Page 1 of A Letter in the Wind (Mayhem and Scandal Collection #1)

Fitzwilliam Darcy tromped through the woods of Rosings Park. The sunshine glittered through the trees, newly budding with the promise of Spring the week before Easter. Usually, the holiday and the season evoked thoughts of renewal and hope—creating a bright beacon in the otherwise dismal visit to his aunt’s estate. However, this year his mind was tormented with anxiety and conflict. The weather must have understood because, despite the sunny sky, a strong gust blew in cold air. Darcy pulled up the collar of his great coat, hoping it would block some of the wind blasting him in the face. He tucked the edges of his curly dark hair under his hat. He had enough problems with it staying tidy.

The bewitching Elizabeth Bennet currently resided nearby. He intended to avoid her. It was mere chance that he had the opportunity to see her again after their short acquaintance the previous autumn. At the time, the country miss had driven him to the point of distraction, but he had prevailed. He would not lose his head over nothing more than mere attraction. While he remained confident that he could resist her charms once more, Darcy also always believed discretion was the better part of valour. Therefore, he did not tempt fate.

His aunt had requested that he arrive earlier than usual this year. Generally, he kept to a rigid schedule—but last summer threw everything off-kilter. Surely that was the reason for the unusual bubbling of emotions which stirred in his heart. First, there was Georgiana’s ordeal. Then, he met Elizabeth. He would vow to his dying breath that he did not heed Lady Catherine’s request and immediately call for his horse because it was mentioned in passing that Elizabeth was nearby. Indeed, he had also not almost visited the parsonage directly.

Gently bred people did not display their inner turmoil and thoughts for all the world to see. In fact, the best of men never felt any at all. That was the way of the true Darcy spirit and the example set before him by his father, the great George Darcy of Pemberley.

The wind blew hard against Darcy—as though nature compelled him to turn around. He adamantly refused. He always took this path for a morning walk, and he would continue regardless of the weather. He did not need to give it any more heed than he would grant the nagging in his gut to journey all the way to Hunsford parsonage and rest his eyes on Elizabeth’s lovely face and hear her witty remarks.

His insistence on walking this morning when his Hessians were not dry from yesterday was merely due to a desire for routine. The fact that he had to borrow ill-fitting and unfashionable Blucher boots from his valet merely proved his commitment. It could not be mistaken as a sign of weakness and that he might visit the parsonage. In fact, it was further evidence of his stalwart intention for exercise. He would never choose to be seen by anyone in such detestable and ill-fitting shoes.

His mind engrossed in ignoring his compulsive thoughts about Miss Bennet, Darcy lost interest in his surroundings. Unexpectedly, a large rock jutted from the dirt path, causing him to stumble. Pitching forward, he managed to lunge instead of landing on his face. Unfortunately, his right knee smacked on another stone. Its jagged edge pierced his buckskin breeches. With a hiss, he staggered to his feet and inspected his wound. Blood trickled through the cut cloth.

“The abominable wind!” Darcy cried in disgust.

“Mr Darcy!”

Elizabeth’s surprised voice hit him like a blow to the chest. She sounded incredibly near and must have witnessed his embarrassing fall followed by his ungentlemanly outburst. He gulped before looking up. She was only a few feet from him and was coming nearer. He could not yet make out the expression in her brown eyes, but he could easily see the loveliness of her face and figure had not diminished in the past several months.

She was so beautiful it hurt. Or was that the injury to his knee he felt? Either way, it irritated him that he could not be in command of his faculties.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said with all the politeness he could muster. Unfortunately, it sounded cold and angry even to his own ears.

Annoyance flashed across her face, and she hesitated a moment. After taking a breath, she shrugged her shoulders and continued her approach. Compassion lit her eyes the closer she came. Something in Darcy’s heart hitched at the expression directed at him. When was the last time anyone took care of him?

“Good morning, Mr Darcy,” she said in a gentle tone. “That appears painful. Do you mind if I look at it for you?”

“I am perfectly capable of withstanding a small wound, madam. I owe it to my own stupidity, after all.”

Her lips twitched and he saw that she fought hard to repress a full smile.

“If tripping over an unfortunately placed rock was all it took to display stupidity, then we would all be the town idiots.” She paused a moment. “Come, sir. There is a log just over there that you can sit on. I will feel better if I can assist you.”

Her mild tease stole much of his anger and embarrassment. He moved in the direction she indicated. “Do you mean to tell me that a great walker such as yourself has ever experienced the humiliation of such clumsiness?”

She laughed and Darcy was helpless but to turn and look at her. The flush to her cheeks and the way her eyes shined in addition to the radiance of her grin washed over him. Her laughter and smile transformed her into one of the most beautiful ladies he ever knew. How had he ever thought her barely pretty the night they first met?

“I, sir, am the epitome of grace,” she said in mock seriousness. “I believe a common acquaintance of ours insisted that accomplished ladies had a certain manner in their way of walking. If I confessed to sometimes tripping and splaying in the road like a fool, then you would justly ridicule me.”

“I can hardly do that without exposing myself to the same scorn, Miss Bennet.” His lips turned up a fraction before he continued forward—manfully attempting not to limp. “In this, we are equals.”

She laughed again. “We must be certain that Miss Bingley or Lady Catherine never hear you confess to such a travesty.”

Darcy thought that an odd thing to say. If for no other reason than why should she mention such poorly behaved women. Reaching the log, he sat and allowed her to look at his wound. “You are not afraid of the blood?”

“I have never been very squeamish.” She shrugged. “Besides, as I have already said, I am no stranger to such an injury. My poor mama has complained many times about torn gowns and petticoats. Our laundress has my undying thanks.”

Another smile threatened to emerge on Darcy’s mouth. “I do recall you arriving at Netherfield with little heed for your garments.”

“I had thought you condemned me then—”

“On the contrary,” he interrupted. “I thought only of how loving of a sister you must be.”

Well, perhaps it was not his only thought at the time. She had made a captivating picture with windblown hair, bright eyes, and a glowing face. Even now his mind recalled the image, and his heart began to race. His arms itched to pull her to him and… He shut off that sort of thinking. He was a gentleman, and that sort of behaviour was only for a wife. She could never be his.

Just as a strange hollowness began to fill him, a sharp pain jerked his whole attention to his knee where Elizabeth was prodding.

“I fear I must tear more of the fabric to take a better look. Hopefully, there is nothing stuck in the wound.”

He gritted his teeth and said a silent prayer for the incident to be nothing but a ridiculous dream. “If you must.”

She pulled at the cut in his breeches to no effect. Wishing the experience over with and yet unsure why he allowed her such liberties, he reached down to stop her hands. Although they both wore gloves, the slight touch sent sparks up his arm. He ripped the hole until it exposed the entirety of his knee and the bottom of the garment now hung tattered. Elizabeth’s mouth had opened to a perfect O. He hoped that he had impressed her with his strength. Buckskin was considerably thicker and harder to shred than cotton.

She cleared her throat. “Do you have a flask so I might wash away the blood?”

Darcy handed her the silver vessel from his coat pocket.

“This might sting,” she cautioned.

“It is only water. I do not carry anything stronger.” He flushed a little at the admittance. It was not a popular stance, but he had seen the effects of too much alcohol in his life.

“That is an admirable policy.” Her brow furrowed as she focused on her work. She withdrew her handkerchief.

“No, use mine.” Belatedly, he shoved the white cloth at her.

“I shall use yours as a bandage,” she declared. “I am certain you would rather not sport lace and flowers.”

Darcy did not reply. Of course, she could never understand how gladly he would wear proof of her care. He found the image of her gently washing away soil and blood from his skin to be mesmerising. His throat tightened and words would not come. He often found it difficult to speak around Elizabeth, but this was different. Something was changing between them. It both terrified and thrilled him.

“Perhaps we must talk a little,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Do you often walk this way?”

“Yes, daily during my visits to Rosings.” He wiggled the foot of his uninjured leg. “I unwisely set out this morning despite my boots not having dried from last night. My valet loaned me these shoes and I owe my injury to them.”

“I thought it was pride that went before the fall,” she quipped.

Darcy’s eyes widened before he barked out a laugh. “I suppose there was a fair bit of that too. I ought to have turned around instead of stubbornly continuing despite the wind.”

“I do not blame you,” she said. “I, too, dearly love a morning walk. There.”

She sat back and Darcy looked at her handiwork. She had washed, dried and wrapped his knee. His handkerchief was tied off with a neat bow.

“You should test it and make sure I did not tie it too tight.”

He obeyed, smiling at how secure the fabric felt. It did not slide down; neither did it limit his ability to bend the joint. “An excellent job.”

He held his hand out to assist her to her feet. When her gloved hand slid into his, he experienced another jolt.