Page 13 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
D arcy 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 they appeared, 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 weathered and concerned, and they clutched their hats respectfully as they spoke to him.
"—the south cottage is near to falling down entirely, sir," one of them was saying as Darcy approached. "All this rain has weakened the foundation something terrible, and Mrs. Lawry and her little ones have nowhere to go."
"The roof of the Millers' barn has been badly damaged," added another. "Most of their winter stores were ruined. They are in desperate need of assistance."
Bingley's expression was grave as he listened to the litany of necessary repairs. "Naturally, we will see to the more immediate needs without delay.” He turned as his friend approached. "Darcy! Just the man I need. You look like you could use some fresh air. ”In Darcy’s experience, just the man I need typically meant just the man I intend to saddle with something unpleasant .
But this was Bingley. Perhaps it would not be so bad, and in any case, it could not be worse than pacing the halls in the guest wing like a madman. "What assistance is required?"
"Shelter for the Lawrys, food and supplies for the Millers to get them through the next fortnight at least, and repairs to cottages to make them habitable," Bingley said without hesitation.
"The estate carpenter can begin work as soon as the weather permits, and we have stores enough to see the families through until they can recover. "
"But sir," one of the men ventured hesitantly, "begging your pardon, but the costs . . . some of these repairs will be extensive, and you are only a leaseholder. Should we not wait for word from Mr. Sowell or Mr. Grant?"
Bingley waved off the concern with characteristic generosity.
"Nonsense. Mr. Grant will return as soon as the bridges are declared safe, but the need is immediate, and I am here.
We will begin the repairs as far as we are able and worry about reimbursements and proper accounting with Mr. Sowell later.
These families cannot wait for polite niceties whilst their families go hungry or sleep in the cold. "
Darcy felt a great fondness for his friend. Only Bingley could spend a small fortune with the same cheerfulness he applied to ordering breakfast. The most admirable part was that he meant every bit of it. "Very well," he agreed. "What would you have me do?"
For the next several hours, Darcy threw himself into assisting Bingley with relief efforts.
He helped Bingley arrange lodging for displaced families in the last open rooms in the servants’ quarters, supervised the loading of wagons with supplies, and even assisted in carrying furniture and belongings to safe storage.
The physical labour was welcome, providing a much-needed outlet for his nervous energy while they worked to alleviate genuine suffering.
As the afternoon wore on, however, Bingley was called away to deal with a dispute regarding property boundaries that had been complicated by the flooding, a matter that required his personal attention as the current master of the estate.
None of this ought to have fallen on Bingley, of course. He was merely a tenant himself. But Mr. Grant, the steward who normally tended to such matters, was away, and Bingley’s dislike of disputes meant that he did not allow them to fester.
Darcy was encouraged. Because Bingley had been so distracted by his interest in Miss Bennet these past weeks, Darcy had begun to wonder whether his friend was truly interested in managing an estate. Now at least he knew that Bingley could do so.
"I fear this may take some time," Bingley said apologetically as he prepared to ride out. "Legal matters and all that. But you have done more than enough, Darcy. Please, feel free to return to the house and rest. "
He was grateful for the dismissal. Whilst he had been genuinely glad to help, his thoughts had never strayed far from the woman recovering upstairs.
He made his way back to Netherfield with a lighter step than he had possessed that morning, hopeful that word might have come regarding Miss Elizabeth's readiness to receive him.
As he entered the main hall, however, he encountered Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst descending the stairs, dressed for an outing despite the dubious weather.
"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley exclaimed with affected surprise, though he suspected she had been watching for his return. "How fortuitous. We were just discussing the situation with the Bennet sisters."
"Indeed?" Darcy's tone was carefully neutral, though he felt his defences rising.
"Such a dramatic affair," Miss Bingley continued, with a delicate shudder. "Though I suppose one must admire Miss Elizabeth's . . . enthusiasm for rescuing servants and tenants alike."