Chapter Text
Despite Caroline’s ribbing, Darcy retired that evening reflecting tolerably on Elizabeth’s spirit, playing and railleries. He had taken much more pleasure in her simple song than in Louisa and Caroline’s studied air. And he had enjoyed her repartee about dancing nearly as well as he would have liked dancing a reel with her.
He mused on Elizabeth’s attractions as he prepared for bed, and thoughts of her eyes, smile and form followed him to his pillow.
He had been asleep for some time when he awakened to sound in the hallway. It was still dark out, and he was foggy with sleep, unsure of the hour. Groggily he lit a candle, went to his door and looked out. At first he saw nothing and almost retreated, bed calling him back, when he saw something at the far end of the hall. He stepped out to see Elizabeth, sitting on the floor in her night dress, nursing her shin. A small footstool had been left out of place, and he gathered that she had tripped over it in the dark, as she seemed to have been carrying no candle.
He approached her, and she looked up, grateful for the light, then embarrassed to see him. She pulled her night dress over her calf and stood. Darcy noted the grace of her rising as well as the warm glow of her skin in the candlelight. The white muslin of her night dress complemented the tone of her skin, and Darcy at last noticed that he was staring.
“I was coming back from fetching another blanket for Jane,” she explained. “I hadn’t brought a candle with me and didn’t want to leave her without one, so I thought I could make my way in the dark.” She smiled ruefully.
He offered to guide her back to her room, and she accepted gratefully. When they began to walk, it became evident that she was limping. He inquired about her injury.
“That’s what I was trying to see. It does hurt, but I’m not sure how badly injured it could really be from just a footstool. These things always feel much worse than they really are, don’t they?”
Admiring her spirit, he offered to call the apothecary, but she demurred the aid, saying she was sure it was nothing.
“I could have a brief look, just to make sure there is nothing to be concerned about,” he offered.
She had to admit it would be wisest and allowed him to approach. She extended the injured leg and raised the dress slightly, feeling absurdly like she was curtsying to him, and Darcy stooped to examine it.
There was a livid mark and a few drops of blood. Concern gripped him and he drew nearer, placing the candle on the floor.
“You must have caught yourself quite painfully, Elizabeth. It looks like you will have a bruise. There is also the tiniest bit of blood.”
She sighed and stood straight again. Darcy reluctantly climbed to his feet, taking solace in standing closer to her than before.
“Each time I try to walk at night without a candle, there is sure to be something left out,” she said, smiling sadly. “But I can dress it in my room.”
He began to lead the way again, and when just a few steps later they reached her door, he found that he wished he had taken her arm.
“Do you require any assistance with your injury?” he offered, feeling secure in the companionship of the wee hours to proffer his services. It would be a shame to waken someone unnecessarily, after all.
“It is nearly nothing, but it is a tricky place to dress. I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm,” she said.
They lit more candles and she was seated with her legs stretched before her on a footstool. Darcy, supplied with clean water and cloth, proposed to dab away the blood, then bandage the hurt.
She daintily held the hem of her night dress, and Darcy approached the injury with the damp cloth. She winced as he dabbed at it. He steadied himself, then tried again, focused on touching the wound as little as possible. She did not wince, and he was happy with the improvement in his technique. Then at once they each noticed that his other hand was wrapped around her other calf. He removed it and proceeded dabbing. She uttered a surprised, “Ouch.”
He stopped and looked up at her puzzled countenance.
“You were cleaning it just the same way, but when you took your other hand away, it started hurting.”
Realizing how much he desired to wrap his hand around her leg once again, he noted that the effect of the touch must run both ways. He gazed at her reclined before him, feeling how dangerous a situation he had strayed into.
The water and friction had opened the wound slightly, and as he watched, a slight bead of blood welled up. He dabbed at it before it could run away, finding his other hand again holding her opposite leg.
She looked at him with an indescribable expression, mirth mixing with resignation to the reality at hand. He kept his other hand on her as he cleaned the wound. Both were required to dress it, then he stood, half relieved, half disappointed that it was over.
She stood again and thanked him, but he noticed the grimace shadowing her countenance and a slight limp to her walk as she crossed the room to see him out the door.
“It is nothing, it will fade soon enough,” she said, smiling.
“But it hurts?” he inquired.
“Only a bit,” she admitted.
“Why do I think it hurts worse than you allow?” he asked.
“Really, Mr. Darcy. It is the slightest possible injury. I’m sure that as soon as I’m abed, I’ll be asleep without a thought of it in the world.”
Hiding his disappointment, for he had hoped that somehow he might be of further help to her, he bid her goodnight and departed.
He began to go back to his room, then, feeling sleep remote, decided to linger in the hallway. He located a seat partway down the hall and made himself comfortable, determined to be on hand.
He watched the candles go out one by one by the glow under the door, then heard the creak of her climbing into bed. It was strangely intimate, and he found himself enjoying it.
His mind wandered to the thought of her reclined before him and to the feel of her calf under his hand. He was almost dozing when he thought he heard something from her room. Up in an instant, he quietly moved closer. There it was again, a slight whimper of pain.
Emboldened by their shared experience, he tapped at her door. In moments, she was at the door, a dressing gown tied about her. Her face gladdened when she saw him, and his heart leapt at the sight.
“Are you in distress? I was yet passing and thought I heard you cry out.”
“Was I so noisy? It’s such a small pain to make a fuss over, but when I close my eyes, it seems to be the worst thing in the world. I was so hoping to sleep better tonight.”
Concerned, he inquired and found that her previous two nights sleep had been indifferent because of her sister’s illness.
“You must rest, Elizabeth,” he said, glad the air of emergency somehow gave him license to address her by her Christian name. Addressing her thus was a special pleasure, and he reflected that it would be difficult to return to “Miss” in the morning.
“Perhaps I could sit by and provide some relief, as I did when dressing it,” he offered.
“And spoil your own night’s sleep? It isn’t to be thought of,” she said. “You’ve already been so kind.”
He wanted to argue that it was not kindness that motivated him, but even in his sleep- and desire-addled state, realized that his motivations didn’t bear sharing.
He again bid her good night and retreated to his chair. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, just that this old chair, close to her, was more attractive than the feather bed in his own room.
He had just convinced himself that he could hear her breathing softly in her sleep despite the closed door when he heard her get out of bed and saw candlelight flare to life under the door.
He kept still, not wishing to give himself away unless she wanted him, but he saw the candle come to the door, then she was peeping out.
“You are still there,” she said in surprise.
“Yes, can I be of any service to you? I was concerned and did not wish you to suffer alone.”
“I am so silly, it’s the slightest pain to keep me awake, but each time I close my eyes, it flares to life to keep me from sleep.”
Determined to help her, he bustled her into the room and helped her into bed, then moved a chair to the foot of the bed, where he proposed to sit, his hand upon her ankle.
They were both so hazy with the late hour and sleeplessness that it seemed a fit plan. He settled himself in, claiming that he would sleep without issue, so tired was he.
Elizabeth settled into bed, and when she closed her eyes, felt not the throb of her injured shin, but the warmth of his hand upon her.
She drifted, but the wish that he would touch more of her interfered with sleep almost as effectively as had the pain. But she enjoyed the sensation so much that she feigned sleep. His company was so much more soothing than she could have believed by day, and she wished that he would not have to go away.
It was only by great force of will that Darcy kept himself from caressing her leg under his hand. Only now that they were together in the dark did he reckon how strong was the draw to move his hand to compass more of her soft skin.
His body came alarmingly awake, each part craving her with conflicting levels of power. The desire to climb into bed with her and take her in his arms was near irresistible. Each time he thought of it, fewer reasons seemed to stand in the way.
He drifted off, then started awake to discover his hand holding the entirety of the substantial muscle of her calf. He burned to know how being such an excellent walker had affected the anatomy of the rest of her legs.
Elizabeth delighted in feeling his hand creep from ankle to calf. The warmth of his hand was delicious on her skin, and she craved that sensation all over her.
By the time cold morning light had crept into the room, his hand was on her knee and it took all his strength to not let it stray higher.
He carefully removed it and regretfully but silently removed himself to the hall and then to his bed. He thought he would not sleep, but when he next opened his eyes, the fire was lit and his stomach told him it was time to rise for breakfast. It would be a long day.
Elizabeth had felt him go with disappointment. She knew he must go. For him to remain until the servants stirred would risk the most horrid discovery, and she felt sure none would understand how purely helpful he had been.
Her shin no longer hurt, but her other leg felt cold where his hand had rested, and her desire to feel his touch over the rest of her body was such a distraction that rather than trying to sleep, she rose to check on Jane.