Page 39 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Lady Catherine.” Fitz’s voice cut through her tirade, unusually stern. “I must insist that we continue this discussion elsewhere. Darcy requires rest, as the surgeon has explicitly ordered.”
“Do not presume to dictate to me in my own house, Fitzwilliam! I am perfectly capable of determining what is best for my nephew, and I say—”
“Your ladyship.” This time Fitz’s tone held an edge of steel. “Surely you would not wish to impede Darcy’s recovery?”
A heavy silence fell. Darcy could almost feel his aunt’s indignation radiating through the room.
“Very well,” Lady Catherine said, her voice clipped. “But this discussion is far from over. I expect both of you to attend me in the morning, when we shall address this situation properly. And that girl will be dealt with.”
The door closed with rather more force than necessary, and Fitz muttered a curse under his breath.
Darcy forced his eyes open—at least, he thought he had, though it was still very dark. “You must not let her near Elizabeth,” he said hoarsely. “She is not well enough to weather such attentions.”
“Peace, Darcy.” Fitz’s voice was very near. “Mrs. Collins is with her. Your Elizabeth is safe enough for now.”
“NotmyElizabeth,” Darcy murmured. The laudanum was pulling at him again, making his thoughts slow and heavy. His eyelids fluttered closed.
“Sleep,” Fitz said gently. “I give you my word that Lady Catherine shall not disturb either of you tonight. And I will inform her of exactly what occurred. I do not think she knows.”
“Thank you,” Darcy whispered before the laudanum and his own enervation finally pulled him under for good.
Chapter Twelve
Elizabethstirred,wincingasevery movement reminded her of yesterday’s misadventure. Her body felt as though she had been trampled by a dozen horses, each muscle protesting at the slightest shift.
“Do not attempt to rise,” Charlotte’s voice came from nearby. “The surgeon was most insistent that you remain abed.”
She turned her head carefully, grateful that even that small motion did not send the room spinning. She so disliked laudanum. “How long have I slept?”
“Nearly fourteen hours. You required the rest.” Charlotte moved to sit beside the bed, her face etched with concern. “Though I confess, I am grateful you are awake. There have been . . . developments.”
Before Elizabeth could enquire further, Charlotte’s expression shifted, a warning in her eyes. “Lady Catherine has made her feelings regarding your presence here quite clear.”
Elizabeth was at a loss to comprehend what she might have done to warrant such antipathy. What had she done other than be injured by the collapse of Lady Catherine’s folly?
“I should not wish to impose upon her hospitality a moment longer than she is willing to extend it,” Elizabeth replied, attempting again to push herself upright, but realizing that one arm was bound and in a sling. The movement sent heat rushing through the bruised side of her face and warning pains through her ribs. Her involuntary gasp made Charlotte frown.
“You are one large bruise, Eliza,” Charlotte said firmly, pressing her back against the pillows. “You must rest at least a few days before attempting to move anywhere, even if it is only to the parsonage.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say a word, Lady Catherine de Bourgh swept in, her bearing regal and her expression indignant.
“This is intolerable!” her ladyship declared.
Charlotte sighed, leaning forward to whisper, “The colonel would not allow her to enter last night, but I suppose the sun is up now. Barely.” She stood to greet Lady Catherine, but the woman was not finished speaking.
“I will not have my nephew’s reputation compromised. You must remove her to the parsonage immediately!”
For a moment, Elizabeth could scarcely credit that she had heard correctly. In what way had she compromised Mr. Darcy or his reputation? By being so unfortunate as to be buried beneath tons of stone? She thought of Mr. Darcy’s heroic efforts during their ordeal, his quiet strength and careful attention to her comfort even as he himself was suffering. That his aunt should now attempt to twist what they had endured into something sordid struck at a very deep part of her.
Drawing herself up as much as her injuries would allow, Elizabeth gathered both her dignity and her wit about her. She was not one to be cowed by grand titles and grander pronouncements. She would not allow such a falsehood to stand unchallenged.
“Your ladyship, Mr. Darcy warned you for years that the folly was unsafe. He told me that he repeatedly advised against both building it and allowing it to remain on the hill. That his counsel was ignored suggests that if blame for our ordeal must be assigned, it lies not with those who suffered the folly’s collapse, but those who did not heed the warning that this very event was inevitable. I do not believe our reputations are in danger, but if they were, the blame would not rest with me.”
Lady Catherine gaped, her mouth opening and closing without sound, rather like a fish suddenly finding itself upon dry land. Before she could recover her powers of speech, another figure appeared in the doorway.
“Mother.” Miss de Bourgh was calm, but her voice held an unmistakable note of authority. “You must cease harassing our guests.”
“Anne!” Lady Catherine turned to face her daughter. “This is not a matter for your interference. That girl—”
