Page 54 of A Quiet Affection

Fitzwilliam slammed the door to the drawing room behind Wickham.

He then pulled her along to the lower floor at a quick pace, and when she tripped on the stairs, he simply picked her up and carried her the rest of the way down and through the hallway, only setting her on her feet when they reached the vestibule with her coats.

He grabbed one of her coats from the stand and helped her push her arms through it. “Lizzy, you are trembling. Were you hurt? How far did—”

She threw her arms around Fitzwilliam and squeezed him as hard as she could. She sobbed. Elizabeth concentrated on his smell and the texture of his coat to rid herself of the memory of Wickham’s taste on her lips.

He put his arms around her softly and held her in place. He kissed the top of her head several times. “Lizzy. My dear Lizzy. You are safe.”

“He was so much stronger than me. I couldn’t wrench myself away.”

“You are safe. You are safe.”

He helped her sit down and fit her boots on. Even though Wickham was still in the house, Elizabeth now felt completely safe. After all, she was with Fitzwilliam.

They stepped out, and Fitzwilliam guided her across the freezing path. When they exited the trees, she had to step over the soft snow that had fallen the previous day.

“The world seems bright, is it?” Elizabeth asked.

Fitzwilliam said in reply. “Is that a question of philosophy, or about the sun?”

His tone said that he was shaken as well.

Elizabeth laughed and leaned against his shoulder. “I asked about the day.”

“The light glinting off the snow makes it painfully bright.”

“Don’t look directly at it,” Elizabeth said in a sententious voice. “You would not wish to go blind.”

He giggled and then kissed the top of her head again.

The tension in Elizabeth’s form let go in a shuddering gasp. “I don’t think he would have continued. I don’t believe that. Not if I continued to resist. And Sarah was downstairs. She would have heard. We were not alone in the house. I was about to scream. I would have been heard.”

“I hope so,” Fitzwilliam said softly.

“You do not believe any of what he said, about me throwing myself at him.”

“I know how you think of Wickham. The only thing you would throw at him is a punch.”

“I tried to slap him. Twice, but it did not work as I wished.”

“That is very like you, and—Jove.” Fitzwilliam took her in his arms again and he squeezed Elizabeth tightly against his large frame. “I am shaking. I know not if it is with fear for you or rage.”

His smell was that of safety, affection, and long, long love. The way he held her filled Elizabeth with a longing wish that she could always belong to him, and that he would always be there to keep her safe. She tried to focus on the moment, storing the impression for the long future.

“I was frightened for you,” Fitzwilliam said. “I did not know why, but the longer Jane and Papa talked, the more certain I became that I did not want you to be alone in that house with only a few servants and Wickham.”

“It was my fault. I was angry at him, and I confronted him—Oh. Poor Jane. What shall I tell her? What should I tell her?”

“I do not know. You were not harmed, and—”

“No, about the housekeeper. She is his mistress. She has been for years.” Elizabeth started crying. “You shall hate me when you hear it all.”

“Never.”

The air smelled clean and cold. Elizabeth’s hands were freezing as they’d not thought to grab her gloves as they hurried out. Her cane likewise sat by the door. From the curves of the path Fitzwilliam took her on, Elizabeth could tell that they were nearly at Pemberley. “And your father, should he be told?”

“No,” Fitzwilliam said firmly. “He has chosen to believe entirely in Wickham, but I will not hurt him by further exposing his favorite to him. It will do no good. I made the effort once, and it did not work. My father will be dead soon in any case. And though I wish to fight Wickham, my conscience tells me that it would be wrong to kill him, and my duty tells me that I must not risk a duel.”