She pinched her nose closed. Do not sneeze. Do not sneeze.
“Don’t you dare, Emily Claybourne,” she heard Sally say. “Just find something quick like that won’t be missed.”
A deep male voice broke into the girls’ conversation. “Are you lost?”
Emily gasped loudly. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Darcy.”
Sally was silent. Terrified, Elizabeth thought. Mr. Darcy’s voice had startled her as well. She could only imagine how frightened the girls were, to be caught out in such a way.
“You are not to be on these floors until the rest of the staff are returned,” Mr. Darcy said, displeasure dripping from his words. “Mrs. Spencer is looking for you.” Elizabeth could not help but feel a little sorry for the girls, but she was, quite literally, in no position to interfere.
Mr. Darcy would go to her chamber next to check on her, and she would not be there. What would he think? Perhaps she could use that time to remove herself from this predicament, though she feared it would be more difficult to leave her hiding place than it had been to lodge herself in it.
The maids scampered out of the room and down the hall rather quickly if the scuffling sounds were any indication.
Elizabeth felt the tickling inside her nose increase. She pinched it harder, but the sensation only grew worse. Dread knotted her stomach as she involuntarily drew in a sharp breath.
“Aaaa-choooo!” Her feet were tossed slightly upwards with the force of it. Oh dear.
There was a brief moment of silence as she watched one pretty slipper fall gently to the floor next to Mr. Darcy’s boot. He stooped to pick it up.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said in that terribly flat tone of his. She could not make out whether he was angry or laughing at her when he spoke like that. “It is safe to come down now.”
She peeked over the edge of the bookshelf to see him gazing up at her. His expression was disapproving, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. Laughing, then.
Elizabeth assessed the ladder skeptically before acquiescing to necessity. “I may require some assistance . . .”
That did it. He laughed aloud, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“I can well imagine,” he said. With one hand, he swung the ladder to her position. “However did you fit up there?” He tucked the slipper into a pocket and stepped up a few rungs.
She shrugged as well as she could in the confined space. “I am not entirely sure?”
He stepped up another rung, his eyes now level with her. She stared into them and felt a little lost.
“With your permission?” he asked, his hands hovering near her waist.
Her foolish heart fluttered wildly. Mr. Darcy had seen her in nothing more than a shift, she reminded herself; he had carried her upstairs in the dressing gown she now wore. She did not wish to think about what he had fetched and carried when she was ill. What difference did it make if he viewed her one bare foot as he helped her down the ladder? It was gentlemanly of him even to ask her permission.
She nodded, and two large hands nearly encircled her. She swallowed. It was strange to have a man touch her this way, but it was wonderful, too. Would any man create such feelings? Elizabeth did not know, but she rather doubted it. She had danced with other men, but never had the touch of their hands created a sensation such as this.
It was madness to fall in love with Mr. Darcy. She should not do it. He would be dismayed to know he had raised her expectations in such a way. He had not, she argued silently. She could have no expectations of Mr. Darcy, and therefore she would have none.
Mr. Darcy carefully positioned her feet, and Elizabeth felt her slipper being guided back on. “Step down, just here,” he said, guiding her with one hand on her heel.
Oh, he was not wearing gloves. His fingers grazed her skin and gave her shivers. Did he feel it, too?
She stepped down according to his instructions, but inadvertently used her left arm to steady herself. All euphoria was lost in the jagged pain that traveled up her forearm. She inhaled sharply.
“Careful,” Mr. Darcy murmured, and coaxed her to lean against him. “Put your trust in me,” he said quietly. “I will not allow you to fall.”
Elizabeth swallowed. There was a pleasant tingling up and down her spine, and she unsuccessfully attempted to ignore it.
When she was standing safely on the ladder, Mr. Darcy asked, “How did you manage to climb up here with only one good arm?”
She was looking away from him as he descended the ladder below her. “Determination,” she told him, and heard him laugh softly. She wished she could see his face.
They were at the bottom, then, and Elizabeth touched the beautiful dressing gown sadly. It was very dusty.