Page 22 of The Briar Bargain
Her sister tilted her head, unconvinced. “Your embarrassment is unusually persistent for such a rational creature as yourself.”
Elizabeth gave her a look that was meant to convey sisterly patience, though it likely resembled exasperation. “My embarrassment isentirelyrational. I was dragged half-drowned from a river by Mr. Darcy, of all men.”
“He was anxious for you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth waved her hand, dismissive, though her heart gave an inexplicable jolt at the words. “Nonsense. He will be as relieved as I am when the business is concluded.”
“Perhaps,” Jane said softly. “Or perhaps he was never so very bad after all.”
Elizabeth turned her face to the window, where grey morning light filtered through the curtains. Somewhere in the house, footsteps echoed faintly on the floorboards.
She closed her eyes against the thought, determined not to dwell on it. Today she would thank Mr. Darcy, and that would be the end of it.
Chapter Seven
Darcy lingered uneasily in the hallway outside Miss Elizabeth's chamber. The past two nights had been a terrible strain on his sense of propriety. He had asked after her discreetly at first, then with increasing frequency. Each time, Mrs. Johnson or Miss Bennet assured him that Miss Elizabeth was warm and dry. That she was resting.
Was this what he had become? The great master of Pemberley, reduced to a nervous footman stationed outside Miss Elizabeth’s door?
He paused at the tall window at the far end of the hallway, hands clasped firmly behind his back, his gaze fixed on the storm-washed landscape beyond Netherfield's grounds. The morning light was pale and watery, filtered through lingering clouds that promised more rain before the day was through. The scratches on his hands and face stung, but they were nothing compared to the gnawing fear that had taken residence in his stomach and showed no signs of departing.
There were so many ways for her to take a turn. Sometimes people were drawn from the water only to succumb a day later. She might be overcome by her exposure to the cold. If she had breathed in enough of the icy river water, she could develop lung fever. Even the scratches, innocuous as theyappeared, could become infected, though Mrs. Nicholls’s remedies had done a great deal already to heal his own.
The rain had eased, but the roads remained impassable. Mr. Jones had done well in treating the elder Miss Bennet’s illness, but now he was still confined to the Meryton side of the river by the flooding. Darcy, used to being a man of decision and action, found himself powerless to do anything but wait and pray that Miss Bennet and Mrs. Johnson's steady care would suffice.
For hours that first night he had kept vigil here, ears straining for any sound from within Miss Elizabeth's room. A cough would cause his heart to pound. Silence was equally torturous.
He could not banish the memory of her face when he had lifted her from the water—pale skin, lips faintly blue, dark lashes beaded with river water. That image had seared itself into his mind, an agony and a blessing all at once. She had been so terrifyingly still when he first reached her that for one horrible moment, he had feared he was too late.
"Mr. Darcy?"
The voice startled him from his ruminations, and he turned to find Miss Bennet standing in the doorway of her sister's chamber. Her face was drawn with the strain of a second night's vigil, but there was an unmistakable flicker of relief in her blue eyes.
"She is awake and has taken breakfast," Jane said softly, her voice carrying the weight of answered prayers.
For a moment, Darcy could not trust himself to speak. He inclined his head carefully, struggling to maintain his composure even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
"She is well?" he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.
“I believe she wishes to thank her rescuer properly.” Miss Bennet’s serene smile held a glimmer of amusement that reminded him of her sister. “Though I must warn you, she is likely to deny any mention of heroics and claim she simply wanted an adventure.”
“An adventure?” Darcy repeated drily. His laugh was strained. “Perhaps next time she might choose a less aquatic one.”
"She is of course eager to leave the sickbed; however, I have insisted she take some proper nourishment and rest a bit longer," Miss Bennet continued, still smiling at him. "I shall send word when she is ready to receive visitors."
"Of course. I shall await your summons." He paused, studying the young lady's countenance, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes. "And you, Miss Bennet? You appear fatigued. Have you been able to rest at all?"
"I am perfectly well, sir. My sister's recovery is all the restoration I require." Miss Bennet's voice was warm. "Though I confess I shall feel easier once she has regained more of her strength."
"As shall we all," Darcy said quietly. "Please, do not hesitate to call upon me if there is anything I might provide that would be of assistance to you or Miss Elizabeth."
Miss Bennet smiled. “Your kindness is most appreciated, Mr. Darcy. But I believe the worst is over."
After she withdrew, Darcy spent some time in the library, working on an anatomical drawing he had brought with him. He had been reading Bell’s essay on the brain, taken by its claim that some nerves commanded movement while others merely felt. He had taken to sketching a man from the back to better understand the notion of the muscles and the spine.
Voices broke into his concentration, and he stood to see what was happening.
He found Bingley in the hall nearer to the front door, speaking earnestly with Johnson and Anson. Their boots were muddy, their faces weatheredand concerned, and they clutched their hats respectfully as they spoke to him.
