Page 25 of Attempted Compromises
He nodded, his face buried against her shoulder. “Scary,” he repeated, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper.
Elizabeth’s heart ached at the fear in his tone. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice filled with quiet reassurance. “No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone scare you again. I promise.”
The boy’s small body trembled as he clutched her tighter, his cries softening into a broken plea. “Papa,” he whimpered, the word raw and desperate. “Want Papa…”
Elizabeth hugged him closer, her hand continuing to stroke his back in comforting circles. “I’ll help you find your Papa,” she promised, her voice resolute. “You’re not alone. We’ll find him together.”
The boy’s breathing steadied further, his little body relaxing slightly in her arms as she rocked him on the damp ground. His tears slowed as he leaned into her, exhausted from his outburst. Elizabeth stayed where she was, sitting on the damp ground with the child in her arms, oblivious to the mud staining her cloak and gown. All that mattered was the trembling boy who had found refuge in her embrace.
“Do you feel a bit better now?” she asked after a few moments, tilting her head to look into his eyes. He nodded hesitantly, clutching her collar with one hand as though afraid to let go.
“Good,” she said softly, planting a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “We’ll get you inside, warm and safe. Then we’ll find your Papa, all right?”
Andrew gave another tiny nod, his sobs fading into sniffles as he leaned against her shoulder, his little arms wrapping around her neck.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached from the direction of the house, and Elizabeth looked up, her arms still wrapped protectively around the child. She didn’t know who would arrive first—his Papa, or someone to explain what had happened—but one thing was certain: she wasn’t letting go until the boy was safe.
“Andrew,” a deep voice came from just behind them. She shifted slightly, preparing to rise as the steps grew closer, but for the moment, she stayed rooted to the ground, holding the boy close as he clung to her trustingly. Whatever had frightened him, shevowed, would not trouble him again—not while she was there to protect him.
∞∞∞
Darcy had just reached the door to his chambers, the faint smell of leather and polish from his riding boots still clinging to him after the brisk morning ride with Bingley. He glanced down the hall, prepared to enter and enjoy a brief moment of quiet before the household’s bustle inevitably intruded.
Before he could open the door, the sound of running footsteps caught his attention. He turned sharply to see Rebecca, Andrew’s nurse, rushing past the entrance of the hallway. Her face was pale, her expression frantic as she called out, “Andrew! Andrew, where are you?”
Darcy’s stomach twisted. “Rebecca,” he called out sharply, his long strides taking him down the hallway of the guest wing to the top of the stairs. “What has happened?”
Rebecca froze mid-step, her wide eyes meeting his as she tried to catch her breath. “Master Andrew, sir,” she stammered. “He… he was frightened in the nursery and ran off. I thought he might go to your room, sir, but then I saw him just now as he ran out front door.”
Darcy’s heart clenched. “The front door?” he repeated, his voice tight.
“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said, her voice on the edge of hysteria, the guilt and worry plain in her tone. “I was going to—”
But Darcy didn’t wait to hear more. The realization of what the cold air could do to Andrew’s already fragile lungs sent him sprinting down the hall and toward the stairs. His boots echoed loudly on the wooden floors as he descended, his mind racing with images of Andrew out in the chill, struggling to breathe. Panic surged through him, a rare but undeniable force that drove him faster than he thought possible.
The moment he burst through the front doors, his eyes darted across the grounds. For one terrifying second, he saw nothing— he saw nothing but the sprawling lawn and the distant line of trees spread out before him. But then a sight stopped him in his tracks.
Elizabeth Bennet.
She was sitting on the muddy ground a short distance from the house, her skirts dark with dirt and her hair slightly disheveled. In her arms was Andrew, his small body curled against her as she held him close. The boy’s face was hidden, but his tiny fists clutched her cloak, his sobs faintly audible.
But it wasn’t her unexpected presence that struck him most—it was the way she held his son. Andrew was enveloped in her embrace, his face buried against her chest as she rocked him gently, her voice soft and soothing. She was completely unaware of the mud staining her clothes, her entire focus on the small boy trembling in her cradled arms.
Darcy’s breath caught, his worry momentarily mingling with astonishment. Elizabeth Bennet—of all people—was the last person he had expected to see at Netherfield, let alone in such a scene. There was something almost otherworldly about her in that moment, her care and tenderness wrapping around his son like a shield.
Shaking himself from his daze, he rushed forward. “Andrew!” he called, his voice filled with both relief and urgency.
Elizabeth’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her expression startled but calm. Andrew stirred, his small frame still trembling as he turned slightly toward the familiar voice.
“Papa,” the boy whimpered, his voice raw and hoarse.
Darcy crossed the distance between them in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Elizabeth and reaching out for his son. “Andrew,” he murmured, less panicked than before. “It’s all right, my boy. I’m here.”
Elizabeth relaxed, allowing Darcy to take the boy into his arms, conscious of the way that Andrew clung to him, his small body still trembling, though his cries had become more hushed. Darcy held him close, his hand smoothing over the child’s dark curls. He glanced at Elizabeth, his gratitude evident in his expression.
“He was terrified,” Elizabeth said quietly. “He could barely breathe when I found him.”
Darcy glanced at her, his gratitude mingling with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve done more than I could have asked.”
