In the end, he found himself kneeling in the hall, still holding Elizabeth. “Are you well?” he asked quickly, hoping she had not been further injured by his clumsiness.
Miss Elizabeth had the good grace not to laugh aloud at him, but she was greatly tempted. He could tell by the way her eyes shone. Darcy swallowed, trying not to respond physically. Laughter, even at his expense, was preferable to the look in her eyes when she had reluctantly allowed him to carry her.
He set Elizabeth on her feet and stood up next to her, straightening his coat and pulling at his cuffs before leading her to the bedroom they had designated for her use.
Fitz was waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. “What took you so long?” he asked peevishly.
Elizabeth worked valiantly to hold her laughter in, and Darcy glowered at his cousin. Fitz did not appear to notice.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Mrs. Spencer said with a pointed look at them both. “We will carry on from here.”
Darcy hated leaving Elizabeth with Mrs. Spencer. He knew his housekeeper was in every way more qualified to see to Elizabeth’s health and comfort. Still, it felt wrong to relinquish her to the care of another.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Every interaction with Elizabeth increased his danger. He needed to revisit the rules of propriety that so far had been disregarded. It was not wrong to leave Elizabeth to Mrs. Spencer’s care, it was right. It was proper and prudent, yet it had never been so difficult to persuade himself to gentlemanly behavior.
He had been justified in his original decision to leave Netherfield after the ball, and after the events in the library, his departure from Hertfordshire had been earlier than intended. But not even a day later, Elizabeth had been thrust back in his path. God help him, though he wished to erase the terrible ordeal Elizabeth had suffered, Darcy could not be sorry for her presence here with him.
Was it simply bad luck, or was it fate? He could not think about it too carefully, as Fitz was already hurrying him downstairs.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, did not believe in fate. He did not even believe in luck, good or bad. He believed that it was one’s preparation for either opportunity or adversity that determined outcomes. But even as he continued to work through his jumbled thoughts, he had to admit that he had not been prepared for his life to be so thoroughly set on its end by Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The morning after she had been moved to her delightful little bedchamber, Elizabeth awoke and sat up carefully. When she did not feel any dizziness, she slid her feet into a pair of silk slippers and donned the matching silk dressing gown, both of which had been left out for her. She padded across the floor cautiously—the slippers were too large, and the dressing gown too long—and sat in a beautifully embroidered wingchair near a large window. She sighed happily at the view of a rather bare garden in the back of the house and turned her face up to the late autumn sunlight. It was nothing short of glorious after having been cooped up in the dark little room off Mr. Darcy’s study, no matter that she had slept much of the past several days away. She was feeling much better, despite the weakness that plagued her. The Darcy townhouse had so many stairs! There were yet two floors above this one, the top floor serving as servants’ quarters, but Mrs. Spencer had locked the doors that led from the servants’ stairs to the family floors. Elizabeth closed her eyes to revisit the feeling of being held safely in Mr. Darcy’s arms. He had stumbled near the end, to her great amusement, but despite her initial protestations, she had been grateful for his help.
She dozed for a time in the chair. When she woke, Elizabeth opened and closed her left fist. It was painful, but improving, and she wondered whether the splint on her arm was still necessary. She should very much like to remove it. Then she walked around the room, fingering a few small porcelain figurines and examining the relief on the fireplace. “Fluted pilasters and Ionic capitals,” she told the room, touching the cool, hard marble. “Very elegant.” When she was finished, she stood in the middle of the room. There were no books here, not even a work basket. What was she supposed to do to pass the time? Mr. Darcy must have thought she would still be sleeping all day, but instead of being frustrated at his lack of foresight, she chuckled a little. He really was so intent on seeing her well. She would not be surprised had he purposely removed everything from the room so that she would sleep for want of any other employment. Sadly, she was not tired.
Elizabeth tiptoed over to the door. Pressing her ear to the wood, she listened for any activity, but it seemed she had been left on her own. Excellent.
The brass knob turned easily in her hand, so she pushed the door open just a crack and peered out into the hall. Nobody.
Perhaps she might just look at the room next door to see whether someone might have left something to read or to work on. Almost anything would do.
Elizabeth opened her door a bit wider and crept into the corridor. After several quick steps, she opened another door, and stepped inside.
It was a light and airy room, just a bit smaller than her bedchamber. There were two leather armchairs with a small round table between, settled in the center of the room upon a deep blue, patterned rug. Three of the walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves. One set of shelves displayed a collection of very colorful pottery—Spanish, perhaps—but the other two met at the corner of the space and were filled with books. Elizabeth was elated. Such a luxury of choice! The bookcases were tall rather than wide, in keeping with the proportions of the room, and there was a rolling ladder attached to the side of the bookshelf closest to the door.
After running her eyes along the shelves that she could reach, Elizabeth set two tomes on the little table and carefully pulled the ladder around the side of the shelf so she could see the books at the top. It was difficult to climb with only one good arm, but when she reached the upper shelves, she secured herself by wrapping the crook of her left arm around the rung, leaving her right hand free.
When she had found a history she wished to take back to her room, she had to consider the best way to transport it. She had only one good hand, and that would be required to steady herself on the ladder. Tossing it to the floor would make too much noise, and she did not want to damage the cover. She decided to set it on the next lower shelf, then climb down a few steps and repeat the process. She had the book in her hand and was about to move it when she heard a young female voice out in the hall, calling out to someone else. Her eyes moved instinctively to the door, which was slightly ajar.
Her mind whirled. She shoved the book back in its place and turned her head to gaze desperately around the room. The chairs, the table—there was nowhere to hide. She looked up to the top of the ladder and spied a small space between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling. Could she fit?
“Sally!” The name was said urgently, and quite close.
In one swift move, Elizabeth had ascended the last rung of the ladder and wedged herself into the gap. One of her slippers dangled precariously from her toes.
The voices were just outside the door now, and Elizabeth realized that the ladder was out of place. She reached out—not an easy thing to do as her good arm was positioned against the wall—and with one finger, guided the ladder back to its original position just as the two maids entered the room.
“We shouldn’t be in ’ere,” the first girl said anxiously. “Mrs. Spencer will toss us out.”
“Oh, but the books are so lovely,” her friend replied wistfully. “And I don’t suppose Mr. Darcy will miss one or two, so long as I bring them back and don’t hurt them. These are for the guests to read, not like the fancy books in the big library.”
The big library? There was another library?
“You and your books, Emily,” Sally scoffed. “Well, ‘urry up then.”
“I wish I could climb the ladder. I’m sure the best books are on the top shelves. The master’s ever so tall.”
It was quite dirty atop the shelves. Perhaps Emily had spent more time reading the books than dusting them. Elizabeth took in a quiet breath and immediately felt a tickle in her nose. Oh no.