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Bingley was eager to help however he could. “Theo, I would say it is wonderful to see you and Georgiana, but we have an emergency. Jonah said Darcy had sent for help. What can I do?”

Theodore felt Bingley should know what a disgrace his sister was.

“We have quite the situation, Bingley. It sounds like a soldier shoved a lady named Miss Elizabeth off a cliff. Darcy sent that little boy here on his horse for help. But when he got here and went inside calling for help, your shrew of a sister struck him, called him a disgusting urchin, and threw him out. We ran into him trying to get help somewhere else.”

“My sister did what?” Outrage rang out in his simple question.

“The poor kid’s face is going to bruise,” Theodore bit out tersely.

Bingley wished it surprised him. “That settles it. She is not fit to play any role in my household. But that is neither here nor there. What do you need right now?” Pushing back at emotions that he was unaccustomed to, Bingley looked at what had to happen right now.

There would be enough time later to deal with his anger and frustration.

Theodore was glad that Bingley did not deny what his sister had done.

“Georgiana and Mrs. Ansley will need rooms and there will need to be one prepared for the injured lady. I do not trust Miss Bingley. Will Mrs. Hurst be able to handle the task, or should Mrs. Ansley step in and collaborate with your housekeeper?”

Bingley wished desperately that his oldest sister was healthy enough and strong-willed enough to stand up against Caroline.

“Mrs. Hurst has been unwell of late and has taken to her bed most days. If Mrs. Ansley could take over, I would be grateful. I will speak with Mrs. Nichols now and let her know to work with Mrs. Ansley. Do I need to gather any supplies?”

Darcy held himself in place, trying to make sure he would not slip.

He wished help would arrive soon. He hated that he had nothing to help Elizabeth with, but at least she was not bleeding heavily.

Brushing her curls away from her face, he found himself fascinated by the spring in her curl.

Of its own volition, it had wrapped itself around his finger, not wanting to let go.

Its silken texture was soothing. It reassured him that some part of Elizabeth was well and acknowledged his presence.

“I wish you would open your eyes and smile at me, Elizabeth. Only then will I know that all is well. You have helped me so much. Did you know that?” Darcy spoke in a murmur, unsure if she would hear him or if his voice might hurt her head.

She probably hit her head somewhere in the fall.

He was unsure of their stability and did not want to risk it looking for a bump.

He reached over and took her good hand in his own, feeling the warmth in their connection.

All he could do was wait. He found he could not seem to tear his gaze away from her crumpled form.

And then suddenly there was pressure on his hand.

The hand in his own was so much smaller by comparison, its nails dainty and smooth.

Yet it was so powerful, for with just one squeeze, his entire world stopped.

The slightest pressure on his hand by hers and he fought for breath.

Looking at her face, his breath came back in a rush, for there on her face, once so still, her eyes were open and looking at him.

Barely open, merely slits, her pain was evident in the lines around her eyes, but her eyes were open, and he felt like writing an ode to their clear emerald depths.

“Elizabeth, you have taken a tumble, and you are hurt. I do not want you to move, but can you tell me how you feel?” Darcy spoke in a hushed voice, as if raising his voice would ruin the enchantment.

“Arm hurts most, but…” Elizabeth moaned and seemed to grit her teeth.

“Do not speak if it is too much for you,” Darcy urged, guilty that he had wanted her to wake and experience this pain.

“Where?” Elizabeth’s eyes focused on Darcy for a moment before clenching shut.

“We are both on the side of the cliff. You stopped about fifteen feet down from the top. Kiernan went for help on Cadmus. He knows the way. Help should be here soon.”

Elizabeth remembered what had started it all. It swirled in her mind and mixed with the pain, but it still appalled her. “Wickham tried to shoot you.”

Even lying there, injured, on the side of the cliff, Elizabeth was worried about him.

She left Darcy in awe of her. “I was wondering what exactly happened. I knew the moment I heard your voice that something was wrong, and that you were doing something courageous.” He was trying to be grateful for her actions and not feel guilty about everything, but it was difficult.

Guilt had no place here on the side of a cliff.

“Darcy? You down there?” an unexpected voice boomed.

“Theo, is that you? When did you get here?” Darcy questioned.

“The cavalry always shows up when needed. Have I taught you nothing?” Theodore lay on his belly, trying to spot them both below him so he could come up with a plan.

“Is Miss Elizabeth all right, Mr. Darcy?” Kiernan’s tremulous voice called.

“She is safe and sound, Kiernan. A little worse for wear, but she is awake and talking to me. I am very proud of how well you did, bringing back the rescue party.”

“Darcy, how are you situated down there? What are Miss Elizabeth’s injuries?

Anything we need to be concerned about?” Theodore’s rapid-fire questions were something he reverted to when dealing with a crisis.

He could see Darcy leaning near the recumbent lady and was curious about what other variables he needed to consider.

Darcy leaned back as far as he could safely to see if he could spot his cousin above him. “I wedged my feet against one of these bushes and Miss Elizabeth is on a small ledge. She broke her arm, and she has several cuts and contusions, but nothing as bad as the arm as far as I can tell.”

Well, it could be worse, thought Theodore.

“I am going to send down a rope. I want you to tie it around your waist. Then I’m going to send a sheet down tied to a rope.

I’m hoping you can get the sheet around her like she was sitting on a swing, and we can pull you both up.

” Several things could go wrong with his plan, but he felt it was the best option.

Sending the ropes down, he hoped Darcy could get the sheet around Miss Elizabeth. It seemed like forever before he heard what he wanted.

Darcy knew they had to get Elizabeth back on the path and that doing so was going to hurt her.

How could he do it if everything in him was screaming to keep her from pain?

“I am ready, I think. Miss Elizabeth is sitting up in the swing you rigged. I tied the other rope around my waist.” Darcy spoke loud enough to be heard, but his focus was on the fact that Elizabeth’s face had drained of color with every movement and sweat had broken out on her brow.

Her poor eyes, which had been open, were now pressed tight shut, as if desperately trying to blot out the pain of movement.

The ascent up the cliffside was a horrid business in Elizabeth’s mind, full of sharp movements and a terror that she refused to acknowledge.

Her pulse throbbed in her head, and the need to vomit was almost overwhelming.

She would have screamed had she not thought that the addition of such a sound would have been too much for her current fortitude.

After they had clambered over the edge and gotten back on the trail, her only focus was on taking deep breaths to quell the thudding agony in her skull.

The torment in her arm was acute, but she could think of nothing that would stem it.

When she finally managed to once again open her eyes, it was to see two faces looking down at her—one dark and suddenly dear, the other light and unknown.

Mr. Darcy hovered above her, worry obvious in every line of his face.

His chocolate eyes, normally so magnetic, now seemed almost mournful.

Across from him floated a face that was also concerned, and his blond hair and piercing blue eyes were in stark contrast to Mr. Darcy’s chestnut locks and warm gaze.

“Elizabeth, tell me what we can do to help.” Darcy could see how hard she was struggling against the pain, and it was a dagger in his heart.

“I think asking for a new arm would be too much,” Elizabeth ground out.

“I think I like you, Miss Elizabeth. Your arm appears to be broken, but we need to see if there are any other major issues. How is your head?” Reaching down, Theodore ran his fingers along her scalp, searching for anything that might show a major head injury.

The woman had made a joke and her pupils both dilated normally, so he was not overly worried.

“I can feel my heartbeat in my head,” Elizabeth managed before asking, “I am sure you will pardon my confusion, but who are you?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon for my lapse in manners, Miss Elizabeth. Colonel Theodore Fitzwilliam, at your service. I am this one’s cousin,” he said, nodding to Darcy.

That would explain his knowledge of injuries. A military man would have knowledge of such things if he had seen the battlefield. “Please excuse my not curtsying, but it is nice to meet you. Are you from the militia?” she whispered, afraid to raise her voice.

“As a member of the regulars, I have the battlefield experience enough to help your arm in a moment. I will apologize now, but I am going to check you over before we head to Netherfield.” Eyeing his cousin’s frown, he was quick but thorough, checking for other broken bones or wounds.

“Bingley, what do you have in the saddle bags you brought? Are there any strips of cloth?” he called out to Bingley, who seemed out of sorts.

Bingley’s normal enthusiasm was subdued both by the situation and his disgust for his sister. “Yes, long strips of cloth and water and several other things.”