Page 18 of The Briar Bargain
In the hall, Bingley placed a hand on his arm. "You should change into dry clothing yourself, Darcy. You shall catch your death otherwise."
Darcy glanced down at his attire, which was even worse than he had thought. His boots had left small puddles on the polished floor, and his trousers stuck to his legs, leaving very little to the imagination. His coat andwaistcoat, hastily donned without a shirt beneath, had soaked through in places where the fabric pressed against his still-wet skin. He grimaced.
"Harrison will have prepared fresh garments," he said, though his thoughts remained with the sleeping beauty behind the closed door.
As they walked together to Darcy's chamber, Bingley cleared his throat. "That was quite something you did today, Darcy."
"It was what any gentleman would have done."
Bingley gave him a sideways look. "Yes, I am certain that is true." After a pause, he added more quietly, "I teased you about Miss Elizabeth last evening, but I have never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her just now."
Darcy shook his head, though he knew Bingley was correct. "She put herself at risk to rescue that boy. I admire that, and I respect her."
"It was merely an observation." Bingley’s words hinted at capitulation, but his tone did not.
They reached Darcy's chamber, where Harrison awaited him. Bingley took his leave with a promise to reconvene for dinner, though Darcy suspected his own appetite would be lacking.
A hip bath awaited him, the water already poured. The servants had plainly foreseen that he and Bingley would return to the house in a state of some disarray.
Darcy carefully cleaned all the scratches he had sustained in his plunge, then scrubbed the river from his hair and body. As Harrison slipped a fresh shirt over his head, Darcy's mind returned repeatedly to the events of the day. To Miss Elizabeth, fighting to stay afloat. To the moment when he had found her under the water. To her small hand, clutching at the remains of his ruined shirt as if it were a lifeline.
He straightened, and Harrison reached for the trousers, his expression professionally neutral despite the unusual circumstances. "If I may say so, sir, you would have made a half-decent soldier."
Darcy met his valet's gaze. "Thank you?"
Harrison's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "You ought to thank me. It is the highest compliment I can offer. And you are welcome."
After Harrison departed, Darcy stood before the glass, hardly recognizing the man who gazed back at him. Thin, angry scratches from the briars marked his cheeks and trailed dangerously close to his eyes, and he knew his arms bore similar shallow wounds beneath his sleeves. They stung faintly, a tangible reminder of his headlong rush through the undergrowth. He had not cared for the thorns that clawed at him. He had cared only for reaching her.
The man in the glass seemed changed, stripped of certainty, his edges roughened like the storm-battered world outside. In the span of a few hours, something fundamental had changed.Hehad changed.
A profound sense of relief washed over him, knowing Miss Elizabeth was now safely ensconced in the blue chamber, attended by her devoted sister and the capable Mrs. Johnson. Though she had not yet awakened, she was warm and dry.
Whatever came tomorrow he would face. For tonight, she was safe.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth drifted on the edge of sleep, caught in a strange half world where her body felt both heavy and insubstantial. The soft crackle of a fire tickled her ears, and her fingers flexed weakly, encountering the roughness of wool.
She tried to turn her head, but even that small effort sent a dull ache rippling through her neck and shoulders. A sound reached her, the faint swish of skirts, the creak of a chair, followed by a familiar voice.
"Lizzy?"
Relief, sweet and unrelenting, washed through Elizabeth at the sound of her sister’s voice. She tried to respond, but her throat felt raw, her voice reluctant.
"Jane," she managed, the syllables more breath than sound.
"Oh, Lizzy." Jane's hand clasped hers with surprising firmness. Elizabeth could feel the slight tremor in her sister's fingers. "You are awake at last."
Elizabeth swallowed, testing her voice again. "I believe I am. Though I cannot be entirely certain." She struggled to sit up, but her sister’s hands restrained her.
"Do not even think of it. You are to stay abed, and I will hear no argument."
Elizabeth leaned back and closed her eyes briefly. The temptation to sink back into oblivion was strong, but questions prickled at the edge of her consciousness.
Memory returned in scattered fragments: a small form clinging desperately to her, the surge of the current as the log shifted, water closing over her head.
"Peter?"
