“And tonight, he told me that the Hursts departed unexpectedly,” Jane continued without acknowledging Elizabeth’s words. “I could tell that he regretted admitting their departure was unplanned the moment he said as much, and he would not tell me why they left. He kept changing the subject, and their reason so obviously pained him, that I did not pursue the matter for long.”
“Surely, that has nothing to do with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I cannot say. All I know is, something about the colonel and Mr. Darcy distresses Mr. Bingley, and you should learn what that is before you permit your heart to become engaged.”
“It could be anything from a disagreement over cards to…to…” Elizabeth broke off, not wanting to imagine anything too dire in Fitzwilliam’s past. “Well, to not caring for how supercilious Mr. Darcy is.”
“It is not only Mr. Darcy who troubles him but Colonel Fitzwilliam as well,” Jane emphasized.
Jane could be imagining the entirety of her worries, but Elizabeth would not accuse her sister of that. Jane only meant to protect her. “I will keep your words in mind.”
“That is all I ask.”
Elizabeth tugged the sheets closer about her neck to ward off the cold. Letting out a long breath, she settled for sleep. She would bear her sister’s worry in mind, but she doubted Mr. Bingley’s distress stemmed from anything more than dislike of Mr. Darcy’s presumptuous ways.
“Mr. Bingley told me the most fascinating story about learning to handle a team,” Jane said into the darkness, her voice light and cheerful now. “You see, he had already learned to drive a single horse cart but never how to manage…”
Letting her sister’s prattle about Mr. Bingley wash over her, Elizabeth smiled and drifted to sleep.
Elizabeth cracked open her and Jane’s bedroom door and peeked out. The hallway, though so dark as to render her nearly sightless, appeared empty. Boots and outerwear bundles in her arms, she stepped out and gently drew closed the door. She made her way to the top of the stairs in stocking feet.
Below, she needn’t be as careful, for the staff already moved about, laying fires, pressing garments, and seeing to breakfast. Still, Elizabeth endeavored to be as unnoticed as possible as she slipped through the kitchen, snagging some sweets on her way, and into the scullery. In moments, she was outside, bundling her cloak close in the pre-dawn darkness.
By memory and the glow of a false dawn, she made her way through the chill air, seeking Mr. Fox first. Fitzwilliam would not be at their meeting place so early, and Elizabeth worried for thewounded man she’d left in Farmer Grason’s derelict shed, which she reached shortly after sunrise.
Mr. Fox had consumed little of the food she’d left, though mice had been at the cheese, and he muttered in his sleep. Testing the teapot, she found that nearly full, and poured some. After a moment spent trying to impart some small warmth into the icy brew via hands clutched around the cup, Elizabeth lightly touched the shoulder of the man on the sheep house floor.
“Mr. Fox?” she called softly. Then, remembering that was the name Mary had given him, switched to, “Mr. F? Sir? You must have tea. You have a fever and need liquid. I am sorry it is cold.”
Blue eyes, startling in the still dim interior of the shed, blinked open. “Who are you?” His voice came out a croaking whisper.
“Miss Bennet. We met yesterday. You have been shot.”
He blinked several more times.
“Please try to drink this. I am sorry it is so cold,” she reiterated and held the teacup to his lips.
He sipped eagerly, but slumped back against the wall after only half a cup, gasping as if he’d run a footrace. “Thank you.”
“In a moment, you should have more,” Elizabeth said. “And at least some bread.”
He closed his eyes, nodding.
As the sun floated higher, Elizabeth coaxed Mr. Fox into almost a cup more of tea and some small morsels, before he claimed exhaustion. She then tucked the blanket more securely about him, wishing she’d thought to bring another. “We really should get you to town. You require more care than I can provide.”
His eyes flew open, wild. “They will be waiting. They will find me. Cannot…cannot trust anyone.” His gaze focused on her, the madness of delirium bright within. “Only you.”
“Yes, certainly.” Elizabeth made her voice as soothing as she could.
He nodded and, as she’d hoped, his eyes slipped back closed.
Moving with care so as not to disturb him, she stepped from the ramshackle structure into the wind, clutched her cloak tighter, and set out for her usual meeting spot with Fitzwilliam. No matter what Mr. Fox said, he could not stay where he was. If he was in as much danger as he feared, which the shot to his leg seemed to bear out, the colonel would know what to do.
Recalling Jane’s words of the night before, a pang of guilt went through Elizabeth. She should tell Mr. Bennet about the man she’d found…but what answer would she give when he, like Jane, asked why she’d gone first to Colonel Fitzwilliam? She would never wound her father by admitting her lack of confidence in how he might address Mr. F.’s predicament.
Elizabeth topped the last low hill before their meeting place to find Fitzwilliam dismounting. Warmth suffused her. He’d come. Not that she’d doubted he would. Still, joy filled her at the sight of him. Her stride lengthening, she rushed down the hill, watching as his expression eased into a smile when he spotted her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted as she drew near.
