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“I do not care,” came the dull reply.

Five minutes after Elizabeth picked up the novel and resumed her reading, Clara re-entered the room with her sewing and something approaching peace was re-established, although Mr Darcy’s stiff posture in the bed made Elizabeth feel uncomfortable herself. Half an hour later, she was relieved to hear Lady Catherine’s strident voice in the street, accompanied by the less piercing rumble of the earl. The coach departed soon after. Elizabeth made a fervent wish that Mr Darcy’s aunt would not return during the brief time Lizzy had yet to serve in the Darcy household. A quick glance at Mr Darcy showed he was still overcome by the incident.

Elizabeth continued the book, but as she completed the penultimate chapter, she found her voice becoming a little hoarse after reading for several hours. When Elizabeth emptied the jug of orgeat of its dregs, Clara promptly got up to return it to the kitchen for a refill. Before resettling herself, Elizabeth took pity on Mr Darcy whose immobility worried her.

“You look a little uncomfortable, sir,” she remarked. “If you lean forward, I will fluff your pillows.”

As she reached behind him, Elizabeth’s perfume assaulted Darcy’s senses once more. More overset by the morning’s events than he cared to admit to himself, he resented Elizabeth’s proximity. How dare she come into his room teasing him like this! When she adjured him to resettle himself on the pillows and leaned across him to pull up the coverlet, he finally snapped. His hand struck out like lightning to grasp her wrist.

Elizabeth looked down in disbelief when Mr Darcy’s right hand gripped her arm rather cruelly, forcing her to remain bent over. Gasping, her eyes flew to his face. His lips were curled in almost a sneer.

“Let me go, sir!” she said in alarm.

“I may be blind, Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “but I am not stupid.”

Elizabeth’s heart froze at the use of her name.

“Have you lost something, my dear?” he asked, without a trace of tenderness, and so saying, he drew his left hand from under the covers and opened his fingers to reveal the cameo.

“Oh!” breathed Elizabeth. Her legs tottered underneath her. Off balance, she collapsed heavily across the bed.

Feeling her give way, Darcy twisted himself round with a move that would have earned his doctor’s applause, had he been present to see it. Still gripping Elizabeth’s arm, he pinned her to the bed, looming over her.

“You win!” he snarled. “You may have me. What is left of me! A grand prize! I accept you, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy!”

And so saying, his lips descended to kiss her.

It seemed to Elizabeth that all her dreams and nightmares had rushed upon her at once. Since that night at the Netherfield ball, she had dreamt of kissing Mr Darcy. Once Jane had gone off to London and Elizabeth had found herself alone in their bed, she had indulged herself a little by moving her lips on the pillow, imagining it was him. Their kisses had been tender, but this kiss was not tender. It was rough and passionate, exciting but also alarming. Elizabeth gave in to it for a moment before realising the enormity of what she was doing. Then she started to thrash about, trying to escape him, but his hand held her arm above her head in an iron grip. Realising she had closed her eyes, Elizabeth opened them and brought her free hand up to push his glasses into his face. He jerked back in surprise. It was enough. Elizabeth twisted herself adeptly and sank her teeth into his wrist. Darcy yelped as he let go.

“You vixen!” he cried, feeling his wrist in disbelief.

“Yes!” huffed Lizzy, trying to regain her breath. “I am a vixen! A shrew! And I would not marry you if you were the last man in the world!”

And so saying, she fled the room, fleeing down the steps as if on wings. Arriving in the empty vestibule, Elizabeth jerked open the closet to retrieve her effects. The bonnet was jammed onto her head without tying the strings. The pelisse left unbuttoned. Thankfully the key was in the keyhole. After fumbling for a moment with the other latches, she managed to open the door. It was now pouring outside.

Farley came out of the saloon then, having heard the disturbance. “Miss Gardiner!” he called, wondering what she was about.

“I am sorry, I must go!” Elizabeth called over her shoulder, unwilling to turn her face lest the old retainer see how distraught she was.

She launched herself into the rain without thinking what she would do next, before considering what a figure she must make of herself, running through Mayfair, soaked to the skin. Fortunately, there was a hackney standing in the square, not two doors down, and when she threw out her hand to summon it, the jarvey met her halfway. Opening the door and throwing herself into the back, Elizabeth closed her eyes in relief as he drew away from the townhouse, then had the presence of mind to let down the window to yell her direction. She just hoped that the driver had attributed her unholy rush to the rain. She must look like a hoyden. She was a hoyden, letting Mr Darcy kiss her like that!

Looking down, she realised she had forgotten her boots. Her slippers were quite ruined.

Chapter 37: Revelations according to Finn

The carriage trip home to Cheapside seemed to last forever to Elizabeth. Mr Darcy’s kiss had branded her. Her lips burned as if she had a fever while her wet feet quickly became cold and numb. She was half fire, half ice. When the downpour lessened to a mizzle as the hackney reached Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth had the jehu pull up several doors away from the Gardiners’ house in the hope that she might evade her aunt’s scrutiny.

She was in luck. When Sally answered the door, Elizabeth quickly engaged the maid’s cooperation in not revealing her homecoming to Aunt Gardiner until she had divested herself of her wet clothes. After scampering up to her room undetected, Elizabeth changed into her nightgown, hung her wet dress in the closet and hid her ruined slippers. Her soggy bonnet, too, was in a sad state. At the very least, it would have to be stripped of its silk to be reshaped. She flung its limp corpse onto the top shelf of the closet. Climbing into bed, her teeth chattering, Elizabeth had no difficulty ascribing her early return to illness when her aunt, finally apprised of Lizzy’s homecoming, arrived half an hour later.

“Do you think you will be all right for work tomorrow, Lizzy?” asked her aunt, feeling her forehead. “The colonel will not appreciate it if you give his cousin your lurgy. We probably should send word tonight, after your uncle arrives home in the carriage—if you do not feel better by then—to save them the trip in the morning.”

“There is no need, Aunt. The fellow from Oxford turned up after all. Today was my last day,” said Elizabeth, fairly confident her bite would have earned her dismissal.

“Oh! A little earlier after all! Did the colonel pay you?”

“Not for this week—he was not there when I left. But I will contact him through the agency; I would like to ask him for a reference.” Not that I am likely to get one after today’s debacle, she thought.

Lizzy dared not reveal that she had spent most of her first week’s wage on the townhouse model. Only a single guinea remained in her pocket after the hackney ride. She felt quite the fool. Not only was she out of pocket, she had lost her boots, her cameo and her dignity. So much for her first foray as an independent woman!