"No," he admitted. "But from everything you have told me, Mr Frost sounds a sensible man. He has spent years driving coaches and handling horses in all manner of weather. You were less than two miles from Barley Cross when we found you and he left long before the storm reached its worst."
She started to cry in earnest. These were not dainty tears but great racking sobs that shook her whole body.
Darcy sprang up and crossed to her, dropping to his knees before her. "Elizabeth," he breathed and she collapsed forward, flinging her arms around his neck. She cried into his neckcloth, the strain of the last few days seeming to overtake her. He put a tentative arm around her, then pulled her close, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair. He rocked her, making soothing noises as the sobs slowed and her breathing became more regular.
"Mr Darcy," she said in a voice muffled by his neckcloth. "I am not normally a watering pot." She pulled back, her face red and blotchy. He said nothing but handed her a handkerchief and rose slowly from the ground. He considered her for a long moment.
"Are you well?"
"Yes, yes I think I am. Thank you."
"It was nothing."
The room had grown very warm. Elizabeth's hair had escaped its pins and several curls now framed her face. One remained caught against her cheek where tears had dampened it. Without thinking, Darcy reached out and brushed it gently aside.
Elizabeth went still and he stepped back at once.
"Forgive me."
Elizabeth lowered her gaze. A faint colour had risen in her cheeks.
"There is nothing to forgive."
Darcy returned to his chair and reached for his wine, grateful for something to occupy his hands. The room seemed suddenly smaller than it had a few moments before. He found himself thinking of the dining room, of Henderson's easy smile and the way he had looked at Elizabeth across the table.
His jaw tightened. "You should be cautious of Henderson."
Elizabeth's entire countenance changed. She opened and closed her mouth several times before saying, "Where on earth did that come from?"
"I am serious. He pays you too much attention."
Elizabeth stared.
"I beg your pardon. We cannot have spoken for above half an hour. And even if he had paid me particular attention, what does it have to do with you?"
"You do not know him."
"Nor do you."
"I know enough. I have met his sort before."
Darcy knew he was being ridiculous. Why had he brought up that obnoxious man? He grimaced.
"To think I thought you were… that you might be… oh never mind. Vexing, officious man! I wish to retire Mr Darcy, can you give me some privacy for my toilette? You may return and sleep in that chair in ten minutes."
"I was only attempting to…"
"Mr Darcy!" Elizabeth spat out the word in a tone that brooked no refusal.
The warmth of a few moments earlier vanished entirely. He stalked out of the room and neither spoke again that evening.
An hour later she lay beneath the covers with her back firmly towards him while Darcy occupied the armchair beside the dying fire. Neither slept well that night.
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth woke slowly, her situation returning to her by degrees. Rain still pattered at the windows, but it seemed less violent now than it had been. That was at least something. But as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes found the chair where Mr Darcy must have spent the night. Their conversation replayed in vivid fragments in her memory and she groaned and covered her face with her hands, half tempted to hide under the bed clothes for the rest of the day. A sudden vision of her mother played in her mind. She took a deep breath and stood straighter. Elizabeth Bennet was not formed for idleness and she was especially not formed for another day confined to these four walls.
As she stood, Martha bustled in with a tray, smiling at Elizabeth as she entered.
