“Very well, I suppose there is no harm in departing tomorrow.” Her words were interrupted by a huge yawn.
Mr. Darcy disappeared and returned with a maid in tow. “Mary can show you to your room,” he said.
Elizabeth trudged up the stairs behind the maid, trying to decide if she wanted a bath or a nap first. The choice was decided for her when she saw a huge bath of steaming water in the room. “When did Mr. Darcy order this?” Elizabeth asked Mary. “I only decided to stay a few minutes ago.”
The maid giggled. “I don’t rightly know, ma’am, but we’ve been bringing water up here for the better part of an hour.”
He knew I would stay. Or at least he hoped I would. Elizabeth supposed she should be vexed by his presumption, but she could only
be grateful.
“Would you like me to help you undress?” Mary asked, glancing dubiously at Elizabeth’s clothing, no doubt wondering why so fine a gentleman as Mr. Darcy was escorting a woman whose clothes might be cast aside by a charwoman.
“No, I can manage.” It wold be a joy to take off the rumpled and stained garments.
“Mr. Darcy asked me to hunt up some proper clothing for you.” She gestured to a gown lying on the bed. “This is the best I could do on such short notice.” The gown was simple muslin with little in the way of decoration, yet it was no doubt finer than anything the maid owned. Elizabeth wondered how many coins had fallen into the innkeeper’s hand so the staff would produce a suitable gown in an hour’s time. Beside the gown were all the appropriate undergarments and a fine linen nightrail. He had considered all her needs. Tears sprang to her eyes at his thoughtfulness.
“It is wonderful,” she told Mary, who dimpled with pleasure.
After the maid departed, Elizabeth gladly removed her salt- and mud-caked clothing and took a long, leisurely bath. Emerging from the bath, she felt as though she had never been so clean in her life, but her limbs grew heavier with every passing minute. After drying herself, she pulled the soft nightrail over her head. The last thing she remembered was climbing under the coverlet and sinking into the soft mattress. She did not stir even when the footmen entered to remove the bath.
***
To Darcy’s immense relief, Elizabeth’s skin had lost its grayish pallor by the time she descended the stairs for dinner in the inn’s private dining room. Eight hours of rest had clearly done her a world of good. Although the gown was snug in the bodice and a little long, it was a vast improvement over her previous garb. How satisfying to see her finally dressed properly! Although he would have preferred she wore a finer fabric, he was pleased she no longer resembled a fishwife.
Darcy, too, had appropriate clothing cobbled together by the innkeeper’s wife. The jacket was too large and the waistcoat quite out of style—and he still wore the laborer’s boots. But it was worlds better than his previous garb. When I finally find some decent boots, I will see these burned.
Having turned Dreyfus over to the local magistrate, Richard was able to join them for dinner. He had left a suit of clothing in town, so he was not only dressed appropriately but it all fitted quite well. Darcy eyed his cousin enviously.
Richard smiled and stood when Elizabeth joined them at the table. Darcy stood as well, but he could not bring himself to smile. Every time he saw Elizabeth, he feared she would tell him that she never wished to see him again.
As they ate, they spoke of neutral subjects—the weather, the war on the peninsula—and Richard relayed all the latest news they had missed. He voiced the opinion that Dreyfus would likely be imprisoned for the remainder of the war, but the man seemed willing to provide information in exchange for more lenient treatment.
Elizabeth spoke civilly to Darcy, neither avoiding nor seeking out his gaze, but there was little warmth in her tone. Her continued coldness made Darcy’s heart sink; she obviously had no plans to accept his offer. When, over pudding, Elizabeth asked for Richard’s assistance in arranging for her transport to Longbourn, it was like a knife in his heart.
Darcy spoke before his cousin could respond. “That will not be necessary. I have hired a coach for tomorrow so I may escort you home.”
Elizabeth laid her spoon on the table. “Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your solicitude, but I could not possibly inconvenience you further.”
“It is no inconvenience—”
Elizabeth continued speaking. “Furthermore, I cannot possibly arrive at Longbourn in your company without giving rise to speculation.”
A fist squeezed Darcy’s heart. Of course, he would not mind provoking such speculation since he still hoped to make her Mrs. Darcy. But he did not want her to marry him because of speculation any more than he wanted her to accept his hand from a sense of obligation.
Perhaps he should throw himself to the floor at her feet and beg. It would have the advantage of surprise. Instead he grasped the edge of the table in an iron grip and mustered a reasonable tone of voice, murmuring, “Elizabeth, you should consider—”
Her hand arose to stop the flood of words. “I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy, but I am exhausted. At this moment I want nothing other than to see my family again.”
Richard coughed and looked away, no doubt wishing he were somewhere else.
She wants her family; she does not want me.
The fist around his heart was crushing it. Somehow Darcy managed to expel a few words from his constricted throat. “Of course, if that is your wish. I…er…will send you in the carriage tomorrow.”
She blinked in surprise. Did she really believe he would send her post when he had the means to make her journey safe and comfortable? “I thank you, sir,” she said finally.
“It is my pleasure.”