“You make it impossible to help you, Darcy,” Fitz said heatedly, losing a bit of his composure at last.
Fitz was correct, and Darcy knew it. It did not matter. “I must do what is right. I will not be able to live with myself if I do not.”
“Very well,” Fitz said, more formally than his wont. “Have you considered whether or not your sister can live with it?”
Darcy gripped the edge of the bed. “I cannot believe you would . . .” He pushed himself suddenly to his feet but stopped. He tugged furiously at the hem of his waistcoat while he regained his self-control. “Your mother has Georgiana well in hand. Should I be disgraced in this, I have no doubt she and the earl will help my sister weather the scandal.” It was not as though Georgiana desired his company.
His cousin frowned and continued to pry. “I simply want you to think this through. You have not been your usual clever self since Miss Bennet arrived.” He smoothed his waistcoat back into its proper place. “You have always been so careful to avoid any hint of impropriety. Yet you would sacrifice your reputation for Miss Bennet though you know it will not save hers?”
Yes.“Miss Elizabeth interfered to save me from an entanglement to Caroline Bingley. What kind of man would I be to turn from her when she required my assistance?”
“Do not hand me that bag of moonshine, Darcy,” Fitz replied, exasperated. “Of courseyou should assist her. It is the manner of that assistance that has me concerned. You will not marry her? Very well. But there is no need to throw yourself upon your sword.” The fire of his cousin’s temper had subsided, but he strode back out into the study.
“Where are you going?” Darcy asked, surprised.
“There are things to be done, cousin. I will return before dinner. Take care of the lady,” Fitz said.
“Fitz . . . ” was all Darcy managed to say before his cousin was gone.
“Blast,” someone said from above her. Elizabeth opened her eyes.
“Mr. Darcy?” she asked, confused, and the man flushed a very deep red.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Might I have the name of your uncle here in town?”
“Are you to send for him?” she asked, pleased but weary. “His name is Edward Gardiner,” she replied. “He owns several warehouses—Gardiner’s Trading Company, best known for fine fabrics. He and my aunt reside in Gracechurch Street.”
Elizabeth had been dreaming about bitter wine and pale blue eyes before she had been awakened, and despite the subject, she rather wished she was dreaming still. Everything ached, including her head, and she felt hot. She kicked feebly at her blanket to remove it but succeeded only in freeing one foot.
Mr. Darcy nodded, then stepped forward to gently take the corner of the covering and tuck it back around her. Of course he did. She could not even remove a blanket without him disagreeing. Then she remembered that he had recently been very good to her. She really had to stop believing that everything he did was meant to be contrary. She rubbed a cheek against her shoulder. Oh, but it was warm.
“I am hot, Mr. Darcy,” she complained. “May I not remove the quilt?”
He stared at her. “You are ill, madam,” he said quite formally, and she wondered what had happened to “Miss Elizabeth.”
“Yes, I am ill,” she confirmed. She could feel it, after all, and it was not as though Mr. Darcy would allow her to deny it. “I am also too warm. I should like to remove the quilt, please.”
A crease appeared on Mr. Darcy’s forehead. His hand reached out to the blanket but then dropped to his side. She could see he had been perplexed by her request, both wishing to comply and feeling it might harm her. Had she not felt so wretched, Elizabeth might have laughed. The imposing Mr. Darcy, undone by so simple an appeal. It was rather endearing.
Perhaps he would do better were he given something to do.
“Willow bark tea,” she informed him, and was annoyed by how hoarse the words sounded. “Would you request some for me, sir? You can tell your housekeeper that you have a headache.” She forced a small smile. “You need not inform her who is causing it.”
He bowed and walked away. The moment he closed the door behind him, Elizabeth kicked off her blanket.
This was all so infuriating. She was never injured or ill, and to be both just when she most required her strength was unbearable. She struggled to pull herself up a bit more. Exhausted by her efforts, she glanced around the chamber. Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, so that even with only a few candles, she could make most of it out.
The room was large enough for the bed, the chairs, and the hearth. The wall directly opposite her would accommodate a desk and bookshelf, but not much else. It was fortunate that Mr. Darcy had a warm, dry room to conveniently hide her away, but could he not have chosen one with a little sunlight? Although perhaps it would only make her headache worse.
She was being terribly ungrateful. Mr. Darcy was making every effort to see to her comfort. Jane would be disappointed in her.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. With an impatient huff, Elizabeth used her foot to pull the quilt back up to her good hand, and she maneuvered it over her legs. Before Mr. Darcy returned with the tea, she was already falling asleep, shivering and burning in equal measure.