Chapter Two #2
She leaned against him for a moment, taking pleasure in his warmth. Her damp clothing caused her to be cold and clammy. “Yes, Papa, just tired. I do not believe I have ever healed someone so close to death.”
“You did well. He is breathing easily, and his color has improved even since I arrived.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Not above half an hour.” Only then did Elizabeth notice that her father was accompanied by Tom, a burly footman, and a cart that was often used on the farm.
That would allow them to transport the stranger more easily.
Her father examined him. “I wonder how he came to be in the river. He appears to be a gentleman.”
Elizabeth really scrutinized her patient for the first time.
His clothing was of fine quality and very well cut, obviously tailored specifically for him.
His cravat was missing as were his boots.
His clothes were sodden and muddy. But the man had begun his day as well-dressed as any gentleman Elizabeth had ever met.
The man was tall and well-built. He was younger than she had first thought, no more than thirty.
Dark hair curled around his head. His features were fine and patrician, a Roman god come to life.
What color would his eyes be? If Elizabeth had encountered him at a house party or a dance, she would have given him a second glance.
She would not have minded catching his eye.
Not that she ever caught anyone’s eye.
“We should take him to the manor and a room with a fire,” her father said. “And you need to remove your wet clothing.”
The reminder made Elizabeth shiver. “Yes, he should not be exposed to the elements any more than necessary.” She took a step toward the house, but the world went gray and tilted.
Her father caught her with a hand around her waist. “I think you must sit down for a bit, my dear. You have exerted a lot of energy on this gentleman’s behalf. ”
Elizabeth nodded wearily and sank back down on the grass. At least her clothing could not become any muddier.
Tom brought the cart around. He and her father gently lifted the man into it, cushioning him on a bed of hay. Tom tugged the cart back to the road, where he had a donkey to pull it back to the manor. Papa helped Elizabeth to stand. They followed at a slow pace as she leaned on his strength.
Soon Longbourn Manor came into view. It was one of the oldest houses in Hertfordshire, built of gray stone that was—truth be told—crumbling in some places.
Ivy clung to the walls no matter how frequently Elizabeth encouraged it to grow elsewhere.
Elizabeth’s mother complained that the house was old, drafty, and dark.
However, Kitty, who read a great many novels, insisted that Longbourn was Gothic and mysterious.
But mysterious was the theme for the day as they brought a mysterious gentleman into their midst. What was such a man doing in the river? How had he sustained those injuries? It was very intriguing. No doubt her entire family would be interested in the mystery.
***
Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his eyes. A woman’s face filled his field of vision. Dark curls and blue-green eyes. She hovered over him, regarding him with concern. Noticing his attention, she quickly withdrew, giving him a shy smile.
How beautiful. Those were lips I would love to kiss. Would she let me kiss her? I hope so. But perhaps I should not. I do not know her name. It would be wrong to kiss a woman whose name I do not know.
“How are you feeling?” The words seemed to come from very far away.
Exhaustion dragged him down into darkness once more. He desired to stay and talk to her—tell her how her face delighted him. “Beautiful…” he mumbled.
She laughed and started to speak again. But Darcy had already slipped into the darkness.
***
Darcy was aware of moving between periods of waking and sleeping, unsure of what was real and what was a dream.
When his eyes finally opened, Darcy was more alert.
He noted some details of his surroundings: a wholly unfamiliar room with blue striped wallpaper and well-made but worn oak furniture.
The chamber was bathed in lemony yellow sunlight from two open windows that were framed by lacy curtains blowing in the breeze.
Awaking in a strange room should have been frightening, or at least disconcerting.
However, Darcy found it difficult to experience anything other than pleasure that he was alive.
He had no idea how he had arrived at this place, but he had expected to awaken cold, wet, and in pain.
He could not possibly object to his situation.
Surely nothing terrible threatened Darcy in such a room.
He could not imagine that the necromancer decorated his house in blue stripes and lace.
Endeavoring to sit up provoked the discovery that Darcy was strong enough to only lift his head, but he could survey the room. Only then did he realize he was not alone.
A dark-haired young woman was laying down a book and uncurling herself from a chair in the far corner. She was familiar from his intermittent periods of semi-alertness.
A maid assigned to watch over the patient?
No, her dress was too fine; she must be a gentlewoman.
What was she doing alone with him? Perhaps she was married.
Although if Darcy had a wife that pretty, he would not have left her alone with a strange young man.
On the other hand, I am not much of a threat to her virtue.
She crossed to his bedside. “Would you like some water?”
Following his nod, she held a glass and supported his head while he drank eagerly. Nothing had ever tasted as good as that tepid water. Exhausted from that slight exertion, Darcy allowed his head to sink gratefully onto the pillow while she returned the empty glass to the bedside table.
“How are you feeling?” she asked in a soft voice—so rich it was almost musical to Darcy’s ears.
“Where—” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Where am I?”
“Hertfordshire.”
Hertfordshire? He had never been in that part of the country. “How— How far from Luton?”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Is that where you were? We are quite a ways.”
What had happened while Darcy was insensible? How long ago had he fallen in the river? What had Richard thought when Darcy had not reported in? He yearned to leap from the bed and order a carriage for London, but he was patently incapable of travel.
The people in this house had taken care of him, kept him alive. But could he trust them? He felt for the amulet on its chain around his neck. Thank God it was still there. Surely if they were in league with the necromancer, they would have deprived him of it already. Still, he needed to be careful.
The woman had noticed the gesture. “Yes, we left the amulet around your neck. You are fortunate not to have lost it in the river. A curious object. I believe it may have some magical properties.”
Darcy stilled, but her manner was open and unaffected, showing only a passing interest in the item. “Yes, it has some slight magic,” he said slowly. “A family heirloom…I am pleased it was not lost.”
She nodded briskly. “Will you tell me your name?” the woman asked.
“D—” Darcy stopped himself. The enemy would be searching for him. “You can call me…William.”
She chuckled, a low and lovely sound. “Surely I cannot be so informal! For all that you are in my home, we have not actually been introduced.” Playfulness in her tone suggested she took the dictates of propriety rather less seriously than Darcy did. What kind of a woman was she?
“I am Mr. D.”
“Mr. Dee?” She gave him a quick, ironic curtsey. “I am pleased to meet you. I am Elizabeth Bennet, and you are a guest in my family’s home of Longbourn.”
She was altogether charming. Many other women would have peppered him with questions, retreated into shyness, or fussed about his health. Her directness was refreshing, helping him bear his current weakness. “I must thank you for your hospitality,” he said formally.
“It is our pleasure. Is there anyone we should contact on your behalf? Where is your family?”
“I have a house in London.” That was true enough.
“My family raises sheep and sells wool.” That was also true; Pemberley had a lively wool trade, although it was hardly the chief source of income.
Thoughts of home recalled Darcy to his duty.
“I should send a note to my cousin….” However, the mere thought of attempting to write was exhausting.
“Perhaps when you are improved,” Miss Bennet suggested. He must have appeared as tired as he felt.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“More than a day. You arrived here yesterday morning, and it is now evening.”
As long as that? Richard must be frantic with worry.
Fortunately, Georgiana was at Matlock with family and believed Darcy to be in town.
Richard would write her a letter to account for Darcy’s lack of correspondence.
“Arrived? How did I arrive?” The last thing Darcy recalled was diving into the river with the expectation that he would drown.
“Via a most unconventional means. You were traveling in the River Lea without a boat, which does not have much to recommend itself by way of transportation. My sister and I found you along the riverbank.”
Darcy was amazed at his good fortune. He had a vague recollection of being pulled out of the water but regarded her skeptically. “You and your sister pulled me out of the river? Perhaps with the help of your husband?”
She regarded him blankly. “I am unmarried, sir. My sister and I took you from the river with some effort. My father and a footman transported you here.” Perhaps she was unaware of how much she revealed. Not only was she unwed, but her family was wealthy enough to keep a manservant.
“Your father allows you to be in a bedchamber with an unknown man?”