The staircase proved a challenge. Halfway up, a wave of dizziness struck without warning. Elizabeth missed a step and immediately felt herself sway. Before she could recover, Mr Darcy took hold of her waist. Elizabeth became aware of the solid warmth of him. He smelt of the rain mixed with a muskier, more masculine scent, and his large hand, splayed against her side, felt as if it burned through her dress.
"Careful," he said in a low voice. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, seeming to realise how close they were. He remained at her side but at a more proper distance, keeping a hand lightly beneath her elbow. By the time they reached their room, Elizabeth felt breathless and her pulse jumped erratically.She was not sure if it was the lingering effects of the chill or his nearness.
For a few moments after entering the room, neither spoke. She settled herself in the armchair nearest the fire while Mr Darcy wordlessly handed her a shawl and occupied the one opposite. The flames threw a warm glow across the room and the steady patter of rain against the windows seemed louder now that they were alone. Elizabeth rubbed at her temple. The headache had not entirely left her, though it was less troublesome than before.
"You ought not to have come downstairs," he said, not looking at her.
"I am not a prisoner, sir. If I cannot leave the inn, I must at least be permitted to move around it freely. Besides, one more moment in this room and I would have run mad and it would be a much greater burden to you and Mr Burke to have an insane woman on your hands."
Elizabeth expected him to glare and complain. Instead, a flicker of amusement touched his face.
Before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Mrs Goose entered carrying a tray and clucking at Elizabeth appraisingly. "I thought you two looked in need of something restorative," she said, setting the tray down on the table between them.
The scent reached Elizabeth almost immediately. Wine, oranges and spices.
"Mrs Goose," said Mr Darcy carefully, "is that mulled wine?"
"It is."
"For an invalid?"
"I am not an invalid," Elizabeth muttered peevishly.
Mrs Goose looked offended. "For a lady who nearly froze to death."
She poured two generous glasses and Elizabeth accepted hers gratefully. Darcy accepted his more tentatively but said no more about it.
Mrs Goose surveyed them both with satisfaction. "There now. That will warm your bones and soothe your aching head. Make sure to drink it all mind, and make sure she goes straight to bed afterwards, Mr Darcy."
Elizabeth felt colour rise in her face, and took a cautious sip from her wine as the door closed behind Mrs Goose. She coughed immediately, discovering that the lady’s definition of a restorative was highly alcoholic. From the look on Mr Darcy’s face, he had reached the same conclusion.
"Good God."
She burst out laughing, her headache fading rapidly.
"What?"
"I believe Mrs Goose has attempted to intoxicate us."
"I suspect she has very great faith in this—very potent—remedy."
"And do you?"
"I confess my opinion is improving," he said, taking a sip with a small smile.
As he looked at Elizabeth his grin spread and then he was laughing. A deep, genuine laugh that astonished her. She had never heard him once laugh in all the time she had known him. When the laughter subsided, it left a smile behind. Dimples appeared unexpectedly in his cheeks and, for a moment, he looked years younger. The transformation was so complete that Elizabeth almost felt she was looking at a different man. And annoyingly, this man was extraordinarily handsome.
The discovery was an uncomfortable one. Just who was this version of Mr Darcy? To disguise her reaction, she took another sip of wine, and for a time they sat quietly, listening to the rain. The silence was different from those at Netherfield. There it had always felt strained, while this felt oddly companionable.
It was Mr Darcy who broke it, clearing his throat. "I owe you an apology."
Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "Whatever for?"
"That is a very long list."
She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps begin with the most serious offence."
A look of genuine embarrassment crossed his face. Mr Darcy studied the wine in his glass for a moment. "For staring at you, for one thing. It was a dreadful habit and I seemed quite incapable of stopping. Then there was the matter of talking utter nonsense whenever I found myself near you."
