It took a while for Elizabeth to regain her senses. Her breathing was ragged, her throat burned and felt bruised. She staggered over to the table, where a tray sat with a partially spilled cup of water and a plate of bread and cheese. He had come to bring her food. The tears really started flowing then. She drank what little water was left and slowly ate the bread, momentarily defeated. It took a few hours for her to come to grips with what almost happened.

It was around noon the following day when the new maid returned. She brought another bowl of the awful broth and more misshapen bread. "You shouldn't have tried to escape Miss. Now his Lordship is fit to be tied, he is." She looked around the room and tsked before leaving. Two more days passed and with it came more bruises as she was caught attempting another get-away.

It occurred to Elizabeth that while she had planned her escape, she had no resources to help her make her way. That is when the idea came to her. She could sew her jewelry into the layers of her undergarments. Quickly she ran to the Queen Anne, opened the bottom drawer, and took out her sewing kit. She chose one of her nicer chemises and a few of her smaller silk reticules. Over the next hour, her hands worked swiftly to sew the purses into the layers of chemise, forming compartments where she could hide her jewelry. After making sure to put a few stitches into the chains and crevices of each item, she shook the garment to make certain it did not produce any sound as she wore it. This was going to be her very best effort. She packed a knapsack with a set of undergarments and a few of her most precious belongings, a simple but beautiful embroidered handkerchief her mother had made with her nickname and a miniature painting of her when she was about Elizabeth's age. Stuffing the bundle under the pillows, she hoped that it would go unnoticed.

Elizabeth watched as Fredrick went for his usual morning ride. It was almost time for the maid to arrive with the food. Elizabeth put on her newly adjusted chemise, followed by an old brown dress, and pelisse. With some difficulty, she climbed into the chimney shaft. It was a quarter hour later before she heard the maid walk in. A moment later the maid ran out of the room calling for help, leaving the door wide open.

Elizabeth quickly climbed down the shaft and grabbed her knapsack. Holding her breath, she looked into the hall for any surprises that might await her, and saw that it was empty. Stumbling she ran down the hall towards the servant staircase in the back of the manor. She could taste her freedom, almost there. In her hurry to alert the household, the maid went down the main staircase, leaving the servants domain clear for Elizabeth. She rushed down the two flights of stairs and was about to run out through the kitchen gardens when she came face to face with Fredrick. He was just entering the kitchen door. Elizabeth did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed a pan and swung as hard as she could.

It was a complete surprise for Fredrick to come up against Elizabeth. When the pan came swinging at his face, he had barely enough time to pull back. It only grazed his chin. This was it—the proverbial last straw. Grabbing the pan, he threw it across the room, sending it crashing into a wall of plates and tableware. He grabbed her by the hair and slapped her face. He paused, and then with renewed zeal kicked her in the ribs and legs. She stopped fighting back after that and fell to the floor in a faint.

***

Elizabeth revived sometime later. From the scents in the room she recognized that she was in the library. A low whisper and the sound of the tumblers on the sideboard let her know that she was not alone. It was easier to keep her eyes closed with all the pain and swelling. Elizabeth tried to listen hard for the sounds surrounding her—scratching on paper, a light tap against the windowsill, loud panting a distance away. She was in so much pain, nausea overtook her and she began to shake uncontrollably.

"Ah—good, you have come to. Do sit up now."

With some difficulty, Elizabeth opened her eyes. She could feel the bruising around her eye socket from one of the earlier hits. She noticed a man standing by the window. He did not turn around. He stood looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts. A pair of grey hounds were asleep at the foot of her father's desk. She gently moved to the chair across from her father's desk, where Fredrick was pouring over some papers.

"How was your rest?" he said without looking up.

She raised her chin and stared in a gesture of defiance, which only hurt her more. The complete gesture went unnoticed by him.

Fredrick leaned over to open a drawer, and pulled out her father's seal—no, his seal now. He melted a measure of red wax and sealed the document he was studying. As he did so, he began saying, "Beth, I have decided that we will not need to wait for the banns to be read, I have acquired a special license. Mr. Lambert there will be presiding over the ceremony tomorrow morning. He looked up then and was satisfied to see the color drain from her face. It did look like she lost a great deal of her beauty, especially with all the bruising, but that could not be helped.

The ice in his tone made gooseflesh rise on her arms and chills trail down her spine. Elizabeth tried to stand up and walk around the chair. Her legs were leaden and unmovable. Had he figured out she was about to escape again? Why the sudden rush? Elizabeth leaned back in the chair as her vision blurred with unshed tears. She took a deep breath and exhaled in pain. A smirk of satisfaction crossed his lips. She swallowed the lump in her throat and exclaimed, "You promised that you would give me time to mourn my father's death," while forcing herself to remain calm.

"I think we have waited long enough, I have things to take care of and can't dally here on your whim." He walked around the desk, then reached and grasped her wrist firmly. She knew he was intentionally bruising her. He pulled her up, level with his chest. He placed his hand behind her neck and forced her face closer as he threatened, "Don't make this more difficult Beth. You could find enjoyment and freedom in marriage."

Bile rose in her throat. Elizabeth did not believe a word he said; she knew better. She braced herself as he lowered his head and forced his lips onto hers. She held still. He smelled of horseflesh and sweat. She pushed away from him and slapped him hard.

"How dare you!"

The now familiar sparks of anger in his cold blue eyes surfaced again. She struggled to step away from him. Instead of letting her go, he forced her closer. Fredrick kissed her again, but instead of a quick brush on her lips, he forced the kiss until she could taste her own blood. He grabbed her breast and squeezed hard. Elizabeth cried out in pain, and as she did, he pushed his tongue into her mouth to deepen the kiss. She bit down, hard.

He pushed her away from him while still holding her head, using her hair as an anchor. "You can't force me!" She said as she wiped the blood from her lip.

Lambert, by the window, looked over his shoulder at the scene unfolding before him. He wasn't going to get involved at first, but perhaps it was better to intervene after all. If Fredrick killed her, there would be more questions and problems in the long run.

"Don't you know by now that you belong to me? That I can do as I please with you?" His eyes were bulging as he shouted at her. Fredrick's rage was mercurial at best. He had started to slap Elizabeth around again, but soon the flat palm of his hand became a fist and the taste of blood filled her mouth. He let go of her hair as his fist connected with her cheek. Elizabeth tripped on a small table and fell against the desk, hitting her head on the corner. As the room dimmed, she felt sharp blows to her rib cage.

After a few failed attempts, Lambert finally pulled Fredrick off the battered and bloody girl and warned him about the legal ramifications of finding Elizabeth hurt by his hand.

Elizabeth was no longer moving. Fredrick walked over to the side table; he could really use a brandy. The decanter was full of the amber liquor but he didn't dare entertain the idea of his own death quite yet. Fredrick had been lacing the brandy for years now. Whenever he had the chance to visit Clair Hall, he made sure to bring a new cask and bestow it on the earl. This last batch had finally done the job. Smiling, he settled for the scotch instead. He raised his snifter at the decanter of brandy in a show of farewell and mumbled, "Good riddance! Get rid of her too!"

Lambert considered the limp body on the floor and wondered how he could possibly get rid of her? She lived here. The neighbors and servants would notice if she were missing.

"You could make it appear like a robbery." Fredrick walked over to the body again, and sat on his haunches. He reached down and grabbed her bodice and felt the soft flesh beneath his palm. Wistfully, he thought to himself, I should have used her first. "She was too skinny anyway." Lambert looked down and considered Fredrick's statement. He had to disagree with his friend about that.

***

Shortly after, Lambert made way to the front of the manor house and noticed the carriage by the stables. He went to the horse stalls and asked the stable hand to bring the carriage around. He mentioned that his 'Mistress' wanted to visit the neighboring town. As the young chap went about readying the carriage, Lambert rubbed his hands together. Maybe this would not be so hard after all. He went in search of a few of Elizabeth's belongings. He filled a portmanteau with a few dresses and the knapsack she was carrying and took it to the carriage. He dismissed the boy and driver, who only after hesitating for a moment, agreed. Lambert returned inside and asked Fredrick to create a diversion by calling the few remaining servants into the stables. "Make up some reason why you need everyone there. Give me enough time so I can carry her to the carriage without them seeing me. Fredrick stood up from his chair by the fire and walked out into the hall. His hounds followed closely.

Lambert waited a few minutes—while the brawny maid followed Fredrick outside. He wrapped Elizabeth in her overcoat and carried her into the carriage. Slamming the door, he climbed into the coachman's seat, adjusted the horse's leather reins, and started driving out of the courtyard. The next few hours went by at a drudgingly slow speed as the sky went from murky gray to thunder rolling clouds. Knowing the storm was fast approaching, Lambert decided he was far enough away from Clair Hall to drop her body off and start heading back.

He pulled over to the side of the road and jumped down from the driver's seat. He opened the door and stared at her, wrapped in her brown overcoat in the same position as when he abandoned her. Really, it was too bad that Fredrick killed her. Lambert wondered what she looked like without the bruises. He needed to make this look like a robbery gone wrong. Grabbing his knife from its sheath, he ran its sharp edge along her collarbone. He could slash her clothes in a few places to make it look like someone attacked her. He pushed the edge of the blade into Elizabeth's bodice and started to cut down, but his knife caught on the corset she was wearing. Clumsily, Lambert grabbed the hem of her dress and chemise and started cutting upwards.

Feeling a bit of a snag, he adjusted the angle of his knife at her knee and in one smooth slide, slit her skirt open to her waist. Suddenly blood started staining the garments. Brilliant! That is all he needed. He must have cut too deep. This explained the difficulty of the cutting. Blood seeped thru the folds of her garments. The crimson red stain gave him an idea. He could stab her shoulder and make it look like the attack had killed her. He had barely grazed her skin enough for the blood to seep out when he heard the sounds of a rider's hoofs from the distance. He looked out from around the door, and saw a man coming, at a leisurely pace.

"Bloody hell!" Lambert wrapped her back up in her brown overcoat and pulled her over his shoulder. He turned and walked a few steps and dumped his load into the bushes. He had just grabbed her portmanteau when he realized the rider picked up his pace. Not wanting to be confronted by the rider, Lambert tossed the bag in the same direction as Elizabeth and quickly jumped to the top seat, taking off as fast as he could manage. Lambert didn't dare look back to see whether the rider slowed down or stopped. He was just glad his part of this mess was over. "Good riddance—indeed."