Page 156 of Near Pemberley

Those words struck him harder than anything Wickham’s fists had managed.

“For… me?”

She nodded repeatedly.

Darcy stared at her. For several moments, he seemed unable to find a response.

Elizabeth glanced around the room, searching for somewhere to sit. The other armchair, placed across the small table, was clearly too distant for the conversation she intended to have. Her eyes fell upon a small footstool near the window.

Without hesitation, she moved it beside his armchair and sat down.

The action was so entirely unlike the careful formality he had always associated with visits from ladies that Darcy could only watch her in silence.

She had not considered whether it was proper. She had not considered whether it was expected. She had simply wanted to be near him. And somehow that affected him more than any expression of concern could have done.

She examined his face once more, but her attention soon returned to his injured hand. The skin across his knuckles was reddened and swollen, with several small cuts that the struggle had left behind.

Without a word, she reached into her reticule and withdrew a small leather case. Opening it, she removed a small pot of ointment.

Darcy watched her with quiet astonishment.

“Miss Elizabeth…”

“Do not object.” The words were gentle but left no room for argument.

Before he could think of a suitable reply, she took his hand carefully in hers and began to apply the soothing lotion to his injured knuckles.

Darcy did not resist. Indeed, he scarcely seemed capable of doing so.

For years, he had been accustomed to responsibility. He had comforted others, protected others, and placed his own concerns aside whenever they were inconvenient. Yet sitting there, allowing Elizabeth Bennet to tend to him, he discovered that there was a particular kind of trust in accepting care from another person. And he found, rather unexpectedly, that he did not wish to refuse it.

“My aunt swears by this,” Elizabeth said softly. “And as you know, as the mother of four lively children, she has had considerable opportunity to judge its usefulness.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

She continued tending his hand, though her expression became more thoughtful. “When I told you to punish him…” She hesitated. “I could say that I never imagined you would actually fight him.”

Her eyes lifted briefly to his. “But on the way here, I realised that would not be entirely honest.”

Darcy watched her silently.

“I meant what I said. I wanted him to answer for what he had done. I trusted you to see that justice was done. After all, you had already purchased his debts with that very intention.”

She looked down again, smoothing the ointment carefully over his bruised knuckles.

“I simply did not expect…”

She stopped.

“What?”

“That you would place yourself in danger to do it.”

Darcy said nothing. Then, quietly, “Miss Elizabeth, I assure you, I took your words very seriously.”

She looked up.

“That man had escaped consequence for too long. I could have sent him directly to the magistrate, and it was done. But before that, I wished him to understand that there was one injury he could not simply walk away from.” His expression softened. “I fought him not because I sought revenge, but because he had wronged those who trusted him.”