Shame burned my face. Her observation about my attitude that evening was correct. I had felt so far above my company that I had spent the first part of Bingley’s ball avoiding conversation, too busy criticizing to dance.
“I did not believe Wickham capable of the evil you described to me, but I did believe my sister naive enough to act as foolishly as you said. Her boasting about it made me angry… and hurt.”
My heart plummeted. “You would not be the first to fall for Wickham’s charm.”
She shook her head so hard that the blanket fell to her shoulders. “I was flattered at the attention he gave me, and I admit my vanity suffered a terrible blow. But I did not love him. Any inclination I might have had toward him died the moment his name crossed my little sister’s lips.” She shivered. “I am grateful my mother did not hear what Lydia said that night. She would have announced their engagement to everyone at the ball. I could not bear to have such a man for a brother.”
The shake in her voice displayed her obvious vulnerability and raised her in my esteem. How many of her youngest sister’s fires had she been required to extinguish to protect her family from scandal? It must be exhausting to always keep watch over someone so boldly reckless—and having a mother who encouraged such conduct and a father who did not lift a finger to put a stop to it.
A gust of wind shook the windowpane and rattled the door, sending a frigid draft swirling through the room. I heard Elizabeth’s teeth clatter, and her chin shook. “Mr. Darcy, I rarely fall ill, but if I do not get out of these wet garments, I fear I shall catch a dreadful cold.”
Thanks to my greatcoat, I was merely damp, but she was thoroughly soaked. There was nothing else to be done. To insist on propriety would be to condemn her to certain illness.
I looked at the bed. It had another blanket, a thin sheet covering it. “How long is the sheet? Will it reach from the fireplace to the door?”
Rocking to one side, she pulled it free while I released the other. I stretched it to the top corner of the door. The rough wood stuck to the thin fabric, holding it in place as I had hoped. Taking the other corner from her, I pulled it over to the small mantel above the fireplace, holding it to the side that would afford her the most warmth from the fire.
She objected. “You will be cold on the other side.”
“I cannot place it in the middle without the sheet catching fire. You need the warmth more than I do if you are to lay your clothing out to dry.”
“There must be a way to secure it in the middle.” I heard the frown in her tone.
“I will be warm enough,” I lied. “But please lay my greatcoat out so it, too, may dry.” Grabbing an extra piece of wood, I placed it on top of the sheet to hold it in place at its base and create a diagonal barrier between me and Elizabeth.
While I could not see more than a blur through the fabric—I should have looked away but my eyes would not obey—I could see her bare foot hopping and her shadowed figure as she crossed the space on her side of the sheet. I heard the scrape of the wooden bed as she pulled it closer to the fire, and I berated myself for not thinking to do that before placing the sheet between us. I was about to say as much when her skirt landed with a thud on the ground.
I looked away sharply as though scorched by the fire, the image of her toes and shapely ankles and… other parts filling my mind and threatening my composure.
Another cold draft blasted through the room, and I welcomed it until the chill seeped through my waistcoat and shirt. Moving as close to the sheet near the fire as I could,I huddled there with my arms wrapped around my legs and pondered the insufficiencies of ladies’ outerwear. Had Elizabeth possessed boots as high as mine, her legs would be warm and her ankle sound. Great coats might be considered too cumbersome for a lady, but they were practical. Apart from my cravat and the front of my shirt where I had held her against me, I was dry.
The bed creaked, and I saw a large shadow plop on top. “You may take the sheet down now,” she instructed.
“It is not necessary.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Darcy. I am wrapped up like a mummy and perfectly decent.”
I hesitated, recognizing the safety the barrier provided.
“Unless, of course,” she continued, a smile in her tone, “it would offend your gentlemanly sensibilities.”
At least she considered me a gentleman now. I could not help but smile.
More seriously, she added, “You cannot be completely dry, sir. If you catch a cold, I shall feel responsible for it, knowing myself to be the cause. Please, Mr. Darcy. Lower the sheet.”
Another draft shook the door, releasing its grip on the sheet and sending it fluttering to the floor as though it agreed with her.
CHAPTER 9
My coat lay over the end of the bed, occupying most of the surface. Around it, Elizabeth had arranged her clothing… except for her stockings, which were draped over the lapels of my greatcoat.
I cleared my throat and looked away. A blush bloomed over my face, and I turned toward the fire to have another explanation for my glowing complexion while mentally chastising myself for being so missish. I was not a stranger to ladies’ stockings—I was not a wastrel, but neither was I ignorant. But they wereherstockings and chemise… and now I was achingly aware that beneath the blanket under which she had shrouded herself, she wore not a stitch of clothing.
That knowledge ought not to have affected me as much as it did. If I was to be of any use to her, I needed to abolish any untoward thoughts and behave like the gentleman I was raised to be. Elizabeth was injured, and she had no one to tend to her but me. I would comport myself with dignity and treat her with the utmost respect.
Pulling the single chair closer to the bedside, I feigned an indifference I had not felt around Elizabeth since that dreadfulfirst night at the Meryton Assembly. “Pray allow me to assess your injury,” I said dispassionately.
“Oh, I am mostly recovered already, I assure you.” She spoke flippantly, but the way she bit her lip and winced proved how much pain she endured.
