Page 36 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
His cousin’s brow rose in evident surprise at such an easy concession, but he wisely chose not to remark upon it. Darcy helped Elizabeth in first before allowing himself to be assisted up. Once seated, he found he could not remain upright, and he lay back, his limbs protesting, his head still pounding, his back burning, his vision blurred at the edges. He felt Elizabeth’s presence beside him, the warmth of her hand in his.
Fitz climbed in last, settling opposite them. “Darcy, I found your hat, by the by,” he said, holding it up. “That, combined with the fact that Hermes remained in the stable, led me to suspect the worst.”
Now that he was still and the danger was past, Darcy felt his strength waning. “Thank you for searching for us, Fitz.”
His cousin’s expression softened for just a moment before he schooled it back into nonchalance. “Yes, well, no need to grow sentimental, Darcy. It quite upsets my nerves.”
Darcy chuckled, or rather, he thought he did. He felt leaden, his eyelids impossibly heavy. Fitz had found them. Elizabeth was safe. He had fought to stay upright, fought against the weariness, but now, cradled by the motion of the cart, warmth seeping into his aching bones, he surrendered. His breath steadied, the tension in his frame slowly ebbed away. Elizabeth’s hand was in his own. Finally, he could close his eyes.
A merciful darkness claimed him.
Elizabeth watched as Mr. Darcy’s breathing evened out, his body yielding at last to exhaustion. His dark lashes rested against his dust-streaked skin, and his brow was no longer furrowed with tension. She did not know how long they travelled before the road smoothed, the cart rocking with a gentler rhythm, but she was keenly aware of his hand, which remained in hers, even in unconsciousness.
As they neared Rosings, the sight of the grand estate was almost jarring after the oppressive darkness of the cavern. Elizabeth forced herself to sit straighter despite the pain that wrapped itself around her hip and the ache in her ribs. She had ignored them in that last desperate race for safety. She could ignore them a little longer.
The cart hit a bump, and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out. Mr. Darcy rolled up on one shoulder, a faint murmur escaping his lips. A long tear down half the length of his coat beginning between his shoulder blades caught her eye, and while the colonel was speaking to the driver, she tugged at it a little to have a better look. It was ripped through, but she could not see much more than a bit of his linen shirt stained red before he groaned and rolled back again.
She recalled his knees buckling, near the end of their ordeal when he was shielding her. He must have been injured then. He mumbled, and she leaned closer.
Mr. Darcy’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the words struck her with the force of a blow.
“Elizabeth, I would marry you.”
Her breath caught. He did not wake, did not realize what he had said. He merely exhaled again, his body slack against the cart’s wooden frame. But she could not look away. The words lingered, pressing against her, sending a strange warmth through her chest despite knowing he could not mean it.
Before she could begin to make sense of it, the cart slowed before the great house, and Colonel Fitzwilliam leapt over the side with practiced ease, barking orders to the waiting servants.
“Mr. Darcy is injured,” she told the men who approached, her voice calm but firm. “More than I knew. His back—his coat has been torn, and I believe he is bleeding freely. He must be seen to at once.”
“The surgeon is inside,” the colonel said. “I shall send him to you.” He held out his arms to help her down.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Mr. Darcy first.”
The colonel glanced at his cousin and then back at her. “Very well, Miss Bennet.”
She gently removed her hand from Mr. Darcy’s, and the colonel helped the footmen assist him to the ground. The footmen slung his arms over their shoulders and helped him stand. He was conscious enough to walk with their aid, but his head hung limply as though it was too heavy for him to lift. They started moving towards the house.
The colonel held out his hands again. “Now, Miss Bennet, it is your turn.”
She nodded and allowed herself to be lifted safely down. Colonel Fitzwilliam escorted her into the house, where she was handed off to the housekeeper.
“Miss Bennet,” the woman said, “we have prepared a room for you. If you will come with me?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, cradling her injured arm and casting one last glance at Mr. Darcy’s retreating form before nodding. “Yes, of course.”
She followed, her hip painful and her steps strangely unsteady. Her thoughts began to slow, not only from her own exhaustion but from the weight of all that had happened. The fear, the dust, the closeness of the cavern’s collapse—and now, the whispered words she could not forget.
I would marry you.
Had it been delirious rambling, a mere slip of the tongue? Or was it something more?
Chapter Eleven
Thestatelyorderofthe great house had been replaced by a sense of urgency. Servants hurried along the corridors, their hands laden with linens and basins of steaming water. Somewhere below, the metallic clang of a dropped tray echoed briefly before being lost beneath the murmur of voices, the rustle of skirts, the firm instructions issued by those whose authority would not be questioned.
Elizabeth barely had time to take in her surroundings before Mr. Collins’s voice, thick with indignation, rang out behind her in the hall. She turned dully towards the sound.
“My dear cousin, I must express my deepest distress at the calamity which has befallen you. Such grievous misfortune, such disorder! Yet I cannot but observe that had you exercised greater prudence, such trials might have been avoided. Indeed, I am of the opinion that your own heedlessness must bear some portion of the blame.”
