“Neither have you.” Darcy tugged on his gloves, removing them slowly. “Miss Bennet, while I admit that this is not how I envisioned my evening progressing when I departed Netherfield this morning, I want to assure you that I consider this duty not a burden but… a responsibility I am prepared to meet.”
It was hardly a declaration of ardent admiration, but something in his careful words suggested that he did not find the prospect of marrying her entirely repugnant. Given their limited prior interactions—most characterized by mutual misunderstanding—she supposed that was the most she could hope for.
“You are very kind,” she said, the formality of her response at odds with the bizarre intimacy of their situation.
“Not kind. Merely decent. You should dry yourself by the fire. You are shivering.”
He was right. She was cold to her core, her clothes sodden, and her spirits lower than she had ever known them. She moved to the fire, holding her hands out to the meager flames. Mr. Darcy busied himself arranging what looked like spare blankets near the hearth, keeping a careful distance between them.
“The bed is yours,” he said, not looking up from his task. “I will make do here by the fire.”
“Mr. Darcy, I cannot take your bed,” she protested. “You have already sacrificed enough on my behalf.”
“You most certainly can, and you will. You are chilled to the bone and exhausted. The floor will serve me adequately.”
Even now, they were arguing. Elizabeth nearly smiled at the absurdity of it—that in such extraordinary circumstances, they should fall into the same pattern of contradiction that had marked their past interactions. Her impertinence, her teasing, her refusal to be impressed by his consequence—all that belonged to a woman with a home and family, however imperfect. Now she was utterly dependent on his goodwill, a humbling realization that settled like a stone in her stomach.
She was at his mercy, and they both knew it.
“Very well,” she conceded, turning back to the fire. “Thank you.”
Mr. Darcy answered the knock at the door. A maidservant stepped in with a tray of food and extra linens. She cast a curious glance at Elizabeth, but said nothing as she deposited her burdens and departed.
“You should eat,” Mr. Darcy said, gesturing to the steaming bowls of stew and bread. “And then rest. Tomorrow will bring challenges enough.”
Elizabeth nodded, too exhausted to argue further.
Whatever tomorrow might bring, tonight she had been saved from a fate far worse than marriage to this proud and honorable man. For that, at least, she could be grateful.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, For everything.” And she meant it.
He inclined his head, a gesture that acknowledged both her gratitude and the extraordinary circumstances that had brought them to this point. “Rest, Miss Bennet. You are safe now.”
Safe. The word struck her as ironic. When was the last time she had felt truly safe? Not at Longbourn, where her mother’s nerves and her father’s indifference had created a household of constant tension. Not at Netherfield, under Caroline Bingley’s cutting gaze. Certainly not on the road, abandoned by those sworn to protect her.
Yet here, in this small room with a man she had professed to dislike, she felt something dangerously close to safety.
“You should eat,” Darcy said again, gesturing to the tray. “And dry yourself by the fire.”
Elizabeth glanced at the steaming food—a thick stew, fresh bread, and what smelled like mulled wine. Her stomach clenched with hunger. “Will you not join me?”
“After you have had your fill,” he said, turning his attention to her trunk. “We should see if anything can be salvaged from your belongings.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Darcy, you needn’t concern yourself with my things.”
“I believe your options for assistance are limited at present,” he replied, not unkindly. “Would you prefer to sleep in wet garments?”
She would not, of course. But the thought of Mr. Darcy—fastidious, proper Mr. Darcy—sorting through her sodden personal items was mortifying.
“I can manage,” she said stiffly.
Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. “As you wish. But eat first.”
Elizabeth couldn’t argue with that logic. The stew was hearty, the bread still warm, and the spiced wine sent blessed heat coursing through her veins. She had not realized how ravenous she was until the first bite passed her lips.
Darcy busied himself with arranging blankets near the hearth,carefully keeping his back to her to provide what privacy he could in the confined space. The thoughtfulness of the gesture surprised her.
Outside, the storm intensified. Rain lashed the window in sheets, and wind howled through every crack in the ancient building. The shutters banged against the wall, then tore free entirely, exposing the glass to the full force of the deluge.
