Colonel Darcy

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“Stand so I can dress you, Ma’am.”

“Why? Why am I being sent down?”

The woman scowled at Elizabeth. “They want you to speak to the gentleman.”

She had no intention of seeing Sir Clement again. 

But Elizabeth had grown ugly and wild looking.

Maybe her appearance — or smell — would put him off. Or she could scratch him with her fingernails.

Elizabeth selected the dirtiest dress. The one she had spilled barely warm soup over after the windows had been boarded up.

Elizabeth stumbled down the stairs. She was led to the study. She tensed her arms with anticipation. She would claw Sir Clement.

They had trapped her in a dark room, but she was not beaten.

She touched Georgiana’s letters for reassurance.

A tall, thin gentleman stood next to the desk. 

He stared at her with a powerful intensity.

He was deeply tanned and a large scar dominated the left side of his face. It extended from the bottom of his ear into the edge of his hairline. Elizabeth’s hand would barely cover it. Half his eyebrow was missing.

It was a pity, for otherwise he had a very handsome face. Then he said in a strained voice, “Lizzy.”

Her eyes widened. 

It was Fitzwilliam.

Like the missing pieces of a puzzle falling into place, she recognized him, though he was ten pounds lighter and there was some change that went far deeper than his face. 

She impulsively threw her arms around him.

He staggered and held her close. “Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam. Oh. Oh. You are here. Here. At last. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My ship only came this morning.” There was a smile in his familiar strange voice. He kissed her on the forehead. “I am here.”

“You came to rescue me? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I can’t go back in there. No. No. No—”

“Shhh. It will be well. You won’t. I swear.” He awkwardly brushed his hand over her cheek, wiping away her tears. “You don’t have to return.”

“How?”

He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Your mother…agreed to let me marry you. W-would you be willing?”

She stared at him in surprise. This must be the only way for her to escape, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was sacrificing himself to marry a girl he’d not seen for five years, and who had become shockingly ugly in that room.

Though she felt guilty, she tightened her arms around him, “Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.”