Page 1 of Losing Lizzy
Chapter One
3 August 1816
“England,” Darcy whispered. “Home.” He had stood along the rail of the ship most of the night, waiting for this very moment. “Elizabeth,” he murmured. Was there any chance she would welcome his return? He doubted it, for whether his actions had been intentional or not, he had ruined her. Although no fault of his own, he had left her at the altar, never making an appearance on their wedding day. Society, by now, had presented her with various names: a jilt, a tease, a fallen woman, thinking he had not stood up with her for their nuptials because he had discovered her free with her attentions to other men, when he knew, without a doubt, she had been a virgin, for it was he with whom Elizabeth Bennet had lain for the first time.
“One evening,” he groaned as the memory of her resting beneath him in all her exquisite glory—a look of pure wonderment marking her countenance—filled his mind. It was the one memory that had sustained him during his long ordeal uponThe Lost Sparrow.
Three years. Eight months. Two and twenty days.
He had not known the exact count, although he had made rudimentary calculations when he had first been taken aboardThe Lost Sparrow, but over the days and months and years of his long imprisonment, he had lost count. It was only when the ship—a British frigate—had fished him from the icy waters of the Atlantic that he had been made aware of the number of days hehad lost with Elizabeth at his side.
For the years of his imprisonment, any timeThe Lost Sparrowcame into port, he had been confined in the hole, chained to the inside of the ship, for the captain and the crew knew he was hell-bent upon returning to his family. “Just consider,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I have not set foot on dry land since long before the war with the French knew an end.” He was not certain his legs would cooperate; yet, Darcy was determined to reach Darcy House as quickly as his rolling gait would carry him.
“Your family will know surprise with your return,” Captain Robert Bruester said as he joined Darcy at the railing.
“I imagine so.”
Bruester and Lieutenant Wilder had both spent their years at university with Darcy. Thankfully, Wilder had been on the deck ofThe Resolutionwhen Darcy had made his swim to safety.
The Resolutionhad been spotted early on by those in the crow’s nest ofThe Lost Sparrow,and the pirate ship and its crew had claimed the cover of an island’s sheltered cove. From there, they had watched the slow progress ofThe Resolution, debating on whether to engage the ship or let it pass without notice.
For Darcy, the vigil had renewed his hope of escaping his ordeal. “Ironic,” he had thought the words without saying them aloud. “Historically, an ‘ordeal’ was an ancient test of guilt or blamelessness brought about by subjecting the accused to severe pain. The accused’s survival was taken as divine proof of his innocence. I wonder how others will judge me, for I hold my suspicions, and I know how I will judge those who acted against me.”
After so long a time upon the ship, neither the crew norThe Lost Sparrow’s captain had considered him anything other than one of them, although they never permitted him to be a part of those who plundered other ships. Evidently, they were either ordered to keep him away from others or they had come up with the scheme themselves. In truth, he was not certain how it all came about. He was, however, assigned much of the labor on theship from scrubbing to repairs. Because he could read and write and perform his sums, he had often been tasked with dividing up the booty confiscated from the crew’s various skirmishes. Therefore, on this evening, no one noticed he had become one of those on deck to keep an eye on the British ship’s maneuverings.
With each breaking of water from the frigate’s approach, Darcy estimated whether he could swim out far enough to reach it without the notice of those aboardThe Lost Sparrow. As night fell, he had hidden below the stairs leading to the hole. Everyone remained eager to learn that the frigate had moved on; so, no one had checked on his whereabouts. No alarms had been raised. No lanterns lit to allow those on watch to take notice of him in the dark shadows waiting for the perfect moment to stage his escape. Among those in charge, it had been decided that they would permitThe Resolutionto pass them by, for the British ship sported eight and thirty guns, andThe Lost Sparrowhad but twelve.
Hence, with a dark ship, the crew ofThe Lost Sparrowsat in silence as Darcy’s chance at freedom slipped away. A frigate could easily cover twelve knots with a good wind, and if it kept moving away, he would never reach it in time. Finally, the British Navy brought in their sails and also settled in for the night. With a grumble of displeasure,The Lost Sparrow’s captain left men on deck to sound the alarm, if necessary, and sent the others to their beds. With only a handful of men remaining on deck, Darcy had shored up his courage and had sneaked from his hiding place. He had spent nearly four years of his life walking the boards ofThe Lost Sparrow. He knew every squeak and nail. Barefooted, he had eased himself over the railing and down the ladder, quietly slipping into the water. Treading to stay afloat, his heart pounded so hard he was certain someone on board would hear it, but no one onThe Lost Sparrowhad sent up a cry. Grabbing his chance at freedom, he reached out and cupped the water with one hand to pull his body forward. Then, slowly and quietly, he repeated the motion. Easy stroke after easy stroke.Nothing frantic, he warned himself over and over.Slow and steady until you are away from the ship and the crew’s hearing. One stroke at a time. One stroke closer tofreedom and Elizabeth.
Within minutes, he reached the island. Pulling himself from the water, he had stumbled forward. The exercise had been harder than he had expected, for it had been too many years since he had gone for a swim for his body to recall the movement without his concentration. As he suspected, when he attempted to stand and to take a step on the beach, his legs wobbled, giving him the appearance of being drunk or being a new foaled horse; yet, he made himself fight his way through the vegetation. The rocks cut his feet, and the branches slapped him across the face; however, he did not falter—refused to surrender, for this was the only opportunity he had been presented in the nearly four years he had been onThe Lost Sparrow.
The island was only a narrow strip of land, not much wider than some of the parks in London. He kept telling himself, “If I can make it to the other side without being seen by someone aboard the ship, I can swim to where the British frigate has chosen to sleep for the night.”
When he finally burst through the scraggy trees to the other side of the island, Darcy bent over long enough to recover his breath. He looked back toward where he had come. The trees were not so dense as he had first thought. He could be seen if someone onThe Lost Sparrowturned to look his way.
“Now or never,” he declared. “I cannot go back. I must either return to Georgiana and Elizabeth or die in the sea. I can wait no longer for another opportunity to show itself.”
* * *
Even after reaching England, it had taken them another two days to maneuver up the Thames and dock in London. In all, he had spent three weeks with the crew ofThe Resolution, an appropriate name for a ship that brought about an ending to his ordeal, who, once they had retrieved him from the water and had heard his tale, had altered their course to trap those onThe Lost Sparrowin the cove before the pirates could respond. They may have made it to England sooner if they were not required to towThe Lost Sparrowinto port, but Darcy knew satisfactionwhen he finally stepped down on the docks in London, where his nightmare had begun. The clothes he wore had been borrowed from various members ofThe Resolution’s crew. They were ill-fitting, but so much more than the rags he had known since being pressed into service onThe Lost Sparrow.
Wilder had hired a hackney to return Darcy to Darcy House. Now, as he stepped down before his London home, people stared at him in distaste as he approached the door and released the knocker, but Darcy made himself not turn around, concentrating all his energies on surviving the next few minutes. He knew his appearance was less than pristine, for he wore mismatched clothes several sizes too large for him.One step at a time—the advice from Bruester, who had heard from his parents in a letter how Lord Matlock had moved to declare Darcy as dead after the authorities had found his cane and the ring he had purchased for Elizabeth somewhere upon the docks, rattled about in Darcy’s head. Therefore, he did not know what to expect when the door opened, but any preparations he had made mentally had not been enough.
“Yes, sir?” A man he did not recognize swung the door open.
“Where is Mr. Thacker?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Mr. Thacker has taken another position, sir. That was nearly four years past.” The man pulled himself up stiffly. “I am Mr. Jones. Do you have business with the master?” The man eyed Darcy’s mishmash of clothing up and down and edged the door partially closed.
“The master?” Darcy asked. He knew his voice held surprise, but there was no way to control his reaction to this new reality.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam.” Again, the door moved another inch closer to being slammed in Darcy’s face.
Darcy employed his best Master of Pemberley voice. “Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Fitzwilliam.” The idea the Matlocks had taken over his house did not sit well with him. If he weredead, it should be Samuel Darcy residing in this house, not the colonel. His father’s cousin, Samuel, was the heir to the Darcy fortune, not those in the Fitzwilliam family.
“Who is it, Jones?” a familiar voice called out from the second storey landing.
“I am not certain, sir.” Jones narrowed the opening.
