Page 66 of Attempted Compromises
But as the minutes passed, fear gave way to something else: anger. It started as a faint flicker, like the embers of the fire beside her, which grew with each passing moment. How dare they? How dare Wickham and Caroline conspire to harm everyone she loved? To use her family and friends as pawns in their twisted game?
Her hands curled into fists beneath the water, her nails digging into her palms. The heat of the bath seemed to fuel her fury, melting away the numbness that had paralyzed her. She had been terrified, yes—more terrified than she had ever been in her life, but she had faced that fear and lived. She had outsmarted Wickham, escaped his clutches, and survived to tell the tale.
Running didn’t make me weak,she thought fiercely.It made me brave. I lived to expose the truth.
The maids’ whispers pulled her from her thoughts. “Her lip’s split,” one of them murmured, her voice filled with concern. “Must’ve bitten it in fright.”
“Hold still, Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Nicholls said as she dabbed a clean cloth over Elizabeth’s chin, wiping away the dried blood. “There now. We’ll have you patched up soon enough.”
Elizabeth obeyed, her body yielding to their ministrations, but her mind continued to churn. The shock was wearing off, replaced by a steely determination that hardened her resolve. She thought of Jane, lying unconscious downstairs, her serene face marred by the knowledge of how close she had come to ruin. She thought of Darcy, his strong frame crumpled on the floor, vulnerable in a way she had never imagined. And she thought of Wickham, his cruel smile etched into her memory like a brand.
I will not let them win,she vowed silently.I will not let them destroy what matters most.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Mrs. Nicholls’s voice broke through her thoughts, and Elizabeth blinked, realizing the housekeeper was holding out a towel.
She nodded, and the maids lifted her from the bath, wrapping her in soft towels warmed by the fire. They rubbed ointment into her cuts and bruises, their hands careful but efficient. The dressing gown and robe were brought forward, their fabric rich and soft against her battered skin. Elizabeth allowed herself to be dressed, the warmth of the layers cocooning her like a shield against the cold.
Her gaze drifted to the fire, its flames crackling and dancing with a kind of wild energy. She saw herself in those flames—burning, unyielding, determined. She would not let fear silence her. She would speak the truth, no matter the cost.
By the time the maids had finished dressing her, Elizabeth’s shivering had lessened, though her teeth still chattered faintly. They wrapped her in warm blankets and placed hot bricks at her feet, their hands quick and efficient.
“She’s still trembling,” one of the maids whispered, her brow furrowed.
“She’ll be all right,” Mrs. Nicholls said firmly, though her eyes lingered on Elizabeth with concern. “The worst is over now.”
But for Elizabeth, the worst was not over. The fight was just beginning. She would face the others downstairs—Darcy, Jane, the apothecary—and she would tell them everything. She would expose Wickham and Caroline for the villains they were.
Mrs. Nicholls knelt before her, adjusting the folds of the blankets wrapped around Elizabeth’s legs. “There now,” she said with a small nod of satisfaction. “You’ll warm up soon enough. The shivering is just the shock wearing off.”
Elizabeth met the housekeeper’s gaze, her own eyes clear and determined. “Thank you, Mrs. Nicholls,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. “But I am not done yet.”
“You’re a strong one, Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Nicholls said softly, a note of admiration in her voice as she tied the robe’s sash. “Stronger than most.”
A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and the butler’s voice called from the hallway. “Mrs. Nicholls? Miss Elizabeth? The young lady’s presence is requested downstairs.”
Mrs. Nicholls glanced at Elizabeth, her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you certain you’re ready, child? You’ve been through so much—”
“I am ready,” Elizabeth said firmly, standing without hesitation. Her legs trembled slightly beneath her, but she held her head high. “I must tell them what happened.”
Mrs. Nicholls studied her for a moment before nodding. “Very well, then. But lean on me if you feel unsteady.”
Elizabeth didn’t need the offer. With each step toward the door, her resolve solidified. The fear that had gripped her earlier was gone, replaced by a fierce determination. She had endured more than she thought possible, but she had survived. And now, she would speak the truth.
Nothing would stop her.
∞∞∞
Making her way down the stairs, she was led by the butler to the music room, relieved that the parlor had been abandoned in favor of a more comfortable environment. A footman pulled the door open, giving her a look that seemed to be a mix of pity and horror.
She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.You survived, Elizabeth. You escaped, and now you must tell the truth.With that thought as her anchor, she straightened her back and walked through the door, her head held high.
The gentlemen stood as she entered the room. She paused in the doorway, conscious of the worried eyes upon her. The maids had done an admirable job making her presentable, but no amount of warm baths or woolen dressing gowns could chase away the weariness that clung to her like a second skin.
Darcy sat stiffly near the fire, his posture as rigid as the stone mantle behind him. Bingley hovered protectively beside Jane. Her pale face was framed by wisps of hair that had escaped her hastily arranged coiffure, her large eyes filled with lingering confusion.
Sir William Lucas, who served as the magistrate, occupied a commanding position near the fireplace, his expression one of grave concern. Mr. Jones stood beside him, his weathered face solemn. Near the window sat Mr. Bennet, his usual air of sardonic detachment replaced with a grim determination that set Elizabeth on edge. Reclining on a settee was Mrs. Hurst, her face pale.
The air was thick with tension, broken only by the soft clink of cups as the servants circulated with trays of coffee, chocolate, and lemonade. Another tray of tea and sandwiches was offered, which no-one touched. Elizabeth hesitated in the doorway, unsure if she had the strength to endure what was coming.
