Page 12 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

Elizabeth wondered which of the gentlemen had said so. Courageous? She had not felt courageous. She had felt cold and terrified and desperate. She had felt guilty for not noticing Peter sneak away to begin with.

"Mr. Darcy also asked," Jane continued, "whether you were experiencing any ill effects from your ordeal."

"He did?" Elizabeth tried to keep her voice casual, though something warm and fluttery was happening in her stomach.

"Indeed,” Jane said as she plumped up a pillow and set it behind Elizabeth’s back. “He is anxious about your recovery."

Elizabeth absorbed this information with growing confusion.

In her experience, Mr. Darcy found her tolerable at best and impertinent at worst. That he should show such concern for her welfare was perplexing.

Unless, of course, he felt somehow responsible for her condition, having been the one to pull her from the river.

She felt that way sometimes, after she had helped someone.

"I must see him tomorrow," she said finally. "To thank him properly."

"You may, if you are strong enough. But only if you promise to rest tonight."

Elizabeth nodded, too weary to argue. As Jane moved about the room, tidying and preparing for the evening, Elizabeth's mind wandered.

How did one thank a gentleman for saving one's life while also apologising for whatever it was she had done while insensible?

The etiquette books she had read were woefully inadequate when it came to such matters.

As she drifted back to sleep, that persistent memory surfaced again, the warmth of his skin against her cheek, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the secure feeling of being held. What did it mean that she found the memory so comforting?

She shook her head slightly, sending a fresh wave of dizziness through her.

Such thoughts were pointless and improper besides.

Mr. Darcy had been brave and gallant, rescuing her at great danger to himself.

That she had apparently made a spectacle of herself afterward was simply another embarrassment to add to the collection she had laboured on since she had first learned to walk.

Her eyelids were growing heavy again. When she next woke, pale sunlight streamed through the windows, carrying with it the promise of a new day. She felt marginally stronger, though still sore and somewhat fragile. Jane sat nearby, reading quietly in the morning light.

"Good morning, Lizzy," Jane said softly, setting aside her book at the sight of Elizabeth's open eyes.

"I believe it may be," Elizabeth replied, managing a more genuine smile than she had the day before.

"You look much better. You have colour in your cheeks again."

Elizabeth touched her face self-consciously. "I hope that is the return of health and not merely the permanent flush of mortification."

Jane smiled. "Would you like some broth? And perhaps a bit of toast?"

Elizabeth's stomach rumbled in response, and she realised she was hungry.

As Jane prepared a light meal from the provisions kept warm by the hearth, Elizabeth tested her strength by sitting up in her bed.

Her back protested, but she did not mention it to her sister.

Other than that lingering pain she felt well enough.

Scratched, sore, and tired, but also hungry, which she believed a sign that she was recovering.

Her sister arranged some pillows behind her, and Elizabeth leaned back against them .

"Jane," she said carefully as she sipped the warming broth, "what exactly was Mr. Darcy's manner when he came yesterday?"

Jane considered the question. "Perhaps a bit apprehensive? Unsettled? He asked very specific questions about your breathing. Mr. Bingley mentioned that he seemed quite affected by the whole experience."

"Affected how?"

"Quieter than usual, I think. More serious, if such a thing is possible."

Elizabeth frowned slightly. It was difficult to imagine Mr. Darcy being more serious. "He must think me a reckless fool."

"On the contrary," Jane countered. "Mr. Bingley told me that Mr. Darcy admired your courage."

It was strangely gratifying to hear that she had Mr. Darcy’s good opinion. She smiled to herself, but then the persistent image of clinging to what might have been a half-dressed gentleman reappeared in her imagination, and she quickly took another sip of broth to hide her blush.

"I suppose I cannot avoid him forever," she said, attempting lightness.

"I should think not. He has asked to see you when you are feeling stronger."

Her stomach performed that peculiar flip again. "Has he?"

"You said you wished to speak with him, and so I told him that if you felt able to receive visitors, he might come to visit with you later today. However, we will take you only as far as the sitting room, and the visit cannot be long."

Elizabeth drew a deep breath, steeling herself.

She would thank Mr. Darcy with all the dignity she could muster.

It was the only proper course of action, and perhaps, if she was very fortunate, she could manage the entire conversation without once thinking about the moment where she had seen—or imagined—what Mr. Darcy looked like beneath his shirt.

Though given her luck of late, it seemed unlikely .

"Very well," she said, settling back against her pillows with what she hoped looked like composure.

Jane's expression grew thoughtful as she watched her sister carefully. "Lizzy, may I ask you something?"

Elizabeth did not like the expression on her sister’s face. "Of course."

"When you speak of Mr. Darcy, your countenance changes quite remarkably. Are you aware of this?"

She would not blush again. "I beg your pardon?"

Jane paused, choosing her words delicately. "Just now, when I mentioned his name, you looked—well, rather odd."

Odd? Distracted odd or horrified odd? Please , she thought, let it be horrified . "I am sure I do not know what you mean," Elizabeth said with an innocence she prayed would pass for genuine.

"Lizzy, dearest, you flush every time I mention his name. Which is rather curious behaviour for someone who has always claimed to find him disagreeable."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. "He rescued me. I suppose it would be churlish to dislike him now.” She shook her head slowly. “I am only embarrassed, Jane."

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 is entirely rational. 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.