Elizabeth frowned at the snide thought and looked down at herself. She was still dressed in her green gown from the day before. Dried splashes of red port were scattered on it like strawberries in a field. It was hopelessly crumpled and a tear in her shift was far beyond repair. (This observation made her blush again, for her memories were still deliciously persistent). If nothing else told her that their consummation was not quitethe done thing,then it was the state of her dress.
All young ladies held a vague idea of nightgowns and polite compliments, something about obedience and the helpful suggestion of closing one’s eyes. There should have been flowers, and reassuring words, and soft kisses. That was what she’d expected. That was what she haddreamedabout.
But they hadn’t bothered with any of that.
It felt cheap. Cheap, humiliating and not at allthe done thing.So why did her heart race when she thought of it? What did it mean?
We were both drunk. Perhaps it meant nothing at all.
Elizabeth realised that she was still sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. She had stared unseeing at the bed for almost a quarter of an hour. Embarrassment made her scramble to her feet. She smoothed down her ruined dress as best she could, pushed her tangled curls back over her shoulder, and hurried back into her own rooms.
Chapter 28
A hot bath and a strong cup of tea soothed Elizabeth’s rattled nerves, but they could not do much for her hangover. Her head pounded like a drum and her stomach was sour. She kept the curtains drawn and a hot flannel over her forehead. The maid who refilled the hot water was unusually attentive, and Elizabeth was amazed to see a shy smile on her face. It seemed that the dismissal of Miss Crocker had made the staff warm up to their new mistress.
“Can you bring Mrs. Reynolds here, please?” Lizzie croaked, gesturing for the maid to hand her a towel. The woman smiled again, bobbed a curtsey, and hurried away.
Elizabeth had made it to the fire by the time the housekeeper arrived. Getting dressed had been too monumental a task, so she simply wrapped the bath sheet around herself and snuggled into the comfortable chair. When Mrs. Reynolds knocked on the door she winced, and when the woman came in, she asked her to sit in the opposite chair.
“Looking up hurts my eyes.” she explained feebly.
“I saw the broken glass.” the housekeeper replied, not missing a beat. “That was well done.”
“Not really.” Lizzie bit her lip, “It was almost empty by the time I threw it.”
Saying that made her feel suddenly, hopelessly sad. She had gone to Darcy’s room to help him and had just made everything worse. He had already been drinking when she arrived, but had she stopped him? No, she had goaded and bullied him and acted just as stupidly as he did. She groaned and ground the heel of her hand against her forehead.
Mrs. Reynolds tapped her fingers idly on the arm of her chair, “Madam, should I send for a glass of milk? I know a hangover when I see one.”
“Do you know where Darcy is?” Lizzie blurted out. The housekeeper gave her a gentle frown.
“He is by the lake, ma’am.”
“Heading into town?” She pressed urgently, fearing the worst. Mrs. Reynolds shook her head.
“No, ma’am. Just walking. Around and around the lake. Oh, he got my clean floor muddy when he went to sit with Georgiana. Then he went straight back out again. I suppose you know why?”
Elizabeth twisted her hands together and finally met Mrs. Reynolds’ eyes. She felt like an utter failure next to this woman who would do anything to help her beloved master.
“I am so, so sorry.” she croaked, “Nothing went the way it was supposed to. He was already drunk by the time I arrived, and he was furious at me.”
“For sneaking into Miss Darcy’s room? Did you tell him that you have been doing it for weeks?”
Elizabeth had leaned forward to poke the fire into a blaze. When Mrs. Reynolds spoke, she clumsily dropped the iron. The loud clang it made against the tiles made her wince.
“Youknew?”
“I know about everything that goes on in this house, Mrs. Darcy. Well, almost everything. Would you like to tell me what happened last night?”
It was phrased as a question, but Elizabeth heard it as an instruction. It was clear that Mrs. Reynolds was determined to know the truth. Lizzie did not resent her for it; the woman cared deeply for her master and only wanted to help him. Her implacable curiosity made Lizzie smile. If she said nothing, then they might well see the housekeeper peering through the bedroom window next time.
Next time.She blushed and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Naturally, Mrs. Reynolds’ sharp eyes noticed the defensive gesture. Her eyebrows shot up in alarm.
“You said he was angry, ma’am.” she lowered her voice to a tiny whisper, “Did he strike you, as you feared?”
“No. It wasn’t that kind of anger. He was so desperately hurt, Mrs. Reynolds. He wanted to hurt himself, just like Georgiana did.”
The housekeeper sat bolt upright, her voice suddenly harsh like a lioness protecting its cub. “What do you know about Miss Darcy?”
