Free Darkness Falls Upon Pemberley by Susan Adriani

urge to be as spiteful and obstinate as his sister was willful. Leaning low over his mount, he flew over the countryside at a punishing pace. The adrenaline pumping through his body combined with the high rate of speed at which he was travelling made him feel invincible, as though nothing and no one in the entire universe could possibly conquer him.
    A fallen tree choked by thick, twisted vines lay in his path, but his horse cleared it as though it were nothing more than a branch or even a twig. A hedge, a fence, a mound of earth, a boulder, a rock wall—all were hurdled with little effort. It was exhilarating, and Darcy revelled in every soul-freeing second of his rebellion.
    Just ahead a wooded grove loomed, its ancient trees sentient a nd still. It bordered a natural spring-fed lake, a favorite spot for fishing in the summer months; one Darcy had frequented on horseback from the time he was a young boy. He knew the path well, and his intent was to guide his mount through the dense maze of timber without slowing his pace; but as they neared the tree line his stallion began pulling against the reins and tossing his head. Darcy tightened his grip and fought to retain control, but his horse had other ideas. The ornery animal stopped short, reared, bucked, and threw his master a half dozen meters. Darcy landed hard upon the frozen ground.
    There h e lay, unmoving; flat on his back as he laboured to draw breath. The sheer force of his landing caused his head to reel, his ears to ring, and bright white blotches of light to pulse painfully behind his eyes. Weakened and nearly overcome by the pain in his skull, he turned his eyes heavenward, where the mid-morning sky was a deep, almost impossible shade of blue. The color, as so many things had since he’d met her, reminded him immediately of Elizabeth, or, more particularly, of a gown she’d once worn in his presence. The rich cerulean muslin had looked exquisite against her pale skin, so exquisite in fact that he’d found it extremely difficult at the time to refrain from touching her bare shoulders, or her neck, or any other part of her that was exposed to him. Somehow, though, he’d managed to remain a gentleman. It was something that, even in his current, decidedly grim state, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley could not bring himself to regret. His only regret was that he hadn’t tried harder to win her; that he hadn’t followed her to London and courted her relentlessly, until she was as passionately in love with him as he was with her and no longer of a mind to refuse him anything. But now, as he lay sprawled upon the cold ground unable to move, he knew that any chance of reuniting with Elizabeth was lost to him. She was lost to him forever.
    Darcy groaned as the pain in his head increased to an intolerable level, but so, too, had the acute discomfort spreading through his chest. Whether the latter was from constantly yearning for the woman he loved these past months or from any physical injuries he sustained after his horse had thrown him, Darcy was in no condition to discern.
    With a ragged exhalation he shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth against the absolute agony seizing his body. It was quickly overpowering him, pulling him with thorny fingers and eager arms into a dark, velvety abyss where Darcy knew nothing, and felt nothing. Not even the pain of his broken heart.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    E leven
     
    Darcy combed his fingers through his hair, exhaling heavily as he stood in Longbourn’s finest drawing room. Six months had passed since he’d last been in Hertfordshire; half a year since he’d seen Elizabeth. So much had happened in that span of time. Too much, he thought as his mouth twisted ruefully.
    The anticipation of finally seeing her again, coupled with the agitation he felt regarding the obvious differences in his appearance, was enough to drive him out of his mind. Darcy needed a distraction and strode to the nearest window, where he was