Chapter 2
TWO
Darcy opened his eyes to an unfamiliar bedchamber.
Poorly lit and sparsely furnished, the room was abysmal, clearly belonging to an inn of inferior quality.
In the far corner stood a bucket catching the drips of putrid water that splashed intermittently from the damp wooden rafters.
Moss grew around a solitary window; the straw mattress was moist with a fine condensation.
Darcy shuddered, not wanting to consider what infestation might be lurking in between the sheets.
Glancing down, he saw that the nightshirt he was wearing was at least clean, but it billowed at the waist, apparently belonging to a much larger man.
A quick survey of the room informed Darcy that his own clothes were nowhere to be found.
Was I set upon? Disordered images splintered his memory.
Uneven ground, concealed under the mud, had confused his horse, causing it to stumble and rear in pain.
Darcy cursed his poor luck. If only my servant had not fallen ill, compelling me to complete the last part of my journey alone.
Raising his fingers to a tender forehead, he discovered fresh grazes and a lump.
Unbidden, Elizabeth Bennet’s face danced across his mind’s eye.
She had been there—but why? Perhaps she was naught but a vision, come to taunt him in this moment of vulnerability, but the sensation of her hand pressed against his chest had felt achingly real.
Darcy stifled a groan; it would not be the first instance his mind had tormented him with dreams of the delightful and unobtainable Elizabeth Bennet.
Teeth gritted, he attempted propping himself up onto his elbows.
Needling pain shot through his chest, and he hastily sank back into the mattress.
How did I come to be here? Desperation chilled his blood.
How long have I been abed? He thought of his home, Pemberley, where his household was expecting him.
There would be an uproar if he did not arrive at the expected time or give any explanation as to his whereabouts.
And Georgiana. He imagined his sister, agonised when she learnt of his disappearance.
It was imperative that he write to her and explain what had occurred—once he understood it himself.
“Is anyone there?” he called, but his lungs had scarcely any power.
He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse and weak, and tried again, only to be met with silence.
Resolved to leave the damnable bed, no matter the consequences, Darcy slowly pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress.
Agonising darts of pain stabbed through his ribs.
He clutched at his side until the aching subsided.
Eventually he stood, tentatively grasping the coverlet and wrapping it over his shoulders.
Coarse wool scratched against his skin, but he pulled it tighter, hesitant to leave his room in his present state of undress.
Neither slippers nor his boots were to hand, and so Darcy staggered barefoot out of the bedchamber and into the dark corridor beyond.
Narrow steps led down to what he presumed was a parlour.
Having no idea what awaited him down the stairs, Darcy decided to try his luck at finding a servant who might apprise him of where the devil he was.
The door next to his bedchamber was ajar, but there was no sign of any maid.
He had no desire to disturb the occupants, and so went to move away, but the blanket caught underfoot, and he stumbled.
Pain ricocheted through his body, forcing Darcy to steady himself against the door-case.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he clamped his lips together, fighting back a curse.
“Good heavens!” a female voice exclaimed. Footsteps echoed against the floorboards, and a deft pair of hands rested upon Darcy’s arms. With great effort, he opened his eyes only to be confronted with an entirely different source of anguish: Elizabeth’s lovely visage, mere inches from his face.
He tried to speak, to offer some explanation or apology, but she shook her head, her eyelashes splayed wide in surprise, her cheeks crimson.
“I am sorry I did not see you—I was distracted by my letter writing. You must sit, Mr Darcy, for you have had a dreadful accident.” Guiding him to a small desk scattered with paper, she eased him into the wooden chair.
Stepping back, her eyes never ceased their anxious survey.
“Are you comfortable enough for me to leave you? You look very ill. I should find my uncle, and then he may explain all that has occurred.”
Gasping for breath, Darcy only just managed a nod, and Elizabeth hesitated.
Crossing the gloomy room—which Darcy now realised was her bedchamber—she retrieved a pitcher of water from the chipped bedside table and brought it to him along with a small white cup.
Filling it, she placed the vessel next to Darcy with a quiet command that he should drink if he could and silently left the room in search of her relation.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Darcy groaned softly, the ache in his chest subsiding.
There had been no dream, no heavenly vision, for Elizabeth was here, in all her resplendent loveliness, to remind him of what a colossal fool he had made of himself the last time he was in her presence.
Resting his back against the wooden spindles, he breathed deeply, desperate to regain his equilibrium.
Elizabeth spoke of an accident—what trick of fate means that she is in my life once again?
His eyes drifted across the narrow room, taking in the sight of her blue pelisse hanging neatly on a hook, a half-read book left open on the bed, her writing materials dotted about on the desk in front of him.
Or perhaps it is I who am in hers, he realised.
If only she had accepted him! What would it be like for them to be travelling to Pemberley as a married couple?
They would not share this cramped space; Darcy would ensure that they were in the finest rooms that money could afford.
If Elizabeth were his wife, she would live in comfort; there would be no luxury too small, no service too inconsequential.
He swallowed away his regret. She does not like you, he reminded himself.
You are the last man in the world she would wish to marry.
A knock broke through his despondent musings.
A stranger was at the doorway. This must be Elizabeth’s uncle; the resemblance between the man before him and Mrs Bennet was remarkable.
Thinking of Elizabeth’s mother and her silly behaviour, Darcy braced himself.
To his surprise, the man greeted him courteously and drew up a chair, introducing himself as Mr Gardiner.
“How are you feeling, sir?” The older man’s eyes drifted towards Darcy’s forehead. “You gave us quite the scare.”
Ignoring the wild throbbing at his temple, Darcy attempted a nod. “What is this place? How long have I been here?”
“We descended upon the Cross Keys inn yesterday. It is in the village of King’s Newton, about three miles on from where we found you. This was the only establishment with enough room for us all. You have been abed since we arrived. Mr Harris attended you as soon as he was able?—”
“Mr Harris?”
“The area’s finest physician.” The disgusted wrinkle of Mr Gardiner’s nose indicated this was not much of a recommendation.
“What was his advice?”
Mr Gardiner snorted. “Wait and see if you regain your senses, and pray to all relevant saints in the meantime. At least, that is what I believe he said—his medical counsel was regretfully unintelligible, no doubt caused by the gin laced upon his breath. Although he mentioned a fractured rib which I am inclined to believe.” He coughed delicately.
“I took the liberty of remaining at your bedside, sir, whilst he examined you. I have known many a physician to relieve their patients of their rings and money.”
Alarm shot through Darcy. “Where are my possessions?” He caught himself. “Forgive me, I should have first thanked you.”
Mr Gardiner waved away Darcy’s gratitude with an embarrassed flick of his hand.
“Your clothes are presently in the care of Mrs Humphries, whose skills at laundering I cannot vouch for, but in whose mercy we must place ourselves should we want to dress in clean garments. Your money, gold ring, and watch are locked in my own strong box, which I keep in my room. You may have them all back at once, Mr Darcy, or you may keep them hidden away, should you prefer. This inn does not strike me as a secure place. I do not recall seeing a lock on your chamber’s door. ”
In ordinary circumstances, Darcy would have asked for his belongings back immediately, but the earnest sincerity in Mr Gardiner’s face made him pause. The older man continued, “Or you may have my second key should you wish for additional reassurance.”
Darcy stared incredulously. “You would entrust me with a means of accessing your valuables?”
The corner of Mr Gardiner’s mouth lifted into a wry smile. “My niece has staunchly vouched for your honourable character, and that is enough for me. I am only happy to have been of assistance.”
My honourable character? Stunned by this revelation, Darcy had not the mental faculty to form an adequate response.
Never did he think that one day Elizabeth might describe him in favourable terms. Much distracted, he frowned, struggling to attend to all that Mr Gardiner was saying.
The older man was talking of the inn and of how hard it had been to procure any rooms due to the poor conditions, expressing his regret at not finding anything better.
Eager to reassure Mr Gardiner, Darcy replied as quickly as his injuries would allow, “I am very grateful to you, for all your efforts. I am only sorry to have inconvenienced you. Where were you travelling to?”
Light filled Mr Gardiner’s eyes, one that Darcy recognised from his own parents’ happy marriage. “My dear wife hails from Lambton. We had hoped to show Elizabeth the delights of Derbyshire.”
Darcy nodded, wishing that he had been afforded the same privilege. “When do you depart?”
Mr Gardiner moved uneasily in the chair. “We are unsure. Another downpour fell overnight and the road we found you on is now too muddy for any travel. By all accounts, Swarkestone Bridge remains impassable. The question is now whether we should wait for the water to clear or return to London.”
And so my poor horsemanship has ruined Elizabeth and her kindly relations’ only chance of completing their anticipated tour. Guilt clenched in Darcy’s stomach. He opened his mouth to express his regrets again but was forestalled by Mr Gardiner.
“If you mean to apologise, then I must respectfully intervene. A trip may be postponed, rearranged and enjoyed at a later date—the same cannot be said of a person’s life. I am pleased to be of service to a fellow human, so I shall not hear of remorse and sorrows, because there are none to be had.”
Such a generous, unselfish observation struck to the heart of Darcy’s conscience.
How scathing he had been of Elizabeth’s relations!
To have a man as charitable as Mr Gardiner in one’s family would be an honour.
He felt thoroughly ashamed, and said, with contrition, “Grant me then, the privilege of repaying your kindness as soon as I am able.”
“Your full recovery will be repayment enough.”
Sensing within Mr Gardiner a man almost as stubborn as himself, Darcy shook his head; under no circumstances would he allow Elizabeth’s uncle to incur any expense.
However, the older man took no notice, instead admonishing gently, “In more usual circumstances, I would severely reprimand any young man that makes his way into my niece’s personal chamber, but I will make an exception in your case.
By the pallor of your skin, I do believe it is time for you to return to your bed. ”
Mention of Elizabeth caused Darcy’s heart to race.
His eyes lingered upon her room. Providence had provided him with the chance to make amends for his previous poor behaviour.
Thanking Mr Gardiner again, Darcy gingerly made his way back to his room, his mind in turmoil.
Here was his opportunity to atone for any hurt he had caused her, and by God, he would seize it.