Page 99 of Companions of Their Youth
Elizabeth looked down at her torn sleeve, the bright smear across her fingertips. Her heart was still racing, but not from pain. She met Mr. Darcy’s gaze from across the room. He had not moved—he was still sitting, white-knuckled, staring at the broken shards of porcelain on the carpet.
For the first time since Georgiana’s arrival, Elizabeth thought she saw it in his eyes—not anger, not frustration, but shame. And something deeper still.
He said nothing.
Nor did she.
There was, just then, nothing to be said.
Chapter 21
Darcy could not move.
His eyes remained fixed on the shattered porcelain strewn across the rug and the still-quivering figure of Elizabeth. She was standing stiffly, hand clutched tightly over her arm. The room was utterly silent, save for the uneven sound of her ragged breath.
Then he saw it: the crimson stain spreading beneath her fingers.
His body acted before his mind caught up. He crossed the space in three strides, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“Here,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “It is clean.”
She did not flinch as he pressed it to her arm, though her jaw tensed.
The room stirred behind them. Mrs. Bennet’s breath caught in a whimper, her face pale and trembling. Kitty sat on the settee with wide, wet eyes, Lydia at her side now, subdued into silence. Mr. Bingley hovered near Jane, who had tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away, simply watching her sister with quiet devastation.
Darcy had no words. His hands were steady, but his heart was not. The gash had bled far more than he wished to see. What if she had not stepped in front of her sister in time? What if the porcelain had struck her throat or temple instead?
He dared not complete the thought.
Mr. Bennet’s voice, firm but calm, cut through the thick silence. “Hill!”
The housekeeper appeared almost instantly, clearly having lingered just outside the door. Her gaze swept the room, took in the shattered vase, the blood, the silence. Mr. Bennet pointed his chin in the direction of his wife, and Hill crossed swiftly to Mrs. Bennet and took her arm gently.
“No,” Mrs. Bennet cried, her voice high and wavering. “No, I must stay—I must be with my Lizzy!”
“Dearest,” Mr. Bennet said, rising and touching her hand. “You shall only make yourself ill. Go upstairs now. I shall remain, and I will see to her.”
Mrs. Bennet hesitated, tears rising to her eyes, but at last allowed Hill to lead her from the room. Her ragged breathing echoed faintly down the corridor even after she had gone.
Mr. Bennet turned to Lydia. “Take Kitty up with your mother. And send a footman for Mr. Jones at once.”
Elizabeth lifted her head sharply. “Truly, Papa, that is not necessary. It is not so very deep.”
Darcy looked up at Mr. Bennet, who gently peeled the handkerchief away for the briefest glance. The blood welled up at once. “I believe stitches will be required,” he said.
Darcy groaned aloud, unable to help it. “Stitches.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward. “Let me see.”
Darcy made room as the colonel leaned in to inspect the wound. After a moment, he gave a single nod. “Your father is right. That will not heal neatly without assistance.”
Elizabeth gave a weak laugh. “Must I solicit a third opinion as well? Mr. Darcy, surely you will be on my side?”
He looked into her face—too pale, too brave—and felt any inclination to jest fall away.
“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “I insist you be seen by the apothecary.”
Her smile faltered. “I see I am quite overruled.”
