Chapter Four
Atonement
Darcy felt the blood rush from his face and in one of the many heavily framed mirrors he saw his own stricken expression and watched his face go white.
Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Of all the ladies in the room, the one he had to insult was the daughter of the man he had to befriend, the man into whose house and confidence he had to insert himself.
Bennet was an agent for the enemy, to be certain, but if he held secrets, he would not divulge them to one who had insulted his daughter.
He pivoted to try to approach her retreating back, but the sudden motion set the still-healing muscles in his leg afire and the newly knit skin on his thigh stretched and burned.
Running after the lady, even should propriety permit it, was impossible.
He stumbled to the chair she had just now abandoned and collapsed into it, heedless of his less-than-elegant motions.
Already, and without any effort, he had botched his given task before he had even started.
He groaned and then turned his head, hoping that no one had heard him.
The bustle and muted roar of voices and instruments in the room permitted him a sort of privacy. Still, the motion brought with it a momentary sense of vertigo. Clearly, despite Doctor Yarrow’s optimism, he was not yet recovered from that awful attack.
It had been two weeks ago already, seeming at once a lifetime ago, and yet only minutes in the past. Bingley ought well to have known that Darcy could not dance, not tonight, nor even this month.
His leg still pained him, as did his left arm.
No matter that his valet Paver had so carefully eased the arm into his sleeve and then secured it into place with pins just how the doctor had indicated, the injury must forbid any such activity.
As for his head, which had now begun a dull throb in antiphony to the beat of the music, the turns and gyrations of the dance steps would only cause him greater distress still.
No, Bingley ought to have known, and never have suggested he dance!
He took a deep and ragged breath of the over-warm air in the room and waited for the vertigo to settle.
There, beyond the dancers, set into the far wall, were a set of doors that must lead to a balcony of sorts where he might find fresher air.
He determined to make his way thither as soon as he could cross the room without staggering or losing his balance.
Perhaps the night air would cool his temper as well.
Quickness to anger and bouts of muddled thinking were only two of the effects he still suffered from that attack.
Indeed, if he could find some means to approach Miss Elizabeth Bennet and beg her forgiveness for his rude words, he might excuse his cruel actions by explaining the cause of his distress.
Confident at last that he had regained some of his composure, he rose from his seat with the most careful of actions and made his way across to the balcony doors, one measured step at a time.
Two weeks of convalescence had left him feeling weak and ill at ease, and the long carriage ride from London had exacerbated his discomfort.
That journey, even in Stanton’s well-sprung coach, had been agony on his shoulder and the length of the journey had caused his leg to stiffen.
Perhaps later tonight he would ask Paver to massage it with some of the liniment Yarrow had given him.
He recalled the smell the mint and lavender that were so prominent in the concoction, and he felt his gait relax even at the thought of it.
Proud that he had traversed the length of the room without stumbling or making a fool of himself in any way, he finally achieved the doors and pushed them open, eager for the relief he must surely find on the balcony.
He took a deep breath, then another. The scent of lavender was still present, now mixed with the less floral scents wafting up from the yard below, where horses snorted and whinnied and dogs prowled in hopes of dropped morsels of food.
His imagination must be powerful, to present to him so potent a sensation of smell based on the mere thought of his soothing liniment.
“Does it pain you very much?”
That voice was not from his imagination. Careful not to turn his head too quickly, he eased himself around to find the speaker.
“Miss Elizabeth.” She stood off to the side of the balcony, almost shrouded in shadow and invisible from the doors.
Her voice was reserved but not cold, and her carriage in the darkness was tense.
She was clearly not happy with her present company, but was determined to be polite.
Darcy straightened his back and prepared to bow to her, but she forestalled him with a hand.
“I can see that the movement causes you no little discomfort. Since we have not been introduced and ought not to be conversing, I shall forgive you this social lapse.” She emphasized that only this lapse would be forgiven.
His other sins she would, it appeared, still lay at his feet.
“When we are properly introduced to each other, I may expect my bow at that time.” Her voice remained cool.
“Your servant,” Darcy mumbled. Was she always so direct? He shifted to ease the pain in his leg and leaned for a moment upon the balustrade.
The lady’s stance relaxed and in the shadows, he could see her brows knit in concern.
“Is this a recent injury? I saw you rub your leg. I understand you do not wish attention brought to your injuries, but I cannot ignore your discomfort. If you wish I can send over some soothing balm and a recipe to make more...” She paused.
“I fear I have overstepped my bounds. And yet I cannot see a man suffer without wishing to help ease his burden.”
“I thank you for your kindness. My man has what he needs, what the physician provided.” Darcy could not allow this opportunity to make amends with Bennet’s daughter pass him by.
Neither could his conscience allow such well-intended words to fall unanswered by equal courtesy.
“Your solicitude is not deserved. I spoke meanly and inaccurately earlier, and I am in the fortunate position to be able to beg your forgiveness. I cannot dance...” He gestured to his leg with his good arm.
“So I see.” She stepped forward, half into the light, but did not approach any closer.
“My injuries have made me ill-tempered, and I took out my distress not on Bingley, who would not accept my limitations, but on you. Forgive me, Miss Bennet.”
She cocked her head and examined him closely. He felt naked beneath her gaze, though he could scarcely see her eyes in the shadow of the moonlight. “What else have you injured? I see your leg pains you, and you hold your arm as if it too is bothersome.”
“The shoulder bone is broken. It is healing well, but more slowly than I would like.” She nodded. “And my head—”
“You cannot have broken your head!” She laughed, and the sound was like moonlight made tangible to him, all silvery peals and elfin amusement. “Or if you have, that is the only excuse for your cruel words.”
“Badly enough to require five days complete rest. Even now I suffer the effects.”
“A lady,” she stressed the word, “does not expect a gentleman to explain how such grievous injuries were sustained. However, she does expect not to be abused almost to her face at an assembly ball. The next time you wish not to dance, I advise you to speak of your own limitations and not invent abuses to heap upon others.”
Darcy blinked in the darkness. What an extraordinary young woman, to speak thus to him! But he could not chastise her, for she was in every way correct. “You have the advantage of me, Miss Elizabeth.”
“I must return, lest somebody wonder where I am and find us here as we are. Goodnight, Mr. Darcy.”
She knew, then, who he was, as he had learned who she was.
It was not surprising, he reckoned as he watched her slip through the doors and back into the overcrowded hall.
He was a newcomer and therefore remarkable.
The entire village must know every detail about him, from the wealth of his estate to his preference of breakfast jams. She was merely a denizen of this village, a daughter of one of the principal houses, one of so many young ladies of little consequence in this part of the country.
And yet, he mused, remarkable. Quite remarkable indeed.
Recall yourself, he chided. She is the daughter of the enemy, and certainly not your friend.
He had made some progress towards atoning for his atrocious slight, but she had not quite forgiven him.
He felt a chuckle emerge from somewhere in his chest and realized that he was smiling.
It was his first genuine smile in many months, certainly the first expression of undamped joy since that beastly attack, likely the first since that business with his sister in the summer.
He owed it to an impertinent young woman who might well pay her allegiance to a foreign and belligerent power.
And yet he relished the smile all the same and looked forward to when next he might cross swords with this delightful foe.
As he gazed after her retreating form through the glass in the doors, he forced himself to see better reason.
It would not do to become too attached to this unusual young woman.
She was merely one tool he had to use to find out what secrets her father held.
The thought bothered him far more than it ought.
***