Darcy crossed to the window, attempting to secure what remained of the shutters, but it was a lost cause. “They’re gone,” he reported, water dripping from his shirtsleeves. “We’ll have to manage without.”
A sudden gust drove rain through the broken glass, spraying across the room and soaking the blankets he had arranged on the floor.
“Perfect,” Elizabeth muttered, setting aside her empty bowl. “Providence appears determined to strip away every last vestige of propriety from this situation.”
“It does seem that way.”
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in stark white light. Thunder followed immediately, so loud that the floor vibrated. The fire guttered, nearly extinguished by a downdraft.
Elizabeth shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Perhaps the storm is punishment for my stubbornness in refusing Mr. Collins,” she said, attempting levity. “My mother certainly thought so.”
Darcy knelt to nurse the struggling fire back to life. “Your mother was wrong,” he said, his voice hard. “No woman should be forced to marry where she cannot respect or esteem her partner.”
The unexpected support left Elizabeth momentarily speechless. “I… thank you.”
And since the two of them had to marry, she supposed she should respect and esteem Darcy. A week ago, she would have thought that impossible. Now, it would be hard not to.
He glanced up at her, firelight casting his features in warm relief. “It is merelythe truth.”
Another blast of wind rushed through what remained of the window, this time extinguishing the fire completely. Darkness engulfed the room, broken only by flashes of lightning, and the temperature plummeted.
“Blast,” Darcy muttered, fumbling in the dark. “Where are the—ah.” A scratch, a spark, and a small candle on the mantelpiece sputtered to life, casting weak golden light over the scene.
Elizabeth surveyed the damage. The floor near the hearth was a sodden mess. The blankets Darcy had arranged for himself were soaked through. The only dry spot in the room appeared to be the bed itself, positioned against the opposite wall.
Darcy ran a hand through his hair. “I will sit in the chair. You take the bed.”
Elizabeth glanced at the hard wooden chair, then back at Darcy’s tall frame. “Don’t be absurd. You’d be crippled by morning. The bed is large enough for both of us. If we… if we remain clothed and maintain proper distance, surely it would be acceptable under these extraordinary circumstances.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “Miss Bennet, I cannot?—”
“Mr. Darcy,” she interrupted, summoning every ounce of practical sensibility she possessed, “I am cold, exhausted, and have nowhere else to go. You have been more than generous. I will not repay that generosity by forcing you to spend the night in discomfort when there is a perfectly reasonable alternative.”
“Reasonable is not the word I would choose,” he muttered.
Another thunderclap shook the building. Rain continued to pour through the broken window, spreading across the floorboards.
“Very well,” Darcy conceded, his expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight. “But I will remain atop the covers, and you beneath them.”
Elizabeth nodded, relief and trepidation warring within her. “Agreed.”
The practical matter of preparing for bed presented its own challenges. Elizabeth’s nightgown was in her trunk, but there was noscreen behind which to change. Eventually, they worked out a system—Darcy would face the wall while Elizabeth quickly changed into the least-sodden garments she could find, then she would do the same while he removed his boots and waistcoat.
When they finally settled into the bed, Elizabeth felt the mattress dip beneath Darcy’s weight. He kept as far to his side as possible, rigid with tension. Elizabeth pulled the covers up to her chin, painfully aware of his presence merely inches away.
“Goodnight, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, blowing out the candle.
“Goodnight, Miss Bennet,” came his stiff reply.
CHAPTER TWO
COMFORT IN HIS ARMS
The storm,it seemed, had decided that propriety was an inconvenience to be washed away like autumn leaves in a torrent.
Elizabeth lay in the darkness, clinging to the blankets, lying stiff and still with Darcy’s measured breathing beside her. Thoughts raced through her mind, filling her with sorrow. Had it only been a week ago that she’d felt part of her family? Included? Cared for? Giggling with her sisters before the ball? Scolded by her mother to stand straight, smile at the gentlemen, and mind her manners?
She had thought she’d belonged. That they were family. The bond was permanent, that even if she made mistakes, they would still embrace her.
