Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
You were right, Mr Darcy,” Henry said to him as they walked back to Woodcote. Darcy was not sure where Sir John or Mr Travers finished the day, but he guessed Sir John to have been with a prostitute and Mr Travers had been wagering on tomorrow’s Oaks Stakes to recover his losses.
“About what?” he asked absently. He was eager to see Elizabeth and show her the token he had made for her. It was not grand, but she would like the sentiment. Their understanding felt so new. He was impatient to see her and give her tangible proof of his intentions.
“It is wise not to wager carelessly. Mr Travers was extraordinarily distressed that Octavius won.”
“He was.” Clearly it was a loss he could ill afford.
What drove a man to such recklessness? “There is a difference between harmless entertainment, or even a little showing off amongst your friends, and irresponsible behaviour that puts your family at risk. You had best make sound investments and use the common sense you were born with to make your fortune.”
“Should I even go to the races tomorrow?” he asked, as if he did not trust his own resolve. “What if I am tempted to wager irresponsibly again?”
“You should go,” Darcy insisted. Henry was a dandy young man who likely had a dozen looking glasses in his dressing room, but he had moments of sensibleness. “Prove to yourself that you can be amongst such temptation without losing your self-control.”
“May I ask you for more advice? My father used to give the servants liberty to see one of the races during a meeting. I am certain my mother has not thought of it, but I remember. Ought I to say anything?”
Henry was willing to be led, and perhaps with some gentle guidance, he would soon make his own prudent decisions. “They would be very glad to go tomorrow, and your mother is such a considerate woman that I cannot imagine she would object to any servant wanting to spend a few hours to see the Oaks.”
They were entering the house when Henry’s eye was caught by a rider coming up to the stables in some haste, and he made a quiet noise of alarm. “That is Mr Hunter,” he mused. “The surgeon. Someone must have taken ill.”
Darcy parted from Henry in the hall and received word from his valet that Mrs Tessier had arranged for them to be invited to a neighbour’s dinner and a musical evening.
He dressed for it with little care. All that mattered to him was to steal as many moments as he could with Elizabeth.
He wanted to know how she enjoyed her second day at the races and to tell her he won thirty pounds using her strategy of wagering on anyone in green.
When he went to meet the others, Mrs Tessier was in the midst of telling Henry and Sir John something, her handkerchief clutched in a shaking hand wearing too many large rings. He noticed that Elizabeth and Julia Metcalfe were absent.
“Are the young ladies still dressing?” he asked, being sure to mention both of them and not single out Elizabeth.
“There was a…an accident with the carriage.”
Icy fear settled in his stomach. His hostess was now too agitated to speak, and Darcy stared hard at the others for someone to finish the story, although he was afraid of the answer.
“It seems Miss Bennet was atop the carriage to watch the Gold Cup,” said Sir John. “Something happened and a horse bolted. She fell off the back. A surgeon was called.”
Darcy managed a perfunctory bow, but turned on his heel and left without a word.
His hands shook as he charged up the stairs before realising he did not know which room was Elizabeth’s.
He darted up and down a few corridors, even opening doors at random.
Around a corner he saw a man leave a room, who nodded to him as he passed.
Mr Hunter, the surgeon Henry recognised by the stables.
His lungs could draw no air, and his heart beat in a sickening rhythm. He wrenched the door open, rushing in to face the heartrending news about Elizabeth’s condition because that must be better than the agony of not knowing what she suffered.
Elizabeth started, and Julia Metcalfe gave a cry of surprise. The former laid on the bed in her bedgown with a rug over her, a tray to her side. The latter sat by with tea things, teapot in hand, hovering over a cup. They stared at him in wonder, Julia splashing tea onto the tray.
There were no poultices with vinegar, no wrapped limbs, no bloody bandages.
Elizabeth’s eyes softened when she recognised him, and then they searched his face for an instant before crying, “I am well!”
Darcy leant against the doorframe, surely in a pose of insouciant unconcern and not because his relief hit him so hard that he could not stand. “I feared you had broken your neck.”
Julia righted the tea pot and wiped the spilt tea. “There was no reason to come charging into a lady’s room, Mr Darcy.” The way she looked at him made him feel that she would have added the words “unless it is mine” if Elizabeth was not present.
“Mr Darcy’s friend is likely to marry my sister, although it is impolite to speak of such things until they are confirmed,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. “He must have feared he would have to tell Mr Bingley that his beloved’s sister had cracked open her head.”
He could not fall to pieces with Julia staring at him, but what to say when all he wanted was to put his arms around Elizabeth? “I, I heard you had a fall. I—yes, I did not want to explain such a thing to Bingley,” he finished lamely.
“I had the breath knocked from my body, is all.”
“But you must have fallen seven or eight feet or so,” he said shakily, still wishing he could at least take her hand.
“It was an alarming sight,” admitted Julia. “Mrs Tessier and I were talking by another carriage thirty yards away when the horses moved and she tumbled off.”
“I fell to the roof of the carriage first,” she told him. “Then rolled off and landed flat on my back on the downs.”
“She was lucky,” said Julia.
It could have been so much worse. “I am glad you are in good health, all things considered.”
“Would you be this alarmed on any lady’s behalf?” Julia asked leadingly.
He could not betray his affection for Elizabeth, and so he said, “I could not respect any man who did not blink an eye if he heard a lady was injured.”
Julia scowled like she did not believe him. To appease her, he added, “You are kind to sit with the invalid.”
She preened. “Well, I could not leave her after such a fall, nor when the surgeon came to examine her.”
He wondered where Lady Metcalfe was in all of this when the woman herself came up behind him.
She threw him a glare that rivalled any sullen look Julia gave him, and he regretted putting Elizabeth in this situation.
Even an indifferent chaperon would dislike a single man hovering in her charge’s doorway.
She swept into the room and said to Elizabeth, “How are you faring, Miss Bennet? What did the surgeon say?”
“That nothing is broken and I will be sore tomorrow, but there is no lasting harm.” Elizabeth answered Lady Metcalfe’s question, but watched him whilst she did. He smiled at her, still desperate to do more than exchange surreptitious glances.
“Are you finished tending to the patient?” Lady Metcalfe asked her daughter. “Mrs Tessier does not wish us to be late to our evening at Lady Jerome’s.”
Darcy tilted his head. “You are not staying with the invalid?” Even if she was not seriously injured, Elizabeth had suffered a fall, and this woman was consigned to care for her.
For all Lady Catherine’s arrogance and faults, she would not have left a young lady in her charge alone after she was hurt.
“I would not dream of keeping Lady Metcalfe from her amusements,” answered Elizabeth. “I will fall asleep early, and the servants will bring anything I need.”
She must not want to suffer the undivided attention of either rude woman longer than necessary. The kindness and patience Elizabeth showed to such vexing people impressed him.
Julia wished her a flat good evening and Lady Metcalfe said to him, in an insistent tone, “Would you escort us to the carriages, Mr Darcy?”
He was not to linger. He bowed to Elizabeth and expressed his congratulations that she was well, and went into the passage with Lady Metcalfe and Julia. Before they reached the stairs, Lady Metcalfe said, “I have forgotten something. I will meet you downstairs.”
She abruptly turned and went the other way, leaving him with Julia. Apparently, single ladies ought not to be left alone with him unless they were her daughter. Whether Julia was in on the scheme, he could not say, but she took advantage of her moment.
“You are welcome to barge into my room with that dark-eyed look,” she said in a sultry voice.
“I went to see Miss Bennet because she is a family friend and to see if I was needed. For all I knew, I was to go instantly to her family and bring them.”
She stopped him with a hand to his chest, and he promptly took half a step back.
Julia smiled and said, “I only wanted to ask, what do you think of my hair?” She touched one of the loose flaxen curls by her face, and then let go to drag her fingertips across the edge of her gown, drawing attention to the slope of her breasts. “Does the style suit you?”
“I prefer dark locks.”
“Like Miss Bennet’s?” she retorted. “Why are you fixed on her? She hardly has a good feature on her face. She looked quite ill even before she took a fall.”
“I disagree,” he said. He would have left it at that but she continued to stare, so he had to say something. “I think Miss Bennet is a pretty woman.”
“She is neither accomplished nor rich.”
Neither was Julia, unless you counted scheming as a feminine accomplishment. “She is a family friend, and I enjoy her company,” he said, struggling to keep his forbearance.
“But she is not here,” she said, her voice returning to its dulcet tones. “Nor could she offer you what I can.”
“I am trying to repress the arrogance that seeks to undervalue others, but you are making that exceedingly difficult.”