Page 62 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
She was still in pain.
It made him angry, but he quickly mastered the emotion. She was here. She was alive. That was what mattered.
He took a careful step forward, then another, suppressing a wince. Despite his attempt at silence, a small shift of the gravel beneath his boot betrayed his presence.
Elizabeth turned. Her cheek was still marred by a fading, yellowish bruise. His jaw tightened.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said at last, her voice unreadable.
Darcy inclined his head, schooling his features. “Miss Elizabeth.”
Her gaze swept over him in return, assessing, calculating. “You should not be out of your rooms.”
“Nor should you.”
Her lips curled up, but her eyes held something else—something cautious, tentative. “I have been out of bed for several days already and could not remain indoors a moment longer.”
He smiled. “I do not doubt it.”
Elizabeth glanced in the direction of the house. “How did you manage to escape Lady Catherine?”
Darcy exhaled, shaking his head. “With great difficulty. I believe Fitz considers this his very finest military manoeuvre.”
That startled a real laugh from her, warm and bright. He had missed that sound.
“Then I must offer Colonel Fitzwilliam my thanks,” she said lightly, but then her expression softened. “Truly, Mr. Darcy, are you well?”
He ought to have given some perfunctory response—some assurance that he was healing, that all would be right in time.
Instead, the truth slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
“Not until now.”
She inhaled sharply.
“If I had lost you,” he continued, his voice rougher now, “I could not have borne it.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. “I was frightened.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “I would have done anything to protect you.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I was frightened foryou. I thank you for indulging me in my games. It eased my mind to see you capable of good humour.”
“I felt the same,” he told her. “I was very happy to participate, for it allowed me to communicate with you even if we could not speak.”
Another silence. The breeze stirred the leaves around them, carrying the faint scent of roses.
Elizabeth lifted her head again, her dark eyes searching his. “I have thought a great deal about your final conundrum.”
He nodded seriously. She had not replied to it, and her communications had stopped. “You solved it?”
“I did. It was something I had to think about.”
“Did I confuse you?” He thought he had been rather clear himself, but he knew how wrong-footed he sometimes felt with her.
She glanced up at him. “I did not know what to think.”
