Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Darcy picked up a napkin from the tray and wiped his face. A soggy bit of crust fell from his hair. Elizabeth muttered a few words of apology and bent awkwardly to collect the pieces of the plate she had thrown.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said immediately, “please leave that. You are still recovering from the laudanum. You ought to rest.”
Her hand hovered over the broken china but then withdrew. “Is that what I was given?” She sat warily on the end of the bed.
Fitz finally took a few steps into the room. “We believe it was, yes,” he said.
Even in all the commotion, they had managed not to upset the candles, and in their light Darcy could see that Elizabeth was not well.
She cradled her splinted arm in her good one, and despite the cold compress he had held to her face, the bruise had swollen a little along her cheekbone.
She lifted one shoulder uncomfortably, and he was reminded that she had ridden to London on a bed of metal tools.
He tried to control his frustration. She must be in considerable pain.
Why could she not just have listened to him and remained abed?
“I must apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said almost as though she could sense his thoughts. “I am not myself. I cannot tell if it is still daylight or what day it is at all. I left my home for a walk, was forced into a carriage by two men I have never met, and then I awoke . . . here.”
Her distress was genuine, and Darcy’s irritation dissipated. Elizabeth was still under the influence of the laudanum. She was not thinking clearly. It was not her fault. Indeed, the spirit she had shown in attempting an escape was rather remarkable.
Elizabeth had Fitz’s attention. “These two men, Miss Bennet. Can you describe them?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said resolutely. She explained their features. Darcy did not recognize either man.
He tried to recall any new acquaintances he had made at the ball, but he had declined Miss Bingley’s repeated requests to join them in the receiving line, insisting that he was a guest, not a member of the family.
It was difficult enough when his Aunt Matlock pressed him into service for her annual ball, and he owed Caroline Bingley nothing in terms of her arrangements.
Thank heavens he had not given in; he would not wish his presence to corroborate any gossip about a closer connection between himself and the Bingley family.
His typical reluctance to engage in social niceties had served him well there, but had it made Miss Bingley desperate?
Had his determination to avoid Miss Bingley led to the compromise attempt or the attack on Elizabeth?
Fitz was staring at him, and he shook his head.
“If you are well enough,” Fitz said, returning his attention to Elizabeth, “perhaps you might explain how you came to be in the boot of Darcy’s carriage?”
Darcy nearly protested that Elizabeth ought to rest, but Fitz was correct. The sooner they had the information the better off they would all be, including Elizabeth.
She took a deep breath. “I . . .” She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
Fitz began to repeat his statement.
“Perhaps,” Darcy interceded, “you would just tell us what happened to you this morning, Miss Elizabeth. From the beginning.” He motioned to her clothing. “You say you walked out, and you are indeed attired for a walk.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I could not sleep after our . . . conversation at the ball, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy gave her an encouraging nod.
“We had arrived home quite late and my family was still upstairs. I went out for a walk after the sun rose.” She shivered and sniffled but continued.
“I needed to think about the things you had said. I was not attending to my whereabouts and had nearly reached the edge of my father’s lands.
I turned back for home but my way was blocked by two men on horseback. ”
“Had you seen them before?” Darcy inquired.
She shook her head. “No, but the path they were on leads from Netherfield Park to Longbourn. I presumed they had attended the ball.”
“They may have,” Fitz said thoughtfully. “Or they may have pretended to be invited.”
“They said they wished to call upon my father,” Elizabeth said tiredly. “But it was far too early to call.” She worried her bottom lip. “Do you suppose they meant to take me from the house?”
Darcy exchanged a glance with Fitz, whose expression was stony. It was possible, but it would have been difficult with such a large family still inside.
“Are there windows in your room, Miss Elizabeth?” Fitz asked.
She nodded. “One large window that faces the gardens in the back of the house.”
Fitz lifted one shoulder. “They may have only wished to scout the premises and watch for an opportunity to take you, but if they were in a hurry, they might try it. After a ball, I would hazard a guess that everyone was sleeping late, and the servants were less likely to be upstairs . . .”
“Better to be taken away from the house, then. Had I been with my sisters . . .” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “At least no one else was hurt.”
Fitz was silent, but his steady gaze meant that Elizabeth had impressed him. Darcy understood the feeling. “Do you recall anything else?” he asked.
She shook her head. “They forced me to drink, and one of them hit me, but I do not recall much more. It is all a bit hazy,” she said.
“Did they say anything else to you, anything at all?” Darcy asked.
“One said he was pleasantly surprised to see me,” she replied, her eyes haunted.
Darcy ran a hand over his face. Not enough that they had dosed her with laudanum, accosted her, torn her from her family.
They had taunted her, too. His thoughts turned dark as he considered how to make them answer for it.
Darcy meant to speak, to comfort her, he truly did—but the words would not come. What comfort did he have to offer?
Elizabeth rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “May I inquire where I am now?”
“In a hidden room off my study,” Darcy informed her.
Her eyebrows lifted. “In London?” She shook her head slightly.
“No, of course it is London.” She sagged, the strength that had propelled her to fight for her release entirely gone.
“How long have I been . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Darcy saw the moment she realized her predicament.
A deep sadness shadowed her eyes and pierced his heart.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said soothingly, “I promise to explain everything, but perhaps you ought to rest a bit more first.”
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I do not believe I will rest until I know the worst of it, Mr. Darcy. If you would indulge me, I promise not to interrupt.”
He explained how they had discovered her. At the end of his recital, she sat for a time. “How long?” she asked.
Darcy glanced at Fitz and pulled out his watch. “I do not know when you left your home this morning, Miss Elizabeth, but you have been sleeping a rather long time. It is nearly four.”
“Could we not steal back into Hertfordshire?” she pleaded. “I could act as though I had taken a fall on my walk and could not make it back on my own.” She was holding back tears, he suspected. “No one need ever know.”
Fitz snorted from his place across the room. “Do not be ridiculous. You would expect us to leave you outdoors after dark?”
“I could wander home.”
“And what then?” Fitz asked. “What would stop the men who attacked you from doing it again and succeeding this time?”
“Fitz,” Darcy said warningly.
Elizabeth’s brows pinched together. “Then . . . you might send me to my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner here in town. They are not expecting me, but they would not turn me away.”
“You would draw these men to their home, Miss Bennet? Do they have children?”
“Fitz,” Darcy said again.
Elizabeth was silent, and Fitz pressed on.
“There might even be spies watching my cousin’s house to alert them should you step one foot outside, so they can proclaim to the world that Darcy is a debased seducer of gentlewomen.”
“Enough!” Darcy said emphatically, rising to his feet.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and said, quite steadily, “I am sorry for Mr. Darcy, Colonel, but he has family and resources enough to protect him. I am not in such a fortunate position, nor is my family, and even you must see that none of this has been my doing. You are spending your anger upon me because you do not know where else to put it, and I must say that I do not appreciate it.”
Fitz leaned his head back against the wall. “My apologies, Miss Bennet,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps I have been too direct.”
She waved him off. “My mother often behaves in this manner, sir. You are forgiven.” Elizabeth focused on Darcy. “My family,” she said plaintively. “My sisters . . .”
“Will be protected,” Darcy assured her. “I give you my word.”
He heard Fitz strangle a protest.
Darcy’s promise seemed to placate Elizabeth. “Thank you, sir. I suppose,” she said with a little sigh, “that is the best that can be accomplished.”
He did not like the resignation in her response.
Elizabeth’s head began to droop, but she recovered enough to push herself back and settle on the bed. Darcy helped her recline without straining her splinted arm and pulled the blankets up so she would be warm enough.
“I will say,” she told him softly, “that I never thought I should be tucked into my bed by you, Mr. Darcy.”
A hundred fantasies of Elizabeth he had shoved aside over the past months broke free to riot before his eyes. She is not herself, he told himself sternly. She does not realize . . . Behave like a gentleman. He stepped back.
Fitz waited until Darcy was finished, but then motioned angrily to the doorway.
Darcy did not appreciate the summons, but he understood it.
He glowered back at his cousin but followed his lead, stopping first to add a few more coals to the fire.
As Fitz passed through the opening, Darcy turned his head to look at Miss Elizabeth.
She was staring at him.