Darcy nodded brusquely.
“Fitzwilliam, take Darcy back to the house,” Bennet ordered, back in command. “I have witnessed enough heroics in the past twenty-four hours to last me the rest of my life.”
Chapter Nine
ElizabethleftJanedozingand wandered downstairs to have breakfast. She was still at the table when she heard men’s voices in the hall. Leaving her plate, she stepped out of the room.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “You departed rather early. May I offer you some coffee or something to eat?”
Neither man replied immediately. They seemed about to issue a polite refusal. Elizabeth would not have minded, but her gaze fell to Mr. Darcy’s hand, which he then attempted to tuck behind his back.
“Your hand is bleeding, Mr. Darcy,” she said at once. “Come along.”
“Perhaps your father’s valet . . .” Mr. Fitzwilliam began.
“Mrs. Hill would be the better choice,” Elizabeth informed him with a small smile. “Mr. Hill does not like the sight of blood. However, she is busy elsewhere. I am afraid Mr. Darcy must deal with me.”
She turned without awaiting a response and made her way to the back of the house. She heard their footsteps trailing behind her, and that was good enough.
“Saviour of sisters and a nurse as well?” Mr. Fitzwilliam called teasingly. “Is there no limit to your accomplishments, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth reached the door of the still room. “My sisters and I have learnt much from both my father and my mother, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said simply. “Mr. Darcy?” She waved him in before her, and it tickled her to see him step inside with a sheepish expression. His physical stature was intimidating, and he had a growl to match. But there was something charmingly boyish about him, too.
“Why,” she asked as she followed him, “do you look like a child who has eaten too many biscuits and spoilt his meal?”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes sparkled at the reference, but Mr. Fitzwilliam harrumphed. “He gave a rather showy demonstration of his brute strength this morning and nearly—”
“Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Darcy said, cutting his cousin off.
“You must not think me so delicate as to swoon at the tales of foolhardy men, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said as she searched the shelves and gathered several things she needed. “I had seen a great many stupidly brave acts before I was yet sixteen.”
Mr. Darcy grumbled something about the recent act of a foolhardy woman, but Elizabeth pretended not to hear it.
Mr. Fitzwilliam glanced at his cousin, but then apparently decided to test her mettle. “The carriage was being hoisted, but something went wrong, and one side nearly fell back upon two of your father’s men. Darcy quite literally picked the thing up and tossed it on the back of the cart before anyone could be hurt.”
“Impressive,” Elizabeth said. “Hold out your hand, Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy complied, and Elizabeth cut away the remains of the bandage. She frowned when she saw the wound. Layers of his skin had been scraped away in a straight line down the centre of his palm. She gently blotted away the blood to have a closer look. “How did you do this?” she asked.
“The original injury was last night. The rope . . .” He paused.
“Ah,” she said with a nod. “The rope burnt you. As though a knife has pared your skin like an apple?”
“Exactly.”
“And you reinjured it this morning?”
“I did.”
Elizabeth motioned over to the window. “I require better light.”
Mr. Darcy took two steps to her four and was soon in a brighter location. She studied his palm carefully. “It does not appear infected, but I shall have to clean this out again. There is dirt and who knows what else in the wound.” She glanced up at him sympathetically. “It is going to hurt.”
“I shall restrain him,” Mr. Fitzwilliam stated teasingly. “I might have to sit on him, though.”
Mr. Darcy shot a dark look at his cousin, and she studied him carefully. He met her gaze and then glanced away.
“Will you require your cousin’s assistance, Mr. Darcy?” she inquired softly.