Chapter 3
“You are limping.”
It was a demand for answers rather than an observation, even if it was a gentle one, but Elizabeth was refusing to acknowledge the fact. The stream had taken them far from her party in a matter of moments, and they had to follow the water back to their point of entry before it became dark.
It would try the soul of the most chaste of men to escort Miss Elizabeth Bennet out of the wilderness in a drenched frock that left little to the imagination. He supposed noting the blood on her leg afforded him some minuscule bit of grace; he had had to tear his eyes away from her bosom long enough to observe it. He did not weigh the pleasure the sight of her long legs afforded him in this moral reckoning.
“Am I?” she asked. “I hadn’t noticed.” Elizabeth stopped and bent over to examine the leg in question, and Mr. Darcy both cursed and thanked her, silently, for facing away from him. “I thought I felt something sharp in the water. Oh! There is a cut. Here, on the front below my knee.”
He bent down. He knew it was improper to touch her, to even gaze upon her bare leg at this distance, but it could not be helped. The tear in the skin was small, but it continued to ooze blood in a way that unsettled him. He would fetch a doctor as soon as they reached a servant.
Mr. Darcy knew little about dressing wounds. She would not succumb to this injury here and now if he left it uncovered. Would it be better to bandage it with a piece of their soaked clothing?
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, but he failed to summon the words that would make his request less awkward. “Please allow me to bandage your leg.” He ripped off a section of his sleeve and folded it several times to exposed the cleanest portions. Hopefully, she would see the utility in not leaving her wound exposed and irritated by her skirts.
For a moment, he thought she might argue with him merely for the sake of it, but after a long pause where she appeared to search for a counterargument and found none, Elizabeth gave a curt nod and held up her skirts an inch higher.
Mr. Darcy knelt down, ever so slowly as if she were a skittish deer ready to bolt, and dipped the cloth behind her calf, her lovely silken calf, to wrap it around the front and tie it off. Under the pretense of checking the tightness of his knot, he slid his fingers around the edges of the bandage and let them slide off her skin as he pulled away. Heavenly.
“There,” he stated, as if he had not just irreparably damaged her prospects but saved the village from a dragon like St. George himself. “I think if you are careful and put more weight on your other leg, you will prevent further injury.” And he offered his arm to her as the solution to the new dilemma he had just provided.
“Thank you,” she said, a note of uncertainty in her voice. Still, she hesitated little before taking his proffered arm.
He hid his delight.
To Elizabeth’srelief and regret, this isolation, during which she enjoyed the steady crutch of Mr. Darcy’s arm more than she thought she deserved, lasted only several minutes. A few hundred yards from where she had first fallen into the stream, Mrs. Gardiner was sitting, having found a log upon which she might wait for her husband to bring aid.
“Oh, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Gardiner cried, uncharacteristically emotional, “we had thought you both drowned. Thank heavens Mr. Darcy was able to pull you out before either of you succumbed. It was so fast. So fast.” She hugged her niece, and Elizabeth could only imagine what reaction her mother would have manifested had she witnessed the whole debacle if this normally level-headed, cautious, serene woman was gripping her as though she was wresting Elizabeth from Death’s embrace herself.
When they finally separated, Elizabeth knew her aunt had been crying for some time. It was only exhaustion that stayed her thoughts from more unwelcome speculations about her own fate.
“Aunt,” she said solemnly, “truly, we are both lucky to be alive.” Overcome, she could say no more than that.
“Your uncle has gone for help.” Mrs. Gardiner gestured to the path back across the bridge.
Mr Darcy said, “Then I think it best we try to make it back to the main lawn as quickly as possible, both to allay his fears and those of the servants, and to cover the distance while we still have the spirit to do so without assistance.”
Elizabeth pitied her aunt, who was doubtless both tired and exhausted from worry, but she had no energy to spare for anyone but herself. They had almost half an hour’s walk left at their current pace. Darcy insisted she continue to lean upon his arm.
They passed over the bridge. Though it was still beautiful, Elizabeth glanced at the dark water, and a frisson of terror rose up within her so suddenly that she stumbled, nearly falling on the boards before Mr. Darcy caught her.
He must have sensed what had caused her distress. “I will have the groundskeeper install warning signs and fence off the shore until it reaches the rocky walls,” he said softly. “No one else will be lulled into a false sense of safety. I promise.”
At that, Elizabeth managed a small, grateful smile.
The first thingDarcy saw when they reached the vast, green lawns of Pemberley were the sheer number of people rushing towards them: Mr. Gardiner, Barnes, the housekeeper, several servants, the groundskeeper, kitchen staff. He realized then that Mrs. Reynolds had probably instructed some of them to be on hand to hear his personal instructions so as to carry them out immediately. Some were running behind the main group with cloth and bandages.
The rest were waiting near the servant’s entrance, probably to hear news of his survival—or untimely demise.
He shivered.
“Sir, we are ecstatic to see the waters have not taken you,” his valet said. Good lord, were all of them crying? He couldn’t be that beloved.
“The waters have not taken anything from us, Barnes,” he responded, pleased to see relief written across all of their faces. “But the situation was much closer to disaster than I am comfortable admitting.”
Mrs. Gardiner walked behind him next to Mr. Gardiner, with Elizabeth between. Despite the danger behind them, Darcy was aware of little else but the shadow of the drenched woman moving at his feet.
“Barnes, have someone fetch the physician—”
“Mrs. Reynolds has already sent a servant to retrieve Dr. Ferren. He will be here within the hour, sir.” Barnes led them into the main hall, and, at Mrs. Reynolds’s command, a group of servants swarmed Darcy and his ensemble, ushering the Gardiners and Elizabeth to different guest rooms and Darcy to his own chambers so that he and Miss Elizabeth could change out of their wet clothing.
If Mr. Darcy acted a trifle more brusque than usual with Barnes when the man requested permission to examine his person for external injuries, Barnes did not acknowledge it. And if he made sounds of annoyance when Barnes checked every inch of his skull, Barnes simply reacted with, “Pardon me, sir,” and continued his close scrutiny.
At last, when the thorough and imperturbable valet had finished and determined his master would not drop dead at any moment from a hidden, grievous wound, Mr. Darcy was allowed to leave his room and await Miss Elizabeth and the physician in the main parlor.
He had ordered hot tea and honey with lemon prepared and placed it on a tray when she finally joined him, attired in fresh clothes, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Mr. Darcy wondered if Mrs. Reynolds had sent a servant to fetch some of her spare clothing or if they had appropriated one of his sister Georgiana’s gowns.
Miss Elizabeth looked as exhausted as he felt, but she put on a brave face as always and smiled at him. Mr. Darcy felt not a small amount of guilt at delaying her rest. He had nonetheless instructed Dr. Ferren to ascertain her condition for both his and the Gardiners’ peace of mind, and everyone sat down in short order to hear his summary.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet does not appear to have any serious injuries besides the cut on her leg,” Dr. Ferren said, levelling his steady gaze and reassuring smile at the Gardiners, Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy in turn.
“That is excellent. Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Gardiner said, relief evident on her face.
“You appear to have a good constitution, Miss Elizabeth.” Dr. Ferren delivered this news with a matter-of-fact tone. “However, the gash on your leg is deep. You must keep the wound clean and use the herbal compresses I have given you. I will check on you tomorrow, but if you develop symptoms several days from now, you should send for me or another physician immediately.”
“Miss Elizabeth and the Gardiners are welcome to rest and recuperate here for as long as is necessary.” How callous would he be if he allowed his guests to travel when in ill health?
“We are most appreciative, sir.” Mr. Gardiner squeezed his wife’s hand.
Perhaps Mrs. Gardiner was concerned he would send them away too soon. What manner of rumors had Wickham spread across the countryside under the guise of cautionary tales about his family? Darcy reached for the sense of balance that had guided him since his parents’ passing, but keeping his emotions at a distance proved a futile task. As it had with increasing frequency since he had met Miss Elizabeth. Instead, he managed a nod.
“Good. Your valet has assured me that you do not require such a thorough examination, Mr. Darcy. If that is the case, then I advise several days of rest and no strenuous activity whatsoever. Eat plenty of lemons and oranges; there is some possibility that doing so will speed your healing, according to early reports from a Naval study. If a malady is lurking, it will out soon enough.” Dr. Ferren rose from his chair. “I must go. Mrs. Reynolds has my instructions. I will check on you both on the morrow.”