Tiny chapter, to be followed by a longer one.
The arrival of Vince, unconscious and in the arms of Mr Darcy at the Bennet home, caused a significant stir. Mrs Bennet shrieked and burst into tears, telling anyone who would listen that she had been against Vince going shooting from the very beginning and had known that some evil or other would befall him. Mary and Jane meanwhile escorted Mr Darcy to the sitting room where Vince was placed carefully and lovingly on the sofa. Mr Darcy insisted on removing Vince's boots and elevating the injured ankle - which was dreadfully swollen - on a cushion.
"Thank you, Mr Darcy," Mary said reassuringly as he hovered about his unconscious charge.
"Yes, thank you," echoed Jane. "He shall be quite alright, we assure you."
"It is true," Mary smiled. "He cut himself with the scissors a few years ago and fainted from the pain and the sight of his own blood and remained completely insensible for two hours."
Howard nodded uncomfortably, looking once more at Vince. He had a sudden fear that he would wake up with no memory of their conversation, or worse, would come to his senses and assert a desire to never lay eyes upon Howard again. Howard felt panic begin to well up within him. He needed some way of assuring Vince of his devotion whilst not being actually present when he awoke and, he realised, he would need to act swiftly, as the two eldest Miss Bennets were beginning to wonder at his lack of response. At which point his gaze happened to fall upon the writing desk in the corner and the paper thereon.
"Might I," he stuttered. "Might I borrow paper and a pen?"
"Yes, certainly," Jane said, her brow creasing in confusion. "But you are welcome to stay."
"No, no, I... must retrieve our rifles, and assure the rest of our party that Vince is taken care of."
He nodded vigorously, encouraging the young ladies to do so as well and was given free use of the writing materials while they excused themselves to make a compress for their brother's ankle and to wet a cloth for his forehead.
Howard penned the letter hastily, hoping that it said all he needed it to. He seemed far too adept at causing confusion for both himself and Vince and did not want the young man to suffer any further. He left it on the small table beside the sofa, folded neatly with Vince's name written clearly so that his family would know to whom it belonged and whose eyes alone it was for. He gave one last, love-filled look at the man he adored and then quietly, with no fuss whatsoever, he left and began to walk back to Bingley's estate.
