Read Online Mr. Darcy's Refuge by Abigail Reynolds - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Abigail Reynolds
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to close his eyes for a minute. Sheer physical exhaustion was no excuse, not when it came to spending the night in a lady’s bedroom. Men had been killed for less. If Elizabeth ever found out, she would be furious.
But Elizabeth already knew; that much was almost certain of it from the reproachful look she had given him. Devil take it, why must he always be making things worse with her no matter how hard he tried? How was he to face her in the morning?
The situation between them was becoming more untenable by the hour. If the river was calmer tomorrow, he would find a boat and row Elizabeth across to Rosings, then consult with his aunt as to the care of the tenants. He did not like to think of the treatment Lady Catherine would mete out to Elizabeth. Informing his aunt of his intention to marry Elizabeth was something he was dreading himself, and he was far more accustomed to her fits of pique and resentment. And, of course, as soon as he and Elizabeth were with anyone of their acquaintance, the question of their relationship would have to be addressed, and that was something he would prefer to delay as long as possible.
First thing in the morning he would check the river. If it was still a torrent, he would have to come up with some other plan.
***
Sally brought hot chocolate and rolls to Elizabeth in the morning in what had to be a sign that life in the parsonage was gradually returning to normal, even if she felt rather like Noah on the ark. It gave her new sympathy for that biblical gentleman living through forty days and nights of torrential rain.
“How is Jenny this morning?” Elizabeth picked up a roll and tried to break it open, only to have it tear easily into two pieces. It looked light and flaky. Obviously things were not as much back to normal as she had thought. Cook’s rolls usually bore a distinct resemblance to cannon balls.
“She was awake for a bit earlier, but now she’s asleep again, miss.” Sally straightened the counterpane on the bed.
Elizabeth tasted the roll. It was deliciously buttery and smooth. “Who made the rolls today?”
Sally gave her a frightened look. “Cook did, miss. She don’t let any of the others cook for you and Mr. Darcy.”
“Do not fret; the roll is excellent. Have you seen Mr. Darcy today?”
“Yes, miss. He went down to the village with some of the menfolk early this morning to see what can be salvaged.”
“In this weather?” Elizabeth gestured to the window and the severe thunderstorm raging outside.
“It wasn’t raining then, and the river looked to be going down a mite. I’m sure they’re being very careful, miss.”
Once dressed, Elizabeth went down to the sitting room to work on Charlotte’s basket of mending for the poor. Ordinarily she might have chosen to read instead, but having discovered that there was little she could do to assist in the current crisis, she did not at all care for the new feeling of uselessness it gave her. She was accustomed to taking her part in household affairs, but there was no call at the moment for arranging flowers, directing the gardener, or making a purchase in Meryton. Here at Hunsford she had accompanied Charlotte in caring for her chickens, but her friend had managed the accounts, planned the menus, organized the household, and directed Sally and Cook in their tasks. The housekeeper did most of that work at Longbourn, and although Elizabeth supposed she could learn how to do so with as much facility as Charlotte had, her lack of knowledge of the supplies kept her from making an attempt.
Mr. Darcy had been the one to realize that food stores were running low. He had sent out the cart to fetch more, and when that failed, he had done it himself. He would have known even less than she had about the arrangement of the household, and he could not have been trained in these tasks any more than she was. Still, he had arranged to house the villagers in the
But Elizabeth already knew; that much was almost certain of it from the reproachful look she had given him. Devil take it, why must he always be making things worse with her no matter how hard he tried? How was he to face her in the morning?
The situation between them was becoming more untenable by the hour. If the river was calmer tomorrow, he would find a boat and row Elizabeth across to Rosings, then consult with his aunt as to the care of the tenants. He did not like to think of the treatment Lady Catherine would mete out to Elizabeth. Informing his aunt of his intention to marry Elizabeth was something he was dreading himself, and he was far more accustomed to her fits of pique and resentment. And, of course, as soon as he and Elizabeth were with anyone of their acquaintance, the question of their relationship would have to be addressed, and that was something he would prefer to delay as long as possible.
First thing in the morning he would check the river. If it was still a torrent, he would have to come up with some other plan.
***
Sally brought hot chocolate and rolls to Elizabeth in the morning in what had to be a sign that life in the parsonage was gradually returning to normal, even if she felt rather like Noah on the ark. It gave her new sympathy for that biblical gentleman living through forty days and nights of torrential rain.
“How is Jenny this morning?” Elizabeth picked up a roll and tried to break it open, only to have it tear easily into two pieces. It looked light and flaky. Obviously things were not as much back to normal as she had thought. Cook’s rolls usually bore a distinct resemblance to cannon balls.
“She was awake for a bit earlier, but now she’s asleep again, miss.” Sally straightened the counterpane on the bed.
Elizabeth tasted the roll. It was deliciously buttery and smooth. “Who made the rolls today?”
Sally gave her a frightened look. “Cook did, miss. She don’t let any of the others cook for you and Mr. Darcy.”
“Do not fret; the roll is excellent. Have you seen Mr. Darcy today?”
“Yes, miss. He went down to the village with some of the menfolk early this morning to see what can be salvaged.”
“In this weather?” Elizabeth gestured to the window and the severe thunderstorm raging outside.
“It wasn’t raining then, and the river looked to be going down a mite. I’m sure they’re being very careful, miss.”
Once dressed, Elizabeth went down to the sitting room to work on Charlotte’s basket of mending for the poor. Ordinarily she might have chosen to read instead, but having discovered that there was little she could do to assist in the current crisis, she did not at all care for the new feeling of uselessness it gave her. She was accustomed to taking her part in household affairs, but there was no call at the moment for arranging flowers, directing the gardener, or making a purchase in Meryton. Here at Hunsford she had accompanied Charlotte in caring for her chickens, but her friend had managed the accounts, planned the menus, organized the household, and directed Sally and Cook in their tasks. The housekeeper did most of that work at Longbourn, and although Elizabeth supposed she could learn how to do so with as much facility as Charlotte had, her lack of knowledge of the supplies kept her from making an attempt.
Mr. Darcy had been the one to realize that food stores were running low. He had sent out the cart to fetch more, and when that failed, he had done it himself. He would have known even less than she had about the arrangement of the household, and he could not have been trained in these tasks any more than she was. Still, he had arranged to house the villagers in the
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