Chapter Nine
The corridor beyond the dining room was quiet. Most of the guests remained within and the distant murmur of conversation drifted faintly upwards from the taproom. Lamps fixed along the walls cast pools of golden light across the worn floorboards.
They continued a little further in silence. The warmth of the dining room had left her feeling oddly light-headed and she found herself leaning more heavily upon his arm than she intended. If Mr Darcy noticed, he gave no sign.
The staircase proved a challenge. Halfway up, a wave of dizziness struck without warning.
Elizabeth missed a step and immediately felt herself sway.
Before she could recover, Mr Darcy took hold of her waist. Elizabeth became aware of the solid warmth of him.
He smelt of the rain mixed with a muskier, more masculine scent, and his large hand, splayed against her side, felt as if it burned through her dress.
"Careful," he said in a low voice. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, seeming to realise how close they were.
He remained at her side but at a more proper distance, keeping a hand lightly beneath her elbow.
By the time they reached their room, Elizabeth felt breathless and her pulse jumped erratically.
She was not sure if it was the lingering effects of the chill or his nearness.
For a few moments after entering the room, neither spoke.
She settled herself in the armchair nearest the fire while Mr Darcy wordlessly handed her a shawl and occupied the one opposite.
The flames threw a warm glow across the room and the steady patter of rain against the windows seemed louder now that they were alone.
Elizabeth rubbed at her temple. The headache had not entirely left her, though it was less troublesome than before.
"You ought not to have come downstairs," he said, not looking at her.
"I am not a prisoner, sir. If I cannot leave the inn, I must at least be permitted to move around it freely. Besides, one more moment in this room and I would have run mad and it would be a much greater burden to you and Mr Burke to have an insane woman on your hands."
Elizabeth expected him to glare and complain. Instead, a flicker of amusement touched his face.
Before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Mrs Goose entered carrying a tray and clucking at Elizabeth appraisingly. "I thought you two looked in need of something restorative," she said, setting the tray down on the table between them.
The scent reached Elizabeth almost immediately. Wine, oranges and spices.
"Mrs Goose," said Mr Darcy carefully, "is that mulled wine?"
"It is."
"For an invalid?"
"I am not an invalid," Elizabeth muttered peevishly.
Mrs Goose looked offended. "For a lady who nearly froze to death."
She poured two generous glasses and Elizabeth accepted hers gratefully. Darcy accepted his more tentatively but said no more about it.
Mrs Goose surveyed them both with satisfaction. "There now. That will warm your bones and soothe your aching head. Make sure to drink it all mind, and make sure she goes straight to bed afterwards, Mr Darcy."
Elizabeth felt colour rise in her face, and took a cautious sip from her wine as the door closed behind Mrs Goose. She coughed immediately, discovering that the lady’s definition of a restorative was highly alcoholic. From the look on Mr Darcy’s face, he had reached the same conclusion.
"Good God."
She burst out laughing, her headache fading rapidly.
"What?"
"I believe Mrs Goose has attempted to intoxicate us."
"I suspect she has very great faith in this—very potent—remedy."
"And do you?"
"I confess my opinion is improving," he said, taking a sip with a small smile.
As he looked at Elizabeth his grin spread and then he was laughing.
A deep, genuine laugh that astonished her.
She had never heard him once laugh in all the time she had known him.
When the laughter subsided, it left a smile behind.
Dimples appeared unexpectedly in his cheeks and, for a moment, he looked years younger.
The transformation was so complete that Elizabeth almost felt she was looking at a different man.
And annoyingly, this man was extraordinarily handsome.
The discovery was an uncomfortable one. Just who was this version of Mr Darcy?
To disguise her reaction, she took another sip of wine, and for a time they sat quietly, listening to the rain.
The silence was different from those at Netherfield.
There it had always felt strained, while this felt oddly companionable.
It was Mr Darcy who broke it, clearing his throat. "I owe you an apology."
Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "Whatever for?"
"That is a very long list."
She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps begin with the most serious offence."
A look of genuine embarrassment crossed his face. Mr Darcy studied the wine in his glass for a moment. "For staring at you, for one thing. It was a dreadful habit and I seemed quite incapable of stopping. Then there was the matter of talking utter nonsense whenever I found myself near you."
Elizabeth laughed. "You will have to be more specific."
"I fear I cannot. The examples are too numerous. Every conversation we shared appears to have lowered my intelligence by several degrees. To make matters worse, many of the opinions I expressed were not my own."
She stared at him. "What an extraordinary thing to admit."
"It is even more extraordinary to have done it. Yet there I was, objecting to ladies walking alone, reading whatever books happened to be in their possession and apparently developing strong feelings regarding horticulture."
"I knew it," she cried. "No one could truly care that much about gardening."
"I assure you, I have never held a strong opinion on the subject in my life."
The solemnity of this declaration made her laugh again and he grinned back with unguarded pleasure.
His smile faded slightly as another thought occurred to him. "Then there was the matter of sharing a bed with you."
The words settled between them. Elizabeth lowered her glass and looked into the fire. "That was hardly deliberate," she said quietly.
"No, but I imagine it did little to improve your opinion of me."
A faint smile touched her mouth. "It certainly complicated matters."
"Most things seem to become complicated when you are involved."
She shot him a look over the rim of her glass. "You are apologising, Mr Darcy. Try not to spoil it."
"I beg your pardon. There was also the matter of your dinner."
At once she groaned, "Not that again."
"I was concerned."
"You were interfering."
"I was concerned and interfering."
"Excessively interfering."
Darcy inclined his head. "That is probably fair."
Elizabeth studied him for a moment. There was something alarming about hearing him admit fault so readily. The Mr Darcy she had carried in her mind for weeks would have defended himself to the death.
"You really have thought about all this, haven't you?" she said quietly.
"Rather more than is healthy, I suspect."
???
For some time the conversation wandered comfortably from one subject to another.
Darcy felt like he was in some particularly pleasant dream.
Yes, Elizabeth disagreed with him often and laughed at him easily.
But for the first time since he had met her, she seemed to be enjoying herself.
Hope jumped inside him and his mind ran ahead into a pleasant image of them sitting together in his chambers at Pemberley.
He shook his head to clear the daydream, it was foolish to get ahead of himself.
"You speak of your sisters often," he observed.
"They are rather difficult to ignore," she laughed. "Five girls makes for plenty of drama. Longbourn is rarely peaceful, but is a loving home and we are surrounded by pleasant neighbours, tenants and servants."
Suddenly her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.
"But oh! Here I am sat by a warm fire while I do not have any idea how the Frosts fare.
I keep thinking about Mrs Frost. She was frightened before they left and trying very hard not to show it.
If anything has happened to them..." A tear slid down her cheek.
Darcy set down his glass. "It has not," he said with more certainty than he felt.
"You cannot know that."
"No," he admitted. "But from everything you have told me, Mr Frost sounds a sensible man. He has spent years driving coaches and handling horses in all manner of weather. You were less than two miles from Barley Cross when we found you and he left long before the storm reached its worst."
She started to cry in earnest. These were not dainty tears but great racking sobs that shook her whole body.
Darcy sprang up and crossed to her, dropping to his knees before her.
"Elizabeth," he breathed and she collapsed forward, flinging her arms around his neck.
She cried into his neckcloth, the strain of the last few days seeming to overtake her.
He put a tentative arm around her, then pulled her close, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair.
He rocked her, making soothing noises as the sobs slowed and her breathing became more regular.
"Mr Darcy," she said in a voice muffled by his neckcloth. "I am not normally a watering pot." She pulled back, her face red and blotchy. He said nothing but handed her a handkerchief and rose slowly from the ground. He considered her for a long moment.
"Are you well?"
"Yes, yes I think I am. Thank you."
"It was nothing."
The room had grown very warm. Elizabeth's hair had escaped its pins and several curls now framed her face. One remained caught against her cheek where tears had dampened it. Without thinking, Darcy reached out and brushed it gently aside.
Elizabeth went still and he stepped back at once.
"Forgive me."
Elizabeth lowered her gaze. A faint colour had risen in her cheeks.
"There is nothing to forgive."
Darcy returned to his chair and reached for his wine, grateful for something to occupy his hands. The room seemed suddenly smaller than it had a few moments before. He found himself thinking of the dining room, of Henderson's easy smile and the way he had looked at Elizabeth across the table.
His jaw tightened. "You should be cautious of Henderson."
Elizabeth's entire countenance changed. She opened and closed her mouth several times before saying, "Where on earth did that come from?"
"I am serious. He pays you too much attention."
Elizabeth stared.
"I beg your pardon. We cannot have spoken for above half an hour. And even if he had paid me particular attention, what does it have to do with you?"
"You do not know him."
"Nor do you."
"I know enough. I have met his sort before."
Darcy knew he was being ridiculous. Why had he brought up that obnoxious man? He grimaced.
"To think I thought you were… that you might be… oh never mind. Vexing, officious man! I wish to retire Mr Darcy, can you give me some privacy for my toilette? You may return and sleep in that chair in ten minutes."
"I was only attempting to…"
"Mr Darcy!" Elizabeth spat out the word in a tone that brooked no refusal.
The warmth of a few moments earlier vanished entirely. He stalked out of the room and neither spoke again that evening.
An hour later she lay beneath the covers with her back firmly towards him while Darcy occupied the armchair beside the dying fire. Neither slept well that night.