Page 9 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

I nside, the lodge was humble but clean, filled with trunks and other belongings from the homes that had been evacuated, and warmed by a hearth in which a robust fire crackled. Several pallets, where the men had been sleeping, were made up on the floor.

Darcy moved to the one nearest the fire, intending to lay Miss Elizabeth down gently. But as he bent, he found that her fingers were still firmly entwined in the remains of his shirt, her grip surprisingly strong.

"She will not let go," he murmured, attempting to disentangle her fingers from the fabric.

But each attempt only caused her to clutch more tightly, small sounds of distress escaping her lips. When he glanced down, her eyes were half-opened but then slid closed.

Eventually, with a decision born of practicality rather than propriety, Darcy lowered Miss Elizabeth onto the pallet, ducking as he did so and allowing the remnants of his shirt to slide over his head, leaving it in her grasp. Then he grabbed two blankets and tucked them around her.

Once he was certain she was covered, he stood .

The door opened, and the other men entered. “Well, this is a relief,” Anson said in a booming voice. “We could not find you at the river.”

Then he fell silent.

Something tickled—Darcy reached up and removed a small twig that was lodged behind one ear. He glanced up to see the other men standing in the doorway, staring at him.

Darcy could feel the silence in the lodge as he stood there bare-chested, water still dripping from his sodden trousers, boots leaking with each slight movement. The scent of dirty river water wafted up from his clothes, a pungent blend of rotting vegetation and something distinctly . . . froggy.

The farmers stared, their expressions hovering between shock and a kind of rueful amusement that would certainly have broken into laughter had he not been a gentleman and the situation less grave.

Harrison's face remained professionally impassive, though one eyebrow lifted slightly as he surveyed his master.

For a moment, Darcy had the urge to shake the excess water from his hair like one of his dogs.

Instead, he met each gaze with a glare that would have silenced the most impertinent of drawing room gossips. One by one, the men glanced away, finding sudden interest in the floor, the fire, the contents of the lodge, anything but the thoroughly soaked, half-naked gentleman in their midst.

After a pause that seemed to stretch into eternity, Bingley burst through the door, pulling up short when he saw Darcy. He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together. "Here," he said carefully, holding out the clothing Darcy had discarded during his headlong rush to the river.

Darcy accepted the garments with a nod of thanks, turning his attention to dressing.

His fingers, stiff with cold and fatigue, fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat.

The impropriety of the situation was not lost on him, despite the emergency that had necessitated it.

But his concern was not for that. If Miss Elizabeth were to wake and find him in such a state of undress, she might be frightened.

"Permit me, sir," Harrison said quietly, stepping forward.

With practiced efficiency, he took over the task, helping Darcy into his waistcoat without a shirt beneath.

An unusual arrangement, to be sure, but the best that could be managed under the circumstances.

The valet's experienced hands made quick work of the buttons before turning to the cravat, and then the coat.

"One o' my shirts wouldn't fit ye, sir," Farrow offered apologetically, looking over at the stack of trunks and then gesturing to his own much smaller frame. "You're too tall by half."

Darcy merely nodded, his gaze drawn back to Miss Elizabeth.

Her hand, which had clutched his ruined shirt so desperately, now lay relaxed at her side.

The tension had eased from her face, replaced by the peaceful stillness of deep sleep.

The tattered remains of his shirt had slipped from her fingers to pool on the floor.

The sight of it, the once-fine linen now reduced to rags, struck him with unexpected force. Like the garment, his own carefully constructed facade had been stripped away by the day's events, leaving him entirely exposed.

"She needs dry clothing," he said, his voice steadier than he felt, "and more blankets."

"My wife's things might fit her," offered Johnson, already opening a trunk in the corner where his family’s things had been stored. "Miss Elizabeth's a bit taller than my wife, but it'll do until proper help arrives." His brow furrowed and he closed the lid. "Only we cannot . . ."

"I shall return to Netherfield immediately," Bingley declared, "and bring back Miss Bennet and whatever is needed."

Darcy nodded, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth's pale face. "Make haste."

As Bingley departed, Darcy found himself in the unusual position of being surrounded by working men as he was being dressed. Harrison finished adjusting his cravat, then tucked the ends under his coat and stepped back to survey his handiwork.

"It will serve for now, sir," he said quietly. "Though I would recommend a hot bath and complete change as soon as we return to the house. And"—he handed Darcy a blanket—“we will need to remove those boots.”

Darcy tossed the blanket over his shoulders and inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his attention remained fixed on the shallow rise and fall of Miss Elizabeth's chest, the occasional flutter of her eyelids, the faint pulse visible at the base of her throat.

He sat in a rickety chair and held out a leg.

Farrow approached, his son still held protectively in his arms. The boy's colour had improved, though he too was wrapped in blankets and shivering.

"Peter came back to find his rabbits," the farmer said quietly.

"Says Miss Elizabeth came to help him, though I suspect what she was really after was to get him back to the house.

He says she jumped right in after him. Didn't wait, just followed him into the river.

Damn rabbits," Farrow cursed softly. "I ought to have put ‘em in the pot. "

Peter stirred with a small cry.

"Ach, I won't do it, Petey." But Farrow looked like he wished he could. He glanced down at his son, whose eyes were still closed, then back to Miss Elizabeth's still form.

Harrison grunted as he pulled hard on Darcy’s boot. It gave way with a sucking sound, but his valet was skilled enough to keep most of the water inside. He carried it out.

Farrow placed a large hand gently over the back of his son’s head. "She saved my boy's life, Mr. Darcy. I can't ever repay that."

"I expect she would say no payment is necessary," Darcy replied, his voice low .

The lodge fell into an awkward silence, filled only with the crackling of the fire and the occasional drip of water from Darcy’s hair and trousers.

The men stood in a loose circle around the pallet where Miss Elizabeth lay sleeping, their differences in station temporarily forgotten in the wake of the shared crises.

"She'll catch her death in those wet things," Anson murmured, his lined face creased with concern.

Darcy nodded, though the thought of leaving Miss Elizabeth, even briefly, caused a strange constriction in his chest. She looked so small and vulnerable, her usually animated features unnaturally still. “Bingley will return soon.”

Harrison returned, looking about the room before assuming the authority that came naturally to him despite his position as a servant.

"Gentlemen, perhaps now we should give Miss Elizabeth her privacy.

Mr. Farrow, you and your son may remain, as he requires the warmth, but the rest of us ought to step outside. "

He applied himself to Darcy’s second boot, making short work of it as the farmers exchanged glances, then nodded their agreement and moved to the door.

Harrison gave Darcy a pointed look as he carried the second boot outside, but Darcy ignored him.

He would not leave Elizabeth's side until her sister arrived to take his place.

Sensing his master's determination, Harrison sighed almost imperceptibly and helped Darcy shove his soaked feet back into the still-wet but no longer waterlogged boots.

In Bingley’s absence, it ought to have been Darcy issuing instructions. But he could not tear his eyes from Miss Elizabeth long enough to do so. His throat felt oddly tight, and there was a suspicious burning behind his eyes that he attributed to the smoky fire.

Harrison frowned at him but left the lodge .

Her features occasionally pinched as if reliving both her plunge into the water to save the boy and how the river had nearly claimed her instead, and Darcy offered up a silent prayer as he knelt next to her.

He was not a man given to religious displays, yet now he found himself silently imploring whatever divine power might exist to keep this young woman from further harm, to help her heal.

He was unaware of how much time had passed as he watched and prayed, but he startled when the lodge door opened, admitting a gust of cold air and the sound of approaching horses. Boots stomped on the threshold, and Bingley's voice called out, "Darcy? Miss Bennet and Mrs. Johnson are here."

Relief washed over Darcy, though he was careful not to show it. "Enter," he called, rising to his feet with the reluctance of one departing a sanctuary.

Miss Bennet hurried inside, her usually serene countenance marked with worry. "Lizzy!" she cried, rushing to her sister's side and kneeling where Darcy had been moments before. Mrs. Johnson followed, carrying a bundle of clothing and shooing the men out with practised authority.

"Gentlemen, if you please," she said firmly. "The young lady needs changing. Take your son to the cart, Mr. Farrow, we shall be there shortly."