The moment Elizabeth had looked in his eyes, he realized all previous efforts to cast her from his soul were defeated, utterly and completely. Never would he forget her. It had been foolish even to try.
Something as simple as seeing her wear a pair of gloves he had chosen, though for his sister, had caused such a sense of satisfaction to take root within him, that he found it exhilarating. He barely managed to hide his reaction. Her determination to do all she could to help those who depended upon her—the people, and even the animals—fixed her deeper in his heart than ever before.
His father had always prided himself on overseeing the lands and buildings of Pemberley, but caring for those who relied on the estate was his mother’s passion.
Darcy had always striven to emulate both these qualities with his own behaviour. In his opinion, his mother’s enthusiasm for ensuring the well-being of the community was one of the most important traits his future wife could possess, but it was a characteristic rarely found among the ladies who moved within the ton.
Yet, it was a quality Elizabeth possessed and did not hesitate to act upon, even though this was not her estate.
He glanced over at her. Even in her disheveled state, she was more attractive to him than ever. He was concerned that she seemed exhausted, and it was taking a great deal of willpower not to sweep her off her feet, carry her into the house, and put her to bed.
Unwittingly, his imagination ran wild, visualizing that scenario.
Darcy ground his teeth, reminding himself that the dark circles around her lovely emerald eyes confirmed she needed sleep desperately. She would be safer if he concentrated on something else, instead.
He refused to think of the ailment that was currently at Netherfield, which so many adults had contracted. He could not allow such raw, bitter memories to surface in company.
How could Bingley leave it up to his neighbors to care for his tenants and servants? Had Bingley ignored everything he was taught while they were here together a few weeks ago? One rule that Darcy had repeated over and over was that, whether it be convenient or not, the people who worked the estate were under their master’s protection, even when the property was leased.
Darcy had never thought of Bingley as unfeeling before now. Immature? Yes, in some ways. Too easily led? Without a doubt. So eager to fall in love that he could be taken in by just about any pretty face? Absolutely.
Nevertheless, leaving his charges to fend for themselves during an epidemic was more than unsympathetic, it was hard-hearted. It did not sound at all like his friend. But why else would Bingley not even have taken the trouble to write to Mr. Jones himself?
The answer struck like a lightning bolt. It was more likely, and much less shocking, to believe Miss Caroline Bingley noticed the return address on Mr. Jones’s letter and intercepted it before her brother even knew of the letter’s existence. To prevent Bingley’s being reminded of Miss Jane Bennet when he saw from whom the letter came — the very apothecary Bingley had called when Miss Bennet had been overcome with a cold whilst visiting at Netherfield — Caroline must have answered the letter herself, not realizing how far the ramifications her act of deceit would reach. Darcy doubted she would wish her brother to be labelled as a negligent clod, which is exactly what he would be called. Indeed, Darcy himself had just been thinking the worst, even though he knew Bingley better than most. Badly done, Caroline.
The shifting of Elizabeth’s weight off his arm brought him to the present. With each step she had taken, she had leaned on him a little more, but now, as they approached the doors leading to the servants’ entrance, she straightened. Perhaps his arm had helped her to regain a portion of strength?
The idea that Elizabeth had needed him for something so personal, even for such a short period, played havoc with the rhythm of his heart. It was a remarkable sensation, one he wished he could experience every day of his life. He could not, but at least for now…
His decision was made. While he would not lead her on in any way, for he could not marry her, since Bingley was absent, he could lighten her burden during this crisis.
When all was under control on the estate, he would leave — get on with his life — after collecting a few more memories of Elizabeth, which he would secretly cherish forever.
~%~
Revitalized by her wash water and a change of clothing, Elizabeth hurried from the rooms she had appropriated for her use. When she reached the stairwell, Mr. Darcy exited the same rooms he had occupied this past autumn. She was relieved they had not borrowed the mattress from that bed. He was wearing the same clothing in which he had travelled, but he must have taken a brush to it, for the dust from the road on his trousers was now gone. Of course, he would not have been able to change for there was nobody to bring his trunk upstairs. It was of no matter — he would not be here for long.
She waited for him, hands clasped behind her. It would do no good for him to see them.
“Excuse my appearance, Miss Elizabeth.” He touched his simply-tied cravat. “I am unused to tying these myself.”
“I am sorry we have no servants to assist you, Mr. Darcy. Did your valet not travel with you?”
He shook his head. “No, he was to visit his sister and meet me at Matlock after Christmas.”
“Matlock?”
“Yes, my uncle’s estate, where my sister has been staying these past months.”
She paused. “Your uncle is the Earl of Matlock?”
He nodded.
She had heard Caroline Bingley boast that her guest was the grandson of a late earl, but her mind had not concluded that Mr. Darcy’s uncle must be an earl now. No wonder his sense of self-worth was so pumped up; his relatives were peers of the realm.
Mr. Darcy interrupted her thoughts. “I expected you would rest for a while, Miss Elizabeth.”
“There is no time for that, now, sir, for who would see to what needs to be done?” Why was she so angry? He was only trying to make conversation. She purposely softened her tone. “I only meant that any of my own needs which can be delayed, must be, for now.”
Without taking the banister, she descended. He kept up with her pace.
“You need sleep, Miss Elizabeth. If you wish to continue helping these people, it would not do for you to become ill yourself.”
She stopped on the landing between staircases and turned to face him. Her tone was tightly controlled. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but I am well.”
“You are exhausted. Perhaps there is something I can do, such as assist in making up the supply list?” Mr. Darcy suggested.
Elizabeth hesitated. After freshening up, she expected he would head straight for the library until it was time for his coach to depart for London. However, she needed some sort of relief, and if he wanted to assist, she should accept, though doing so would mean exposing her hands to the man. Her mother would never forgive her, but the needs of the many outweighed those of the few.
He gestured for them to continue down the remainder of the staircase. She complied.
Making up the list would go quicker if he wrote while she went through the pantry to see what was needed, and then she could return to caring for the sick. And perhaps the shop owner would take the requests more seriously if the list was in his handwriting instead of hers. She was unsure she could write just now, anyway.
“I thank you, sir. Why do you not gather the writing supplies from Mr. Bingley’s study whilst I check with Hannah, Emily, and Mr. Jones to see if they need anything?”
Mr. Darcy stepped down from the staircase and turned to face her. “Certainly.”
His smile was genuine and reflected in his eyes. Elizabeth’s world brightened as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds after a month of rainy days. A shiver passed through her.
His eyebrows knit together. “Are you sure you are well, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy touched her elbow.
Elizabeth blinked several times and looked around her. She had frozen on the last stair. She peeled her gaze from his face and stepped down and away from him. “I will meet you outside the kitchen. There is a table in the corridor.”
“Am I not allowed in the kitchens?”
“I am afraid there will be no one there to chaperone, Mr. Darcy.”
“These are trying times, Miss Elizabeth. I doubt anyone would even notice.”
The idea of being alone with Mr. Darcy so far away from everyone else in the house made her nervous. She trusted he would not try to take advantage of her, but if someone were to accuse them of behaving improperly, her reputation would be in tatters, not his. Her cheeks heated — again. “I – I would not wish to take that chance, sir.”
She hurried away towards the door of the sitting room, where the females were being housed.
As she entered, she glanced around to see how her patients were doing. In both sickrooms, the smaller children lay on the sofas, while the older children and adults reclined on several mattresses, brought down earlier in the week. A fire blazed, and the patients were laid out in a semi-circle, like arms stretching out from the hearth so all could benefit from its heat. The few dressing screens that were light enough to bring down were set up between some of the beds, providing as much privacy as was possible, especially for the adults.
She coughed at the sour scent of illness that nearly overwhelmed her. Elizabeth strode to the window furthest away from the patients and slid it open just a little. In her opinion, foul air never helped anyone, ailing or not.
Emily stood from a six-year-old girl’s makeshift bed and waved her over. “Miss Elizabeth. Rose has a crop of fresh marks.”
Elizabeth stooped to check under the cloths they had wrapped around little Rose’s arms to hold in place the salve of oatmeal, vinegar, and honey that Longbourn’s housekeeper had sent, as well as to keep Rose from scratching. “Is Mrs. Hill’s remedy working?”
“Yes’m, Miss Lisbeth. It’s not nearly so scratchy.” The girl’s brows pinched together as she stared at Elizabeth’s hands, wrapped similarly to Rose’s arms. “Do you have the pox, too?”
Elizabeth smiled. “They are just sore, dear, and so I put some of Mrs. Hill’s salve on them.” She hoped it would heal the blisters as it did the rash. “Nothing to worry about.”
She straightened to speak to Emily. “How is Rose’s fever?”
“Hers and Lucy’s fevers are gone. As for the rest, ‘tis always better during the day.”
It seemed Rose and Lucy’s older brother had brought the chickenpox into the area when he came to visit his family for the holidays. He was in the other room. Elizabeth nodded, then said to Rose, “Well, then, this should be the last round of new marks. Mr. Jones says they come in threes. You will feel better soon.”
“Does that mean we can go home?” Rose stared up at Elizabeth with round, tear-filled eyes. All the children missed their families horribly, but their parents had work to do and other offspring at home who needed them. It broke her heart that they might be away from their families for Christmas.
“We have to be home in time for Christmas Eve.” Lucy, older than her sister Rose by a year or two, puffed out her chest. “Our Papa said I can help light the yule log this year. And we don’t want to miss Christmas service.”
Emily and Elizabeth exchanged looks. Today was the sixteenth of December. Usually, the illness lasted one or two weeks, and they had been first to show signs of the rash six days ago. With a new round of pox breaking out on them now, it would be a few days before they could go home. Particularly important since yesterday, the midwife had left a note for Mr. Jones on the steps outside. Two nights ago, the girls’ mother had a baby — delivered too early. The newborn’s health was quite poor, so Mr. Jones and the midwife agreed Lucy, Rose, and their brother should not return home until all their pox had scabbed and no new marks had appeared for at least two days. It was a hardship for the whole family to have them away from home when their parents could use their assistance, but to keep the infant safe, it had to be.
“I am not sure…” Elizabeth’s heart squeezed as both children sank back against their pillows. “But I promise I will get a yule log, and you may light it early, Lucy, as practice.” She had no idea how she would manage to bring a large log from the woods into the manor house. Of course, she could not ignore the boys and men, so that meant two logs.
Rose’s eyes lit up. “And a kissing bough? Mama always makes a kissing bough.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, and I will give you both lots of kisses so you can pluck a berry every time and toss them onto the fire.”
Rose’s and Lucy’s smiles were worth any trouble it would take to procure the evergreens and logs.
“I know you are not very hungry, but do not forget that Mrs. Hill made you some special soup with lots of carrots that Mr. Jones promises will benefit your healing.”
Both girls, and a few of the others who had been listening, took a little soup right away. Elizabeth grinned. Everyone wished to be home in time for Christmas.
After checking with Emily about what she needed, Elizabeth crossed the corridor to the parlour where the males were staying to check with Mr. Jones and Hannah. When she came again into the hallway, Mr. Darcy lingered there, his writing supplies gathered on a side-table.
Elizabeth stifled a giggle. “This is not the kitchen, Mr. Darcy.”
He raised his brows. “I have been waiting for you.” His colour rose. “If you asked me to meet you at the entrance to the kitchens at Pemberley, I would have known where to go, but at Netherfield …” He shook his head.
“Oh, of course. Why would you?” She left the door to both rooms open so that the maids could come out into the hallway. It was the best she could do to avoid being alone with Mr. Darcy. She crossed to the table, picked up some of the supplies, and gestured for him to follow her. “It is just down the hall, sir.”
His gaze caught on her bandaged hands, and he took in a sharp breath. “The rake?”
She turned away. “Yes.” Goodness. Would donning a blush become her normal appearance?
Without looking at him, she indicated the table he should use then disappeared into the kitchens.
A few minutes later, their list began to take shape. Elizabeth asked, “Do you know which of Mr. Bingley’s horses is the gentlest, sir?”
“Will you be going riding, Miss Elizabeth?” The twinkle in his eye told her he was teasing, which shocked her momentarily.
“I have promised the children I would collect greenery for trimmings and a yule log for each of the rooms where the patients are staying. I will need a horse to pull the logs to the house, but I am not quite comfortable with horses.”
“They were in the pasture when I arrived …”
Did he not believe her? Why on earth would she try to deceive him?
“The stables have a door that opens into the pasture, opposite to the one you used to enter. I simply opened it and then unfastened the stall doors. The horses were more than willing to comply with my wishes.”
Mr. Darcy raised his eyebrows. “And just how were you going to get them back in?”
She bit the corner of her bottom lip. “I admit the timing of your arrival was perfect, sir. I was just beginning to worry about how I would manage it.”
His eyes crinkled at the outer corners, displaying amusement, but she did not detect any mockery, which delighted her right down to her toes.
Elizabeth ducked through the kitchen door before revealing the emotion.
She must be completely exhausted if she was not taking offense at his every word, as she usually would. In fact, she was enjoying his company. It was strange … and dangerous.
The next time she re-entered the hallway, he said, “If you can point me in the right direction, I would be happy to gather the plants for you, as well as the yule logs.”
She shook her head. “I know exactly where to get what we need, but it would be difficult to explain. Besides, though I appreciate the offer, sir, I would rather have the doctor and supplies here sooner than that you should delay your departure until we return from the woods.”
“My departure?” He paused. “Miss Elizabeth, I thought you understood … I am staying.”
She opened her eyes wider. “Staying, sir?”
“Yes. I am sending my coachman to London, but I will remain at Netherfield. Roberts and Baxter are bringing up my trunk as we speak.”
“But sir, we have no servants to — ”
Mr. Darcy waved off her concern. “I understand. With my valet absent, I had every intention of doing without his assistance while we travelled for the next three days. This will be no different. I can take care of my own needs, as long as you will forgive me for not being perfectly dressed every moment of the day. And unless I am mistaken, with no time for formal dining, it will not be necessary to change, which is perfectly fine with me. I have always considered changing for dinner a bother.”
“But, sir, it is more than just being without a valet. For instance, I barely have had the time it takes to pump water for my own use, but have not had the energy to heat it. Please, do not expect —”
“Miss Elizabeth, I do know how to use a kitchen pump, a skill which is especially useful now that I know where the kitchens are.” Darcy stifled a grin. “And incredible as it may seem, I even have experience with drawing water from a well, if it comes down to that.” He hesitated, his eyes bright, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered at his teasing, but then it jumped. Goodness! When they came in from the stables, she had gone to the kitchens and brought up water for herself, but she had not gotten him any water to wash with. She examined his appearance. He seemed freshly groomed.
“Speaking of which, Mr. Darcy, if you did not know where the kitchens were …” She blinked. How did she ask this question politely?
“I did not wish to take anyone away from their duties. When I was here last month, I noticed there is a pump at the stables used to water the horses.”
He brought his washbasin and pitcher all the way out there?
She snapped her mouth closed. “Quite resourceful.”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head slightly.
Mr. Darcy was certainly full of surprises today. At least he was honest about being able to get his own water.
“Truly, Miss Elizabeth, I do not intend to create more work for you, and I expect no special treatment. I wish to help, not hinder your efforts. Baxter will assist with bringing in the yule and greenery, and then you may give him whatever task you wish. Perhaps I can entertain the sick men with conversation and play some games with the boys to keep their minds off their troubles.”
She believed his intentions were sincere, but even in her case, the situation had taken some getting used to, and she could not wait for this trying time to end. If she was having trouble, how would fastidious Mr. Darcy survive even one day without any servants at his beck and call? Besides, there were quite a few tasks that, once this was all over, she had no intention of admitting she mastered. If Mr. Darcy remained, he might witness her performing these chores. That would be humiliating.
Then again, she could use any help she could get.
If he did not cooperate, she would remind him of this discussion and offer him one of the horses so that he could continue his journey to Derbyshire on horseback.
“All right, then. I welcome your assistance, Mr. Darcy.”
A niggling feeling in the back of her mind warned her this was probably a mistake.