His cousin poured out the drink and wrapped his hands around the cup. “Two foxes ran in front of the horses, fighting over food, he thinks. Spooked the horses, who then took them too close to the edge of the road before he could recover.”
“Unfortunate accident, then. Still, Bingley’s sisters ought to have known the rain would make the roads unsafe.”
“They could not have foreseen this outcome, Darcy.”
“I suppose not, but common sense ought to tell them . . .”
Fitzwilliam drank his tea and poured himself another cup. “How much common sense did you see in the army, Darcy?”
Darcy frowned. “True enough.”
“Remarkable girl, our Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said, pouring himself a third cup and joining Darcy on the settee.
A flare of irritation singed Darcy. “Do not allow the general to hear you refer to her as such.”
Fitzwilliam grunted. “He is trying to pair them off with us, you know. That business with the dancing. Miss Bennet is a lovely girl but has not enough fire for me.”
Darcy did not reply. He did not need to, for he knew his cousin had more to say.
“Of course, you were quite taken with Miss Elizabeth from the moment you saw her. She might not be such a terrible match for you.”
He was only surprised it had taken so long for his cousin to remind him of that first day in Bennet’s study. Darcy sipped his tea. The best thing to do when Fitzwilliam began to speculate was not to respond.
“My father will wish you to have your season, though, to sort through the better choices before you choose whom to wed.”
“Better choices?” Darcy asked despite himself.
“Rich. Connected. He undoubtedly wishes us both to make politically advantageous marriages.”
“Bennet is not trying to pair them off,” Darcy said. He yawned. “Do not be ridiculous. You were there when he said there were no men good enough for his daughters.”
Fitzwilliam yawned as well. “Now look what you have done.” He put his teacup down and stood. “I am for bed, but make no mistake—Bennet wants you for Miss Elizabeth. I suppose the question is . . .”
“Whether I want her?” Darcy asked wryly.
“No, you oaf,” Fitzwilliam said with a roguish grin. “Whether she wants you.”
“I am not ready to marry,” Darcy replied, though he was less convinced of that tonight than he had ever been. Holding Miss Elizabeth, keeping her warm and safe . . . it felt natural. It felt right.
Fitzwilliam eyed him sceptically. “We left the carriage on the road for the night but will haul it back tomorrow. Will you be one of the work party or will you require more time to recover from your wound?”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Good night, Fitzwilliam.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “Good night, Darcy.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes but did not stir. She could see through the gaps in the curtains that the light was grey, yet she knew the day must be far advanced. If she returned to slumber now, she might not sleep tonight. After a moment, she pushed herself up and rang for Sarah.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” the girl said cheerfully as she bustled in with hot water for the basin. “I was beginning to wonder if you might sleep all day.” She changed out the towelling and poured the water.
“I feel as though I could,” Elizabeth replied, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of her bed. “How is my sister?”
“Miss Bennet was up early this morning, and only your father’s insistence could keep her abed. She asked after you first thing.”
Dear Jane. She would be so embarrassed to be the object of attention in this way.
“Where are the gentlemen?”
“All gone, miss, to retrieve the carriage.”