Elizabeth groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Could she trust a man to be her husband, to be the man who would have absolute control over her money and her person, on whom she depended for her very survival, if he was capable of such callousness? What might happen to her, to her children, if her husband turned against her in the same way Darcy had turned on Wickham?
But such behaviour went against everything she had come to know about Darcy these past two days. Aside from his manner of treating Wickham, Darcy was everything she might want ina husband. His situation in life, friends, and his amiable mind, strict principles, clever insight, his kindness and generosity, his affectionate manner—allthat was really of the first importance.
She could no longer believe that there was a shade on Darcy’s character after all she had seen. So whom did she trust more: Wickham or Darcy? She knew the answer, but she still needed to know what had truly happened between them.
Was she brave enough to ask Darcy to explain?
It was a daunting thought. She remembered how contemptuous Darcy had been at the mere mention of Wickham’s name. His complexion had turned red, and he paced while speaking in a raised voice. But there was no moving forward with Darcy in affection if she did not find the courage to ask him what had happened. Wickham’s account of him seemed so outside his character.
Surely he was sensible enough to understand her concern. Darcy had already shown himself of having a heart and a character capable of improvement and repentance. If Darcy explained what had happened in a way that absolved him of any wrongdoing—and her heart told her that such a good man as Darcy must—then she could trust her future to him.
If he asked her again to marry him.
There was a knock, and the same terror that overtook her every time the door in Shoreham opened held her in its grip.
“Mrs Gardiner?” a woman’s voice called. “It is the landlady, Mrs Skillman. Your husband sent me.”
Elizabeth exhaled a laughing breath. She was in a respectable coaching inn. Darcy was in the building, and this was a pitcher of water; she was perfectly safe. She turned Darcy’s ring so the stones faced her palm, and she was composed by the time the door opened.
Rather than just the innkeeper’s wife, who entered with a breakfast tray, two maids—each carrying a bucket and towels—and a footman with a small hip bath entered. The maids deposited their loads and left, and the footman set down the bath near the fireplace, moved the screen, and built up the fire.
The innkeeper’s wife set the tray on the table with a heaving sigh and put a small box on the washstand. “I think Mr Gardiner does not expect you to eat again today. He said to send up everything that was not much trouble to make.”
There were shirred eggs and a honey cake, and toast and butter and coffee. Elizabeth smiled to herself; she would leave the honey cake for Darcy.
“If you can wait to eat, ma’am, I think it best to bathe while the water is warm.”
She had expected only a basin and a pitcher, and said so to Mrs Skillman.
“Mr Gardiner thought you might want more than that,” she said as the footman left. “It sounds like the two of you have been travelling a great deal, and with a few mishaps along the way.”
This was said pleasantly by someone who was inclined to chat. “Something like that.”
“Shall I help you, ma’am?”
Elizabeth nodded. She could likely get in and out without slipping, but pouring the water over herself to rinse would surely spill water all over the floor. It would be miserable to put her dirty clothes back on, but it was a price to pay for finally getting clean.
Mrs Skillman adjusted the privacy screen next to the bath. The hip bath was shallow, just wide enough for a person to squat in, nearly oval in shape, with the front side high and angled to keep much water from splashing.
Elizabeth actually smiled to hold the bar of soap in her hand.
“Will your husband want to bathe after you? Should we save some water?”
He likely would, but where could she go in the inn while he did? A respectable woman did not go into the public rooms, and they had no adjoining parlour. She was not about to walk in the town alone, not with it possible that Markle could be back to find them. “I think he will at least want to shave.”
“Yes, he mentioned that, as though I could not tell by the look of him.” Elizabeth rather liked the look of Darcy with whiskers, but kept the thought to herself. “Everything is on the washstand. I saw Mr Gardiner in the parlour, writing. He has been there an hour.”
How long did it take to write to Colonel Fitzwilliam to say they had escaped and to come get them? “I wonder why he is taking so long to write to his friend.”
“Mr Gardiner already hired one of the postboys to take his message. He said he also had to write an accounting of what has happened during your travels.”
Elizabeth sat in confusion, holding her hair out of the way, as Mrs Skillman poured water over her. What could Darcy be writing?
“Your husband must be an enjoyer of travelogues if he is down there writing his own.”
“He is a great reader,” she said vaguely.
“I suppose his writing box and all of your other things are still missing. He asked if I would put it in the post to your home on Monday.”
