Page 22 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said sternly. “Tend to your own business there.”
He chuckled quietly.
She worked with hands still trembling, cutting a section of her petticoat into bandages. When she was prepared, she lowered her skirt and wrapped the bandage about his head until both cuts were properly bound. He endured the ministrations without complaint, save for the occasional flinch when she pressed too firmly.
“There,” she said at last, tucking the end of the cloth beneath the binding. “It is done.”
Darcy opened his eyes, their depths dark and unreadable in the faint glow of daylight from above. “I thank you.”
She inclined her head, though her thoughts were too tumultuous for a proper reply. Something in her wanted to laugh, for she was wearing a man’s cravat on her arm, and Mr. Darcy had a lady’s petticoat wrapped around his head. But she feared her laugh might sound as shrill as her mother’s, and so she refrained.
Silence stretched between them for a time, punctuated only by the distant creak of shifting stone and the faint sound of loose gravel pinging against rock somewhere in the depths of the cavernous space. Elizabeth turned her gaze upward, assessing the height of the ruined folly above.
“There is no way to climb out,” she observed, her voice measured.
Mr. Darcy followed her gaze, his expression grim. Clearly, he had already come to the same conclusion. “Not without assistance, I am afraid.”
She exhaled. “Then we must wait.” The pain in her ribs had settled into a dull, persistent ache, her back and hip, certainly bruised, making themselves known with each breath she took.
“You ought to rest,” Mr. Darcy said softly.
“I should say the same to you,” she countered. “I think you have fared worse than I.”
His lips quirked slightly, though it was not quite a smile. “Then let us rest together, Miss Bennet, and hope for a swift rescue.”
She regarded him for a long moment before nodding, allowing herself a greater measure of ease in his presence. For though they were trapped underground beneath the ruin of a folly, she knew with strange certainty that she could not have had a better companion in misfortune.
Chapter Eight
Ithadbeenatleast an hour since the collapse, Darcy thought, and the silence that had settled between them was no longer as heavy with shock or pain. Though their circumstances remained dire, the urgency of their situation had abated somewhat. They had tended their wounds as best they could, and now there was nothing to do but wait.
Darcy shifted slightly, suppressing a grimace. The pain in his ribs was lessening, leading him to believe that they were not terribly injured, but his headache was worse. He exhaled slowly, forcing his body to remain still. “I knew the folly was unstable,” he admitted, his voice even. “I believed no one used it, or I would have warned you.”
Miss Elizabeth turned her head to him, her brows lifting in surprise. “You knew? How?”
He murmured an assent. “It was one of my aunt’s many indulgences. A folly in every sense of the word. My Uncle de Bourgh had a map noting some of the hills around the estate as possibly having deneholes. There are such hills across this region of Kent.” He was about to explain what those were, but Miss Elizabeth interrupted.
“Do you mean the underground chambers from the medieval period? I read about those as a child and dragged Jane out to look for them. Alas,” she said with a little laugh, “there are no old chalk mines in Hertfordshire.” She paused, touching the side of her face that Darcy could not see. “I wish there were none in Kent.”
Unfortunately, there were many of them in Kent. Over time, some of the old deneholes had experienced collapses such as this. Although so far as he knew, none of them had a thirty-ton folly sitting atop it when they did.
“I was assured it would be well,” he said, still angry about being placated and ignored. “And when I pressed the matter, I was treated as though I were a child fretting over the dark.” A wry note entered his voice, and he sighed. “For all my status as master of Pemberley, I remain the youngest male in my family. They still look upon me as a boy.”
Miss Elizabeth regarded him curiously. “Even your cousin the colonel?”
Darcy gave a dry chuckle. “At times, especially Fitz. He endures my aunt’s scoldings as a soldier might endure an unwanted command—without pleasure, but without argument. And he encourages me to do the same. It frustrates me no end.”
She hummed in sympathy, then looked over at him and tilted her head. In the weak light, he could see a teasing expression upon her countenance. “Well, Mr. Darcy, you have a great triumph now. You have been proven right beyond any doubt. You may hold this over them forever.”
At that, he laughed—an unguarded, genuine sound that echoed strangely in their cavern. But he immediately groaned, pressing a hand to his side. “The silver lining,” he muttered. “Trust you to find it, Miss Bennet.”
Miss Elizabeth winced. “I am sorry. It was not my intention to do you further injury.”
“You need not apologise. I would far rather bear the pain than the alternative.”
"Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud/Turn forth her silver lining on the night?" she breathed. “I should have known you would appreciate Milton’s poetry, sir.”
The slightest upturn of his lips made her feel better. “I should have known you would recognize it.”
