“You are maddening,” Miss Mary said, lifting herself up on her tiptoes and delivering a sound kiss to Miss Elizabeth’s cheek. She hurried on ahead of them to what appeared to be a sewing room. In the centre of the floor was a large tub filled with steaming water. There was a screen set up in the corner near the fire where he presumed her nightclothes were being warmed. Miss Mary waved at a small wooden bench set up against the wall, and Darcy lowered Miss Elizabeth to it. She held his arms as she sat, and he squeezed her hands before he released her.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “Mary, Mr. Darcy will need his hand dressed.”
“I will see to it,” Miss Mary said. “First, you must bathe.”
Hearing his cue to leave, Darcy bowed and exited the room. He heard Miss Mary speaking even after he closed the door. He leaned against the wall and listened. It was a marvel how many words the shy girl could speak when given a purpose. He did not believe she had said more than twenty words to him in all the time he had been a guest in her home.
“No one can infuriate us more than those we love,” Bennet said as he took up a position across the small hallway from Darcy. “Mary is seeing to Lizzy, I presume.”
Darcy nodded. The men listened for a time.
“I have sent for the surgeon and now have nothing left to do,” Bennet said. “I hate this uselessness.”
“A surgeon?”
Bennet nodded. “Tobias is not a young man, and he was tossed some distance. I would not feel right if we did not have one on hand.”
Darcy pushed himself away from the wall. “I thought I might head back to help.”
“Fitzwilliam knows how to employ your pulleys, Darcy,” Bennet said with a weary smile. “They will have Tobias ready to travel by the time you arrive. Best to stay here.”
“It feels wrong to be idle.”
Bennet shrugged. “You never know when you will be needed. Take your rest as you are able.”
“Was Miss Bennet injured?” he asked. She had seemed in better health than Miss Elizabeth, but if he had learnt nothing else tonight, it was that the eldest Bennet daughters were steadfast. No fainting misses, these.
“Cuts and bruises. Miraculous, really. How is Elizabeth?”
“Very cold and tired, but little else, I think.”
Bennet shook his head and rubbed both hands over his thinning hair. “Here I believed myself a fortunate man only siring daughters, for I should never have to send them off to war.” He met Darcy’s gaze. “One day you will have children, Darcy, and then you will understand how they at once keep you young yet make you old.”
Darcy chuckled as the chill and anxiety of the night drained away.
Miss Mary’s diatribe was slowing behind the door, and Bennet clapped him on the arm. “Come. Mrs. Quimby has explained to me where the medicinal spirits are kept. Let us see to your hand.”
Chapter Eight
Darcyhadbathed,changed,and was reading near the fire when Fitzwilliam entered his chamber.
“Come in, cousin,” Darcy said drily. “No need to knock.”
“Miss Mary said you were injured,” Fitzwilliam said, drawing near. “I thought perhaps it was something more than your hand. Seeing you here tells me she was mistaken.”
Darcy snorted and held up his bound hand. “Just this. Hardly a mortal wound, and self-inflicted at that.”
“Ah, well,” Fitzwilliam said, “I am pleased it is nothing worse. I have no wish to take on Pemberley in your stead.”
Darcy laughed at that. “To own the truth, I should like to see that.”
“I have always thought you cruel, Darcy, and now I have proof.”
“How is the coachman?”
Fitzwilliam frowned. “Head wound and a broken leg. The wound will heal, and the surgeon set the leg. Miss Mary provided a draught to help the old man sleep.” He motioned at the teapot on a tray next to Darcy. “Is that still warm?”
Darcy nodded. “Help yourself.”