The ever-efficient Wilkins stood outside, his eyes firmly averted. “Miss Bennet, I took the liberty of fetching some items from your room. I cannot claim any expertise in the matter of ladies’ dress, but I hope this is satisfactory. If there is anything else you require, please do not hesitate to ask.” He handed her a stack of items that included a dress, petticoats, shoes, stockings, and a hairbrush.

“Thank you, Wilkins,” she said shakily. Retreating into the chamber, she dressed herself as well as she could. She looped her hair into a simple knot at the back, thinking with the ghost of an amused smile that Wilkins would never succeed as a lady’s maid unless he remembered hairpins.

Darcy had not been completely correct in stating that Wilkins approved of Elizabeth, although he no doubt believed it himself. Wilkins in fact had no opinion of her. He had little direct contact with Miss Bennet up until this time, though he knew who she was, of course, and had carefully noted all available information about her. He was a man of powerful loyalty and deep admiration for his employer, and he saw his job as one of simplifying and improving Mr. Darcy’s life. He had strong opinions on the clothes Mr. Darcy wore, the rooms Mr. Darcy stayed in, and the food Mr. Darcy ate. He withheld judgment on his master’s friends and activities; if they made Mr. Darcy happy, Wilkins approved, if not, he did not. He did not see a need to have an opinion on the air Mr. Darcy breathed, for it was simply a necessity, and having observed his master closely during the last year in Hertfordshire, London, and Kent, he had come to the conclusion that this was the category in which Miss Elizabeth Bennet belonged. Mr. Darcy was happy when he was with her, and deeply unhappy when he was not, so there was no need for Wilkins to develop an opinion on her. She was simply necessary.

He was, however, pleased to see that she could conduct herself with appropriate dignity in the embarrassing situation in which she found herself, and he even went so far as to have a few unkind thoughts for Mr. Darcy regarding the position in which he had put her. When she emerged from Darcy’s room, he asked her to wait in the sitting room until he indicated to her that the hallway was clear, and when he was finally able to usher her out safely, she gave him an amused, if somewhat embarrassed, smile with her thanks. Having successfully negotiated that task, his next goal was to find fresh linens for the beds, so that he could strip off the current sheets before the arrival of the housemaids, lest any gossip follow Mr. Darcy. He shook his head over the whole matter.

Elizabeth returned to her room only long enough to correct the details of her dress and to put up her hair. The last thing that she wanted at the moment was to sit alone with her thoughts, and sleep would be a hopeless proposition, and so she went downstairs even though it was far too early for breakfast. Although servants were busy throughout the house, none of the family were yet awake, so she elected for a brisk walk through the gardens to distract herself. Unfortunately, the slight soreness between her legs proved a constant reminder of the events of the night, as were the words that insisted on echoing in her mind, no matter how much she tried to stop them—I am his mistress. The words would not listen to any of her arguments that they were engaged, that this made no difference in the long term, that no one need know. She brooded over how they were to explain to her aunt and uncle why they wished to marry so quickly, with none of her family present, and she discovered no convincing answers.

Eight

At breakfast, Mr. Gardiner informed her that Darcy would be unable to join them on their trip to Haddon Hall that day, as some urgent estate business had arisen. Elizabeth did her best to appear surprised and disappointed by this intelligence, and thought she had been fairly convincing. As the day progressed, however, it became apparent that Mrs. Gardiner at least had noticed she was somewhat out of spirits, asking several times if anything was troubling her, questions that her niece attempted to avoid by making reference to a sleepless night. Meanwhile, Elizabeth was busy trying to answer her own uncomfortable questions, which related to how this had come to pass, and her feelings about her premature loss of virtue. His mistress. That she was embarrassed and discomfited was obvious, and that she felt shame over her inability to refuse him was true as well, but she tried to remind herself that they had merely advanced the date of the event, and wondered why it should make such a difference to her. The truth, she finally recognized, was that she missed Darcy terribly. If she could only have been with him and had his reassurance, her distress would be significantly lessened.

On their return to Pemberley, she was exceedingly disappointed to find that he was still away from the house, and the servants seemed to have no news of him, apart from saying that he was expected to return in time for dinner. She eventually attempted to settle with a book, but found herself glancing out the window every few minutes to watch for his return. At one point, she saw two workmen approaching across the grassy hill, but the next time she looked out, she realized that one of them was Darcy himself, his shirt torn and filthy, his face streaked with soot, and with a companion who looked no better than he. She flushed as thoughts of the previous night filled her mind. As they came closer, she recognized the second man as his steward, and she watched in shocked fascination as Darcy clapped him on the back before walking off to the house.

She walked rapidly toward the front hall, and was half-way down the long staircase when she spotted Darcy being accosted by one of the footmen. “Mr. Darcy, sir, begging your pardon, but I wondered if you had any news. Mrs. Wheeler’s sister Ann works in the kitchen, and we have all been worrying, sir.”

“I assume you have already heard about the children?” Darcy asked somberly. At the footman’s nod, he added, “Give me a quarter hour to make myself decent and I shall come to the kitchens myself to tell them what I know.”

“Thank you, sir. They will appreciate it.”

Darcy paused a moment, and then said, “On second thought, perhaps I should go there immediately.” Part way across the hall Darcy spied Elizabeth on the steps. Their eyes met and held for a minute, and the warmth in his went a long way toward soothing Elizabeth’s nerves, as she saw his lips shape the word ‘later.’ The relief that she felt, just knowing that he was in the house, was both great and seemingly inexplicable.

When she returned downstairs for dinner, she found the Gardiners and Georgiana, who was feeling somewhat better, already present. Darcy joined them a little later than was his wont, restored to his usual well turned-out self, his hair still damp. Apart from lines of fatigue around his eyes, he looked no different from usual. As he sat on the loveseat next to Elizabeth, he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “I adore you.” She looked at him with gratitude and a blush, feeling a surprising sensation of pleasurable completeness at his presence. Returning his attention to the party at large, he asked after their travels, and seemed interested in hearing of the splendors of the rose gardens of Haddon Hall. When Mr. Gardiner asked about his day, he replied only that he was attending to some business with his tenants.

He was as attentive to her as was possible in company, giving her warm glances and addressing questions to her whenever possible, but eventually it occurred to her that all was not well. He seemed on edge and uncomfortable. She wondered and worried as to the cause; whether it could be the events of the day, or those of the previous night, and if so, what he was thinking. Her stomach churned anxiously. She wished they could be alone so that she could ask him, and seek his reassurance.

She found herself watching him carefully, almost obsessively, and saw that he seemed to wince occasionally, and, just before they were to go in to dinner, she observed that he was holding his glass in a peculiarly stiff manner. Concerned, she waited until the others were distracted, and reached over and took his hand. To her surprise, he tried to pull it away. She felt a sharp pang of rejection before recognizing that he was not avoiding her, but attempting to prevent her from seeing his hand, and her concern for him rose. Eyeing him suspiciously, she said quietly, “I would like to see your hand, Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Bennet, it is nothing to worry yourself over, merely a scrape,” he responded rather shortly.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, her tone a warning. Their eyes locked in a brief battle, then Darcy, with an exasperated roll of his eyes, turned his hands so that she could see them. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp when she saw the burns, blisters, and scrapes that scored much of his palms and the inside surfaces of his fingers. After a first moment of shock, she reassured herself that they did not look deep, though certain to be very painful, and asked, “Have you put anything on them?”

“No need,” he said in a voice that declared the subject closed.

“I beg to differ,” she said. “Those require care. Excuse me, sir, I shall return shortly.” She stood and exited before he could protest, as she was certain he would, then paused out in the hall, realizing that she had no idea where to locate the items she needed at Pemberley without creating more commotion than Darcy would wish. Finally she asked a servant to help her locate Mrs. Reynolds.

The housekeeper seemed surprised to see her. “How may I help you, Miss Bennet?”