Page 17 of The Briar Bargain
The traits that had seemed so improper to him only a day past now appeared in a different light. Had he truly been so blinded by his own rigidnotions of decorum that he had mistaken genuine goodness for impropriety?
Bingley entered the lodge, bringing with him the crisp air from outside. "The cart is prepared." His gaze fell on Miss Elizabeth's still form, and concern flickered across his features. "How is she?"
"Better," Miss Bennet answered. "But we must get her back to the house."
"Of course," Bingley agreed.
Darcy turned to Miss Bennet and she nodded, arranging the blankets more securely around her sister. "We are ready now, I believe. The sooner she is settled, the better."
Darcy moved to Miss Elizabeth's side once more, carefully slipping his arms beneath her slight form. As he lifted her against his chest, she stirred slightly but did not wake. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder and released a small sigh. The gesture affected him more deeply than he cared to admit.
Outside, the farmers had gathered to see them off, their expressions solemn. Mrs. Johnson sat next to the driver, and Farrow stepped up with his son to sit beside her.
Harrison had already spread rugs and additional blankets across the wooden planks, creating a makeshift bed where Darcy could gently lay Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy pulled himself up onto the cart and reached for yet another dry blanket to cover his damp legs before kneeling beside Miss Elizabeth.
"I will hold her steady," he said quietly, carefully repositioning himself so that Miss Elizabeth's head rested against his thighs rather than the hard wooden bed. "The road will be rough."
"Oh, I am able to do that," Miss Bennet protested softly, settling beside them. "Surely you are also weary, sir."
“I am already settled,” he told her. “Let us not delay.”
The truth, which he did not voice, was that he was loath to relinquish her. The memory of her disappearing beneath the churning waters was still too fresh, too terrifying. Holding Miss Elizbeth reassured him.
Harrison sat at the end of the wagon while Bingley moved to sit beside Miss Bennet. With a word to the driver, the cart lurched into motion.
The journey to Netherfield passed largely in silence, broken only by occasional concerned inquiries from Miss Bennet and Bingley's quiet reassurances. Darcy kept his gaze fixed on Miss Elizabeth's face, watching for any sign of distress. She slept on, her expression peaceful now, despite the ordeal she had endured.
The cart rolled to a stop before Netherfield's imposing façade. Servants stood ready at the entrance, alerted to the emergency by Bingley's earlier arrival. Among them was Mrs. Nicholls, the housekeeper, her usually composed features drawn with concern.
Bingley descended first, offering his hand to Miss Bennet. Darcy carefully handed Miss Elizabeth down to Harrison and Bingley before jumping down and relieving them. He had carried Miss Elizabeth for so long now that she felt natural in his arms, as if she belonged there.
"This way, sir," Mrs. Nicholls directed, leading them into the house and up the grand staircase.
Darcy climbed steadily, conscious of the eyes upon him but focused solely on the woman in his arms. Had circumstances been different, he might have found humour in the situation. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, was ascending the stairs of Netherfield looking like a half-drowned rat, trailing river water across Bingley's fine carpets while he carried an unconscious woman to her chamber.
As it was, he could find no amusement in it, only a profound relief that she was here, alive, breathing, her heart beating steadily near his own.
They reached the blue guest room, where a fire blazed cheerfully in the grate and the bed had been turned down in readiness. The chamber was warm and inviting, with a pot of hot water steaming gently beside the washbasin.
Darcy stepped into the room, then hesitated, suddenly very aware of the risk he was taking as a gentleman entering a lady's bedchamber. But Miss Bennet solved his dilemma by gesturing to the bed.
"If you would be so kind as to place her there, Mr. Darcy," she said. "I shall attend to her from here."
With great care, Darcy laid Miss Elizabeth upon the blanket that was spread over the bed, allowing Miss Bennet to arrange the pillows beneath Miss Elizabeth’s head. Even as he straightened, he found himself reluctant to move away.
"I believe we must leave the ladies now," Bingley said softly from the doorway.
"Yes, of course." Darcy stepped back, his gaze still fixed on Miss Elizabeth's sleeping form. "Miss Bennet, you will send word if there is any change in your sister's condition."
It was not a question, but Miss Bennet kindly treated it as such. "I shall, Mr. Darcy."
He turned to Bingley. "And if Mr. Jones arrives, he is to be brought to her immediately, regardless of the hour."
"Of course."
Darcy nodded firmly, then forced himself to turn and leave.
