Page 9

CHAPTER 9

M y coat lay over the end of the bed, occupying most of the surface. Around it, Elizabeth had arranged her clothing… except for her stockings, which were draped over the lapels of my greatcoat.

I cleared my throat and looked away. A blush bloomed over my face, and I turned toward the fire to have another explanation for my glowing complexion while mentally chastising myself for being so missish. I was not a stranger to ladies’ stockings—I was not a wastrel, but neither was I ignorant. But they were her stockings and chemise… and now I was achingly aware that beneath the blanket under which she had shrouded herself, she wore not a stitch of clothing.

That knowledge ought not to have affected me as much as it did. If I was to be of any use to her, I needed to abolish any untoward thoughts and behave like the gentleman I was raised to be. Elizabeth was injured, and she had no one to tend to her but me. I would comport myself with dignity and treat her with the utmost respect.

Pulling the single chair closer to the bedside, I feigned an indifference I had not felt around Elizabeth since that dreadful first night at the Meryton Assembly. “Pray allow me to assess your injury,” I said dispassionately.

“Oh, I am mostly recovered already, I assure you.” She spoke flippantly, but the way she bit her lip and winced proved how much pain she endured.

As disinterested as I tried to sound, I was not unsympathetic to her plight. Our situation was a delicate one, but she required medical attention. “I am not unqualified to help you, having wrapped many ankles for myself and my cousins over the years. I will treat you with the same skill and care they demanded of me.”

She sucked in a breath, chewing on her lip and looking at me askance. I held still, palms up, hoping to encourage her trust. After a long minute, she nodded her head decisively and scooted backward to afford me easier access to her foot. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I suppose refusing your help will only delay my recovery.” She flipped the blanket off her foot.

The flesh over her ankle was swollen. Blood vessels sprawled over the tender skin, which was already turning purple. I could not bring myself to poke and prod around the bruising joint until I had first eased some of her discomfort. Taking a deep breath, reminding myself the Lord was watching, I slowly, carefully pressed my chilled hands over her ankle. Her flesh was hot to the touch.

She closed her eyes and moaned. “That feels divine.”

Dear Lord! Was this how my assistance was to be rewarded? Overheated and light-headed, I considered standing out in the cold storm just so I could once again cool her skin with my touch.

Thankfully, this madness quickly gave way to reasonable thought, and I resumed the role of a noble nurse. Gently, I tested the small bones around Elizabeth’s ankle, feeling for anything out of place. I moved her foot cautiously to one side and then to the other, focusing all my attention on the task. When she winced, so did I. When she sucked air through her teeth, I did, too. I had performed this service for my cousins many times, but never had I handled a limb with as much care.

Cradling her heel in my hand, I concluded, “Nothing seems to be broken, but your ankle is badly sprained. The surgeon will likely confirm it is nothing two weeks of complete rest cannot heal.”

She opened her eyes and gazed right at me, crestfallen. I understood her. For most people, two weeks would be nothing, but to Elizabeth, it would feel like an eternity. Two weeks without activity would feel like a punishment to me, too.

Sucking in a breath, she squared her shoulders. “I have always been a fast healer.”

Her defiance made me smile. “Two weeks will pass quickly.” My mind raced with ideas to help her pass the time agreeably.

“If you say so…” She said it with so much doubt that I firmly resolved to prove my claim.

“Permit me to wrap it for you?”

She nodded, and I grabbed one end of the sheet, making a mental note to purchase fresh bed linens in the village and replace what I would ruin. After ripping a strip long enough to suit my purpose, I wrapped the fabric snugly around her ankle. Reluctant to relinquish my hold on her foot although aware the only proper thing to do now was to maintain my distance, I asked, “It is not too tight, is it?”

She shook her head.

I set her foot upon the pillow on the edge of the bed and reluctantly moved back to my chair, wishing I had something else to do to occupy my hands and my mind. Wishing the storm would pass. Wishing it would rage into the night.

What was wrong with me?

“How did we come to be here?” she asked.

A conspiracy of the fates. A coincidence of unbelievable proportions. A fluke I could not explain and to which I could lend no credibility, though I knew it to be the absolute truth. I was not fit to provide an adequate answer, so my response was another question. “What do you mean?”

“What were you doing when the storm hit? I mean, obviously you were riding, but… where were you going?” she asked, more plainly.

That I could answer easily enough. “I was on my way to Lucas Lodge at Sir William’s invitation.”

Her eyebrows arched upward into twin question marks. “You have befriended the gentleman?”

Finally, I had done something to cast myself in a favorable light! Her surprise delighted me and lent me humor. “Should I not better acquaint myself with my friend’s neighbors? Or do you consider Meryton society unacceptable?”

“Not at all,” she said with a smile that quickly faded when her brow furrowed. “It is only that…” She chewed on the corner of her lips.

The confusion on her face fueled my own curiosity. “Please, Miss Elizabeth, say what you must.”

She scrunched her face in hesitation. “It is only that, since your arrival, you have given the impression you consider yourself above our company.” Her eyes searched me for a reaction. She wanted to understand me.

In light of our previous interactions, this was a pleasant change. She was showing a willingness to listen and, perhaps, alter her opinion of me. I would not waste this opportunity by taking offense; however, I would encourage her to speak plainly to avoid any further misunderstanding. “You accuse me of pride?”

“When a gentleman attends an assembly and refuses to dance or converse with anyone present? Yes, that is usually the conclusion drawn.”

I could not dispute her logic. I opened my mouth, an explanation to justify my behavior on my tongue. But it was an excuse, nothing more. I would not lessen my blame by casting it back on her.

Nevertheless, I could not let her comment go completely unchallenged. After all, I had asked her to dance with me at another social gathering—an offer she refused! “Is that why you refused my offer to dance at Lucas Lodge?”

A slow, spritely grin spread over her face. “Absolutely!” She winced.

I did, too, assuming the pain she felt was from her ankle until she spoke again.

“Why should I want to dance with a man who had insulted my vanity? You are not the only one with pride.” She shrugged in an obvious attempt to convince me it was no longer important.

For the first time, I experienced my insult as she must have felt it, and it stung me. At the assembly, I had not cared to widen my circle of acquaintances, had not cared to be presented to Elizabeth. I knew her better now. It bothered me that my thoughtless words had made her doubt my character. But the damage was worse than that. My harsh tongue had made her doubt her own worth.

I bowed my head. “You did right to refuse such a man. He hardly deserves to be called a gentleman.”

She regarded me seriously.

I met her gaze, wishing to communicate my sincerity without a Hawthorn hedge to hold her in place. “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, from the depths of my soul. My speech was ungentlemanly and unwarranted.” I swallowed hard, knowing that once I said what came next, there would be no going back. She might spurn me as deeply as I had done her, and I would deserve it. “It was also untrue.”

Her eyes widened.

I pressed on, fully committed to righting the great wrong I had done. “I find you very tempting, indeed.” I bit my tongue. I had meant to say ‘handsome.’

She peered about us at the cramped space in which the two of us were temporarily trapped and looked askance at me. With a small, teasing smile, she asked, “Ought I to be afraid?”

I appreciated the lightness she introduced and tried to tease in turn. “Are you?”

Her expression immediately changed, and I was certain my attempt at levity had fallen flat. If my admission had caused her to fear, I would walk to Lucas Lodge in the hail and bring help to her rather than force my company upon her.

She shook her head, her face grave. “No, Mr. Darcy. I am not afraid of you. In fact—” She picked at a seam on the blanket, leaving me in suspense until she finally added, “I cannot imagine feeling safer with anyone else than I do at this moment. With you.” She paused, and my chest warmed at her compliment.

We sat in contented silence for some while, safe in each other’s good opinion, protected from the hail battering the roof over our heads. I would have continued in this happy state for the duration of the storm, but Elizabeth was not as inclined to reticence as I was. I savored this small victory and prayed I would not ruin these tentative first steps toward friendship.