Chapter Four #2
DARCY DID NOT ENCOUNTER Miss Elizabeth again that evening.
Upon returning to the dance, he found Bingley and informed him of his intention to return to Netherfield.
He ought to secure an introduction to Bennet, but he was too affected by his blunder with Miss Elizabeth to think of that right now.
His wounded arm and leg did not permit him to dance, he explained to his friend, and the assault on his senses exacerbated the headache that had been forming all the day.
He would take the carriage and then immediately have the driver return to Meryton to await the rest of the party.
He gave Bingley no opportunity to deny him and soon found himself surrounded once more by the cool and comforting blanket of night.
Even in the carriage, as it bumped over rough roads and jostled his aching bones and muscles, he felt the tension of the evening ease off him. His head ached still, but he could think through the discomfort. Once again, he pondered the wisdom in accepting Lord Stanton’s proposition.
It had seemed so simple: Ease into society in Meryton, befriend Bennet and learn what he could from the man, find the information Stanton needed, and return to London with no one being the wiser.
No one would suspect a convalescing man and friend of a new resident of the area of being involved in such intelligence work, just as no one—other than Stanton, it seemed—would suspect a small landholder such as Bennet of collaborating with the French.
The exact information Stanton desired might be a little harder to come upon, and success was not required, merely the effort.
Stanton’s words reverberated through Darcy’s head as the carriage took the turn onto the drive that led from the country lane to the house at Netherfield.
“My sources suggest he is in possession of a code machine,” he had explained.
“It is supposedly an ingenious device and would allow us to decypher almost every encrypted French missive. But reports suggest it is broken. Our mechanical geniuses might be able to recreate the entire machine from detailed drawings of the broken specimen. You, Darcy, have the technical skill to provide us with the drawings we need. Bennet need never know that he has been found out. Find the device, make your sketches, and the Empire will be forever in your debt.”
So simple: find a toy and draw it. Darcy let his head fall back on the squabs at the impossibility of the mission.
Bennet would hardly have the device sitting on the tea table in his front parlor, with a pile of fine paper and selection of pencils at hand for any government officials who happened to be stopping in for a spot of tea.
He would have to insinuate himself into the household somehow, to achieve an excuse for being where he ought not to be.
“I can hardly walk,” he huffed into the night air.
The carriage went over a bump on the driveway—a stone, perhaps, or a small fallen branch?
—and the jolt sent sudden waves of pain through Darcy’s body.
His leg ached, his shoulder throbbed, and his headache returned in a wave of fury.
After this morning's journey from London, he ought never to have allowed Bingley to convince him to leave the house and attend the assembly. And if he could not even manage a quarter-hour’s drive on quiet roads, however, was he to engage in espionage?
He had better return a message to London, to Stanton’s fine town house, recusing himself from the assignment with all due apologies.
He then could take the time to recover completely from his injuries before setting his mind onto the difficult matter of his sister and her troubles.
With a jerk and a shudder, the carriage came to a halt and within moments the door was opened. “Mr. Darcy,” a young servant bowed as he placed the step into position and assisted the gentleman to descend.
Eschewing all other support, Darcy hobbled into the house where John-the-footman was awaiting.
Stanton had insisted that Darcy take the footman along to the country, both for his practical medical knowledge in case of some need on Darcy’s part, and as a secondary means of communicating with Stanton, should events require it.
The young man was efficient and gentle, and Darcy did not object to his assistance when it came to matters such as rebinding his arm and shoulder.
Neither did Paver object, and he had agreed with his master’s suggestion of training the young man as a valet.
At last upstairs in his rooms, Darcy gritted his teeth as his two attendants, with painstaking and careful movements, unpinned his supporting sleeve and eased his coat from his back.
No matter how gentle, the action brought upon him the greatest discomfort, and he had to sit for a moment when finally undressed to regain his composure.
Yarrow had suggested that such minimal movement would not delay his recovery, but after the long journey from London, and the more recent ride to the assembly and home again, Darcy wished for a brief moment never to move his arm again.
“‘Twill feel much better in a week or two, sir.” John could not have missed his distress, having only now heard some most ungentleman-like language emanate from his master’s lips.
“I have seen these injuries before. Rest will fix most of the trouble, but if you wish for willow bark tea, I’ve taken the liberty of requesting some from the kitchens.
” Darcy grunted his approval, pleased once more that Stanton had offered the services of this young man.
The tea arrived and was soon consumed, the bitterness of the brew welcome for the relief it would soon bring.
“To bed, sir?” Paver was ever the attentive valet, but his voice of late had held an avuncular note.
The incident in London had clearly alarmed him, and he had been more solicitous of his master’s health since that dread time than even his position as valet might normally require.
Darcy might be in pain, but he was not uncared for.
“Allow me, sir.” Paver helped ease the younger man onto his bed and set about massaging the pungent liniment into the muscles on Darcy’s arm and shoulder and then onto his leg where the muscles and skin were still healing.
Darcy closed his eyes and tried to relax as his valet did his work.
The massage was painful, but the balm effective, and once Paver had finished his ministrations, it was no hardship for Darcy to allow himself to drift into sleep.
The scent of the liniment, with its strong notes of mint and lavender, was also conducive to sleep, and each deep breath drew the aromas deep into his fading consciousness.
As sleep at last overtook him, the scent of the balm drifted into the waiting realm of Morpheus, transforming there into images of the fascinating Miss Elizabeth Bennet, to torment Darcy in his dreams.