What I’d done with Kitty would leave my reputation in tatters even if she’d been a man. I wondered what Darcy would do if he knew. I had no idea what had become of Frances, thrown out the way she was without a reference or anywhere to go. If I was turned away from Pemberley in the same way, I had no one to turn to.
“Truly,” I said, begging him to believe me, “no one hurt me. I fell off the wall around the kitchen gardens.” My words tumbled into a hiss of pain as Emma prodded at the skin around my knee to test the stability of the bone.
“What were you doing out there in the dark?” Darcy pushed, finally looking at me again, but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on mine.
“I needed a moment away from the ball,” I explained, avoiding a lie as best I could.
Darcy scrutinised my gaze, searching for something. I hoped he couldn’t read me that well—I was keeping too many secrets.
“Mr. Darcy, sir, could you ask the kitchens to send upsome boiled water and clean bandages? And some vinegar?” Emma asked.
I had never heard her request something of him so boldly. My brother was not a frightening man, but he could certainly be intimidating.
Darcy blinked in surprise, as if Emma’s presence had slipped his mind.
“Should I not call for a doctor?” he asked.
“It needs to be cleaned and wrapped, but she is not on death’s door. Perhaps request a full examination in the morning, but for now she’ll make it through the night and will probably benefit from the rest,” Emma said, before her eyes went wide. “Sir,” she added, with a bob of the head.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t be sure how Darcy would take being given orders by a lady’s maid, but he nodded like her words were the tether he had been looking for and left us with a terse bow.
The moment we were alone, Emma took both my hands.
“If there’s something you’re keeping from him, can you tell me?” she asked, desperate. “Did a man…? Your skirts are ripped.”
I shook my head, squeezing her fingers.
“I fell,” I promised.
“And your hair?” Emma pressed, not so easy to misdirect as Darcy. “That did not happen from a fall. Forgive me if it’s not my place, but it would not be the first time a man tried something with a vulnerable young lady.”
It would not be the first time a man tried something withme. I could hear the insinuation under her words, aware of Wickham’s manipulation in the same way Darcy was—the more palatable version that erased Helena from the story. Physically, Wickham had never hurt me. He had not even tried, valuing my money above anything else. Still, I could not bear the idea of Kitty’s hands in my hair being misconstrued as something taken rather than freely given.
“She’s gone,” I said, unable to keep it inside. I couldn’t tell Darcy, but maybe Emma was a safer option. Maybe she would understand.
“Who’s gone?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“Kitty.”
Her name fell from my lips without my permission. I ached to say it. What if she hated me now? What if she never wanted to see me again, or if she told everyone I’d kissed her? In the moment it had seemed as if my feelings were reciprocated, but a little time and perspective might bring Kitty some sense. If not, stern threats from her sister certainly would.
“Miss Bennet?” Emma asked, confused.
I dragged a pillow into my lap and hugged it tight, staring intently at my own toes rather than meeting her eyes.
“She left with Mrs. Darcy,” she said, trying to be helpful. “That was the word downstairs.”
I bit back a sob, but not quickly enough. The bed dipped beside me as Emma took a seat.
“I see,” she whispered.
I whipped my head up to look at her, finding surprise, confusion, and a little pity, but not a hint of disgust. Therewas no way she had understood, not truly. Still, I watched her carefully for a long moment to be sure. If she told Darcy, she could ruin my entire life in one action. Kitty’s, too. The notion that Elizabeth might have seen too much was bad enough, but she would at least want to protect her sister. Emma was employed by Darcy, owed her allegiance to him, even if she was kind to me.
We sat in silence, Emma still holding my hand, for several minutes. Before I could find the words to break it, Darcy was pushing his way back into the room. Rather than send a maid with what Emma had requested, he bore the load himself, juggling the supplies in his arms.
Emma worked quickly to clean and rewrap my knee, dousing it with vinegar and all the while assuring my brother the scrapes were not as deep as they looked. I was too exhausted to do more than wince at each twinge of pain. Darcy tried to question me more about how I’d gotten hurt, but when I had no answers for him, he eventually bid me good night with a worried frown and left me. There was still a ball going on, after all, and they’d already lost their hostess.
Emma stayed until I was on the cusp of sleep, gathering up my ruined clothing and promising she’d mend what she could. I was too tired to tell her not to bother. Even if it was fixable, I never wanted to wear that pink dress again. This was not an evening I wanted to remember.
