Mrs. Hobart, never one to waste an opportunity to complain, declared, “I shall have the magistrate! I shall have the bishop! I shall haveeverybody!”
“You will have my foot if you keep on,” Mrs. Gregory grumbled.
“Woman’s voice could curdle milk,” her husband added.
“Mr. Darcy,” Sir Reginald began, “this is all a misunderstanding—”
“A misunderstanding,” Mrs. Hobart repeated, triumphant. “Exactly! We were merely assisting, merely guiding, and now we are tied up like sausages!”
Heat licked at Elizabeth’s skin in painful waves as sensation returned; her shivering grew suddenly worse as the cold began to work its way out of her bones.
Mr. Darcy turned from the fire and came to her at once.
“Hold out your hands,” he said.
Elizabeth obeyed. He examined them, then rubbed them briskly between his own, as if he meant to command blood back into her fingers.
“This is entirely scandalous,” she whispered, because it seemed important to register outrage even while being grateful.
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said drily. “It is. Quite shocking.”
Mrs. Hobart leaned forward as far as her bonds allowed. “And whose fault is it? Hers! If she had only been reasonable and remained above stairs—”
Mr. Darcy’s head turned slowly toward her.
Mrs. Hobart’s voice faltered.
“Madam,” he said with terrifying calm, “you will cease speaking.”
Mrs. Hobart bristled. “Well, I never—”
“That is speaking,” Mr. Darcy replied.
She fell silent.
Mr. Darcy laid out everything before the fire to warm. He took a blanket draped over the back of the settee and wrapped it around Elizabeth, then, as if deciding that was insufficient, he sat down beside her and drew her against him, one arm firm around her back.
Elizabeth stiffened on reflex. The reflex lasted two seconds. Then her body, traitorous and sensible, leaned in.
It was only for warmth, of course. Entirely practical.
Mrs. Hobart stared at them with a sort of scandalised fascination, her mouth hanging open. “Mr.Darcy!”
He turned his head to look over his shoulder. “Anders. Johnson. Kindly remove them.”
Elizabeth had not realised that Mr. Darcy’s coachmen were in the room with them.
Mrs. Hobart shrieked. “Remove us? Where? You cannot!”
“I think you will find that we can,” Johnson said pleasantly.
“You could not stop yapping, could ya?” Mrs. Gregory cried. “And now look! This is all your fault! You had to come here, even when you wasn’t wanted!”
Johnson hauled Sir Reginald upright, then tossed him over one shoulder like a sack of grain. Resigned, Sir Reginald said only, “Mind my coat.”
“Mind it yourself,” Johnson said flatly.
Between them, Anders and Johnson shepherded the entire bound party back towards the kitchen. Mrs. Hobart’s commentary did not cease even as she was dragged along.