“No.” Darcy’s response was immediate, his grip tightening on her hand. “I will not leave you here at Wickham’s mercy. We go together, even if I have to march you boldly out the door right under his nose.”
Without waiting for her to argue, he pulled her toward the door, his heart pounding as they stepped out into the corridor. Like as not, Wickham had dragged Sir Anthony off to some other recess of the house to finish their conversation, but he would not be long. Unless he missed his guess, Wickham would rather quickly set about stopping Darcy from talking to anyone.
As they entered the main hall, Darcy’s heart sank at the sight of Bingley standing at the bottom of the stairs. He turned, grinning broadly. “Darcy! I was waiting to see you off, but I thought you were still upstairs. What is…?”
Bingley’s gaze shifted from Darcy to Elizabeth, his expression changing to confusion as he took in her maid’s uniform. “Miss Elizabeth? And… Darcy? What is going on?
Darcy cursed inwardly. They could not wait another moment. “Bingley, there is no time to explain. You need to join us in my carriage—immediately.”
“Well… of course, Darcy, but…” Bingley’s brow furrowed as he glanced between them, clearly torn. “Where are we going? I should at least tell Wickham where I’m going. I cannot just disappear without—”
Elizabeth reached out, her hand gently touching Bingley’s arm, her voice soft yet urgent. “Mr Bingley, if you care for my sister Jane… and I think you do… please. It would be wiser for you to comewith us now.”
Bingley’s gaze flickered back to Darcy, searching his face for answers, but Darcy dared give him none. He could feel his headache flaring up, the familiar, ominous sensation of a spasm beginning on the right side of his face.
Elizabeth saw it instantly, the concern in her eyes sharp. “Mr Bingley, please help Mr Darcy to the carriage.Now.”
Bingley hesitated for only a moment longer before he sprang into action, rushing to Darcy’s side. The urgency in Elizabeth’s voice spurred him into motion, and together, they began to guide Darcy toward the door, the need to escape more pressing than ever.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The carriage rumbled alongthe uneven road toward Longbourn, each jolt sending a visible shock of pain through Darcy’s already tortured body. Elizabeth sat across from him, her heart heavy with worry as she watched him suffer. Bingley was seated beside him and looked equally distraught, his hands wringing in his lap as he glanced between Darcy and Elizabeth, helpless to do anything more than offer his silent support. Darcy’s head was clutched tightly in his hands, his face contorted in agony, the usually composed and formidable man now reduced to a broken figure hunched over in pain, trying desperately to endure the ride.
As the carriage hit another bump, Darcy let out a low, anguished moan. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat, and she reached out instinctively, her hand hovering uncertainly over the space between them. She could see Bingley’s gaze flicker to her, his own worry mirrored in her eyes. If only there was something, anything, she could do to ease Darcy’s torment!
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she leaned forward and called out to the driver to stop. Darcy’s valet was riding on top of the coach. What was the man’s name? Darcy had called him…
Elizabeth put her head out the door. “Giles! Is there nothing you can give him? Some medicine, anything to help?”
Giles leaned around the edge of the coach. “There is some laudanum, Miss Bennet, but—”
“No,” Darcy growled through gritted teeth, his voice strained and hoarse. He roused himself just enough to look up at her, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. “No more. I will take no more of that cursed stuff.” His hand shot out, grabbing her arm as if to anchor himself against the pain. “Just… just keep going. Get me to Longbourn. Please.”
Elizabeth’s heart twisted at the desperation in his voice. She looked back at Giles, who gave a helpless shrug, then nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But you must tell me if the pain becomes unbearable.”
Darcy managed a faint, tight-lipped smile that was more of a grimace. “It already is, Miss Bennet.”
The carriage lurched again, and Darcy let out another agonised groan, his body doubling over as if trying to shield himself from the relentless torment. Elizabeth bit her lip, her mind racing for a solution. Then, with sudden determination, she turned to Mr Bingley, whose face was ashen with worry.
“Mr Bingley, please… exchange places with me.”
Bingley blinked in surprise but quickly complied. He helped Elizabeth switch seats, and as soon as she was beside Darcy, she gently pulled his trembling form toward her, guiding his head onto her lap.
“Shh,” she whispered as she tenderly covered his eyes with her fingers, hoping to block out the light and ease at least a fraction of his suffering. With her other hand, she began to rub his temples in slow, soothing circles, her touch as gentle as she could make it.
Darcy sighed, a sound that was part relief, part exhaustion, as he relaxed just a little against her. Though his body remained tense, every muscle coiled with pain, the steady motion of her hand on his head seemed to bring him some small comfort.
The carriage rocked and swayed as it continued down the road, but Elizabeth hardly noticed. Her entire focus was on the man in her lap, on the way his breath hitched with each pulse of pain, on the way his fists clenched and unclenched as he fought to keep control. She wanted to tell him that everything would be well, that they were almost there, but such words would be meaningless in the face of his agony.
Instead, she simply held him, her fingers stroking his brow, her touch as calming as she could manage. Darcy’s breathing gradually slowed, the tension in his body easing just a little under her care. Though the pain was still there, sharp and unyielding, he seemed to draw strength from her presence, from the soft, rhythmic motion of her hand.
“Now, just repeat thatfor me—clarify this story. What exactly are you telling me?” Mr Bennet leaned forward, propping his hands on his desk and squinting at Darcy. His hair was still mussed, he still wore his banyan, and he kept darting curious looks at Elizabeth.
“Forgive me, sir…” Darcy held up a hand, a breath hissing between his teeth as his eyes slammed closed. “A moment, pray.”
Mr Bennet sighed and looked at Elizabeth. “Lizzy, what is your part in this? How did you find yourself at Netherfield with an injured ankle before the rest of us even broke our fast? Wearing a maid’s uniform? And where the devil is my horse?”
Elizabeth blinked and cleared her throat. Bingley was frozen beside her, his face pale and stricken, as if the very ground had been pulled out from under him. Darcy sat slumped in the chair opposite her father, his eyes squeezed shut in pain, his knuckles white as they gripped the arms of the chair. He looked like he was barely holding on.
