“Yes.” Darcy exhaled faintly. “When she heard your name… she swooned.”
Elizabeth gasped softly. “Oh! Then you must help her!”
Darcy shook his head immediately. “Richard and Lady Anne will see to her.” He reached out and gently brushed a stray curl from Elizabeth’s forehead. “My first concern is you.”
Warmth filled Elizabeth at his words—a gentle heat that spread through her chest and chased away, for a moment at least, the lingering fear and confusion that still clung to her thoughts. Even through the heaviness in her limbs and the pounding in her head, the tenderness in Darcy’s voice wrapped around her like a protective embrace.
She lifted one unsteady hand and placed it gently over the one he had resting against her cheek, as though to anchor herself to him, to reassure herself that he truly was there and she had not imagined his rescue in the fog of sleep.
His fingers curled instinctively around hers, and something in his expression softened even further.
He leaned closer.
Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart lifting in quiet anticipation—
“I say, Darcy.”
The unfamiliar voice cut through the moment.
Darcy sighed—very slightly—and pulled back.
Elizabeth opened her eyes.
The tall soldier—Colonel Fitzwilliam, she reminded herself—stood nearby with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and apology.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, though his smirk suggested he was not especially sorry at all, “but I believe we ought to getLady Catherine to her bed. Since you have proven yourself so adept at carrying unconscious ladies today, I think the task should fall to you.”
Darcy gave him a look of exaggerated patience. “You simply do not wish to admit that a gentleman of leisure such as myself may be stronger than you are.”
Richard placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Darcy, I am wounded. I would gladly carry my noble aunt myself, but I fear the spectacle might permanently damage her dignity at being hoisted about by a younger son.”
“Her dignity will survive,” Darcy replied dryly. “Your pride, however, might not.”
Richard chuckled, then turned back to Elizabeth with an elegant little bow. “Since my cousin appears determined not to introduce us properly, allow me to remedy the situation. Colonel Fitzwilliam—though as you will soon be family, you may call me Richard.”
He added with a quick wink, “Darcy was simply delaying the introduction because he feared you might take one look at my handsome face and run off with me instead.”
Darcy snorted. “More likely I feared his ugly mug would frighten you away entirely. I would hate for you to reconsider the match for fear that any children might resemble the Fitzwilliam side of the family.”
Richard burst into loud laughter. The sound carried across the room.
Georgiana looked up at once—and then froze, eyes wide. “Elizabeth!” she cried, then hurried across the room at once. “You are awake!”
She reached the bedside and stopped only just short of throwing her arms around Elizabeth. “I was so worried.”
“Georgiana,” Lady Anne said gently, though there was relief in her voice as well, “Elizabeth has only just awakened. She likely needs rest.”
“On the contrary,” Elizabeth replied, managing a faint smile, “I believe I have been asleep for far too long.”
Darcy rose from the edge of the bed. “Well,” he said, glancing toward the still-prone figure of Lady Catherine, “my services have been volunteered.”
He bent and lifted his aunt carefully from the floor.
Lady Catherine, even unconscious, maintained an impressive air of offended dignity.
Darcy carried her toward the door. “I shall return shortly,” he promised Elizabeth.
Richard followed behind him, though not before offering Elizabeth another cheerful nod.
