When had they discovered her missing? If it had been a normal morning, Papa would have arisen before the rest of the family, she and Jane soon after. Mary would have been next to wake, sequestering herself with her books and not emerging until dinner. Given that Mama and her two youngest sisters had freely sampled the punch at the ball, Papa might have had several hours before Mama and the younger girls asked after her. Despite his reluctance to leave his books, her father had searched for her before when she was overdue. Surely he would have gone out to look for her again.
She suspected he would have written Uncle Gardiner at once, and together with Jane would have devised a plan to support the tale and maintain the family’s reputation.
“My family,” she said breathlessly. “Have you contacted them?”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “I sent a message to your uncle at his warehouse, explaining that you were safe, but that you could not return to them just yet. I did not tell them where you are or identify myself, because I was afraid to involve them until we knew more. I would expect your uncle sent a note to Longbourn, and I apologize if this is not enough.”
Elizabeth was very sorry for the pain her family must feel, having to conceal their own fears for her safety in order to protect her reputation, but she was also enormously reassured. As long as her presence here was not revealed, her sisters would not be harmed. When this was over, she might even be able to return home. No, perhaps that was too much to ask. Too many questions might be asked. Suddenly, a wave of fatigue washed over her. “Clever Papa,” she mumbled.
“There was even talk about a carriage leaving Longbourn that morning.” Mr. Darcy groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh, I am insufferably dim!”
“Surely there can be no cause for such censure,” Elizabeth told him with a quiet laugh. “It is my friend you speak of—I insist you be kind.”
It was Mr. Darcy’s turn to blush, and Elizabeth was charmed by his ruddy cheeks. He was so very handsome, and his steadfastness only served to make him more appealing. Despite his self-chastisement, Mr. Darcy was also quite clever, though in a different manner than her father. Abruptly, she turned her head away. She should not think about him in such a way. He had aided her when she most required it. She tucked the knowledge away. It would cheer her, one day, to remember his care for her.
“I thank you,” Mr. Darcy said almost bashfully. He leaned forward. “Your father must have used the fact that my carriage stopped at Longbourn that morning to support his version of events, claiming it was your uncle’s conveyance. It was only Anders, another coachman, and Slipworth, so I did not require them to wear their livery. With the family sleeping late, it is not surprising that no one recalls it clearly, and that is to our advantage.” He tapped his fingers on his thigh in distracted manner. “You said you were still on your father’s lands when you were taken, and that you leapt from a carriage. Yet somehow you ended in mine.” He shook his head, and Elizabeth heard him whisper, “A moving carriage.”
High-handed, tender-hearted man. He was blaming himself for this as well. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?” He opened his eyes. They were dark, expressive eyes, and she hated to see them so haunted.
“If you do not stop doing that, you will drive me to some drastic act.”
“I do not understand you.” His forehead creased, and she attempted not to chuckle at his befuddlement.
“You really must stop taking responsibility for the actions of other people,” she scolded him firmly. “It is a little arrogant, sir, to think that you can claim fault for the decisions I have made.”
“I am not arrogant,” he protested. “In truth, I seem to have little pride left at all where you are concerned.” Mr. Darcy shook his head grimly. When he glanced at her, though, she could see his lips twisting up.
“As it should be,” she told him cheerfully. “Now, if I promise to rest, will you promise to go upstairs to your chamber and do the same? It is entirely self-serving, you know. I am afraid you will fall ill yourself and leave me to the mercy of your cousin and Mrs. Spencer.”
“I shall, Miss Elizabeth,” he said warmly. “Once we have you settled upstairs.”
Miss Elizabeth. She enjoyed it when he said her name. She tipped her head to one side, and he held his hands up, palms out.
“Mrs. Spencer has already outwitted me today. I simply wish to be certain you sleep.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Please, may I remain until then?”
She was quite tired, and he had asked politely. “Very well,” she told him, and leaned back into the pillows. She said a little prayer for her quick-thinking father and was soon drifting away.
“Pleasant dreams,” she heard Mr. Darcy say, but she was too far gone to reply.
It was a fortunate thing, Darcy thought with some exasperation, that most of the staff were from the house. Moving Elizabeth from the room off his study was not proceeding smoothly.
Elizabeth had insisted upon walking, rather than being carried. Of course she had. Infuriatingly obstinate woman! She simply would not admit that she had been ill and could not expect to have the strength to climb three flights of stairs. He watched as she took another step, pulling herself up as much with her one good arm as with her legs, then standing still and taking a breath. It was so excruciatingly slow he was certain his hair would be gray by the time they reached her new chambers.
Step, rest. Step, rest. Step . . . They were no more than halfway up the first flight. Elizabeth’s head was bowed, and her breath came too quickly. Darcy glanced downstairs. He had sent his butler to the wine cellar, but how long would he be gone?
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on the bannister, and she lifted her head. Darcy’s impatience vanished when he saw the defeat in her expression.
“May I assist you?” he asked gently.
She offered him a smile—a pale imitation of the one he loved. “Please,” she whispered.
He positioned his feet to support her weight and swept her up into his arms immediately.
As he reached the top of the second flight, his arms began to complain. As light as Elizabeth was, lighter still, Darcy thought, from her lack of appetite these past days, it was still no easy feat to carry another grown person up so many stairs.
He glanced up, spying Mrs. Spencer waiting for them on the landing. He shifted Elizabeth in his arms and then, intent on his goal, mounted the final flight, feeling his burden growing progressively heavier. He was nearly there, one foot on the landing, when his trailing foot caught the edge of the final step. Darcy lunged forward with one leg, then, still off-balance, spun around to keep them both upright. Elizabeth released a little squeal of surprise and her arms tightened around his neck as his elbow knocked into a table in the hall. He had watched, helpless, as his father’s Qing Dynasty porcelain vase teetered, tipped, and plunged over the side. Only Mrs. Spencer’s quick hands kept it from hitting the floor.