Page 23 of Losing Lizzy
“I will sleep on the floor or in a chair,” he said in customary calmness which occasionally drove her crazy, while, in reality, providing her confidence. “I will not leave until we know Elizabeth Anne is safe.”
“Why do you insist on calling our child ‘Elizabeth Anne’ when the world calls her ‘Lizzy’?” she charged.
His steady gaze held her in place. “For the same reason I have only called you ‘Lizzy’ upon one occasion—the evening I gave myself to you and you gave yourself to me—when I held you in my arms, and I knew we would end our days together. When I do the same with our daughter—hold her safely to me—when she becomes ingrained in my soul—becomes a living, breathing part of me, she will become ‘Lizzy Anne,’ and as I became ‘William’ to you rather than ‘Fitzwilliam,’ to our daughter, I will become ‘Papa.’”
She understood: He required distance to keep himself calm enough to handle the chaos. At that moment, she both admired how he could control his emotions so completely and despised him for his coldness. “You cannot sleep on the floor.”
“Elizabeth, for nearly four years, I often slept chained to the floor of a ship, a floor in a room with a fire will be a luxury.”
“Chained?” She knew instant regret for never having asked what had occurred to keep him from their wedding. She supposed she really did not want to know, for fear knowing would make her forgive him, and, without her anger, she had nodefenses against completely trusting him again.
“I was wondering when you would become curious as to what prevented me from pronouncing our vows.”
Her brow knitted in shame. “It was wrong of me not to inquire. You deserved better of me,” she admitted. “Would you speak to what occurred? That is, if you are comfortable in sharing it with me.”
He paused as if considering how to answer. This was a different Fitzwilliam Darcy from the one she had come to love. There was a bitterness and a sadness about his countenance, and, despite her earlier observations regarding his “masterly” ways, he had lost some of his confidence. At length, he said, “As it is late, I will provide you the briefest of explanations.” She understood: He did not want to dwell on the past, a past that had reshaped their relationship. Neither did she, but, until they could come again to some easiness between them, their future would be doomed before it began.
He tapped his finger against the table as if doing so would drive away the obvious pain he was experiencing behind his eyes, where, she knew, he saw everything from the last four years flash through his memory. “As you are aware, I returned to London to retrieve the ring I had designed for you at Rundell and Bridge’s shop. What you do not know, or I am assuming you were not told, I received a message from Lord Matlock regarding problems with a shipment of silk and other items from the Far East in which we had both invested. We had already heard that the countess was ill and would not be attending the wedding and the new message said his lordship had been called home for some business that could not be neglected at the family estate. Therefore, I set out to visit both the jeweler and the docks with full intentions to return to Hertfordshire the following morning.”
“The colonel received a message saying you had been delayed and would arrive late Saturday evening,” she explained. “When you did not make an appearance for services on the Sunday before our wedding, I assumed your duties had delayed you. Although I had hoped you would arrive during the dayon Sunday, I know you avoid traveling on the Sabbath unless your business is an emergency. Although I was disappointed not to have seen you before our nuptials, Mrs. Bennet had me running every which way to finish the details for the wedding breakfast. I thought you would leave at the crack of dawn and be in Hertfordshire well before our scheduled hour of half past eleven at the church.”
“I sent no message to Fitzwilliam,” he said.
“But it was on Darcy letterhead,” she argued.
“Nevertheless, whatever my cousin received did not come from me. Unbeknownst to me, when I left Rundell’s establishment, I was followed by two men to the docks.”
“Robbery?” she asked softly.
He shook off the idea. “Your ring and my broken cane were found on the docks near the ship Matlock and I commissioned, but I was taken to the docks further down the Thames toward where the river flows into the ocean.”
“Pressed?” Elizabeth sat heavily. She had never considered the idea of him being snatched away. She had played a thousand different scenes of his walking away from her in her head, but never once had she thought him kidnapped.
“Pressed into service uponThe Lost Sparrow, a ship full of men with dark histories and questionable motives. I offered them a small fortune to release me, but they continually refused. I was kept aboardThe Lost Sparrowfor three years, eight months and two and twenty days—my feet never touching land until I made my escape and swam to safety when a British naval ship was in the same waters as us.The Resolutionbrought theSparrowand its crew into custody in London on 3 August.”
“Lizzy’s birthday,” she whispered in remembrance. “I wish I had known—”
He questioned, “Then our daughter arrived early.”
She shook her head in the affirmative while attempting to keep the darkness of those days from showing on her face. He and she were very much alike in that manner. Elizabeth was certain he had only shared a fraction of what he had sufferedduring his confinement.
“In the beginning,” she chose her words carefully, “Mr. Sheffield and I stayed in Cumbria while he searched for an appropriate location to purchase. He had wanted a shop in London, but when he took on my care, his plans changed. We could not be seen in London, for too many people we knew were there. I always despised the idea Mr. Sheffield abandoned part of his dream to save me, but both Lizzy and I would likely have died if he had not. Our daughter was born there.”
“On his brother’s estate?” William had asked.
“No. In a cottage we let. We were in Cumbria some eight months, throughout the remainder of my confinement and a bit longer until I was well again, and we could depart for Brighton.”
“You were unwell after delivering Elizabeth Anne?”
Elizabeth did not dare to look upon him when she explained, “Lizzy had not completely turned when my pains started, and the midwife did not seem to know what to do other than to allow either me or the child to die. Mr. Sheffield would have none of her foolishness, so he dragged a surgeon in and stayed with me until the two managed to deliver our daughter safely. Unfortunately, what they first thought was childbed fever set in, but, later, my infection proved to be a different contagion. It was a terrible time for all concerned. While I recovered, Mr. Sheffield hired a wet nurse for Lizzy and tended me himself for more than a week.”
“He has earned my undying loyalty,” Darcy said simply.
In spite of the chaos around them, she could not resist teasing him. “Sheffield has seen more of me than have you. He bathed me and changed my gowns regularly when the fever laid me low.”
He offered her a small grin. “I will have his tongue removed and him blinded before offering my former valet my loyalty.”
There was still much to be said about their missing years, but she was not yet prepared to speak the words. “Why do you not use Lizzy’s bed? It is small, but much better than sleeping onthe floor.”
