Free Mr. Darcy's Refuge by Abigail Reynolds Page A

chest felt tight.
     
    Determined to give no sign of her distress, she sat down beside Jenny’s bed and drew out a loop of string she had made earlier. “Do you know how to play scratch-cradle?”
     
    Teaching Jenny to make the string figures took the better part of an hour, and Elizabeth was pleased to see her laughing at the silly mistakes that Elizabeth made deliberately. It was during one of those episodes that she heard footsteps behind her.
     
    It was Mr. Darcy. He looked as if he had recently been used as fisherman’s bait. Elizabeth’s relief at the sight of him was enough to rob her of words.
     
    Jenny gave a little bounce in bed, then winced in pain. “Did you find her?”
     
    Darcy handed her something swaddled in a towel. “She is very wet.”
     
    As Jenny eagerly cradled the bundle, Elizabeth swept her eyes over Darcy. His coat was only damp, as was to be expected from being in the rain, but under it he appeared to be soaked to the skin. She looked up at him archly. “She is not the only one.”
     
    Darcy glanced down at his clothes. “No, she is not,” he said with a fragment of a smile. Then he added more formally, “Please excuse my appearance, Miss Bennet. I can only plead that my errand was of some urgency.”
     
    “Indeed,” she said gravely.
     
    He bowed to her, looking rather silly making the formal effort in his disheveled state, then departed. To her surprise, she was disappointed. It was most likely simply a desire to scold him for taking risks.
     
    Jenny was weeping openly over the bundle, where a slip of the towel revealed a painted doll. Elizabeth fetched a rag that Jenny used to dry the crudely carved shape as carefully as if it had been a live infant.
     
    Elizabeth could see she was no longer needed. In a moment of inspiration, she returned to the sitting room and rummaged through the pile of mending until she discovered a torn piece of sprigged muslin large enough to make a dress for the doll. She spread it out on a side table and was contemplating how best to go about it when a firm knock sounded on the front door.
     
    A moment later, Sally timidly entered the sitting room. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is here, Miss Bennet.”
     
    With a glad smile, Elizabeth straightened. “Show him in, please.”
     
    “Miss Bennet.” Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed, his straight hair was plastered close to his head and his trousers splashed with mud. Still, he was a very welcome sight.
     
    “This is a delightful surprise,” she said. “I had not thought anyone would be able to reach us from Rosings yet.”
     
    “My route was hardly a direct one. I had to ride clear to the coast to find a bridge that was passable, and even there, my horse was knee deep in water on the approach. I hope you have not suffered unduly here. We have been worried on your behalf at Rosings.”
     
    Elizabeth laughed. “I imagine Mr. Collins has not allowed a moment of silence on the topic! But we have managed quite well here despite the circumstances.”
     
    “I am very glad to hear it.” The colonel crossed to the hearth and held his hands out in front of the flames for a minute to warm them, then he turned to her with a grave expression. “I do not suppose you have had any word of Darcy.”
     
    “I have had many words both of him and from him,” she said. “I believe he is coming down the stairs now.”
     
    “He is here?” He hurried toward the door just as Darcy appeared in it, wearing Mr. Collins’s ill-fitting but dry housecoat. To Elizabeth’s surprise, the colonel embraced him. “Darcy, thank God. We thought you had been carried off in the flood.”
     
    Darcy appeared taken aback. “Why would you think such a thing?”
     
    “You disappeared without a word from dinner and never returned, and then we discovered you had taken your horse out just before the river spilled its banks. What on earth were we to think? But I am glad you thought to take shelter here.” He stepped back, as if