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"I had hoped to see if something might be done to protect the site," he replied, giving her a small smile. "I had not expected to be accosted by a dripping wet young lady who looked as enticing as a water nymph."

"Do not try to flatter your way out of it, Nathaniel! I thought I had lost you."

His smile faded, and he looked at her for a long moment before lifting her hand to his lips again. "I am sorry, Cathy. I never meant to frighten you. And I should like you to know that I heard what you said. Or at least, I heard some of it."

Kate felt a sudden, dreadful rush of embarrassment. Good heavens. Had he heard her comparing them to swans? Or calling him an idiot? Or, worse still, telling him that she loved him?

"How much?" she asked faintly.

"Enough to know that I am an idiot, apparently, and that you have been giving some thought to our mating habits."

"Nathaniel Briar!" she exclaimed, horrified.

He grinned, although the effort made him wince. "I should like to hear more about these swans, Cathy. Particularly the part where you proposed that we spend the rest of our lives vexing one another."

Nathaniel's smile softened, and he lifted her hand to his lips once more. "I am sorry, Cathy. I promise I shall take more care in future. Although I cannot promise never to do anything foolish again. I fear you have chosen a man with a particular talent for it."

Before Kate could reply, the door to the dressing room opened and Herriot appeared, his expression turning from mild curiosity to utter astonishment when he saw his master looking back at him.

"Mr Briar! Sir! You're awake!"

"Apparently so, Herriot," Nathaniel replied, smiling weakly at his valet. "Although I wonder if you might find me something to eat. I seem to have missed a few meals."

Herriot looked as though he might burst into tears, which Kate thought was most touching in such a solemn man. Instead, he recovered himself, bowed stiffly and announced that he must fetch Dr Franklin at once. Kate tried to persuade him that perhaps they ought not to cause too much excitement, but it was hopeless. Within minutes, half the household seemed to know that Mr Briar had recovered his senses, and Kate's peaceful five minutes alone with him came to an abrupt end.

Her mother was the first to arrive, followed closely by Papa, who looked so relieved to see Nathaniel awake that he forgot to be upset with him. Nathaniel found himself obliged to answer a great many questions about how he felt. Mama fussed with his pillows, Papa asked about the circumstances of his fall and Bella arrived with George in tow, both delighted to find him sitting up and conversing. Even baby William was produced and added greatly to Nathaniel's recovery by babbling at him incessantly.

Through it all, Kate remained seated beside the bed, her hand firmly clasped in Nathaniel's. She had no intention of letting go of him now, and he seemed just as determined to keep her close. Her father noticed, of course. Nothing escaped Fitzwilliam Darcy where his daughters were concerned. When his eyes fell upon their joined hands, he gave Nathaniel a look that tried to be stern, but Kate could tell his heart was not in it.

And she sat through the noise and the questions and the joy and felt, perhaps for the first time in her life, perfectly and wholly content.

Chapter Seventeen

Nathaniel Briar had enjoyed his time as an invalid. He had never been a man of inaction, always rushing from one adventure or party to another, but the past two weeks spent under the tender care of Cathy Darcy had been a revelation. They sat and read quietly together; they talked of everything and nothing. Best of all, she slipped her small hand into his whenever they were alone. The burst of joy that accompanied this sign of tenderness did not diminish with repetition.

Now, he finally had permission from Dr Franklin and, more importantly, from his valet Herriot, to arise from his sickbed, Lazarus-like, and rejoin the rest of the household. He was looking forward to moving about once more and getting over to investigate the site of the burial mound.

The head of his team of diggers, Watkins, had been to see him, cap in hand and looking out of place in the grand bedroom at Pemberley. He told Nathaniel in halting tones that although there had been some collapse of the hole, all was not lost. The men had been hard at work re-exposing the suspected burial chamber and adding more supporting timbers to prevent such an occurrence from happening again.

Cathy wandered down to the works every afternoon for an hour or two and took detailed notes and sketches of their progress. It was almost as good as being there himself and had the added advantage that he could gaze upon her pretty face, alight with enthusiasm, as she spoke. If his attention dropped occasionally to those wide, full lips then he was only human. It was hardly appropriate for a man in a sickbed to go about kissing unmarried young ladies, and they had not been alone, not truly alone, for more than a few minutes at a time. But now he could walk with her, court her as she deserved to be courted, and perhaps a man might steal a kiss or two.

Harwood had said the fall had knocked some sense into him, and he could not entirely disagree. When he had woken, when his senses had slowly begun to rise to the surface and he had heard her gentle voice speaking to him with such care, he had known that all his objections mattered not a jot. Yes, he travelled for his work. Many men did. It did not mean he must remain single forever, and he hoped Cathy might accompany him at least some of the time. And as he grew older, who knew? Perhaps he would take up a lecturing position and spend less time away from home.

As for his family, well, if he could successfully avoid them, then Cathy could too. Yes, they would be angry, and they would send vile letters filled with their usual bile when they heard of his intentions, but his father had not ventured into town for years, and the last he had heard, his brothers were still over the sea in Ireland, overseeing the large properties the family owned there. He could not imagine any of them troubling themselves to travel all the way to Derbyshire, even if Darcy’s man of business had got a letter to them.

He let out a bark of laughter as Herriot emerged from the dressing room carrying his favourite green waistcoat.

"That is not Miss Darcy's favourite item of clothing, I am afraid," he said gently.

Herriot looked aggrieved. "But it is the very finest silk, sir, and hand-stitched. You will find no better quality anywhere in London."

"I believe she objects to the brightness rather than its construction, Herriot, and I am half tempted to wear it because I do so love to see her vexed. But I think today we shall choose something a little more sober. Not completely drab, mind you, but perhaps the dove grey?"

"Very well, sir," Herriot replied, although Nathaniel could tell the man was upset. He would have to make some adjustments to his wardrobe if he was to please both his valet and his sweetheart. It was a funny thing. He had always thought that choosing the brightest and most ridiculous clothes set him apart from his parents and the grey lives they led, but he had come to realise that it was not the colours a man wore that reflected his happiness. That came from within, and right now he would not mind walking around in a sack if she was by his side. Luckily, it was unlikely to come to that.

The interview with Darcy had been the least pleasant part of the whole affair, although, to give the man his due, he had been thorough. Nathaniel had undergone a forty-five-minute interrogation concerning his intentions towards Kate, his financial circumstances, his property holdings, his rift with his family and how that might affect his future prospects. Darcy had also demanded to know his travel plans for the next two years and his opinions on everything from pin money to politics. It had felt like sitting a particularly arduous Latin examination, and the older man's face had given nothing away throughout. But at the close, Darcy had stood, shaken Nathaniel's hand and offered his, perhaps slightly reluctant, blessing, for him to get to know Kate better. And now he was well, that was exactly what he intended to do.

He had written to the organiser of the Scottish dig and explained his injuries, saying that he hoped to arrive within the next few weeks. He did not know how he would manage that, or what it might mean for his growing relationship with Kate, but the sun was shining, he was out of bed and he was going to spend the day with the woman he loved. He would not let such petty matters as the future bother him now.