His gaze narrowed.
Elizabeth offered, “I am Miss Bennet.”
He pressed his lips into a hard line. He looked her up and down, radiating suspicion.
Exasperated by his mistrust when he so obviously required aid, she said, “I must have something to call you, sir. What about initials?”
He shook his head. “Mine are distinct.”
She raised her gaze heavenward for a moment, seeking fortitude against mistrustful men. He had been assaulted and shot, and might even be delirious, what with the perspiration gleaming on his brow, and he would begrudge her even his initials? “Perhaps simply the first initial of your given name? I can hardly hunt down your identity based upon that.”
“The first initial of my Christian name?” He thought a moment longer, then nodded. “I imagine F is near enough.”
Did that mean his name began with an F, like Fitzwilliam, or a letter near to F in the alphabet?
Deciding she did not care, Elizabeth nodded. “Well then, Mr. F., I will return as soon as I may.”
He dipped his head. “Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
It seemed unfair he’d given nothing but the letter F in exchange for her surname. Still, Elizabeth nodded, turning away. She made all haste to Longbourn, though she now held no hope of not being missed.
Quicker even than her feet, her thoughts skittered over what she might say if pressed. Finally, she reached the house and stepped into the scullery, then halted, blinking in the dimmer light. Two of the younger kitchen maids worked at a large basinto one side of the door, scrubbing, and across from Elizabeth stood—
“Where have you been?” Mary demanded. “You are even later than yesterday. Everyone has eaten and Mama is looking for you.”
“I found an injured creature,” Elizabeth said, attempting not to lie outright. If her mother already sought her, and had already condemned her, should she not take some victuals and a blanket and return now?
“An injured creature?” Mary repeated slowly.
“Yes. He has been shot.”
Where they scrubbed, the maids exchanged a look.
“He?” Mary peered at Elizabeth. “He who?”
“I am calling him Mr. F.”
“Mr. F? Not a fox?” Mary lamented. “I know you and Jane have soft hearts for foxes, but they are hunted for a reason.”
“Well, Mr. Fox has been hunted, and he has been shot, so now I will exercise my soft heart on his behalf.” Stepping around Mary, Elizabeth went into the kitchen. Relief filled her at the absence of their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, the only one aside from Mrs. Bennet who might attempt to stop Elizabeth from taking food. She strode across the room to the wet larder.
“What are you doing?” Mary asked, scrambling after her.
“Looking for food for Mr. Fox.”
“Mama is not going to like this.”
“Which is why I must return to him now before she forbids me.” Elizabeth took out a hunk of cheese, weighing it in her hand. How much did a grown man eat in a day?
“You mean to go back out now?”
Selecting a few more items, Elizabeth turned to her sister. “I do.”
“But you have not heard why Mama is looking for you.”
Elizabeth halted. “Not because I was not at breakfast?” Again.
Mary shook her head. “Papa had news.”
