Chapter 5 #2
She thanked him, and as he disappeared through the door, Elizabeth determined that she rather liked this Mr. Darcy.
He was quiet but attentive. Had he shown this side of himself to her when he first arrived in Hertfordshire, she might easily have lost her heart to him.
It was a shame that he had revealed himself to her only when it was too late to do anything about it.
Or perhaps her current situation had simply rendered her so far beneath his notice that he felt his kindnesses could not be mistaken for anything but pity.
Darcy swept out of the darkness of the hidden room into his study and blinked in the light.
He sat with Fitz as his cousin finished enough food for two active men.
When at last Fitz tossed his napkin over the tray, Darcy gathered the plates and unlocked the door.
Pratt was waiting with a footman, who took the tray while Pratt handed him a note.
“For the colonel, sir,” he said placidly.
Darcy took the note and closed the door, locking it behind him.
“Now that you have played the servant, what is our course of action, cousin?” Fitz asked. He had resettled near the fire, his boots on the ottoman, a toothpick hanging from his mouth.
Darcy dropped the note in Fitz’s lap and waited as Fitz read it. “Has your man determined whether the house is being surveilled?”
“It does not appear to be,” Fitz told him with a frown. “It makes no sense.” Fitz did not like things that made no sense, and his dark expression confirmed his unease.
“Have you already sent a rider back along the route?” Darcy inquired.
His cousin nodded. “He was off at dawn.” Fitz consulted his watch and sat for a moment, toying with it.
“I know you will not like it,” he said finally, without looking up, “but I shall have to reverse my position. Despite what I said to Miss Bennet, if no one is watching the house, we should move her now.”
Darcy shook his head. “No.”
“She mentioned having family in town. Surely she would be more . . .”
There was no need for his cousin to complete the thought, and Darcy interrupted it. “No.”
“Darcy,” Fitz said, exasperated. “It would be better for you and for her. If whoever took her does not know she made it to London, there is little danger.”
The very notion made him angry. “Little danger? Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst knew of Miss Elizabeth’s penchant for walks.
They also know that Miss Elizabeth’s family resides near Cheapside, and they would have no trouble discovering the exact direction from Mrs. Bennet.
If any of the Bingleys are involved in this, they would have all the information they required.
” He folded his arms across his chest to keep himself under good regulation.
“We have not yet identified the men who accosted her. Shall we fob her off on a tradesman and his wife who cannot possibly hope to protect her? Who might be harmed themselves if they take her in?” He moved to stand between his cousin and the fire.
“These were your own arguments only yesterday! We do not yet know whether there are rumors, or if there are, how far they have traveled. Where would she go should these relations decide they cannot accept her? How would we even keep a journey to that part of town private?” Anders might not draw scrutiny there, but a carriage as fine as Darcy’s would certainly invite notice.
And how would they even remove her from the house?
Did Fitz expect her to hide in another trunk? No.
Darcy placed a hand upon the mantle and eyed his boots, polished to a high shine. “You wish me to expel her from my home when I am the reason she has been injured?” He shook his head. “It will not do, Fitz.”
“We do not know that for certain, and you would not be casting her out,” Fitz protested levelly.
“You would be protecting both her and yourself. We could continue to investigate without the additional burden of hiding a woman in your house. If you are concerned about her safety, we could take her to my mother.”
“You believe your father would sanction that? Who would I have to marry to gain his agreement?”
Fitz shook his head. “It would not come to that. He thinks well of you. He might suggest, but he would not impose. And you know that even if he did, my mother would not allow it.”
Darcy shook his head. “Henry is in town. Do you really think he would pass up the opportunity to gossip? And the servants? There are three times the number at Matlock House than there are here, at the least. Can you vouch for them all?”
Fitz only shrugged.
Darcy’s heart contracted. He had not seen to Georgiana’s safety as he ought to have. He would not make the same mistake with Elizabeth. “Please, Fitz. Her reputation is damaged beyond repair if we cannot keep this quiet.”
“Is it not already?” Fitz asked. “Do not you think her absence has been noted? That her family is afraid for her? They ought to know she is safe.”
“And they will,” Darcy replied. “But Mr. Bennet knows what happened at the ball. He has likely come up with some excuse for Elizabeth’s absence. I dare not send a third letter in two days to Longbourn. It would raise too many questions.”
“You are being purposely thick, cousin,” Fitz responded. “What of her family here in town?”
“We can send someone with an anonymous note to tell them she is well. I do not know these relatives, but the uncle is brother to Mrs. Bennet. If they knew she was here, they might rush directly over no matter what I said.”
Fitz was skeptical.
“Just last night you told Miss Elizabeth that her family, including the children, would be in danger if we sent her there. Was that not the truth?” Darcy was frustrated.
He could not deny that they ought to contact her family.
It was the proper thing to do, though the rules of propriety did not cover discovering an insensate woman in the boot of one’s carriage.
But he knew, he knew, that Elizabeth had been hurt because of him.
To allow her to be sent away where he would be unable to protect her .
. . “She has no enemies. Her father barely stirs from his estate, so it is unlikely he has any. We must face the truth—I am the one who gives offense wherever I go. I am the one who has drawn this disaster to her.” He tapped the mantle with a closed fist and wished they could take their argument to Gentleman Jack’s. He was wild to hit something.
“Your honor must tell you . . .”
Darcy shook his head. “My honor is my own. It has never gone by the book, but rather by what I know to be right. And I cannot explain it, but this is the right course.”
His cousin considered that, and then changed direction. “I must ask,” he said, apparently unmoved by Darcy’s confession. “Is it possible that Bingley has nothing to do with it? Might there be a scorned lover?”
Darcy found himself hauling his cousin up from his seat and holding him by the lapels of his coat.
“No, I take it.” Fitz’s words were laconic.
“No,” Darcy said angrily. “I warn you, cousin. Do not insult her again.”
Fitz was unmoved. “It was a reasonable question.” He met Darcy’s glare, unperturbed. “You are very quick to defend the honor of a woman you cannot admit you love.”
“I will see her safe,” Darcy said, releasing Fitz with a little shove.
The momentum forced Fitz to sit again on the settee, but he immediately bounced back up to his feet. “Shall we ask Miss Bennet her thoughts on the matter?” Fitz was at the bookcase before Darcy could even respond, but Darcy was hard on his cousin’s heels as they entered the small room.
Elizabeth was sleeping. The light from the doorway spilled over her.
She had propped herself up against her pillow and the wall, her splinted arm held carefully across her stomach.
The bruise on her face was blue across her cheekbone.
Beneath the discolored flesh, her complexion was flushed.
It was not cold in the room, but neither was it hot.
Darcy shoved Fitz aside, lowered himself to one knee beside the bed, and placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Another breach in propriety.
She did not stir at his touch. Her skin was warm. “And now she is ill,” he nearly spat out as though the illness itself was what affronted him. “I will not send her out in the cold. Do not suggest it again.”
“You make it impossible to help you, Darcy,” Fitz said heatedly, losing a bit of his composure at last.
Fitz was correct, and Darcy knew it. It did not matter. “I must do what is right. I will not be able to live with myself if I do not.”
“Very well,” Fitz said, more formally than his wont. “Have you considered whether or not your sister can live with it?”
Darcy gripped the edge of the bed. “I cannot believe you would . . .” He pushed himself suddenly to his feet but stopped.
He tugged furiously at the hem of his waistcoat while he regained his self-control.
“Your mother has Georgiana well in hand. Should I be disgraced in this, I have no doubt she and the earl will help my sister weather the scandal.” It was not as though Georgiana desired his company.
His cousin frowned and continued to pry.
“I simply want you to think this through. You have not been your usual clever self since Miss Bennet arrived.” He smoothed his waistcoat back into its proper place.
“You have always been so careful to avoid any hint of impropriety. Yet you would sacrifice your reputation for Miss Bennet though you know it will not save hers?”
Yes. “Miss Elizabeth interfered to save me from an entanglement to Caroline Bingley. What kind of man would I be to turn from her when she required my assistance?”
“Do not hand me that bag of moonshine, Darcy,” Fitz replied, exasperated.
“Of course you should assist her. It is the manner of that assistance that has me concerned. You will not marry her? Very well. But there is no need to throw yourself upon your sword.” The fire of his cousin’s temper had subsided, but he strode back out into the study.
“Where are you going?” Darcy asked, surprised.
“There are things to be done, cousin. I will return before dinner. Take care of the lady,” Fitz said.
“Fitz . . . ” was all Darcy managed to say before his cousin was gone.
“Blast,” someone said from above her. Elizabeth opened her eyes.
“Mr. Darcy?” she asked, confused, and the man flushed a very deep red.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Might I have the name of your uncle here in town?”
“Are you to send for him?” she asked, pleased but weary. “His name is Edward Gardiner,” she replied. “He owns several warehouses—Gardiner’s Trading Company, best known for fine fabrics. He and my aunt reside in Gracechurch Street.”
Elizabeth had been dreaming about bitter wine and pale blue eyes before she had been awakened, and despite the subject, she rather wished she was dreaming still.
Everything ached, including her head, and she felt hot.
She kicked feebly at her blanket to remove it but succeeded only in freeing one foot.
Mr. Darcy nodded, then stepped forward to gently take the corner of the covering and tuck it back around her.
Of course he did. She could not even remove a blanket without him disagreeing.
Then she remembered that he had recently been very good to her.
She really had to stop believing that everything he did was meant to be contrary.
She rubbed a cheek against her shoulder. Oh, but it was warm.
“I am hot, Mr. Darcy,” she complained. “May I not remove the quilt?”
He stared at her. “You are ill, madam,” he said quite formally, and she wondered what had happened to “Miss Elizabeth.”
“Yes, I am ill,” she confirmed. She could feel it, after all, and it was not as though Mr. Darcy would allow her to deny it. “I am also too warm. I should like to remove the quilt, please.”
A crease appeared on Mr. Darcy’s forehead.
His hand reached out to the blanket but then dropped to his side.
She could see he had been perplexed by her request, both wishing to comply and feeling it might harm her.
Had she not felt so wretched, Elizabeth might have laughed.
The imposing Mr. Darcy, undone by so simple an appeal. It was rather endearing.
Perhaps he would do better were he given something to do.
“Willow bark tea,” she informed him, and was annoyed by how hoarse the words sounded. “Would you request some for me, sir? You can tell your housekeeper that you have a headache.” She forced a small smile. “You need not inform her who is causing it.”
He bowed and walked away. The moment he closed the door behind him, Elizabeth kicked off her blanket.
This was all so infuriating. She was never injured or ill, and to be both just when she most required her strength was unbearable.
She struggled to pull herself up a bit more.
Exhausted by her efforts, she glanced around the chamber.
Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, so that even with only a few candles, she could make most of it out.
The room was large enough for the bed, the chairs, and the hearth.
The wall directly opposite her would accommodate a desk and bookshelf, but not much else.
It was fortunate that Mr. Darcy had a warm, dry room to conveniently hide her away, but could he not have chosen one with a little sunlight?
Although perhaps it would only make her headache worse.
She was being terribly ungrateful. Mr. Darcy was making every effort to see to her comfort. Jane would be disappointed in her.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. With an impatient huff, Elizabeth used her foot to pull the quilt back up to her good hand, and she maneuvered it over her legs. Before Mr. Darcy returned with the tea, she was already falling asleep, shivering and burning in equal measure.