“Have you eaten?” he mouthed when Elizabeth set aside what was left of his broth.
“Aye, I ate with Mrs Ormerod while I was downstairs. She has promised to give us more of her paper and ink tomorrow.”
Darcy smiled. He stopped smiling when she said, “We ought to change your bandages again,” for he had not the strength to pretend the notion did not cause him the utmost dismay.
“Tomorrow.”
“I know it pains you,” Elizabeth said, “But those bandages are covered in ink. And blood.” His alarm must have been evident, for she immediately added, “Not a great deal! Only what one might expect from a wound that is not stitched.”
It was a stark reminder of quite how far he was from being assured of recovery. There was little he could do but submit;to refuse would have been foolhardy. He did, however, refuse Elizabeth’s offer of more brandy, for he had no wish for a repetition of the headache that beset him after his previous indulgence. He would not say the process of peeling away the soiled cloth hurt any more as a result, only that his being more aware gave him far greater cause to be concerned by the pain.
“It looks better,” Elizabeth said of his exposed neck once she had cleaned it. “Should you like to see?”
“No,” he mouthed without hesitation. “I would get this over with, if you please.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said gently, taking up a clean strip of linen. “I shall be as gentle as I can be.” She set to work, generously requiring that he need make no attempt to speak. Indeed, they said barely any more for what little remained of the evening, other than his mouthed thanks and her gentle good night as she blew out the candles and retired to her room.
Chapter 7
A More Pardonable Pride
I should like to get out of this bed. Would you be so kind as to help me?
So read the note Darcy had ready and waiting for Elizabeth when she emerged from her room the next morning. He had awoken feeling better—not a great deal but improved from the day before—and encouraged by the want of any snow at the window that today might be the day they returned home. He did not show it to her, however, for unlike himself, she seemed to grow more tired with each passing day, and this morning, her red-rimmed eyes bore the unmistakable proof of tears.
He tucked the paper out of sight beneath his pillow and, when she glanced at him, mouthed, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Do?” she repeated, coming towards him to better read his lips. “About what, sir?”
“You are upset.”
Her surprise was evident, as was her embarrassment. She turned away slightly and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm. Darcy reached to gain her attention with a light touch to her arm.
“I beg your pardon,” he mouthed. “I did not mean to make you uneasy.”
When she made no reply, he reached for the pen and paper, but she forestalled him.
“I understood what you said, Mr Darcy, and it was very considerate of you. Only, your notmeaningto embarrass me did not prevent mybeingembarrassed.”
He reached for the paper anyway.
You would prefer that I not observe your distress?
Elizabeth gave a wry smile and nodded. He smiled back sympathetically and wrote,
I perfectly comprehend. I would infinitely prefer that you not see me in my present state. Permit me to say that of the two of us, you are withstanding the indignity with far more éclat.
She gave a small, conscious laugh. “I do not know about that. I cannot imagine what pain you must be suffering, yet you do not complain.”
Neither do you. But you may, if it would help.
Is there a particular matter that has upset you, other than our being detained here?
He thought twice about whether to expound upon hisconcerns and, deciding the importance of the matter outweighed the need for discretion, added,
Pray, tell me nobody has imposed upon you in any way.
“Oh, no, nothing of that sort! I was only thinking of my family, and how worried they must be. Jane was already in such low spirits I hardly dare suppose what she must be thinking now.”
