Chapter 5
Elizabeth woke herself with sneezing. She blinked rapidly until the room came into focus. Oh. London. Mr. Darcy’s house.
She longed to have the shutters open but suspected he and his cousin would forbid it, and she was too sore to rise from the bed herself. Her arm was the worst by far, but her face was also painful. Her ribs, hip, and leg on the right side felt bruised and stiff. There truly was not a single part of her that did not ache. She longed for a hot bath and Jane’s willow bark tea, but she knew that there would be none to be had here. The men could not allow anyone to know she was hiding within their walls.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” she heard a man say. Not Mr. Darcy. Her sluggish brain identified the voice as belonging to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was sitting as he had before, across the room and on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms folded atop them.
“Good morning, Colonel,” she replied, but did not attempt to move.
“I hope you are feeling better this morning,” he replied. It was the most civil thing he had said to her.
“I am well enough.” Well enough to lay in bed and wait for something to happen, she thought darkly. She disliked being ill and positively despised being confined. “Might we open the shutters for some light?”
As she had feared, the colonel shook his head. “I am afraid we cannot make any changes. It might be noticed from the street outside. We do not know whether the house is being watched.”
She heard a hard edge to his words. “May I assume you will be making an effort to discover this?”
He did not reply, but she thought she caught a glimpse of a smile.
She placed her good hand around the splint and discovered that exerting a little pressure on it helped ease the throbbing. She tried to move her fingers and was pleased when they obeyed. She was thinking about how hungry she was and deciding whether to ask for breakfast when she noticed that the colonel was watching her intently. It made her nervous.
“Where is Mr. Darcy?” she asked. Strange that she should wish for his company to make her more comfortable.
“Sleeping.”
“I see.” Her patience was wearing rather thin. Considering her plight, she had nothing to lose by being direct. “Is there something you wish to say, then? It might better achieve your purpose than that glare.”
He was not offended by her impertinence, but neither was he pleased. “Forgive me, madam,” he said stiffly, but did not move his eyes.
She sighed. “It is a family trait, then?”
This was rewarded with a slight tip of his head to one side. “I beg your pardon?”
“That stare,” she told him. “Your cousin is forever staring at me to catalogue my many faults. Has he sent you here to continue his work?”
The colonel buried his face in his folded arms. “Idiot. Bird-witted idiot,” she heard him say to his boots, and she flinched.
His cursing should not have startled her so. She was no swooning miss, though she had little enough experience in the company of men. Her entire life, she had been surrounded by women. She had not thought she would miss that until now.
Her solace was that she had spoken with Papa before retiring. He would keep Jane and her other sisters safe from Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham. And Mr. Darcy had promised to help.
What had Papa thought when he realized she was gone? Elizabeth hoped he had not believed she had run away. While she was aware of his faults, her father was an intelligent man. She prayed he would connect her disappearance to her story of witnessing a damaging scene at the ball. Could he devise an explanation that people would believe?
The door opened, revealing a tall, broad figure in the doorway. Elizabeth drank in the sunlight from the study and breathed in deeply, taking in the aroma of eggs and ginger cake. Her stomach rumbled, a loud sound in the quiet room.
“Pardon me,” she said, embarrassed.
“You did not eat at all yesterday,” the figure said as he stepped to the bed. Mr. Darcy gazed down at her from above. “Did you even break your fast before your walk?”
“I did not,” she said. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, attempting not to grimace, and leaned back against her pillow. Mr. Darcy—stern, proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy—was carrying food to her like a footman. Even given their circumstances, she had never imagined such a thing. Had the world changed so completely?
His expression was faintly disapproving as he bent to place the tray over her lap. Perhaps the world was not so different after all.
There was a blue and white ramekin filled with shirred eggs, a dainty china plate with a thick slice of ginger cake set in the middle, and a cup of black tea, still hot. “Oh, this is lovely,” she said gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” She glanced up at him as she took up the fork. “Are you and the colonel not eating?”
“I have already partaken,” Mr. Darcy said. “Fitz, there is food for you in the study.” The colonel shoved himself to his feet and exited the room without a word.
Mr. Darcy stepped back but hovered awkwardly.