Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

H aving been assured that his guests were comfortably ensconced in the withdrawing room off the dining parlour, Darcy had not anticipated finding anyone above stairs, save perhaps a servant. And yet, as he had crested the landing, he had collided with none other than Elizabeth, sending her toppling to the ground for the second time in recent memory. Freddy, who had refused to leave his side since he entered the house, trotted over to her and began licking her face.

"Miss Bennet! Forgive me, I was not attending to where I was going. Freddy—Freddy, no, stop that. Are you injured?" Elizabeth giggled even as Darcy hauled Freddy back by her collar, but he would not be easy until she assured him of her good health.

"I am well, sir, I promise you. Are you—" Her speech stuttered to an abrupt halt as she took him in. No doubt he was as much a sight as he had been upon their first accidental encounter, dripping mud and rainwater all over the carpets as he struggled to restrain his dog. He looked down at himself and grimaced; it was worse than he thought. His coat was absent, having been utilised as a makeshift umbrella as he had dashed from the stables to the house, and his shirtsleeves were soaked through to his skin and entirely transparent. Only his waistcoat preserved his modesty, while his breeches—slicked tight to his thighs—left little to the imagination. Good Lord, am I always to appear the fool before Elizabeth Bennet?

Worse, compared to him, Elizabeth was entirely enchanting, if not charmingly disarrayed. She had collapsed to the floor in such a fashion that her skirts revealed a glimpse of her delicately turned ankles, and her bodice…well, as a gentleman, Darcy was required to avert his gaze lest his immodestly damp clothing reveal his ardour.

"Freddy, sit ." The Great Dane whined in complaint but did as she was told and planted her hindquarters to the carpet while Darcy moved to assist Elizabeth. After pulling her to her feet, he released her quickly lest he ruin her appearance. He then repeated his solicitous inquisition into the state of her health, his eyes roving her from top to toe—carefully skirting the plump bosom that tempted his gaze—searching for damage to her person.

She shook her head, her cheeks pink, and replied, "I am quite well, sir, I assure you. I am more worried about you."

"Me?"

"You were out in the elements for some time. I…we were all most concerned."

The sincerity brimming in her fine eyes confirmed the truth of her words. She was worried about me! Although Darcy did not like the notion of distressing her in any way, a certain warmth filled his breast that she had actively wished for his safe return.

Gently, daringly, Darcy reached out and clasped her hand. He gave it a squeeze and was further satisfied to see her heightened colour intensify. "I was never in any danger, I assure you."

"Then why did you not immediately return to the house? It seemed you were out in this dreadful weather for ages." She raised her face, fixing him with a gaze swirling with worry and censure.

"Not so very long, in actuality. I assume you were told, but one of the groundsmen tripped and twisted his ankle, rendering him unable to reach aid by himself. I assisted young Willis to the stables, where he could be tended to, then attempted to wait out the downpour. When it seemed I would either have to brave the elements again or sleep in a pile of hay, I made a run for it."

"Well, you look as if you have been swimming in the lake again! We really must stop meeting like this, sir."

"I suppose you are correct," he agreed with a chuckle, swiping his free hand through his hair to tame the rampant curls that attempted to obscure his vision.

An odd look crossed Elizabeth's face, and she looked away, positively bashful. What did I say? Have I mortified her with my attentions? Feeling rather unsure of himself, Darcy withdrew his hand from hers and took a careful step away. "I would escort you downstairs, but I am hardly presentable at the moment. If you would be so kind, please give my excuses. I shall be as quick as possible in my ablutions."

"Of course, sir. I shall be happy to."

"I thank you, Miss Bennet."

With a flickering glance at him over her shoulder, Elizabeth disappeared down the stairs, leaving Darcy standing alone in the corridor. He stepped up to the banister and watched her progression from above as she enquired of the whereabouts of the other guests from a footman and was led out of sight down the hall beneath his feet. Sighing, Darcy whistled at Freddy to follow before taking himself off to the master's chambers for a bath and a change of attire.

Blessedly, the bathwater was awaiting him when he arrived in his bedchamber, and it was quick work to rid himself of the havoc the weather had wrought upon his appearance. Once clean, he submitted to a shave, even though he had no patience to sit still, then directed his valet to bring him the Prussian blue coat that his sister claimed offset his eyes. It was paired, at Bailey's suggestion, with a silvery-grey waistcoat, which under usual circumstances he would have considered too foppish for a dinner at home but was just the thing with a lady in residence he hoped to impress. Not that Elizabeth was particularly enamoured of his wardrobe the way Miss Bingley seemed to be, but Bailey insisted that it complemented his colouring.

Although Darcy had initially cursed the wretched storm that had resulted in yet another humiliating display before Elizabeth, a second consideration brought him more in charity with it. It was highly doubtful—near impossible—that the weather would improve enough to allow the Gardiners and Elizabeth to travel safely back to the inn that evening, so they would be forced to stay the night. A deliberately offhand suggestion to Bailey had resulted in the knowledge that his sister had anticipated him and already requested chambers be made up for their stranded visitors. Good. With any luck, I shall have Elizabeth all to myself in the morning.

Given his houseguests' town habits, it would presumably be only himself and his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth up and about before noon. He was unsure of the Gardiners' customary routine, but he was nearly certain that they approved of his suit and would be amenable to his proposal for a stroll through the gardens with their niece after breakfast. With no one else about, Darcy fully intended to pitch woo at Elizabeth.

It was too soon to propose again, he fully understood that, but he could at least hint at his unchanged affections and gauge her response. He hoped—oh, how desperately he hoped—that she would be receptive to getting to know one another better. Should he appear to advantage, she might even allow him to follow her back to Hertfordshire and continue his courting there. Bingley had already issued an invitation to stay at Netherfield in September, and Darcy meant to take it if there was even the slightest chance that Elizabeth would welcome his attentions. He was determined that, this time, there would be no misunderstanding between them; Elizabeth would know the deepest desires of his heart and, should Fate continue to smile upon him, perhaps return them in some small measure.

Once he was suitably attired, Darcy dismissed Bailey and made to leave. He paused by the hearth rug where Freddy snoozed comfortably and crouched to stroke her spotted head. She snorted in her sleep, and he smiled. The Great Dane was oft caught up in some sort of mischief, but she was a loyal companion. He would make sure that Cook supplied her with a soup bone on the morrow.

As he rose to leave, a glimpse of the portrait above the mantel halted him in place. It was of his parents, dearly departed, a smaller copy of the one that resided in his study on the ground floor. Not for the first time since arriving in the country, Darcy longed for their guidance.

Although he was not superstitious by nature and did not honestly believe they could hear him, Darcy turned to face the painting and said, "I intend to make Miss Elizabeth Bennet my wife. She is not so highly born as you might have preferred, nor does she come with any great wealth, but she will make the most excellent mistress of Pemberley anyone could conceive of. She is kind, warm, witty, intelligent, and Georgiana loves her. She does not take responsibility lightly, and she is loyal to a fault. I think, even with your lofty expectations for my future bride, the pair of you would approve. Even if not, I mean to have her regardless because I simply cannot countenance a life without her. Elizabeth is the only woman in the world who could possibly make me happy, and I aim to make her see that I am the only gentleman, in disposition and talents, who could make her so in return. Such is my vow, and so it shall be."

There was no response—he did not expect one—but Darcy felt reassured all the same. Speaking aloud his intentions to his parents' likenesses did away with any lingering fears he might have harboured over disappointing them with his marriage to Elizabeth. They were good people, good guardians, but it was up to him now to decide the manner in which he was to be most happy, regardless of their expectations.

Darcy startled at the feeling of a hand lightly touching his shoulder and whipped about. He had formed no expectation of whom he would find but was still astonished at what he discovered.

Nothing. No one. The room was entirely empty save for him.

Deciding he must have imagined it, Darcy shook his head and left, ready to seek out Elizabeth and secure her affections.