“That is not what I meant! And I do not despise your family.”
“I have a letter written in your hand which says that you very much do.”
“How could I when my sister has taken it into herhead to don a pair of breeches and dragyoursister to Colonel Sullivan’s hazard tables!”
Elizabeth’s affront dissipated as all the self-reproach and alarm she had worn when she first arrived returned in force. “Oh lord, Lydia! How could I stand about arguing when she needs me?”
Darcy reached towards her, guilty for having been similarly absorbed by their quarrel and intending to assure her that the girls would be well, when there came a strange noise which made them both turn and look. It did not last long; an ominous creak, another shower of plaster, and then abruptly, where once there was a wall, there was nothing but air, dust, and a pile of splintered timber stud work, crumbled plaster, and books splayed across the floor.
But for the occasional plink and thud of more falling debris, there was silence. Until Florizel scurried forth to stand on the top of the rubble and began barking. As the plumes of dust cleared, the room beyond it came into view. In it, Saye stood in front of his mirror, calmly adjusting his cravat. At his side, his man stood with one pair of trousers and one pair of breeches dangling forgotten from his hands as he stared back at Elizabeth and Darcy in open-mouthed shock. Evidently, he had been waiting for Saye to choose between the garments, because other than his shirt, cravat, and stockings, Darcy’s cousin was completely naked, his shirt tails all that shielded his modesty.
He caught Darcy’s eye in the mirror. “Most people use the door. And knock first.”
“Upon my word, would you put something on?” Darcy snapped, turning to Elizabeth, but she was not paying any attention to Saye. Her eyes were fixed on the rubble. She was mouthing something that looked alot like “My house,” and her eyes were glassy. She looked devastated.
“That was clearly not a supporting wall,” Darcy tried to assure her. “I am sure it is not as bad as it seems.”
His attempt to mollify her would have worked much better if Fitzwilliam had not, at that moment, thrown the library door wide open and shouted, “What in blazes was—bloody hell!”
Mrs Annesley appeared behind him in her night gown and cap, and behind her, Darcy’s own man. Georgiana was conspicuously absent, reminding him of the pressing urgency of retrieving her.
“Would you send someone to Tucker’s house to ask him to come and deal with this?” he said to Fields. Ignoring the fact that Fitzwilliam had by then noticed Elizabeth’s presence and was peering between them with narrowed eyes, Darcy turned to quieten Mrs Annesley’s fretting. “Yes, the house is perfectly safe. It was not a structurally significant wall. No, there is no need to wake Georgiana. She was unwell; let her sleep. I beg you would return to bed, madam.”
She did, and when she was gone, Elizabeth let out a small, somewhat hysterical laugh. “Just when I thought things could not get any worse.”
Darcy’s heart went out to her. He knew what the house meant to her and how personally she had taken every obstacle to its restoration. This was another regrettable blow.
“It does seem that you are having a particularly bad day, Miss Bennet,” Saye said before turning his nose up at both of the options held out by Denvers. “No, neither. The buckskin, I think.”
“Saye, will youpleasejust put some clothes on!” Darcy said again.
His cousin shrugged, bringing his shirt tails alarmingly high up his thighs. “I must look the part if I am to break into Sullivan’s party and rescue my wayward cousin, would you not agree?”
“Sullivan? I thought it was Lord Lansley’s ball?” Fitzwilliam asked, at the same time as Darcy said, resignedly, “You heard us, then.”
Saye turned around to face them. “You were arguing loudly enough to pulverise my bedroom wall, Darcy. It is little wonder that I heard you.”
“Will someone tell me what is going on?” Fitzwilliam asked.
“In a minute,” Darcy replied. Elizabeth had averted her eyes. He still came to block her view of…well, everything. His half-naked cousin, her crumbling house, the unrelenting wretchedness of the last few days. He would protect her from every hurt in the world if he could. As it was, the only comfort he could offer was the promise that he would bring her sister home safely.
26
Elizabeth stood twisting her hands, hardly knowing what to do next, while the smell of plaster dust still hung heavy in the air. It was a relief to know that someone would take action and, she hoped, retrieve Lydia from her foolishness without detection. And yet, that the person should be Mr Darcy! A trifling association between his sister and hers, and already Miss Darcy would suffer consequences. It made it all the more difficult to discover that hehadcalled on her. Before this evening, that revelation would have made her rejoice. Now, it was bittersweet, for what hope had she of his affections enduring in the face of Lydia’s misadventure?
“We can take you back to Mrs Millhouse’s home on our way,” said Mr Darcy gently, his deep voice soothing. “Come.”
She allowed herself to be moved away from Lord Saye’s indecency and the newest of her house-related problems, their footsteps echoing hollowly on the floorboards as they went.
“What will you do once you have them?” she asked. “How will we keep this a secret?”
“We will do our best to make them come quietly,” he said. “Georgiana will likely be terrified the moment she sees me. I hope your sister will as well, knowing their game is up.”
“I hope so as well. Perhaps…” She chewed her lip worriedly for a moment before asking, “Ought I to come with you?”
“These parties are no place for a lady,” said Mr Darcy immediately and then winced. “Not to say there is danger, only…well, sights a lady ought not to see. Pray do not worry. We will have the girls out of there as fast as we can and with no harm to any of us.”
She had not removed her bonnet or pelisse, so they waited only for Mr Darcy’s overcoat and hat before opening the door to the street. The dim light of the seafront lamps through the sea mist revealed Mr Hartham on the street. He had evidently just returned from somewhere, his boots wet with the evening’s drizzle.
