CHAPTER 22
The morning sun crept through a gap in the long, dark curtains, casting a slender beam across the room until it touched Mr. Darcy's sleeping face.
In time, the light roused him. He became aware, almost at once, of two distinct grievances.
The first, a sharp ache along his back, the settee having proved a good deal firmer than any proper bed, and, the second, a headache of no small severity.
Grunting, he pushed himself upright, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead in slow circles, hoping to work some relief into it.
The fire had burned down to little more than a soft ember amid blackened coals.
He turned at once toward the bed, seeking Elizabeth, and felt his worry ease at the sight of her shape beneath the coverlet, turned away from him, her breathing steady.
He could not, in truth, recall precisely when sleep had finally claimed him.
He remembered well enough the struggle that had followed her retreat to the bed after he had kissed her, so considerable a struggle that he had very nearly gone below to drink the night away among strangers, before better sense prevailed.
He would not risk drawing Wickham's notice, nor leave her unwatched even for an hour.
A pang of hunger reminded him how little either of them had eaten through their captivity.
He had meant, the evening before, to send for a further meal, but Elizabeth's company had proved distraction enough to put the thought entirely from his mind.
This morning, however, hunger reasserted itself with a vengeance; he suspected he might, if pressed, make short work of an entire haunch of venison, a joint of mutton, a fowl besides, and a dozen sweet pastries into the bargain.
The thought was sufficient to send him below to order a proper breakfast for them both.
Elizabeth woke at the sound of the door closing behind him.
For a moment she could not place herself, unaccustomed as she was to waking in unfamiliar rooms; her whole experience of sleeping away from home having consisted, until this past fortnight, of nothing beyond her own chamber and her aunt and uncle Gardiner's guest room.
This last week, however, had furnished her with rather more strange beds than she cared to count, and she resolved she would be glad never to sleep in a strange place again.
She woke groggy nonetheless, having slept only poorly, owing in no small part to the presence of a certain tall, dark, and altogether too handsome gentleman stationed a few short feet from her bed.
A giddy warmth crept over her as she recalled the whole of what had passed between them the night before.
She turned, half expecting to find him still asleep upon the settee, and was startled to find it empty entirely.
Where can he have gone? Her thoughts spun at once through every possibility.
The washroom seemed likeliest, though she considered, briefly, whether his cousin might already have arrived, before dismissing the notion as far too soon to be credible.
Abduction by Wickham's men occurred to her next, and she dismissed that too, unable to imagine it happening without some sound to wake her.
That left only one conclusion she could settle upon: he had abandoned her.
His pretty speeches notwithstanding, he must have come to his senses in the night and realised she was far too poor a match for a man of his consequence.
The thought first angered her, then left her thoroughly wretched.
He might easily hire a horse, she thought, and ride off into the night, back to the comforts of proper society, without another thought for Elizabeth Bennet.
She had worked herself into a fine state of private misery when the latch sounded, and her eyes flew to the door, praying it should prove to be him, and dreading it might instead be Wickham.
The heavy door swung open to reveal Mr. Darcy, followed by a man bearing a well-laden tray.
What a relief! The words rushed through her all at once, loosening something that had been coiled tight in her chest since she first found the settee empty.
He had not abandoned her after all, and she chastised herself at once for so foolish a fancy, ashamed now of how quickly her mind had leapt to the very worst conclusion.
Of course he would not have left her in the small hours of the morning, he had gone only to secure her breakfast, thoughtful even in this. Bless him.
"Set it there, if you please." Darcy directed the man to one of the small tables, and with a brief bow, the fellow withdrew, leaving them alone once more.
Turning to her, Darcy smiled, something easy and unguarded in it that she was still growing accustomed to seeing so freely offered. "Good morning. I hope you slept well. I found myself famished, and thought to send for breakfast. Not knowing your preference, I asked for a little of everything."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture delighted her more than she cared to admit, and she could not help but admire him for it; this small, ordinary kindness somehow more affecting, after everything, than any grand declaration might have been.
"Thank you, sir. I did sleep well, and I confess I am quite famished myself. "
"Then let us eat." He gestured her toward the table with a small, welcoming flourish, as though presenting her with a feast rather than bread and cheese and boiled eggs.
They filled their plates from the tray; bread, cheese, boiled eggs, cured pork, and oatcakes with honey, along with a choice of ale or tea, which they both took as tea.
They settled together upon the settee to enjoy their meal.
Darcy, hungry as he plainly was, kept scrupulously to proper manners throughout; Elizabeth showed rather less restraint, making short work of a good wedge of local Caerphilly and a heel of barley bread before turning her attention to the oatcakes, and finally to the eggs and pork besides.
Glancing over as he ate his own portion of pork, he noticed a small smudge of butter at the corner of her mouth, and reached forward without thinking to wipe it away. She stopped mid-bite, looking up at him.
Having dealt with the offending smudge, he met her bright, startled eyes. "Thank you," she managed, still chewing.
He laughed. "You are entirely welcome, my dear."
Colour rose swiftly in her cheeks, and she looked away at once, unable to hold his gaze, her chest fluttering with a sensation she could not quite name.
A dangerous game indeed, he thought, keenly aware of how strongly his own wish to remain near her had grown. She was temptation itself, and he was determined to guard her, not least, from himself.
Turning the conversation deliberately elsewhere, he said, "I expect my cousin will have my letter within the next several hours. With any good fortune, we may see him by tomorrow."
Elizabeth issued a nod, in relief, and something else, anxiety perhaps. "I shall be glad to meet him." She hesitated. "Though I cannot help but wonder what he will think of me."
"We have spoken of this already. My cousin will think you one of the bravest women he has ever had the good fortune to meet.
None of this was your doing, Elizabeth, and I will not have you suffer further for it.
You are my intended wife; I have told him as much in my letter already.
He will be delighted to make your acquaintance, and I am eager for it myself.
You will like him, I think. He has an easy manner about him that will put you at ease directly, I am sure of it. "
His readiness to defend her, and his certainty that his cousin would think no less of her for their circumstances, brought her some comfort, though a measure of unease remained regardless.
Fond as she was of their present quiet intimacy, she would be glad enough, in time, to have a room of her own again, with some proper companion to attend her.
The thought turned her mind toward her family. What must her father make of the express, once it reached him? She realised, with some surprise, that she had never asked what Mr. Darcy had actually written to him, and found herself suddenly curious to know.
She asked, rather curiously, "What did you write to my father?”
He rose and crossed to the fireplace, turning to face her as he spoke, while she watched him from her seat.
"I told him first that you were safe. Then I explained that we had been taken while walking near the Meryton lake, carried into Wales, and that we had since escaped our captors together, and now await my cousin's arrival to see us safely home.
I gave him our direction, the Bull Inn, T——, Wales. "
She noted at once that he had made no mention of their engagement in his summary of the letter, and asked him plainly, unable to keep a note of teasing from her voice, "And does he know we are engaged, sir, or does that particular detail escape your excellent memory entirely?"
"I did not write him an entire novel," he said, with a grin that did nothing to disguise his own amusement at being caught out. "But I did tell him I had asked for your hand, and await his blessing upon it."
"You, sir, are quite incorrigible." Elizabeth could not keep the smile from her own voice as she said it.
This earned him another laugh from her that morning, low and genuine. "I apologise, madam, for so grave an oversight in my recollection," he said, with a small, mock-solemn bow that suited his words not at all.
Her eyebrows rose higher still, and her mouth curved into so wide and unguarded a smile that he felt entirely, gloriously certain of his forgiveness, and found himself thinking, not for the first time that morning, how very much he preferred her laughing to anything else in the world.