Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Seventeen

Darcy’s footsteps echoed as he crossed the black and white tiled hall, acknowledging the bell boy’s cheery greeting with a smile. He pushed the heavy revolving door and stepped out onto Brook Street; a place that had once been as familiar as his own home. The taxi he’d ordered was waiting by the kerb and he climbed inside, giving Liz’s address to the driver.

The night had been long enough. He wasn’t prepared to waste precious minutes looking for a place to park his car.

A short drive later they arrived outside Liz’s house. Although the roads around Mayfair had been moderately busy, there were no cars or people moving on this quiet residential street.

Darcy paid the driver before climbing the three shallow steps to the front door. Remembering Liz’s instructions from the previous evening he fitted the brass key in the lock and let himself into the silent house. He paused, listening for movement, but heard nothing. One of the treads creaked as he climbed to the top floor and knocked on Liz’s door. After a moment he knocked again, a little louder this time, and waited.

He bent his head to the woodwork, listening for sounds inside the flat, but everything was quiet, as though he was the only person awake. Darcy looked at his watch. Seven thirty on a Sunday morning. He would usually be in the stables about now. Romulus and Remus would have to live without him for a couple of days.

Was it too early for Liz?

The keys weighed heavily in his pocket as he considered unlocking the door himself. It didn’t seem right that he should enter a lady’s bedroom unannounced, even though she had given him permission. He just hadn’t realised at the time that he might need it.

The grey dawn diffusing through a skylight above reflected off the silver key as he turned it. He eased the door open, expecting Liz to be hovering around the kitchen area or sitting at her desk, but there was no movement. Closing the door, Darcy walked across the room and stood by the bed.

In repose, Liz’s face bore none of the fascinating expressions that had enchanted him at Pemberley. Her blue eyes were hidden, her lips still and silent. A blonde halo circled her head like the corona of the sun rising behind a mountain. Darcy reached out with one hand, capturing a lock of her hair.

The silky smooth strands slid between his fingers and thumb, triggering a memory over a hundred and ninety five years old. He remembered touching Elizabeth’s cold lips and fingering her long chestnut curls. Her cheeks were colourless, her skin taking on a waxen appearance in death. He’d laid a hand on her heart, feeling the stillness in her chest, but that wasn’t what convinced him Elizabeth had gone. No, he’d noticed something missing as soon as he walked into the room. The connection they’d shared had faded almost to nothing. She’d taken his heart to a place he could not follow, even though he’d still felt it beating.

The unpleasant memories stirred panic within him, and his gaze fell on Liz’s chest. The quilt rose slightly then fell, her breathing strong and steady.

He moved the chair from her desk to the side of the bed and sat for some minutes watching Liz sleep, not wanting to disturb her. Had she slept well or tossed and turned all night as he had? Darcy hoped it was the latter. Not that he was so uncharitable to wish a poor night’s rest on anyone, but he hoped she was as affected by his leaving as he had been leaving her. He hadn’t realised how much comfort he’d taken from having her safe within the walls of Pemberley. Imagining Liz sleeping alone, in a strange flat miles from his hotel, had tested his resolve to its limits.

Liz moaned, her head rolling towards him. He waited, expecting her to wake, but then she settled again. A few minutes later she gasped, as though dreaming, and her breath came faster as her right arm flew out from beneath the quilt, clasping the cover to her chest and leaving her shoulder exposed to the cold air.