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“Oh, Mrs Younge, yes,” Lizzy put in. “She was left behind in Ramsgate, where hopefully she will remain until you can terminate her employment.” She gave him a look meant to convey her disapproval of the woman.
He, evidently, shared her opinion, for his tension seemed to ease, and he rested back against his pillow. His throat worked as he again attempted to speak; after a curse or two, he managed it. “You true here?…near?”
It touched her, the look in his eyes, as if he genuinely wanted her to stay close, putting aside all pride to show his need. But then her conscience spoke: He has been shackled to his bed, she chided herself. Any ally, even a Boisterous Bennet, must seem a godsend. Being unforgivably fanciful would only alarm him, and she sought to lighten the mood.
“I know you must prefer someone more tolerable and tempting,” she smiled.
But his brow furrowed. His expression grew immediately thunderous. “No!” he shouted.
The snores abruptly stopped. She glanced over at the room where the attendant rested, then at the nursery door. It was more imperative than ever that she not be caught in his room if she was to be of any use to him at all.
“Mr Darcy, please…I must not be found here—” But she stopped her whisper mid-sentence when she saw the expression on his face.
His eyes were so pleading, yet so full of frustration and despair. He was a man, not an animal. The chains were an insult, and she wished to show him that she knew it, felt the same. What would she do if he were only Fitzwilliam Darcy, a young and fine-looking man, and she were only Lizzy Bennet, who thought him handsome enough to break her heart?
She took his hand once more. There was no sound from the anteroom, not of snores nor of movement. What could she say to him? But his hearing was not affected, and she bent to speak directly in his ear.
“Do you remember the party at Lucas Lodge? Sir William foisted me upon you for a dance, as the gentlemen around you—for some mystifying reason—seemed compelled to do, and in turn you felt obliged to dance with me.”
He squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt, turning his dark eyes upon her. In the dimness, she could not read what he felt, only that some strong emotion possessed him. She tried to smile.
“Someday soon, you will dance again…with your own choice of partners.”
She had hoped to make him smile, but he did not; instead, he drew her hand towards his face, though the manacles binding his wrists allowed him little range of movement. She watched, spellbound, as he raised himself up off the pillow, using his elbows to support himself, sitting up to the fullest extent his chains allowed, stretching his neck taut until, at last, he reached his destination. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, his eyes never once leaving her face.
Abruptly, he released her. For a precious second, she remained where she was, startled and uncertain, his intense, searing gaze burning upon her. Another sound from the anteroom forced itself on her attention, and she slid the dark lantern closed. By the light of the fire, she quickly found her way out of the room, her heart pounding as much from his farewell as from her fear of discovery.
