14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

E lizabeth sat trembling by the fire, her skin still pale from the cold that had seeped into her bones. Mrs Reynolds bustled about, directing Susan and another maid to bring more blankets and stoke the fire higher. The housekeeper was attentive, even gentle, as she tucked a thick woollen blanket around Elizabeth's shoulders while Susan rubbed her hands with a warm towel.

For all her shivering, Elizabeth's mind was sharper than ever. Her thoughts were crisp and numerous, though none made sense. Why were they treating her with such care? She was no one of consequence—certainly not someone deserving of this level of attention. And yet, Mrs Reynolds behaved as if it were the most natural thing in the world to tend to her, as though Elizabeth truly were the proper mistress of Pemberley. There was no hint of disdain, no reproach.

This was the same kindness she had experienced the previous day—when they all thought she was with child. Was that still what they believed? Did they not know? Surely, the rumours had reached the servants by now. Darcy's shouts of outrage had to have been loud enough for the entire household to hear. Perhaps, like Mr Darcy, they had assumed the worst—that she had deliberately taken advantage of him.

And yet, despite all of that, here they were. Kind, patient, and unfailingly attentive, as if she had not just made a fool of herself by getting lost in the maze like some careless child. As if she had not been dragged to Pemberley by a man who wed her under false pretences.

What would they think of her when they learned the truth? The truth that had already shattered her own sense of self-worth. Would they feel deceived? Would they think her an imposter, imposing on the family, clinging to an honour she did not deserve? Would anyone even give her a chance to tell what the truth was?

Elizabeth bit her lip, glancing warily at Mrs Reynolds, half expecting some sign of disapproval to reveal itself. But the housekeeper merely smiled gently as she handed her a cup of hot tea, urging her to drink.

"Thank you," Elizabeth managed to murmur, her teeth still chattering slightly as she took the cup with both hands. The warmth of it against her palms was a small comfort, but it did little to quiet her confused thoughts.

Why were they still so kind? She hadn't meant to deceive anyone, of course. The misapprehension had come from Mr Darcy, and yet surely they would feel slighted, misled. It seemed only natural. But no—their kindness never faltered. The maids brought more blankets, more tea, more coals for the fire—not as if she were some foolish interloper, but as if she belonged in this place.

She sank deeper into the chair. Perhaps she could permit herself… just this little indulgence, letting herself take comfort in their care, for she truly needed it now. Her teeth slowly ceased their chattering, though the tremors in her hands took longer to still. She was finally beginning to feel the warmth spread through her body again, the deep cold of the night beginning to leave her, though the confusion in her heart lingered like a shadow.

But there was another question that troubled her most of all: why had Mr Darcy come for her personally?

She could still see him—his face set in grim determination as he carried her through the maze, his arms strong around her, his coat sodden, and his body shivering from the cold. Why had he come out in the rain, risking his own health, for a woman he clearly despised? He had every reason to hate her. His words had made that painfully clear, had they not?

So why had he searched for her? He could have had his servants do it. Why had he carried her in himself, soaked and shivering, clutching her to his chest to impart what little warmth his body could provide? Why order her every comfort, lingering in the hall, dripping wet himself, until he saw her fire built up to his satisfaction?

"Are you feeling warmer, Mrs Darcy?" Susan asked, helping Elizabeth into her bed as Mrs Reynolds finished preparing the room.

Elizabeth nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She allowed herself to collapse into the pillows, her body exhausted, though her mind still whirled with the strange contradictions of her situation. The warmth of the blankets was comforting, but it only served to remind her how entirely dependent she was on the goodwill of these people—people who, for all she knew, might soon turn against her when the truth was fully understood.

"Thank you, Susan," Elizabeth murmured, watching the fire flicker in the hearth, trying to make sense of it all.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Elizabeth looked up in mild surprise, sitting up a little in the bed. Mrs Reynolds opened the door to reveal another maid, who curtsied politely and stepped inside.

"Mr Darcy sent me, ma'am," the maid said.

Elizabeth blinked, her heart giving a strange little flutter. "What does Mr Darcy want?"

The maid smiled faintly. "The master wished to know if you were well, ma'am. He was concerned."

Elizabeth's lips parted in surprise, and she stared at the maid, at a loss for words. Mr Darcy was still concerned? That he should ask after her well-being at all was bewildering. The same man who had practically accused her of trickery and deception was now sending messages to inquire about her health?

"I see," Elizabeth said softly, nodding more out of reflex than understanding. She was too drained to ask further questions, too perplexed to know what to make of it. "Tell him I am well, and… and tell him thank you."

The maid bobbed a curtsy. "The master will be pleased to hear it, ma'am."

Elizabeth watched the door close, her mind tumbling through a dozen thoughts. She was too tired to untangle any of them, too exhausted to make sense of the strange contradictions that now coloured her every interaction with Mr Darcy.

She lay back against the pillows, pulling the blankets tighter around her, her body finally relaxing after the cold ordeal of the evening. But her mind would not rest. No matter how she tried to calm herself, one question refused to be silenced: Why would he care?

It made no sense. None of it made sense.

But as the exhaustion overtook her, Elizabeth's thoughts slowly dulled, the questions slipping into the haze of sleep. She was too tired, too drained to seek answers tonight.

E lizabeth's body slowly warmed the next morning, a gentle, comfortable stirring to awareness. Despite the storm of emotions that had carried her to sleep, she felt surprisingly refreshed. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at the canopy above her bed, blinking in confusion. What time was it? The room was bright, the sun streaming in through the curtains some maid must have opened earlier. Had she truly slept through that? She sat up and squinted at the small clock on the mantle across the room. Ten o'clock!

In Hertfordshire, at Longbourn, she would have been up, dressed, and perhaps even out for a walk by now. She did not know the established routine here, at Pemberley, but everything seemed slower, more languid. Perhaps the Darcys were too well-to-do to keep country hours.

She sat up, glancing toward the bellpull by her bed. Was she meant to summon her maid? Surely, in a grand estate like this, the mistress did not dress herself. But after last night's ridiculousness, Elizabeth could hardly bring herself to ask anything more of the servants. She had already been such a bother. How could she impose further?

No, she would dress herself. The act of relying on someone to button her gown—an entirely unnecessary indulgence—felt too much like an acknowledgement that she belonged here. And she did not. Not truly.

Elizabeth slipped from bed and dressed herself in the quiet of her room, her fingers still stiff as she fastened each button with care. Once dressed, she paced the floor for a while, trying to decide what to do.

She had to speak with Mr Darcy again, distasteful as the duty was. Perhaps there was a way out of this entire mess for both of them. He had made his disappointment and anger plain enough—he felt she had deceived him, tricked him into marriage. Surely, he would be as eager to be rid of her as she was to leave.

It hadn't even been a real marriage yet. Not in every sense. The thought sent a flush of both embarrassment and determination through her. Yes, an annulment was the only solution. Surely, he would agree.

The only question was where to find him.

Elizabeth was unfamiliar with Mr Darcy's habits. She wandered downstairs, aimlessly passing by several maids and footmen who offered deferential nods and greetings as she passed. Too uncomfortable to ask any of them for help, her pride stiffened her spine. She would not appear desperate.

The most sensible place to look for him would be the breakfast room, so she made her way in that direction. When she entered, however, she found not Mr Darcy but Colonel Fitzwilliam. He sat at the table, casually picking at his plate with a steaming cup of coffee beside him, the morning post spread out on the table.

Elizabeth curtsied, intending to turn away and resume her search, but the colonel looked up and called after her. "Mrs Darcy!"

She paused, then reluctantly turned back toward him. "Good morning, Colonel."

The colonel smiled warmly and gestured toward the table. "Looking for Darcy?"

She hesitated, but there was little point in pretending otherwise. "Yes, I am."

Fitzwilliam nodded and gestured toward a window. "He went out riding early this morning and has not yet returned. Do join me—unless, of course, you would rather keep up the search?"

Elizabeth felt the flush rise to her cheeks, and she offered a small, reluctant smile. "Thank you, Colonel. I suppose I might sit for a moment."

She took a seat at the table, folding her hands in her lap. Colonel Fitzwilliam set the paper aside and offered her a kind smile. "How are you feeling after your ordeal last night?"

She drew an unsteady breath, surreptitiously wiping her palms on the fabric of her gown under the table. "Stupid."

Fitzwilliam chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "I can imagine your pride must have taken a bit of a bruise."

"Pride?" she asked, raising a brow. "What makes you think I have any?"

The colonel grinned, then took a sip of his coffee. "Just a guess, Mrs Darcy." He folded the paper and set it aside entirely, giving her his full attention. "Have you met all the maids yet?"

Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. "I am not..." She trailed off, then cleared her throat. "I mean, it is not a title I ought to hold."

Fitzwilliam scoffed lightly. "Merely the shock of it all. You will get on well enough once you've adjusted."

Elizabeth shook her head, unable to conceal her disbelief. "Do you honestly believe I ought to consider staying here as Mrs Darcy? Surely, you know your cousin married me believing I was with Harry's child. And that... that was not true."

The colonel shrugged as if the matter were not as serious as she thought. "I have heard of marriages that began for far less auspicious reasons. Why should that trouble you?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Because the entire thing was a lie... or rather, a misunderstanding. How can there be any truth or honesty in that?"

He gave her a knowing look. "Which was it then—a lie, or a misunderstanding?"

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. "A misunderstanding, on my part."

The colonel nodded. "And surely, on Darcy's part as well. Darcy has never lied in his life. I am not even sure he knows how."

She leaned forward slightly, shaking her head in frustration. "That does not matter. We both misunderstood one another."

Fitzwilliam regarded her curiously, his gaze thoughtful. "Your honour must mean a great deal to you, Mrs Darcy. Even to the point that you would injure yourself to uphold it."

Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the insight. After a pause, she nodded. "Yes. It does."

The colonel grunted softly, then leaned back in his chair again. "In that, you and Darcy are well matched."

She stiffened. "There is nothing well matched about us."

The colonel merely smiled, twirling his empty coffee cup in his hands for a moment. Then, he looked up. "May I ask you something?"

Elizabeth hesitated, but eventually nodded. "You may."

The colonel's tone shifted slightly, taking on a more serious note. "Were you truly in such dire straits after Harry's death? I shall not ask after the specifics, but did he owe you the… ah… the fulfilment of a promise?"

Elizabeth swallowed, the sting of Harry's betrayal still fresh in her heart. She wetted her lips and slowly nodded. "Yes. But I understand I am not the only one."

The colonel stood and crossed to refill his coffee cup. "That reply will do for the present." He glanced at her plate. "Now, try some of Cook's smoked ham. It is excellent."

D arcy swung himself off his horse, the reins slipping from his gloved hand as he passed the animal to the waiting groom. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving. He had galloped for miles, and though his horse was now done in, Darcy himself had been inclined to gallop several more before returning to the house. The moisture in the air, the chill of the day should have cooled him, but his body was drenched with sweat, his pulse still hammering in his ears.

"Walk him around, cool him down," he ordered the stable hand, his voice gruffer than he intended. The young man nodded silently and led the horse away, leaving Darcy standing alone for a moment in the dim, misty morning.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair, frustrated that the exertion had not given him the clarity he sought. His muscles ached from the ride, his hands stiff from gripping the reins too tightly, yet none of it had lessened the confusion in his mind.

How had everything spiralled so wildly out of control? He had set out with every intention of fulfilling his duty, of righting the wrongs his brother had left behind, only to find himself entangled in a marriage he never wanted. And worse, in a marriage based on a misunderstanding that could have been avoided had he simply exercised his usual restraint, asked the right questions, and investigated more carefully before acting.

Indignant outrage warred with a bitter disappointment in himself, both emotions fighting for dominance as they had since the moment Elizabeth had confessed the truth.

Yet... why had she said it? And why had she fled the house after her confession? Why would a woman who had supposedly tricked him into marriage, who had every reason to want his protection, now claim she wanted nothing to do with him?

He had turned it over and over in his mind all night. That one declaration, uttered with such biting conviction, had haunted him long after he had returned to his bedchamber. Elizabeth had been vulnerable, freezing in the rain, her teeth chattering from the cold, and yet she had found the strength to tell him that she wished to be well rid of him.

Women of lesser character would indulge in such histrionics merely to invoke pity, to garner sympathy after an argument, but Elizabeth's words had not rung with such false tones. She had meant them.

Why? What could she possibly stand to gain by pushing him away? He could not understand it, and the not knowing stung him worse than any sense of betrayal. It did not fit the narrative he had constructed in his mind—the one where she had schemed, had manipulated him into this marriage. Yet, if she had truly schemed, why now would she act as if she wanted no part in it?

Darcy shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside for the moment. He wasn't ready to solve that mystery just yet. His limbs ached, and his head felt muddled.

As he reached the house, he handed off his hat, coat, and gloves to the waiting footman. "Where is Colonel Fitzwilliam?" he asked, though he had little inclination to see anyone. His voice sounded too harsh, even to his own ears, and he swallowed to steady it.

The butler bowed slightly. "The colonel is in the library, sir. With Mrs Darcy."

Darcy clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding against one another as the words landed. He had hoped to find Richard alone. The prospect of speaking to his cousin had been a welcome one—someone who could help untangle the mess in his mind—but now that option was clouded by the presence of Elizabeth.

Of course, she would be with him. Richard had probably sought her out to soothe troubled waters. He always had possessed a way of making people feel at ease, of engaging in conversation without judgment. Richard probably thought he was helping or something stupid like that.

"Very good," Darcy muttered, dismissing the butler with a curt nod. He could not face her yet.

He strode up the stairs, his feet heavy against the wooden steps as he made his way to his room. The prospect of shedding his damp clothing and dressing in something dry and comfortable was the only thing he could cling to for a shred of relief. If nothing else, he would regain some semblance of dignity before deciding what to do next.