“And something to warm her from the inside, poor dear!” Cook clapped her hands and turned to the stove, instructing the scullery maid to start filling buckets to heat and sending another maid upstairs to fetch a change of clothes.
Before the maids departed from the kitchen, Mr. Darcy said, “I trust your discretion. Should anyone outside this room learn of Miss Elizabeth’s incident, I shall know that one of you three was the source of the gossip. Your caution will be appropriately rewarded as a mark of my appreciation.”
Cook nodded. “The scullery room will do nicely. She can bathe in privacy and nobody outside the kitchen need know of it. Even if another servant were to come into the kitchen, the scullery door will be closed, and Molly here can hold her tongue, can’t you, girl?”—to which Molly agreed wholeheartedly—“as can Betsy, can’t you, lass?” Betsy agreed firmly. At that, the three servants set to their work, their lips clamped shut and their eyes bright with anticipation of their impending reward and favor from their esteemed guest.
Only then, when no one was paying them much attention, did Mr. Darcy set her down by the large stove on the opposite side from the cook. He did so gently, keeping his hands around her waist. “Can youstand? Did you hurt anything? It was terribly slippery along the paths.”
Elizabeth could hardly breathe. Standing proved to be more difficult than she would have anticipated, but her weakness had nothing to do with the strength of her limbs. “I am well, thank you.” He removed his hands but stayed close. Grateful, she looked up at him, wishing she could ask what he thought of her and afraid to know the answer.
Cook went into the pantry while Molly prepared the scullery room for Elizabeth’s use, allowing her a moment of privacy with Mr. Darcy. She braced herself for his questions, trying to think of clever ways to reply without revealing why she had been caught in the rain. He just stood there beside her, rather closely, silent.
He had ridden through the rain for her. It dawned on her that he must be just as cold as she was. “Forgive me! You must be chilled to the bone!” She moved over, allowing him more room near the hot stove, which he did not refuse. He took a breath as though he were about to speak, and she enjoyed the last seconds of his good opinion of her, for she would not lie to him. Mr. Darcy deserved no less than the truth after braving the weather to assist her when any other reasonable female would not have ventured out of doors in the first place. She took a deep breath and waited.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I am relieved to have found you.”
His relief sounded so genuine, so heartfelt, she felt like a doll without stuffing. Nobody worried about her.Most of the time, nobody knew where she was or what she was doing. If she was not careful, she might convince herself that Mr. Darcy cared for her enough to notice those things. Before he could make any further inquiry, Molly proclaimed the scullery room ready to receive her.
Minutes later, Elizabeth leaned against the back of the tub. Her hair had been washed with a lovely-smelling soap, and warm water steamed around her. A table beside her held a tray with a cup of chocolate, warm bread with melted butter, and preserves. She felt like a queen. She dared not linger too long, though. Jane might be awake by now, and Georgiana had probably noticed her absence. She had been foolish to lose track of the time so thoroughly.
With Molly’s help, she donned a dry morning gown and shawl. Having no other suitable shoes, she wore her dinner slippers.
“I’ll put your other gown and coat to rights, miss, you’ll see,” Molly assured her.
“I hate to be a trouble?—”
Molly puffed out her chest. “I have to redeem myself if I want out of the scullery room.” She said no more than that, impressing Elizabeth with her attitude after having suffered unjust accusations from Miss Bingley only the day before. She added proudly, “I had already worked up to being a parlor maid, and I aim to be a lady’s maid someday. There is no garment I am incapable of repairing.”
“I do not doubt your skill, and I wish you success.”Elizabeth smiled at her. “However, I fear that your skills might be lost on Miss Bingley when she will not even know the state of my gown when I returned.”
“I do not wish to serve ashermaid, Miss. No, I’ll work my way up and keep my ears and eyes open for a mistress more to my liking.” Her eyes doubled in size, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I should not have spoken so bluntly. I am hoping to impress Mr. Darcy so that maybe he will take me on.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Mr. Darcy does not require a lady’s maid.”
“He will when he takes a wife. A man like that cannot stay unmarried for long.” She smiled and sighed.
Any lady Mr. Darcy married would likely already have her own trained maid, but Elizabeth kept the thought to herself. It was a sad thought. Of course he would marry a fine lady. With Molly’s positive attitude and willingness to work, she was certain to find a suitable position, even though it probably wouldn’t be in Mr. Darcy’s household.
Dressed and dry, Elizabeth smoothed her hand over her hair—a simple knot with a braid wrapped around it—and walked up the stairs toward Jane’s room.
What should she say when she saw Mr. Darcy? Would she be able to meet his eyes without remembering the feel of his arms around her? Without her face flaming at the memory?
CHAPTER 17
Elizabeth pulled the brush through Jane’s golden hair one last time and set it down. Combing her fingers through the silken strands, she braided them into a long cord. Jane caught her hand before she tied off the end. “You must be restless, stuck here looking after me when you are so fond of walking.”
Elizabeth nodded toward the window at the torrential rain blasting against the glass. “In this weather?” she teased.
Squeezing her sister’s hand with a serious gaze, Jane continued, “You are always on your way somewhere, always so occupied. I only wish to say that I am relieved to have you here.”
Elizabeth caressed Jane’s cheek. “You look much improved after a good, sound sleep. Do you feel better?”
“I do, and I have you to credit for it.”
Elizabeth grimaced inwardly. She had done nothing but think of how she could get away to paint instead of attending to her sister. “You give me too much credit. Mr. Bingley has arranged for your every comfort.”
Jane sank into her pillows with a deep sigh. “How can I be certain of the genuineness of my affection for such a generous, attentive gentleman?”
“That you worry about your sincerity is proof enough of its existence.”
