, hitched to an old two-wheeled carriage.

William lifted her up, settling her on the seat before climbing up the other side. Gathering the reins in one hand he clicked his tongue to start the horses moving and they drove back to Pemberley, followed by a mismatched assortment of cars, trucks and wagons carrying their guests.

As he stopped the carriage in front of the stone steps leading up to Pemberley’s main door, Liz felt a momentary dizziness and she closed her eyes. Opening them, she found herself in front of those same steps, but this time there were servants lined up on each side of the door; wigs freshly powdered, gold buttons gleaming and linen aprons crisply starched. From the stable boys at the bottom, right up to the Butler and housekeeper—a full establishment of servants awaiting the arrival of their new mistress. 

Liz blinked and they all disappeared, the memory blowing away like smoke in the wind. In their place, a smaller, more intimate group emerged from the hall. Led by Mrs Reynolds, they included cleaners and gardeners. Kelly followed behind although Liz could tell her attention was already wandering to the last minute preparations somewhere in the house.

Someone cleared their throat and Liz looked down to find William standing by the carriage, waiting to help her down. “You’re not supposed to fall asleep before the wedding breakfast,” he whispered, but his smile took any sting from his words.

“I’m not tired. I just remembered …”

His interest piqued, William asked about the memory. When she described the scene, he began to laugh. “God, yes, I remember that! Your courage might have risen in the face of my supposed intimidation but it was no match for your introduction to the combined might of the full Pemberley staff. You were more nervous meeting them than getting married.” He held out his hand to help her down from the carriage. “Mrs Darcy?”

She took his offered aid and soon found herself safely on the stony ground. Liz looked up the steps, the ascent possibly more daunting now than it was on the day she’d first arrived. She wasn’t a visitor any more. Pemberley was her home now and always had been.

Liz smiled. This house and this man—they were the destination she’d been travelling towards all along.

William squeezed her hand as he leant close to whisper in her ear. “Welcome back, my love.”

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter twenty-three

Darcy sat on his bed, unwinding the constricting cloth from around his neck. Many years ago he’d worn the starched white linen with pride, dressing as befitted his status as a well-born gentleman, but now it was a relic of a bygone age; a straight-jacket of pomp and circumstance he was glad to discard. He unfastened the diamond cuff-links, dropped them onto the bedside table and rolled up his sleeves.

In contrast to his first wedding, their guests today had been mostly working men and women who woke early every morning to tend their animals and crops. Even the nuptials of their master and new mistress did not excuse them from those responsibilities and by seven o’clock that evening the house had returned to its usual stately calm.

He pulled off his boots and socks, closing his eyes as he buried his toes in the soft pile of the bedside rug. At this moment Liz was in her room preparing for their first night together. He could only wait with impatience.

Kelly and Mrs Reynolds had done a wonderful job, transforming the mistress’s chamber from a dusty disused room to the welcoming space he remembered from before. Although he’d offered Liz carte blanche to replace the old wallpaper with something more modern, she hadn’t been ready to lose something that had the power to bring back such pleasant memories.

Liz’s acceptance of her former incarnation had breathed new life into the cold stone of his heart. The brief fragments of insight into her nineteenth century self had given her a deeper and more complete understanding of his existence. Even those true and loyal friends he’d made among the families at Pemberley had never been able to fully grasp his isolation, but Liz had bridged that gap. With her memories of his past and her acceptance of his present she knew him in a way no one had ever known him before, even Elizabeth.

Tonight was the culmination of one hundred and ninety two years of waiting. His torment would end and he could continue the rest of his natural life with the woman he loved. In his mind it was long overdue, but the reward was better than he had ever hoped for.

He heard a faint knock and opened his eyes. Liz hovered on the threshold, her knee-length satin kimono covering everything except her shapely legs. A beautifully wrapped wedding present. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” Primal emotions stirred within him, sloughing away all thoughts of curses and waiting. She was his wife, to do with as he pleased, but he could only think of pleasing her. “I thought you might need more time to prepare.”

Liz sighed as she closed the door behind her. “Any more waiting will turn my nerves against me.”

He crossed the room, taking her hands in his and bringing them up to his chest. “There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“So speaks the voice of experience.” Her voice quivered and she swallowed. “It’s hard not to worry, considering the circumstances. There’s a lot riding on this night. Your whole future, in fact.”

William released one of her hands, guiding her across the room with the other. He didn’t want her to focus on anything except him and their night together. The bottle of champagne he’d ordered stood on a silver tray next to two flutes. He popped the cork, catching the bubbles as they frothed into the glasses. “Forget about tomorrow. Concentrate on the here and now. This might help.”

She took a sip, sneezing as the fizz tickled her nose. “You think getting me drunk is the answer?”

“No, not drunk. I’m trying to relieve the tension. I want you to relax and be happy.”

“I’m already happy. Being here with you is enough for that.”

He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against her forehead then her nose, as her sweet coconut scent swirled around him. The champagne on her breath mixed with his, sending his senses pitching and swirling. He moved his hand down her back, smoothing the soft satin beneath his palm, then he swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the huge bed, laying her gently down with her head on the pillow.

Darcy stood back, revelling in the sight … his wife in his bed, her blue eyes brimming with hope and desire. He’d often dreamed about this moment, but now he could only stare in wonder at the glorious picture she formed—the detail and colour fascinating him like a renaissance fresco

Liz glanced up at him and the look she gave him was both innocent and trusting. He took his place by her side, propped up on his elbow, smiling as his gaze travelled up her body to rest on her face. “You know, as the decades passed, I often hoped there would be some kind of reward at the end for my patience.” He pulled one end of the bow that held her wrap closed and slipped his hand inside, curious to know what she wore beneath. “I never expected the fates to be quite so generous.” Giving her no time to respond, he lowered his mouth, crushing his lips against hers as he offered her his heartfelt devotion.

She gripped his shoulder, tracing the contours of his back through the cotton of his shirt as she urged him closer.

He pulled back, whispering against her lips, “Is there somewhere else you need to be?” Darcy pushed one side of her dressing gown back, exposing something white and lacy that barely covered the top of her leg. His hand caressed from her thigh up across her hip to rest on her waist as he kissed her again. “I wish I could stop time for you too and make this night last an eternity. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Liz plucked at the sleeve of his shirt. “I want to feel you.” He unfastened a few buttons and pulled it over his head. She’d seen him without a shirt before, but her fingers still explored across his skin, leaving a searing trail in their wake. He clenched his jaw as she drew her nails across his stomach, his muscles twitching involuntarily. She paused at his waist, tapping one of the buttons on his trousers and her eyes wore a mischievous glint as she whispered, “All of you.”

He rolled off the bed, kicked off his remaining clothes and returned to her side. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, imagining himself cleaning brushes in his studio; taking his mind elsewhere while Liz assuaged her insatiable curiosity. Eventually, though, he reached breaking point, clasping her wrists and flattening her on the bed. “My turn.”

Liz was a gift and he unwrapped her with an awed reverence, his lips sweeping across her skin like the whisper of silk across velvet. He heard her gasp, felt the indrawn breath, and watched a smile spread across her face.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she breathed, squirming beneath his touch. “I love you so much.”

As Darcy looked down at his wife, the love and desire he felt for her threatened to overwhelm him. Caught in its pull, the waves crashed over him, toppling him beneath the water. Liz wasn’t only his reward, she was his salvation, and he let himself sink into the depths of her embrace, willingly drowning himself in her.

The tides of passion rolled them like driftwood, pitching and tossing in the powerful currents. As the storm abated they lay, joined as one, absorbed in each other as they fell into a lover’s sleep.

* * *

Liz’s conscious mind drifted, half asleep, half awake as a feeling of perfect peace sank into her bones, as soft and gentle as falling snow. The previous night had been full of surprises. William’s every touch, each whispered endearment, had lifted her closer to the source of that peace, raising her higher and higher until she felt she could touch the sky.

She hadn’t thought it was possible to love him more, but the night in William’s bed had expanded all her horizons and banished every constraint as they’d become one.

Cherishing the last fragments of her wonderful dream, she opened her eyes and looked across to the window. The sight of William standing with his hand braced against the frame made her pause. Was she still dreaming? His stance seemed so familiar as he stared out through the glass at the rising sun, almost a mirror image of her first vision of William. She pinched the back of her hand. No, definitely awake. She cleared her throat.

Distracted from his contemplation, William grinned. “Good morning, Mrs Darcy.” He returned to the bed, sweeping the covers back so he could settle next to her. “How do you feel this morning?”

She blushed under the gaze of those sleepy brown eyes. “Oh, pretty wonderful, actually. How about you?”

“Humbled, satisfied, happier than any sane man has a right to be.”

Placing her hand over his heart, she felt it beat under her fingers. “Considering how long you’ve had to wait I doubt you’re experiencing more than you have a right to. The question is … did it work?”

William’s gaze darted to the dressing table. A small pearl handled penknife lay open on the walnut top, its silver blade gleaming in the early morning light.

Liz understood his apprehension. In his position, she’d be nervous too. She stroked his shoulder. “Why don’t you try it?”

He looked away. “I already have.”

“And?”

He held up the palm of his left hand. There was a faint pink smudge where he’d wiped the blood away, but otherwise his skin was unmarked.

Her stomach constricted into a hard ball as her heart thumped loud in her ears. She should have known it was too good to be true. She’d been foolish to believe she was the one person in the universe William needed. The odds against it had been too great. “Oh no, I was right. Those memories were a fluke. I really wasn’t who you were waiting for. God, I feel like such a—”

One moment Liz had been supporting herself on her elbow, the next William flattened her to the mattress, a hand on either side of her head. “No, Liz, no. It doesn’t matter to me. I would have fallen in love with you no matter what. You are the most important thing in my life right now. Ending the curse is secondary. Besides, you do have Elizabeth’s memories. You were Elizabeth. Even if you don’t believe it, I have no such doubts. I’ve never doubted, from the moment you remembered the herb garden. I don’t know what I need to do to remove this damned curse but even if it never ends, if I end up staying like this for an eternity, I will never, ever regret marrying you. I love you.”

She loved him too, loved him so much her heart ached that she couldn’t give him the one thing he’d hoped for. “What do we do now?”

He sat back, exhaling all at once. “Live … love … be happy together. We need to be patient. The curse is as old and rusty as I am, perhaps it needs some time to realise I’m actually married.”

“And how can we make it realise?”

He laughed as he pulled her closer. “Oh, I can think of one or two things that might grab its attention.”

* * *

Pinpricks of starlight spotted the cloudless night. Liz shivered and thrust her hands deeper into her pockets as the wood on the bonfire crackled and popped.

William stood close behind her, circling her waist with his arms as his lips hovered by her ear. “Hungry, Mrs Darcy?”

They’d been married just over a fortnight and she still felt a tingle in her stomach every time he whispered her name like that. “No, I’m fine thanks.”

“It’s traditional to warm your hands on a baked potato on Bonfire Night. Remember, remember, the fifth of November. I remember one year when … oh, they’re about to start. Watch.”

From somewhere beyond the lake, bright sparks shot up into the empty sky, bursting in fountains of gold, red and green, reflecting in the still surface of the water. Bangs and fizzing sounds shattered the silence and Liz stood, amazed by the power and beauty of the display.

William leaned closer, pressing his lips to the curl of her ear. “Amazing that something as destructive as gunpowder could create such a dazzling display.

Liz smiled. “Just like the gypsy’s curse.” She felt his arms stiffen. The continuation of the curse had caused them both a few sleepless nights as they’d discussed its implications. She knew he tested it every day but he no longer mentioned the results and he’d never spoken of the gut wrenching disappointment he must feel.

There was an edge to his voice as he said, “How so?”

“Think about it. What that gypsy did to you … it could have turned you into a monster, a human who could not die. A lesser man might have gone crazy, power hungry. The fact that you accepted it and used it to protect your country and help people told me everything I needed to know. You took a destructive force and turned it into something beautiful.”

His lips pressed against the top of her head. “If I was so good, so noble, then why …?” He sighed. “What did I do wrong?”

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye as she heard the pain in his voice. “You might not have done anything wrong. It’s only been a couple of weeks. Give it time.”

He spun her around, his hands on her face as he brought his lips to hers, his mouth possessing her, pleading with her, communicating his distress without the need for words. After a few minutes, he dragged himself away, no longer able to look in her eyes. “I have the time. It’s you I’m worried about.”

If they continued as they were he would stay as young and handsome as he ever was. She would not be as fortunate. “You’re wondering how it will be when I’m an old, grey crone and you haven’t changed.”

William kissed her forehead. “No matter how old, or how grey, Lizzy, you’ll always be beautiful to me. I’ll love you forever, that I can promise.”

Pushing down her doubts, she forced her mouth into a smile. “And I’ll love you for as long as I live.”

* * *

The whirlpool of tea spun inside the delicate china cup. She waited a moment for its force to subside before bringing the cup to her lips, blowing ripples across the surface.

Mrs Reynolds returned from the kitchen with a plate of biscuits. She offered one to Liz and placed the remainder on the tea tray.

A small plastic Christmas tree stood on the floor in front of the window, while a battered old box lay by its side, filled with decorations. “I can’t believe Christmas is here already.”

The old woman nodded. “It doesn’t seem like five minutes since the last one. How was your week in town?”

“We went to the theatre one night after work and I managed to finish most of my present shopping.”

“Considering what time you got back here on a Friday night, I’m surprised to see you here so early.”

“William has taken Remus out for a ride. I think he feels guilty for neglecting his horses. I told him he doesn’t need to spend every week in London while I work. I managed on my own before we met and our new apartment is in a much safer location than my old one.”

Mrs Reynolds eased back into her chair, smiling. “You know he can’t bear to be parted from you. You didn’t see what he was like the weekend your friend came to visit and you drove her into Buxton to do some shopping. He wandered around the estate like a lost puppy, waiting for you to come home.”

Liz giggled. Since her marriage her friendship with Violet had grown until she was more like an honorary grandmother. When she and William had made their marriage official at the local register office, Mrs Reynolds and Natalie had accompanied them as their witnesses. Her driving licence and credit cards might now bear the name Elizabeth Bingley, but in her heart she’d always be Liz Darcy. Not Elizabeth. No, Elizabeth Darcy was a separate entity, a special set of nineteenth century memories that gave up their secrets when she least expected them.

There seemed to be no pattern to when or how they’d appear. Sometimes she experienced flashbacks, or odd bits of memory that came from a different lifetime, but most often they came to her in dreams.

Last night Liz had dreamed that William taught her to ride a horse—something she’d never attempted in this life. Elizabeth’s private riding lessons with William had revealed an intriguing side to her husband, leaving Liz with an urge to explore the finer points of equestrianism. She couldn’t mention it to Violet—the memory was far too personal—but there had been another brief experience she could share with her friend.

“I had another visit from Elizabeth this morning.” Liz tapped the side of her head with her fingertip. “In the music room.”

“In those days music was an important accomplishment for ladies. Did she play the piano for you?”

It always made Liz smile to see how accepting Violet was of her unusual episodes. “No, Georgiana was playing. Elizabeth turned the pages for her.” She’d been delighted the first time she’d seen her sister-in-law. A statuesque blonde with an innocence that spoke of a bygone age. William’s sister was delightful and they’d been fond friends.

That morning’s event had been memorable more for Fitzwilliam’s unexpected behaviour than Georgiana’s appearance. They had shared the music room with Charles and his miserable sisters. Despite the muted conversation, she’d had no problems understanding William’s communications towards Elizabeth, his look alone so adoring and tender it had wrung her heart and brought a tear to her eye.

She recognised the same abiding love in his sleepy eyes every morning.

Liz drained her cup and returned it to the tray. Violet reached out and picked it up. Peering into the dregs, she returned the cup, upside down, to its saucer and twisted it three times. “Do you want to know?”

After being married for just over seven weeks Liz had almost given up hope of William’s curse being broken. “I doubt the tea-leaves can tell me what I really want to hear.”

“They never tell you what you want, only what is coming to you whether you like it or not.”

The image of her, grey haired and crooked, in the perfect arms of William sent a shudder through her. “Then perhaps it’s better not to know to much in advance.”

“Can I take a peek?”

She shrugged. If she said no, Violet would wait for her to leave and then look anyway.

The old woman grinned and picked the cup up from its resting place, peering at the patterns left by the brown sludge. She paused a moment, then twisted the cup so she could inspect it from a new angle. After a few seconds she turned it back the other way.

“What does it say?”

She shrugged. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“Does it tell you about the curse?”

“No.”

“Then there’s no point knowing, is there?”

Violet returned the cup to its saucer with a loud rattle. “Stop that now, young lady. It’s bad enough that William’s despondent. He tries to hide how he’s feeling, but you and I both know he isn’t very good at it.”

Liz smiled, despite herself. On the face of things he seemed happy enough, but she’d caught him off-guard enough to realise it was a façade, concealing his real fears. “I’m trying to be positive, for his sake, but it’s hard. I wanted it for him so much and I can’t stand to see him suffering.”

The older woman wrapped her arm around Liz’s shoulders; one of the simple motherly gestures Amanda had never shown her. “But you’re remembering more of Elizabeth’s memories every week. I have no doubt you are the key to solving the problem. Be patient, just a little while longer. It’ll work out. These things usually do, you know.”

~~<>@<>~~

Chapter twenty-four

Darkness still cloaked the room as the dawn chorus began to sing. Darcy lay awake, picking out the individual trills and chirps. Beside him, Lizzy murmured in her sleep and her hand tightened around his waist. He loved the way she clung to him at night. Sometimes it was a challenge to disentangle himself when he wanted to slip out of bed without waking her. Most mornings he preferred to enjoy the warmth of her body pressed against his side and the weight of her leg across his.

She shifted again, tantalising him as she writhed and stretched. “William?” she murmured. “Are you awake?”

“Happy New Year, love.”

She squeezed him and he heard the smile in her voice as she said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The best year I’ve ever had.”

He chuckled. “Well, technically we haven’t seen that much of it yet. It’s only seven hours old.”

“Whatever happens, I know this year is going to be the best.”

He turned towards her, exploring the now familiar planes of her face with his fingers. Despite the darkness she was the most beautiful woman he’d known in the last one hundred and ninety years. Even with his eyes closed he could visualise her smile at will, her happiness blinding him like his own private sun.

His mind wandered to the ritual he’d practiced every morning since his wedding day. The chill slice of the blade across his skin no longer bothered him. No, the only thing he dreaded now was the inevitable healing, the proof that he was still—despite all his hopes—something freakish, still less than a man.

Desperate to distract himself from the maudlin direction of his thoughts, William dragged his lips across her cheek until he found her mouth, soft and sweet like a ripe fruit. She opened under him, responding to his touch, her lips caressing him eagerly, twisting his desperation into adoration. He only truly existed with Liz. At all other times he was merely living a pale copy of his life.

Every night he prayed that he would become the husband she deserved, not some distortion wrapped in the semblance of a human being.

As his agitation grew a single touch calmed his soul, the gentle caress of her fingertips against his throat casting his dark thoughts far away. Whenever the doubts hovered she saved him from the black crevice of despair with no other weapon than her love. In truth, he had never been her knight in shining armour. She was his saviour and he would spend every moment of his existence showing her how much he needed her.

He pulled her closer, his hands roaming down her bare back as she wrapped herself around him. As the pale sun peeked over the bleak Derbyshire hills outside, bathing the valley in the cool light of dawn, their hearts, minds and bodies melded into one, reaffirming their physical and spiritual connection.

When he woke again it was past nine o’clock. The muffled waterfall of the shower in Liz’s bathroom reminded him what day it was. Everyone would expect them to attend the first service of the year in the chapel. His extended ‘family’ on the estate had welcomed Liz with warmth and an openness she had returned tenfold. The young woman, who—apart from her father—had never known a truly loving family, now had a whole village full of grandparent, aunt, uncle and cousin substitutes who all adored her.

But no one loved her like he did.

He climbed out of bed and retrieved his robe from the floor, wrapping it loosely around his waist. Darcy wandered into his own bedchamber and through to his bathroom, locking the door behind him. Leaning his palms against the chill tiles of the countertop he stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for a grey hair or a wrinkle, any tell tale sign that he was a normal man with a normal life. He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

The pad of his thumb stung as he drew a line with the blade, the bright blood flowing like ink from a nib. He wiped it away, and with it any trace of the injury, leaving the delicate spiral of his thumb print whole and undamaged.

His heart sank and a feeling of nausea welled up in his stomach. He could only blame himself for the bile of disappointment. He’d counted the days until the first of January, holding on to an irrational hope that the turn of the year would mark a change … a renewal of his life and his dreams. He had resumed the life he’d lost with Elizabeth’s death, so why did he remain cursed? What had he done? What had he failed to do?

He couldn’t continue tormenting himself every day, waking up hoping for normality. This morning would be the last time he would test the curse like this. From now on he would look forward and live a full life with Liz for as long as he had her. He wouldn’t think about that cold, bitter moment when she would inevitably leave him again.

* * *

Liz’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she put together her column for the April edition. Her theme for the month was spring and although it was only the beginning of February—and Mother Nature had yet to raise her head from her winter slumber—William’s reminiscences of Pemberley in springtime had inspired her to write.

Someone knocked on the door and she paused. William never knocked, so it had to be Mr. Reynolds. When he entered he wore the slightly apologetic expression she’d come to recognise whenever he had to disturb her work. “What is it, John?”

“A gentleman is here to see you, ma’am. A Mr. Shepherd. He says you are expecting him.”

She looked at her watch. “Oh God, is that today? I forgot.” Jumping out of her chair she gave John’s arm an apologetic squeeze. “It’s okay. He’s only here to take those photographs.”

At least she didn’t have to worry about the house being untidy. Kelly kept all the principal rooms spotless as a matter of course. Liz moved through the house, until she reached the entrance hall. There she found Paul crouched in a corner inspecting the base of a column.

He sprang to his feet when he heard her footsteps. “Is this all original marble, or a later addition?”

She smiled, proud of her home. “They remodelled this during the renovations of seventeen forty-two.”

“Wow.” He held up his hands, framing a shot. “The proportions of this room are amazing.”

“Neo-Palladianism at it’s best. Well, the front half is, at least. Wait ‘till you see the Jacobean gallery that runs along the back.”

“Can’t wait.” He looked around. “Where’s your husband? I was hoping he’d be here.”

Liz paused. With the curse still active, she’d become as cautious as William about people who took too much interest in their life. “Why?”

“Oh, just curious. It takes someone pretty special to impress James.”

She released the breath she’d been holding. “Well, it sounds like they bonded over a love of cricket. If you want to get on the boss’s good side I recommend an afternoon at Lords. William is out with the horses. He usually goes out riding around this time while I work.”

Today she was grateful for the routine. Although she and Paul had always been friendly in the office she didn’t know him well enough to trust him.

Liz escorted the photographer around the house, remembering the night when William had given her a similar tour of the same rooms. As Paul set up his shots and took his pictures she hoped they would go some way towards capturing the magic of the house she’d been describing to her growing band of loyal readers. Once they’d covered the principal rooms downstairs, Liz escorted him up to the gallery and waited by the end window as Paul set up his next shot.

Movement beyond the glass drew her eye to the wood in the distance where a horse galloped in front of the trees, the rider’s light coloured jacket contrasting against the dark brown of the bark and the green foliage. The sight of him riding at full speed never failed to send a chill through her, but it was a reaction to his strength and mastery of a horse rather than a fear for his safety.

Despite William’s wish that it was otherwise, he remained impervious to all injury.

She’d accepted that this was how things would be for them. As time passed she would grow older and eventually die, but at least she knew William would always be with her, no matter what happened.

“Liz?”

“What? Oh … yes.”

“You were miles away.”

She glanced through the window, but the figure on horseback had disappeared. “Sorry … daydreaming.”

“I’m done in here. What else do you have for me?”

William had already decided to limit the shoot to the main rooms and she’d saved the gallery for last. “Let’s go outside and I’ll show you the gardens while it’s still dry.”

Paul carried his equipment bag down the stairs as they headed towards the front lawn. “My kids would go crazy in this garden.”

Liz blushed, ashamed to admit she didn’t know he had children. “How old are they?”

“Alfie’s six and Ellie’s two and a half. They love tumbling around on the grass. This would be heaven for them.” He focussed his camera on the stone bridge spanning the stream and snapped a series of shots.

As she watched him work, Liz imagined how it would be to have her own children playing in Pemberley’s gardens. She had no idea whether William’s immortality allowed him to father any children and had been too afraid to ask.

Paul turned his attention towards Pemberley’s grand façade as he framed his next shot. “Have you thought about opening up this place to the public? It must cost a fortune to maintain.”

“William and I prefer to keep it private, but Pemberley is a working estate, you know. Farming is still the main source of income.”

“This place is wonderful. You’ve got plenty of space for parking; you could serve cream teas in the kitchens and convert the outbuildings into a gift shop. The tourists would flock to this place. It’s a waste not to take advantage of it. You could make a fortune.”

The familiar voice coming from behind them made Liz jump. “At the expense of our sanity? I don’t think so.”

“William! I didn’t see you there.”

Paul extended his hand. “Ah, Mr. Bingley. A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

William, still dressed in his muscle-hugging jodhpurs and black boots, cast a questioning glance at Liz.

“From James,” she explained quickly. “I think you left him with a lasting impression.”

“So it would seem.” His hand slid around her waist and he held her close as he brushed a kiss against her forehead.

Liz had seen enough wildlife documentaries to recognise the behaviour of an alpha male marking his territory and she bit her lip to hold back a smile. The young photographer had never attracted her attention beyond work and William should know better than to be jealous. “Paul has covered the interiors and now we’re just finishing off outside, aren’t we?”

“Y…yes, that’s right. Half an hour and I’ll be done.”

William nodded. “Excellent. I look forward to seeing your pictures of our home. If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” He kissed her again, lingering against her lips for longer than she considered polite in front of a visitor, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind.

Paul stared at William’s retreating back as he stalked towards the house. “So that’s your mystery recluse. He’s just like a real-life Lord of the Manor, isn’t he?”

“Master of all he surveys,” Liz agreed under her breath.

Twenty five minutes later she escorted Paul to his car and waved him off as he left down the drive, his portable hard drive bursting with images that could only show a fraction of Pemberley’s beauty. She returned to the house, expecting William to be in his study, but when John said he’d left after changing his clothes Liz knew where he’d be.

The clearing was devoid of livestock as she crossed the old burial ground to enter his sanctuary. Well, their sanctuary now, as she spent almost as much time here as he did.

William stood in front of his easel, his brush tracing the contours of the valley in greens and browns as he painted a scene from memory. Sensing her presence he turned towards the doorway, smiling when he saw her there.

“Paul’s gone now. He’ll take the pictures back to the office and email me the proofs.” She took a step towards him. “I think you’ll be pleased with the results. He has a good eye for architectural details.”

He returned his attention to the picture, the tip of his brush poised over the paper. “Did your visitor have any more ideas for my home? He seemed to have our future all planned out, complete with the gift shop in the stables.”

She reached out, stroking his shoulder. “He was only trying to help. He thought you an impoverished, reclusive Lord of the Manor, not a philanthropic immortal millionaire. Anyway, the shoot’s finished and we’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain. They’ll leave us in peace now, as long as I keep sending in my column every month and turn up for the occasional meeting.”

He sighed, abandoning the painting as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Perhaps I overreacted a little.”

“A little?”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a half-smile. “I’m not used to seeing you spending time with young, handsome men.”

“Well, he is younger than you, but then so is everyone. Was he handsome? I didn’t notice. In case it escaped your attention I am far too besotted with my amazing, talented husband. You’ve ruined me for any other man, you know. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me until my hair turns grey and my joints creak.”

He ran his finger along the crease of her elbow. “I’m going to adore your creaking joints. They’ll be endearing, like pet mice.”

Liz laughed. “You’re comparing my knees to rodents?”

“Pet rodents. Soft and cuddly.”

Her smile faded. “And you’ll be—”

William silenced her with a finger on her lips. “Utterly devoted and completely in love with my wife. That will never change.” He drew his hand back, replacing it with his lips as he kissed her. Overhead the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, sending a warm shaft of sunlight through the glass roof, bathing them in its glow like a benediction.

Liz rested her forehead against his chest and clutched his arm as the room began to spin. She closed her eyes. “Ugh. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. I think I need to sit down.”

“Nice to know I can still have that affect on women after all these years.”

“Ha ha. No, really, I think it was the sudden heat. It must be unbearable in here during the summer. Like a sauna.”

“There are windows I can open when it gets too warm. Actually, you are looking pale. Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”

He escorted her to the new sofa he’d bought for the conservatory end of the studio where she would often sit and read while he worked. Then he fetched a glass of water from the fridge. “Here. Try this.”

Liz took a sip, hoping it would settle the strange queasiness that had come on all of a sudden with the unexpected heat from the sun. She tried to rest the glass on the arm of the sofa, but misjudged the distance. It slipped and hit the floor, sending water and shards of glass across the old quarry tiles. “Oh, hell. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Stay still while I clean it up.”

She listened for each clink as William collected the pieces in the remains of the shattered glass. He carried them away to the bin in the corner and returned with a roll of paper towel. Tearing off a couple of sheets he started to mop up the water as Liz focussed on the view and breathed deeply to counteract the nausea.

William hissed and she glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I found another bit of glass hiding under the sofa. Damn, that stuff gets everywhere.”

Liz smiled at his petulant tone and returned her attention to the valley beyond. After a few moments she noticed William’s silence. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” He uncurled his fingers, spreading them wide. Blood wept from a cut on his palm.

Liz grabbed a clean sheet of paper towel and blotted the blood but the gash remained. “It looks deep. You might need a plaster.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a scratch. It’ll stop soon.” They watched the blood well up through the broken skin. “It’s still sore.”

“It will be. Let me have another look. There might be some glass left inside that’s stopping your body from repairing itself.” Ignoring the rolling inside her stomach, Liz inspected the wound. It was clean and blood had begun to coagulate, but it showed no signs of the swift recuperation she’d witnessed in the past. She looked into his eyes. “Why hasn’t it healed?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a delayed reaction to the wedding.”

“You can’t tell me the curse has only just realised you have a wife.”

William frowned. “I don’t understand it.”

“How do you feel? Does anything seem different, apart from your hand?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Liz wadded another piece of paper towel and encouraged him to hold it clenched inside his fist. “Kelly has a first aid kit in the kitchen. If it isn’t going to heal you’ll need a plaster.”

* * *

An hour later William showed off his injury to Dr. Barker with much the same pride and excitement a child would show when presenting his mother with a seven-legged spider. “What do you think?”

The grey haired doctor ran his thumb over the wound. “It hardly seems appropriate to say congratulations. I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this. No one deserves it more.” He tapped another plaster covering the pad of William’s thumb. “What about this one?”

“That was a test,” Liz explained. “He wanted to check the first one wasn’t a fluke.”

Dr. Barker pushed his spectacles further up his nose. “Well, now you’ve proved it I hope you won’t continue injuring yourself.” William grinned and shook his head. “And you’ll have to be more careful from now on. No more climbing onto roofs to fix loose tiles or riding hell for leather on those horses, at least not without a riding hat.”

Liz looked at William, her eyebrows raised. “Fixing tiles?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get a roofer in next time, I promise. No more risks.”

The older man turned to Liz. “Now we’ve sorted William out I understand you were also feeling unwell earlier?”

“Oh no, I’m fine now, really.”

“Come on, Liz. You told me when we met that you never fainted, but in the studio you looked ready to pass out and the sun wasn’t that warm.”

Dr. Barker reached for his bag and rummaged around inside. “Ah, William, I think I’ve left my stethoscope in my car. Would you mind fetching it for me please?” Once he left the room the doctor wasted no time. “After spending so many years impervious to injury, I’m concerned what affect his immortality might have had on his immune system. If everything has gone back to the point it was when the curse took effect, he should be a reasonably healthy thirty-three year old, but I would like him to come to the office tomorrow so I can run some tests to make sure.”

“Will he be okay?”

“If anything bad was going to happen I would have expected it to occur when the curse ended. The fact that he seems fine suggests his life should now continue from where it left off. I’m curious to know what triggered the change, though. Has anything unusual happened today?”

“No, I don’t … wait, we had a visitor…”

The doctor shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t have changed anything. How long is it since the last time he injured himself?”

“I have no idea. Why?”

“Well, the curse could have ended weeks ago and he just didn’t notice before. Let me check you out.” The doctor took her blood pressure and asked a few questions before burrowing back in his bag. “I suspect that your earlier dizzy spell could be related to William losing his immortality.” He brought out a long thin cardboard box and handed it to Liz. “You might want to try that now, while I wait.”

When William returned, stethoscope in hand, Dr. Barker was writing in his appointment book. “I’ll want to see you at least every month to begin with, and I’ll contact the hospital about a scan.”

“For a cut on my hand? That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?”

“Not for you, William, for your wife.”

He frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Liz gave him a reassuring hug. “Don’t worry, everything is great. We think we might know why the curse ended and it might have happened a few weeks ago.” She paused, taking in a breath. “It looks like you’re going to be a … a father.”

For a moment he stood, speechless, and she watched the emotions march across his face: shock, joy, concern and finally a relieved understanding as he wrapped his arms around her. “Of course. That’s what she meant.”

“Who?”

“The gypsy. She said I’d get the life I should have had. It wasn’t only my wife I was waiting to get back, but my son as well.”

Dr. Barker cleared his throat. “There will be no telling whether it’s a boy or a girl yet, although they might be able to see something when you go for the ultrasound.” He packed his unused stethoscope into his bag. “Well, I’ll be getting off. Ring if you need me and I’ll see Liz next month.”

William thanked the doctor and saw him out. Liz watched from the window as the two men shook hands before Dr. Barker climbed in his car and drove off.

She looked out over the lawn, giving herself permission to imagine a toddler, dark haired like his daddy, running and tumbling across the grass. Their child, living and growing inside her. She closed her eyes, feeling a chill creep down her back. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but felt as though something soft and calm had settled over her, like thick rug or a blanket of snow.

Every part of her life was now in its proper place.

Heat replaced cold as William returned; his chest against her back, one arm around her shoulders as the other wrapped itself protectively around her waist. “Thank you.”

“What for, the baby? I think that’s as much your doing as mine.”

“Not just that. For reading Bancroft’s book. For falling in love with Pemberley. For writing me that letter. For coming here and loving me. For becoming my wife … and the mother of my child. For freeing me from my torment and being my salvation.”

She turned within his arms and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, for waiting and never giving up hope. For recognising me when I didn’t even know myself. For almost two centuries of unwavering devotion and for keeping Pemberley safe so I could come home, to a place I love almost as much as I love you.”

William cradled her face in his hands and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her until they were both breathless. He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed happily.

“It was entirely my pleasure.”

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Epilogue

I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest—blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh.  ~  Jane Eyre

As Liz stacked another handful of books into the box a plume of dust made her sneeze. Rubbing her eyes she reached for the last volume. When she lifted it from the shelf something dark poked out from between the pages.

The range of small, leather bound books were diaries left behind by a man called Mr. Hutton, a steward who had taken over the running of the estate when the previous steward had died. Mr. Hutton had been present for the death of old Mr. Darcy as well as witnessing William’s early years as Master of the estate. She was curious to read the steward’s opinion of her husband.

Opening the page she recognised the black thing as a scrap of material. The first entry on the same page was Mr. Hutton recording an order for mourning crape, which they would have draped across the pediments outside, and black coats and feathered headdresses for the carriage horses. He listed the money paid to the mason for the headstone and to the carpenter who had made the coffin.

It was strange to realise this man had organised the mourning rituals that marked the passing of one of her previous lives.

Although the steward never once referred to little Thomas’s fate, William had described how he had laid the baby’s body in Elizabeth’s coffin—an unhappy necessity given that the church at that time would not allow an unbaptised child to be officially buried in the churchyard, even for a family as privileged as the Darcys.

Mr. Hutton had not passed any personal comment on Elizabeth Darcy’s death and expressed no sorrow in his writing, but he had made no secret of his concern for his master’s wellbeing. Three weeks of entries spoke of his need to talk to Mr. Darcy, but the master remained—in the steward’s own words—distant and inconsolable. She felt a chill creep across her shoulders as she read those words, absently scrubbing at the goose bumps that grew on her arms.

She closed the book, placing it in the box for later study. Although the past was a fascinating place to visit, it no longer dominated her life to the extent it had before she met William. She now had other distractions that, more often than not, called her away from her research. Her manuscript might be almost complete but she still found enough gems—like Mr. Hutton’s diaries—to add to her knowledge.

Liz stretched her arms above her head, easing her aching back. She might have overdone it today. William would be mad with her if he found out that she’d been lifting heavy books in her condition. She understood his concern, but she still didn’t feel like a helpless invalid.

Her eyes squinted against the bright sunlight as Liz left the cool of the house through the side door. She wandered through the rose garden, inhaling the heady scents that swirled around her and headed out onto the swathe of lawn that swept gently down towards the lake. A cluster of chairs huddled under three large umbrellas. Liz chose the sun lounger and stretched out her legs, welcoming the warmth of the late afternoon’s rays on her stomach.

Resting a hand on her bump she felt the baby wriggle as it pushed out towards her. The fact that a new life was growing within her never failed to amaze Liz. She wondered absently whether it would be a boy or a girl. The nurse carrying out the scan hadn’t been able to tell. She suspected that William wanted a boy but she didn’t mind what she had as long as there were no complications.

William had done his utmost to ensure their safety. The private hospital, twenty minutes drive from Pemberley, wasn’t a cheap option but it was equipped to deal with any emergency. She understood his tendency towards over-protection and didn’t argue too much against the contingencies he put in place for their well-being. Some of his early memories were still too vivid for him to forget.

Liz could only feel grateful that Elizabeth’s painful labour and subsequent death was one memory that hadn’t resurfaced yet.

Raised voices drew her attention towards the house in time to see William striding around the corner, coming from the stables. His white shirt, open at the neck, dazzled against the bronze of his sun-kissed skin as he brushed his hair from his eyes.

Then a little face poked around his shoulder; a blonde-haired angel clinging to her father’s back. A moment later another tiny figure caught up with William from behind and grabbed hold of his hand. Liz could hear their high-pitched chattering from her spot in the garden.

When they got close enough, William deposited his companions to roll in the grass before dropping exhausted into the chair next to her. He reached out to squeeze her hand. “Have you had a relaxing afternoon, love?”

“Yes, thank you. Did you all enjoy your riding lessons?”

William rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as he hit a sore spot. “I was Charlie’s age when I learned to ride, but of course it wasn’t my father teaching me, but the head groom.” He sighed, prodding the muscles in his shoulders before reaching out to stroke Liz’s stomach. “If we carry on at this rate I’ll need to hire some more staff. I think I’m getting too old for this.”

While he was still very handsome, she could see the first few grey hairs at his temples and the deeper laughter lines around his eyes. Although his body had finally reached the grand old age of thirty-nine, it still had a long way to catch up with his soul.

Charlie, now five and a half, brought her a handful of daisies. “Can you make me a crown please, Mummy?”

“Of course, darling.” Liz laid the flowers on her lap and started building a chain.

Two year old Jane dumped a handful of crushed flowers on the pile. “I want to be a pwincess.”

William caught Jane in his arms and pulled her onto his knee. “You can be the princess and Charlie will be the prince who fights the dragon.”

The young boy pulled a face. “Oh no, not the dragon again. I want to fight the troll, under the bridge.”

Jane grabbed a handful of her father’s shirt. “An … an I want the good faiwy to gwant me fwee wishes. Mummy can be the faiwy.”

“I don’t know about being a fairy, but your mummy can certainly grant wishes.”

The little girl’s eyes grew wide. “She can?”

“Oh yes. She granted me a very important wish once. Would you like to hear the story?”

Charlie snuggled into Liz’s arms, looking hopefully towards his father. “Does it have witches and dwarves and fairy godmothers?”

“Absolutely.”

“And a wicked stepmother?”

William glanced at Liz, his lips pressed together to suppress a grin as he nodded. Despite her family’s numerous attempts to communicate, she had never once replied to Amanda’s letters.

Her dark haired darling—the young heir to Pemberley—pulled on her sleeve, demanding her attention. “And does your story have a happy ending?”

Liz looked up at William and their eyes locked as they shared a smile. “Of course. Didn’t you know? All the best fairytales end happily ever after.”

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I hope you enjoyed the story.

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