Mr. Darcy sighed, a deep, unhappy sound. “I did not wish to involve anyone who did not already know. I . . .” He closed his eyes. “I have been rather at a loss since this began.”
“I presume there was a falling out with Mr. Bingley,” the housekeeper said, and Mr. Darcy lifted his eyebrows at the direct address. “I would not be so candid, sir, but you have brought a young woman into this house. When you did so, she became my responsibility.” She paused. “Are the two events related?”
“Yes, there was a parting between Mr. Bingley and myself,” Mr. Darcy replied heavily. “And I believe the reason this young lady is here has to do with it. She stood against the Bingleys on my behalf.”
“And you believe yourself now bound to see to every detail of her recovery?” Mrs. Spencer asked. “Forgive me, sir, but you are no longer a ten-year-old boy and she is not a wounded bird you discovered in the park.”
Mr. Darcy grimaced. “I dared Wickham to throw that rock. It was my fault.”
“You made yourself ill taking care of it.”
“Yes, well.” Mr. Darcy chuckled uneasily. “One must always do what is right.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. It felt wrong, somehow, to observe Mr. Darcy when he was so vulnerable. She could not close her ears, though.
“Surely Miss Bennet would have been more comfortable with a woman to attend her,” Mrs. Spencer said, somewhat more gently.
“Of course,” Mr. Darcy said contritely. “But I could not . . .” Mr. Darcy did not finish his statement, and Elizabeth wondered what he had been about to say.
There was silence for a long moment, but then Mrs. Spencer spoke. “Now that Miss Bennet is somewhat improved, we ought to move her to a better room while the staff is on their half-day.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes.
Mr. Darcy’s attention fixed upon her, and his face lit up in a bright smile. Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. Such a smile! Then she pondered Mrs. Spencer’s comment. Now that I am improved? She lifted a hand to her cheek. Her head no longer ached, and the bruise on her face was only painful if she touched it. Even her left arm did not throb quite so much. When she gazed at it, she thought the swelling had eased rather significantly. Although she was still very tired and sore, she was indeed feeling a good deal better.
While she was thinking, Mr. Darcy had continued speaking with Mrs. Spencer. “They are all on half-day at once?”
“Yes sir,” the housekeeper said dourly. “When the family is not at home, I find it useful to have most of the staff take their time on Sunday. They attend services in the morning regardless, and then most of them like to visit their families. We eat cold meals on Sunday and are at nearly full strength for the remainder of the week. Mr. Pratt and Cook will remain, of course.” She cleared her throat. “It was your order that we not change our plans due to you being home earlier than expected.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, glancing at Elizabeth again before returning his attention to Mrs. Spencer. “So it was. How do you propose to keep Miss Bennet’s presence here private should we move her?”
“Yesterday we finished a thorough cleaning of the upper floors, sir. This week we shall be working on the first and second, including the study. If you and your guests keep to the upper floors of the house, there will be no intrusions. I will bring your meals myself, or Mr. Slipworth can come for them.” Her expression was pensive. “How long will Miss Bennet be in residence?”
Mr. Darcy frowned at his housekeeper. “I am afraid I cannot answer that, Mrs. Spencer.”
“I mention it only because we shall be at full staff in a fortnight, sir.” Mrs. Spencer was respectful, but not intimidated. Elizabeth was impressed by her firmness.
“I will inform you when we know more.” He sounded tired. “I thank you for your discretion, and I welcome your assistance.”
She shook her head at him. “I may not have known what you were up to, Master Fitzwilliam, but I knew you were up to something. You and that cousin of yours.”
He chuckled softly, and Elizabeth was struck by how happy it made her to hear it. “You always knew,” he said to the older woman.
“I always know.” Her eyes twinkled. “I shall await your orders, sir. The staff will be on their way out to services shortly.” She raised an eyebrow. “I will not be away long.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Darcy said, and Elizabeth detected a hint of wry warmth in the sentiment.
Mrs. Spencer said nothing, merely nodded and retired from the room.
Elizabeth would never have guessed that Mr. Darcy could have such an exchange with a servant. She was pleased to watch each of her mistaken prejudices being so merrily overturned. She wished she could say as much to Jane.
Mr. Darcy turned to face her, and as he drew near, Elizabeth saw dark half-moons beneath his eyes and lines of strain on his brow. His clothing was slightly rumpled, and he had all this time been holding a basin with a small towel tossed over his arm. Why had she not noticed that before? It struck her then, something Mrs. Spencer had said.
“It is Sunday?” she asked. Her voice cracked, and she reached for her unfinished tea to hide her blush. “How have I lost track of the days?”
“You have been ill,” Mr. Darcy said, his eyes boring into hers. “I was beginning to grow concerned.”
Elizabeth knew instinctively that Mr. Darcy had already been concerned. She thought of the chamber pot hidden beneath the bed. Oh no, had he helped her with that? “Did you tend me yourself, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, feeling the heat of her blush spreading . . . everywhere. Vaguely she recalled being helped from bed and someone turning his back. But he must have removed the . . . Oh, no.