Their hands remained joined for a moment longer than propriety allowed and his thumb gently circled her palm.
Feeling suddenly bold, and unable afterwards to explain what possessed her, Elizabeth stepped a little nearer. "I think," she said with a shy smile, "that perhaps one apology still remains." Before he could ask what she meant, she rose lightly onto her toes and pressed the briefest kiss against his cheek.
Neither of them was aware that Captain Henderson had emerged from the stable yard only moments before. He had approached intending to enquire after Mrs Darcy's health, but stopped as the last few sentences drifted across the quiet courtyard.
"Friends, then?"
"I should like that very much, Miss Bennet."
"So should I, Mr Darcy."
His gaze rested for a moment upon Mr Darcy's astonished expression and the unmistakable blush upon Elizabeth's cheeks. A slow smile spread across his face and he sucked on his pipe with satisfaction. "So," he murmured to himself, turning quietly away before either of them saw him. "That explains a great deal."
Chapter Eleven
The remainder of the day passed so quickly that Elizabeth scarcely had time to think. Mrs Goose, having apparently decided that she was no longer in immediate danger of expiring, found an endless succession of small but useful occupations for her. One moment she was peeling apples beside Martha in the kitchen, the next carrying trays of bread to the dining room or entertaining a pair of restless little boys whose parents had joined the men labouring at the bridge. Every time she imagined there could not possibly be another basket of washing left in the entire county, another would mysteriously appear beside her chair.
"You'll not be saying you're idle now," Mrs Goose observed with satisfaction as Elizabeth finished polishing a stack of pewter plates.
"I would not dare."
"You've more sense than most of the fine ladies I have met, Mrs Darcy."
Elizabeth found herself laughing more than she had done for many days. There was something deeply comforting about the bustling world of the well-run inn. Everyone appeared to know precisely what needed doing and set about it without complaint—or with so little grumbling it amounted to the same thing. It reminded Elizabeth of the long harvest days at Longbourn when every member of the household seemed drawn into the same great endeavour.
Two things prevented her from giving herself over entirely to the work. The first was a constant nagging fear for the Frosts, and particularly Mrs Frost and her baby. The other was Mr Darcy.
Each time she crossed the yard or glanced through one of the kitchen windows, her eyes sought Mr Darcy without her intending them to. Sometimes she caught sight of him in conversation with the blacksmith. Once she saw him shoulder one end of a heavy timber whilst the labourers carried the other. Another time he stood ankle-deep in mud beside a wagon whose wheel had sunk into the softened ground, his coat discarded once more and his dark hair blown untidily across his forehead by the strengthening breeze.
He scarcely came indoors all day, but when he did, it was only long enough to exchange a few hurried words with Burke, swallow a mug of ale or consult some hastily drawn plan before disappearing again.
She realised with some surprise that the whole inn had begun to revolve around him. No one announced him leader, yet every difficulty somehow found its way to Mr Darcy. The blacksmithsought his opinion before committing more men to the bridge, Mrs Goose caught him between one task and the next whenever some new crisis presented itself, and anxious travellers seemed reassured merely by hearing him say that matters were in hand.
Mr Darcy never appeared to give orders for the pleasure of it. He listened until everyone else had spoken, asked a question or two that cut through any confusion, and then suggested a course that somehow satisfied everybody. It was extraordinary—or was it Mr Darcy himself that was extraordinary? Elizabeth’s feelings have gone through so material a change that she no longer knew what to think.
???
By late afternoon the rain had ceased altogether. The clouds continued to drift heavily overhead, but every now and then the sun broke through, throwing brief flashes of light across the puddles that still covered the yard. The sound of hammers had become almost constant, interrupted only by the occasional shout from the bridge works further along the road.
Elizabeth found Burke in the stable yard examining a harness. "Mr Burke," she said, "has there been any word?"
He paused in his work and turned towards her. "No, miss. The roads towards Barley Cross remain difficult. We've sent enquiries where we can, but no one's come back yet."
Elizabeth tried to smile.
"I'm sure they are quite safe."
"So am I," Burke replied with reassuring confidence. "From what you have said, Mr Frost's no fool. He'll not move his wife an inch until she's fit to travel."
Elizabeth wanted very much to believe him.
???
By the time the evening meal was served she discovered that she was quite exhausted. Mrs Goose noticed it before Elizabeth did.
"You've gone pale again."
"I assure you—"
