Page 67

As was customary, Hannah entered without waiting for a reply from the often-groggy Elizabeth. And so the door to her chamber opened, followed by the familiar rattle of the tea tray and the soft thud of the girl’s shoulder against the door as she balanced crockery and composure in roughly equal measure.

“Good morning, Madam! I have cheery news. Mrs. Reynolds says Miss Darcy is safe at the Peacock Inn.” Footsteps crossed her empty bedchamber, followed by the clink of china as the tray was set upon the table. “Madam? Madam, did you rise already?”

Hannah sounded confused, her voice carrying through the open connecting door—the one Elizabeth had not thought to close when she crept through in the small hours. Elizabeth’s heart thudded in her chest, and she pulled the counterpane over her head in case Hannah peeked into Darcy’s room.

Instead, Hannah drew back the curtains and gasped. “Madam, your bed is empty,” leaving Elizabeth with the distinct possibility that she might die of mortification while hiding behind her husband’s sleeping form with her shift bunched around her hips and her hair in spectacular disarray.

“One moment, Hannah.” Her voice emerged rather higher than she intended, and beside her, Darcy stirred.

“Elizabeth?” His voice was rough with sleep, his arm tightening around her waist. “What⁠—”

“Shh.” She pressed her hand over his mouth. “Hannah is in my chamber. She has noticed the open door. I must respond before she comes through to investigate.”

Darcy’s eyes opened fully, and Elizabeth watched comprehension dawn, along with what looked suspiciously like amusement. His lips moved beneath her palm, and she felt the shape of words she could not quite decipher but suspected were not entirely sympathetic to her predicament.

“Hannah,” she called, pitching her voice toward the connecting door, “I shall require a quarter of an hour before I am ready for you. Please return then.”

“Oh! Oh, I beg you pardon! I shall—the tea is on your nightstand, ma’am, and I shall return in⁠—”

“A quarter of an hour, Hannah.” Elizabeth’s voice emerged from beneath Darcy’s counterpane with as much dignity as a woman could muster when addressing her lady’s maid from her husband’s bed at dawn. “If you would be so kind.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall I bring fresh tea when I return?” Her voice had narrowed to a nervous squeak.

“That would be most appreciated.”

Hannah’s footsteps fled, accompanied by the clatter of a retreating tea tray. Darcy shook with laughter, while Elizabeth remained steadfastly hidden beneath the counterpane.

“I do believe it is safe for you to emerge, dear wife.” He lifted the counterpane, and now it was Elizabeth’s turn to squeak as her hands scrambled to tug her shift, smooth her hair, and cover whatever improprieties he should not see in broad daylight.

“She knows!” Elizabeth hissed. “And she is such a young maiden. By noon, the entire household will know, and I shall never be able to face any of them again.”

“You are my wife.” Darcy propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with an expression of lazy contentment that did nothing to settle her nerves. “There is nothing improper about a wife spending the night in her husband’s bed. Indeed, I believe it is rather expected.”

“And you… stop looking at me!” She tugged at the counterpane, but he would not let it go. “I must look a fright.”

“You are beautiful, and I believe one of my conditions, which you so eagerly accepted, was that I could look at you as long as I am not plotting murder.” His mouth found the curve of her neck in a manner that made coherent thought rather difficult. “You have a quarter of an hour before Hannah returns, which seems to me sufficient time for⁠—”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She pushed at his chest. “I must make myself presentable. Charlotte will be at breakfast. She will observe my every expression and draw conclusions. I cannot face her looking as though I have been thoroughly⁠—”

“Loved?” His eyes held the unguarded warmth she had discovered last night, and which she wanted to hold forever.

“Yes,” she admitted. “That.”

He kissed her forehead, her temple, and the corner of her mouth. “Then I suggest you make use of your quarter-hour, Mrs. Darcy. I would not wish to be responsible for your dishevelment at the breakfast table.”

“Well, if you are quick about it, I suppose I can blame my dishevelment on your inconveniently comfortable bed.”

“You ought to have requested an hour.” He nibbled at her neck, and her protests dissolved into sounds she would never confess to in daylight.

Hannah, to her eternal credit, betrayed nothing when she returned more than thirty minutes later with fresh tea and a perfectly composed expression, although Elizabeth suspected she had waited until she heard the connecting door close firmly and Mr. Darcy’s warm, rich, and entirely too satisfied chuckle as he bid her a formal “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” before making her entrance.

“You look remarkably rested this morning, Madam.” Her smile was too wide and her voice bright, as she helped Elizabeth wash and dress. “The tisane worked well?”

Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes and instead smiled. “Yes, everything worked very well for me last night.”

“I am quite delighted to hear it, ma’am. Do you require anything further?” she asked as Elizabeth carefully slipped on her sapphire wedding ring, admiring how the stone caught the morning light.

“No, all is well, Hannah.” Elizabeth thanked her and made her way to the breakfast room.