His cousin nodded. “He was off at dawn.” Fitz consulted his watch and sat for a moment, toying with it. “I know you will not like it,” he said finally, without looking up, “but I shall have to reverse my position. Despite what I said to Miss Bennet, if no one is watching the house, we should move her now.”
Darcy shook his head. “No.”
“She mentioned having family in town. Surely she would be more . . .”
There was no need for his cousin to complete the thought, and Darcy interrupted it. “No.”
“Darcy,” Fitz said, exasperated. “It would be better for you and for her. If whoever took her does not know she made it to London, there is little danger.”
The very notion made him angry. “Little danger? Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst knew of Miss Elizabeth’s penchant for walks. They also know that Miss Elizabeth’s family resides near Cheapside, and they would have no trouble discovering the exact direction from Mrs. Bennet. If any of the Bingleys are involved in this, they would have all the information they required.” He folded his arms across his chest to keep himself under good regulation. “We have not yet identified the men who accosted her. Shall we fob her off on a tradesman and his wife who cannot possibly hope to protect her? Who might be harmed themselves if they take her in?” He moved to stand between his cousin and the fire. “These were your own arguments only yesterday! We do not yet know whether there are rumors, or if there are, how far they have traveled. Where would she go should these relations decide they cannot accept her? How would we even keep a journey to that part of town private?” Anders might not draw scrutiny there, but a carriage as fine as Darcy’s would certainly invite notice. And how would they even remove her from the house? Did Fitz expect her to hide in another trunk? No.
Darcy placed a hand upon the mantle and eyed his boots, polished to a high shine. “You wish me to expel her from my home when I am the reason she has been injured?” He shook his head. “It will not do, Fitz.”
“We do not know that for certain, and you would not be casting her out,” Fitz protested levelly. “You would be protecting both her and yourself. We could continue to investigate without the additional burden of hiding a woman in your house. If you are concerned about her safety, we could take her to my mother.”
“You believe your father would sanction that? Who would I have to marry to gain his agreement?”
Fitz shook his head. “It would not come to that. He thinks well of you. He might suggest, but he would not impose. And you know that even if he did, my mother would not allow it.”
Darcy shook his head. “Henry is in town. Do you really think he would pass up the opportunity to gossip? And the servants? There are three times the number at Matlock House than there are here, at the least. Can you vouch for them all?”
Fitz only shrugged.
Darcy’s heart contracted. He had not seen to Georgiana’s safety as he ought to have. He would not make the same mistake with Elizabeth. “Please, Fitz. Her reputation is damaged beyond repair if we cannot keep this quiet.”
“Is it not already?” Fitz asked. “Do not you think her absence has been noted? That her family is afraid for her? They ought to know she is safe.”
“And they will,” Darcy replied. “But Mr. Bennet knows what happened at the ball. He has likely come up with some excuse for Elizabeth’s absence. I dare not send a third letter in two days to Longbourn. It would raise too many questions.”
“You are being purposely thick, cousin,” Fitz responded. “What of her family here in town?”
“We can send someone with an anonymous note to tell them she is well. I do not know these relatives, but the uncle is brother to Mrs. Bennet. If they knew she was here, they might rush directly over no matter what I said.”
Fitz was skeptical.
“Just last night you told Miss Elizabeth that her family, including the children, would be in danger if we sent her there. Was that not the truth?” Darcy was frustrated. He could not deny that they ought to contact her family. It was the proper thing to do, though the rules of propriety did not cover discovering an insensate woman in the boot of one’s carriage. But he knew, he knew, that Elizabeth had been hurt because of him. To allow her to be sent away where he would be unable to protect her . . . “She has no enemies. Her father barely stirs from his estate, so it is unlikely he has any. We must face the truth—I am the one who gives offense wherever I go. I am the one who has drawn this disaster to her.” He tapped the mantle with a closed fist and wished they could take their argument to Gentleman Jack’s. He was wild to hit something.
“Your honor must tell you . . .”
Darcy shook his head. “My honor is my own. It has never gone by the book, but rather by what I know to be right. And I cannot explain it, but this is the right course.”
His cousin considered that, and then changed direction. “I must ask,” he said, apparently unmoved by Darcy’s confession. “Is it possible that Bingley has nothing to do with it? Might there be a scorned lover?”
Darcy found himself hauling his cousin up from his seat and holding him by the lapels of his coat.
“No, I take it.” Fitz’s words were laconic.
“No,” Darcy said angrily. “I warn you, cousin. Do not insult her again.”
Fitz was unmoved. “It was a reasonable question.” He met Darcy’s glare, unperturbed. “You are very quick to defend the honor of a woman you cannot admit you love.”
“I will see her safe,” Darcy said, releasing Fitz with a little shove.
The momentum forced Fitz to sit again on the settee, but he immediately bounced back up to his feet. “Shall we ask Miss Bennet her thoughts on the matter?” Fitz was at the bookcase before Darcy could even respond, but Darcy was hard on his cousin’s heels as they entered the small room.
Elizabeth was sleeping. The light from the doorway spilled over her. She had propped herself up against her pillow and the wall, her splinted arm held carefully across her stomach. The bruise on her face was blue across her cheekbone. Beneath the discolored flesh, her complexion was flushed. It was not cold in the room, but neither was it hot. Darcy shoved Fitz aside, lowered himself to one knee beside the bed, and placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Another breach in propriety.
She did not stir at his touch. Her skin was warm. “And now she is ill,” he nearly spat out as though the illness itself was what affronted him. “I will not send her out in the cold. Do not suggest it again.”