Mrs Nicholls straightened her apron with a sniff, her eyes softening. “Thank you, sir, but, but you must first see yourself somewhere safe. And please, help Miss Elizabeth with whatever she is asking for. She is a good and honest girl, and I fear…” She hesitated, as if weighing her words, then continued in a low tone, “I feared that she might fall prey to my master’s schemes.”
Darcy smiled wryly, though the effort was exhausting. “There is probably little I can do in that regard… but I will try.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Here you are, Miss,”The maid said as she handed Elizabeth a fresh uniform. The garment was a simple, high-necked, ankle-length dress in a drab, dark fabric, accompanied by a crisp white apron with a full skirt.
Elizabeth pulled off her muddy gown with the maid’s help, hopping the best she could on her good foot and slipping into the simple uniform. It was strange, disconcerting even, to be dressed as a maid, but she had little choice. She needed something dry and, more importantly, something decent, and this was all that was available.
The maid knelt before her, carefully unwrapping Elizabeth’s injured ankle and replacing the makeshift bandage with a more substantial wrap of clean cotton. She had a clever way of wrapping it, bottom to top with a crisscross over the top of her foot and around the arch that was far better than Elizabeth’s efforts. The sensation of her foot being more securely bound brought immediate relief, and Elizabeth sighed softly, grateful for the added support.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured, wiggling her toes experimentally within the new stocking. The pain had not vanished, but it was more manageable now. “Can you tell me where Mr Darcy went?”
The maid shook her head apologetically. “I’m not sure, Miss. But I’ll ask one of the footmen for you.”
Elizabeth waited in the laundry, the rough fabric of the maid’s uniform brushing uncomfortably against her skin, reminding her of how far she had ventured from her usual comforts. The unfamiliar garment, hanging stiffly on her frame, made every movement feel foreign. The maid returned soon with a footman, who offered to guide her to Mr Darcy. She followed him through the winding corridors, her heart thudding more forcefully with each step.
Just as they reached the still room, the door creaked open, and Darcy emerged, his valet at his side. Elizabeth’s breath caught at the sight of him. He was not fully recovered—thepallor of his skin still shone ghostly white, and there was a slight tremor in his movements—but there was a bit more steadiness in his posture. It was clear he was forcing himself to stand tall, to present the façade of the composed gentleman she knew him to be.
When his eyes met hers, something softened in his gaze, and a warmth spread across his features, causing an unexpected flutter in her stomach. It was a feeling that left her both exhilarated and terrified, and she could scarcely find her voice.
“Mr Darcy,” she managed. “Are you… well?”
He glanced at his valet, then back at her, the ghost of a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “As well as might be expected, Miss Bennet,” he replied, though the strain in his voice did little to mask the truth.
Elizabeth started to respond, but she became abruptly aware of the quiet attention of several servants lingering nearby, their eyes flicking between her and Darcy with poorly concealed curiosity. The moment felt far too intimate under their scrutiny. To make it worse, she probably had a foolish grin on her face. She sobered quickly and stammered, “Mr Darcy, could I trouble you for a moment of your time… before you leave?”
Darcy quirked an eyebrow, his gaze steady and questioning. “And how, pray, did you intend to see yourself home afterwards, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. The truth was, she had not thought that far ahead. “I… I had not quite considered… I only hoped you could spare a moment.”
Darcy’s expression shifted to one of mild exasperation as he studied her. When he finally spoke, his words were gentle but firm. “I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth. I mean to depart Netherfield at once.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank, disappointment flooding her chest. Of course, he would want to leave quickly after everything that had happened. She opened her mouth to tell him she understood, that she would not expect him to linger under such circumstances, but before she could speak, his voice cut through her thoughts, softer now, yet carrying a warmth that sent a shiver through her.
“But not without you.”
“Ensure the carriage isready, Giles, and find out if Bingley is about,” Darcy ordered, trying to inject some semblance of normalcy into his tone. The valet nodded, his eyes betraying a flicker of concern before he hurried off.
Pausing, Darcy forced himself to breathe, to steady the trembling in his hands. His gaze fell on Mrs Nicholls, who stood a few paces away, her brow furrowed in quiet concern. The lines of her face, etched with years of service and discretion, reminded him that even here, even now, there were those who saw far more than they let on.
“Mrs Nicholls,” he said, “I owe you more than I can express. Your discretion has been... invaluable.” The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage.
Mrs Nicholls gave a small nod, her lips pressing into a thin line as she met his gaze. “Mr Darcy, I only did what was necessary.”
He inclined his head again, a gesture of respect and unspoken thanks. “I shall not forget your kindness.”
Mrs Nicholls nodded, her expression softening with relief, and when Darcy caught a glimpse of Elizabeth, he saw a faint smile of approval on her lips. He wanted desperately to offer her his arm to the carriage, to treat her as the lady she was no matter what she wore, but doing so would draw too much attention. No, they would be obliged to sneak about and pray they were not discovered before they made their escape.
“This way, sir,” the footman said, nodding toward a narrow door at the end of the corridor. “Go down this passage and take the first right. It’ll lead you to the morning room—that room has been completely unused since the old master left, with the furnishings still covered. You’ll pass through unnoticed and come out directly into the main hall.”
Darcy nodded his thanks and moved toward the entrance, Elizabeth close behind. The passage was tight, the walls pressing in on either side, and he could feel Elizabeth’s hand slip into the crook of his elbow as she steadied herself. The warmth of her touch, so delicate and firm at once, sent a shiver down his spine. The intimacy of the moment madehim acutely aware of every breath she took, the soft rustle of her clothing brushing against his.
They rounded a corner, and for a moment, Darcy paused, unsure of the direction. The footman’s instructions echoed in his mind, but the nearness of Elizabeth, her presence overwhelming, made him falter. He turned about for a few seconds, then, unaccountably, found himself staring at her, taking in the way the dim light softened her features, how her eyes, full of determination, held his gaze.
“Mr Darcy,” she whispered softly, breaking the silence. “The footman said to take the first right.”
Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. He blinked, shaking his head slightly to clear it. “Yes, of course,” he murmured, chastising himself for the lapse. He tore his eyes away from her and led the way forward, taking the turn as instructed.
