Page 16 of The Briar Bargain
In Bingley’s absence, it ought to have been Darcy issuing instructions. But he could not tear his eyes from Miss Elizabeth long enough to do so. His throat felt oddly tight, and there was a suspicious burning behind his eyes that he attributed to the smoky fire.
Harrison frowned at him but left the lodge.
Her features occasionally pinched as if reliving both her plunge into the water to save the boy and how the river had nearly claimed her instead, and Darcy offered up a silent prayer as he knelt next to her. He was not a man given to religious displays, yet now he found himself silently imploring whatever divine power might exist to keep this young woman from further harm, to help her heal.
He was unaware of how much time had passed as he watched and prayed, but he startled when the lodge door opened, admitting a gust of cold air and the sound of approaching horses. Boots stomped on the threshold, and Bingley's voice called out, "Darcy? Miss Bennet and Mrs. Johnson are here."
Relief washed over Darcy, though he was careful not to show it. "Enter," he called, rising to his feet with the reluctance of one departing a sanctuary.
Miss Bennet hurried inside, her usually serene countenance marked with worry. "Lizzy!" she cried, rushing to her sister's side and kneeling where Darcy had been moments before. Mrs. Johnson followed, carrying a bundle of clothing and shooing the men out with practised authority.
"Gentlemen, if you please," she said firmly. "The young lady needs changing. Take your son to the cart, Mr. Farrow, we shall be there shortly."
Acart? It took a moment for Darcy to realise that a carriage, far more appropriate for conveying gentlewomen, would not have been able to make the journey through the mud. No, a cart was sensible. But he could not like having Miss Elizabeth exposed to the chill of the air, even for the short ride back to Netherfield House.
Farrow turned at last, careful to keep his gaze averted from Miss Elizabeth as he carried his drowsy son through the door.
Darcy hesitated, unwilling to leave despite the clear impropriety of remaining.
Miss Bennet glanced up at him, her blue eyes widening before turning soft. "She will be well cared for, Mr. Darcy," she assured him gently. "I shall not leave her side."
"When you have finished," Darcy said stiffly, "I shall carry her out."
Miss Bennet nodded, a small smile touching her lips despite her worry. "Thank you.”
With a final glance at Miss Elizabeth's still form, Darcy followed Harrison and Farrow outside, closing the door behind him.
Outside, he stood with his back to the lodge, staring across the sodden fields between them and Netherfield. The sky had begun to clear, patches of blue appearing between the storm clouds. He shivered slightly as a breeze cut through his trousers.
"You are half-frozen.” Harrison appeared at his side with another blanket. He looked away as Darcy tied the first one about his neck and then pulled the second around his waist. "If I may say so, that was quite the rescue. Not many gentlemen would have plunged into a flooded river to save another."
Darcy met his valet's gaze briefly. "Fewer ladies would have done so."
A hint of a smile touched Harrison's lips. "True.”
"Harrison, can you ask one of the servants to fetch Mr. Jones back to Netherfield?"
"I will make the request, Mr. Darcy," his valet replied, "but even the north bridge is under water now. I doubt anyone can cross."
Darcy frowned. Miss Elizabeth needed proper medical attention.
The lodge door opened, and Mrs. Johnson emerged. "She's changed now, gentlemen. Her colour's improving a little now that she’s dry."
Darcy did not wait for further invitation, striding past the woman into the lodge. Miss Elizabeth lay on the pallet, with several wool blanketstucked around her. Her dark hair had been partially dried and braided, though tendrils still clung damply to her forehead and temples.
He knelt beside her, studying her face. There was indeed a bit more colour in her cheeks now, and her breathing seemed stronger, more regular. Relief coursed through him, so intense it was almost painful.
"She's just sleeping, sir," Mrs. Johnson said from behind him. "Exhausted, poor lamb, but her pulse is steady. No fever that I can tell, but we'll keep watch. Once we are back to the great house, we can clean those scratches." She eyed him shrewdly. “You’ll need to have yours looked at as well.”
Darcy nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The fear in his heart had eased somewhat, but now a ferocious sort of protectiveness nearly engulfed him.
Miss Bennet sat on the other side of the pallet, gently stroking her sister's hair. She looked up at Darcy with eyes shining with unshed tears. "Mr. Bingley told me what happened—how Lizzy saved little Peter, and how you saved her. I am so very grateful, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy inclined his head, uncomfortable with being thanked. "Your sister's actions were most courageous."
"And most characteristic," Miss Bennet replied with a watery smile. "I have always tried to speak sense to her, but she knows she is strong. She always rushes headlong into trouble when someone requires help. Usually she emerges unscathed, but she has overestimated her abilities a time or two."
That information did not surprise Darcy in the least. It aligned perfectly with what he knew of Miss Elizabeth's almost reckless disregard for her own comfort when someone else was in need.
