Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth stirred, consciousness returning gradually, along with the memory of yesterday's downpour. The bone-deep chill she had felt while trudging through the rain had been replaced by the comfortable warmth of blankets and a well-tended fire. Someone—likely Mrs Reynolds—had kept the hearth burning through the night.
A soft knock preceded the opening of her bedchamber door. She turned her head to see Fitzwilliam enter, his expression a mixture of relief and lingering concern. He wore no coat, just his shirt and waistcoat, suggesting he had come directly from his own chambers rather than from conducting estate business.
"You are awake," he said, crossing to her bedside. "How do you feel?"
"Perfectly well." She pushed herself up against the pillows, noting with mild embarrassment that she was still in her nightdress, her hair loose about her shoulders. "A bit foolish for being caught in that storm, but otherwise unharmed."
"You are certain? No fever, no cough?" He reached out as though to check her forehead, then seemed to catch himself and withdrew his hand.
"No, truly. I am well." She smiled at his evident worry. "Thanks to you arriving when you did. I might have been considerably worse off had I continued walking in that deluge."
"You gave me quite a fright yesterday. When the maid came to tell me you had not returned and a storm wasapproaching—" He broke off, his jaw tightening. "I need you to promise me something."
"What sort of promise?"
"That you will not venture out when there is any indication of inclement weather approaching. Or if you must go, that you will take the carriage and a groom, not walk alone. I cannot—that is, I would prefer not to experience that particular fear again."
His concern for her was so prominent that it made her blush. "I had hoped to return before the rain began. The sky was clear when I set out to visit Mrs Galpin, and I did not think the storm would arrive so quickly. But I understand your concern, and I promise to be more cautious in future."
"Thank you." Some of the tension left his shoulders. "I do not wish to restrict your movements or your charitable work. I simply wish you to be safe."
"I know." She reached out and took his hand. "And I appreciate your care for my welfare."
Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them—a mutual recognition of the growing intimacy they shared. Fitzwilliam leaned forward slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wished. She did not retreat. She tilted her face up as he bent towards her, her eyes closing as his lips met hers.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as though he feared she might be more fragile than she claimed. But she responded with a fervour that clearly surprised him, her free hand coming up to cup the side of his face, pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat and deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from hers to her waist, then up to cradle the back of her head.
Heat flooded through Elizabeth, her pulse quickening. This was different from the chaste kiss they had exchanged at their wedding—this was passion barely restrained, desire coursing through their veins. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart where their bodies pressed together, could taste the faint hint of tea on his lips and feel—
A sharp knock at the door made them spring apart like guilty children. Fitzwilliam stood hastily, putting proper distance between himself and the bed, while Elizabeth pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. A maid entered bearing a breakfast tray, her eyes averted as though she had seen and heard nothing.
"Your breakfast, Mrs Darcy," the girl said, setting the tray on the small table near the window. "Mrs Cardogan prepared all your favourites, ma'am. Mr Darcy was quite specific about what should be included."
"Thank you." Elizabeth's voice emerged slightly breathless. "That was very thoughtful."
The maid curtsied and withdrew, closing the door with a soft click. Elizabeth looked at her husband and saw the colour high on his cheekbones, the slight disarray of his hair where her fingers had threaded through it, and felt laughter bubbling up despite herself.
"I am becoming quite scandalous," she said, gesturing at the breakfast tray. "Eating in bed so often. What will the servants think of their new mistress?"
"They will think that you are the mistress of Pemberley and deserve the very best care we can provide." He moved to the tray and began arranging items on a plate. "Particularly after your ordeal yesterday. You should rest and recover properly."
"I am perfectly capable of feeding myself, you know."
"I know." He brought the plate to her bedside, settling back into his chair. "Indulge me anyway."
She accepted a piece of toast he offered, biting back a smile at his evident determination to play nursemaid. "You are being ridiculous."
"Perhaps." He selected a strawberry from the plate and held it to her lips. "But I find I rather enjoy taking care of you."
The intimacy of the gesture—of being fed by him, of his fingers brushing her lips as she took the fruit—sent another wave of joy through her. They settled into an easy rhythm, he offering morsels while she talked about her visit to the Galpin family the previous day.
"Mrs Galpin is recovering well from her illness," She explained between bites of perfectly cooked eggs. "The physician says she should be fully restored to health within a fortnight. But the family has struggled with her being unable to work—she normally takes in mending to supplement their income."
"I shall have Mrs Reynolds ensure they receive additional provisions until Mrs Galpin is well enough to resume her work." Fitzwilliam offered her a piece of bacon. "And perhaps we might find some way to provide a more stable income for the family. Mr Galpin works in the stables, does he not?"
"Yes, but only part-time. He supplements that income with various odd jobs around the estate."
