“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I am alert now.”
“I mean, no other symptoms? Stomach not upset, you are not confused, dizzy?”
“How do you—” Elizabeth was about to ask how he knew so much about laudanum use when she remembered what their captors said in the park about Miss de Bourgh.
“Anne, if she takes too much,” he said slowly, “her breathing becomes shallow. She often does nothing all day but loll about on the sofa, forgetting where she has left her things, falling asleep now and then, but on rare occasion she has stomach pain or does not breathe well. Mrs Jenkinson has ways of bringingher round, but there is always a fear that…” He blew out a breath and looked away.
“That she will stop breathing?” she whispered. He nodded. “I am surprised you speak openly about Miss de Bourgh’s dependency. It is not the sort of thing one admits to outside of one’s family.”
“Well, until last night I thought you would be my family, so you must forgive my mistake.”
He instantly turned away, noisily picking his way through a pile of papers and books stacked on a trunk on the other side of the room.
What an unyielding temper he had. Was he bitter at not having what he expected to have? Mr Darcy had wanted a wife, had asked, and had no anxiety that he would be accepted. What a hateful man. She crossed her arms and sat at the foot of the bed, determined not to speak a word.
Mr Darcy’s back was still to her, but she heard him sigh. He idly opened a book and flipped the pages, but it was clear he was not reading a word. He was resentful, but there seemed to be genuine disappointment there, too.
She looked back with regret on the way she lost her patience with him when he proposed. He did have some affection for her, although it had taken her by surprise. She had supposed all his reasons against the match would quickly drive away his feelings, but perhaps she was wrong.
She had hurt him. It would do no good to pain him further, and certainly not now when their forced proximity would require them to get along.
“Mr Darcy, I am grateful that you came to my aid, that you were willing to be abducted with me. Despite your…former feelings…” This was painfully awkward. “I know you must hate me after what happened last evening?—”
“Hate you?” He turned to pierce her with a look. His eyes were a pretty colour, more a rich amber than brown. If she had to admit what his eyes expressed, it looked to her that Mr Darcy did not hate her at all. His gaze held hers, and a warmth spread over her and settled in her stomach.
Her rejection wounded him, but he still looked at her with all the fondness a woman might wish for. She felt her cheeks heat, and she looked away. His affection and his wealth were not enough to reconsider her refusal. Mr Darcy was proud and selfish. He had separated Jane from Bingley and had blasted the prospects of Wickham, a man who had been brought up to expect the Darcys’ patronage.
How could I trust a man as my husband who treats his friends in such a way?
After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “I have no intention of dwelling on the sentiments and offers that last night were so disgusting to you, so I shall only say that I do not hate you. We have more important matters at hand, and we ought to consider our options.”
That was true, and yet she almost considered apologising for disappointing him. She settled for saying, “Before that, I must thank you for trying to prevent my abduction.” Not that she believed that his resentment would go so far as to allow her to be harmed, but Mr Darcy had been willing to risk being shot and stabbed for the sake of a woman who disliked him.
He was more generous than she realised.
She hoped he heard the earnestness and gratitude in her voice, but he only bowed. “Our captors knew to look for Anne at Rosings, and knew she was slender and had brown hair, which must be how they mistook you for her. They also knew from village gossip that she is a laudanum user, and they knew she is expected to unite her family’s fortunes by marrying me.” MrDarcy paced as he spoke; no simple task as littered as the room was.
Elizabeth wondered if Mr Darcy had told anyone at Rosings that he had asked her to marry him, but said, “But they did not know exactly what Miss de Bourgh looked like. So they had never met her nor seen a portrait, perhaps never been in the house itself.”
He nodded. “A ransom seems the likely motive.”
“Yes, so we must decide how to best manage ourselves until it is paid and they free us.”
Mr Darcy looked puzzled. “Does it not strike you as odd that they chose her over me? They specifically wanted Anne, even though both of us have the same relatives who could be called upon to pay, and I have my own fortune at my disposal.”
Elizabeth threw up her hands. “Who could guess? They likely thought a sickly woman an easier target than a hale and hearty young man. The man with the knife made an impulsive decision to take you along.”
He tilted his head as though to say he acknowledged her point. “I suppose it does not matter, and we will not remain long enough to find out.”
This made no sense to her. “What?”
“We will escape at the first opportunity. The man on the carriage, Colton, and Conway, the one with the horses, left to?—”
“Wait, what? Escape?” She was incredulous. He could not mean it. “Have you run mad?”
“The other men are at a tavern awaiting news from whomever is behind the kidnapping. Steamer is the only one here, and we must make a plan on what to do if he unlocks the door.”
