Sarcasm! What she wanted to do was demand explanations, censuring him for familiarity and possibly herabduction. What emerged from her mouth was…ridiculous.
“Ditzwilliam Farcy,” she mumbled. “No. Argh.” She slapped her palm to her forehead and nearly knocked herself to the ground again.
The act did not prevent her seeing the corner of his mouth tip up, causing an unexpected dimple to appear. “I have been called worse,” he said. That almost-smile softened the supercilious air usually attending him; at the same time, it reminded her of the…dream. It had surely been a dream, had it not? It could not be real. No one kissed like that, except in foolish dreams.
Suddenly, she wanted to weep, and only the remnants of her tattered pride prevented her from bursting into tears.
Instead of anything sensible, anything at all, she heard herself semi-incoherently plead three words: “H-help me sit.” She wasn’t sure whether she had managed to voice even that, but as if he understood her regardless, Mr Darcy picked her up and gently set her on a shaded portion of the wall some distance from where she had…lost her composure. As he moved away from her, she nearly fell over backwards; with one swift motion he settled down beside her, a strong arm around her shoulders, supporting her.
One nod of his head to his men—both stationed beside the coach, pretending to notice nothing—brought a skin of water to her. Carefully he held it to her lips; she tooksmall sips until at last she could no longer taste the strange metallic flavour upon her tongue.
“What… the matter w’me?” She heard the slur in her question, and wondered at it.
“You have been drugged,” he said, as complacently as he might have commented upon the weather.
“Wha-what?” The single word she had managed did not begin to express the horror and fear she felt at this revelation. She struggled to move away from him, nearly tumbling off the wall in the process.
Gently, he plucked her back, tucking her into his side. She strained to move away, albeit futilely, until he caught her hands in his own.
“Not by me,mon rêve. To the best of my understanding, you must blame your mother. Evidently, she very much wished you to wed your cousin Collins, and administered to you some medication of your father’s in order to render you more agreeable to the idea. I think she overdid it.”
Mama?Truly?How could it be so? It must be impossible! And yet, a memory struck her, of her mother’s arrival in her bedroom this morning, carrying a breakfast tray. Had she not noted how unusual Mama’s determination that she eat all of the rather unusually spiced breakfast provided to her? Since when did Mrs Bennet evercarrybreakfast to any of her daughters? Her excuse of worrying over Elizabeth’s exertions at the ball made no sense, in retrospect. Ithadbeen odd; sheoughtto have been suspicious. She had simply never dreamt that her mother would stoop to such an action.
“H-how…did you…”
“How did my intervention come about? One of your servants informed one of my servants of the plot, and he informed me, only just in time to prevent it. I apologise that there was no opportunity to procure proper chaperonage. Neither did I wish to inform any others, believing you would rather it be kept private.”
“I…yes.”
She had believed she could be humbled no further, but knowing now that he had been required, by his gentlemanly honour, to save her from an ignominiously plotted marriage to her cousin was the last straw. A tear fell, and then another. She felt them trickle down her cheeks and had neither the strength nor the will to stop them. Every vulgar belief he doubtless held about her family had been proved correct, and she prayed fiercely that if only she could at this moment be struck by lightning, she would never ask God for another thing.
Unfortunately, the sky remained clear, the weather mild. Another debilitating wave of dizziness swept through her, adding to her misery.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. There was nothing else she could say.
CHAPTER 5
Her silent tears slayed him. If it were within Darcy’s power to knock Mrs Bennet’s head into Collins’s and pound some sense into them both, he would do it. How could they have so easily dismissed her feelings, her choices, herhealth? Finding his handkerchief, he placed it upon her lap. She took it without a word. Though still supporting her with his arm, he had not felt so helpless, so useless, since his sister’s melancholy over her failed romance.
Harwood, however, had never in his life been thus afflicted. He chose that moment to approach.
“Miss,” he said quietly, holding out an open tin, “perhaps you would have a peppermint? It settles the belly, it does, and sweetens the tongue.”
She looked up then, and Darcy watched as she visibly took command of herself. With a still-trembling hand she selected one, thanking his man graciously, and placing itdelicately in her mouth. The mouth he had plundered as if it were pirate’s treasure spilled upon a desert isle. Guilt assailed him.
Harwood retreated, and he knew he must as well. In her presence, he was out of his depth; he could not trust himself.
“Where can I take you?” he asked lowly. “My carriage is yours to command.”
Turning to face him, her expression was startled, as if he had said something remarkable. But her voice, when she spoke, was calmer now, more…herself.
“Where are we? I have no idea, I fear.”
“Frost,” he called. “How far are we from London?”
“A bit over half-way.”
“London,” she whispered. She turned to him. “Can you bring me to my uncle’s house? On Gracechurch Street, in Cheapside.”
