Page 8 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

THE BELL AT brOMLEY

I t was positively the oddest and most incongruous thing that Elizabeth had ever experienced, the strange intimacy of seeing a man sleep.

She could not recollect ever even seeing her father in slumber, so the idea of Mr Darcy, of all people, in that particularly vulnerable state, was both discomfiting and disarming.

The colonel, beside him, had pushed his hat over his face and thus was easily disregarded.

At least while he sleeps, he cannot say anything offensive. She sighed. What am I to do about all of this?

The situation was not irremediable, she believed. They would arrive in Gracechurch Street, a place where Mr Darcy was surely unknown, and she would go to her uncle immediately. The hows and whys of her arrival would be explained carefully and quietly. As for the engagement itself…

Her eyes, almost unconsciously, traced his injuries.

There were nail marks on one cheek, two open wounds and one with a plaster, and he had a blackened eye and broken ribs.

He caused those himself , she reminded herself.

Had I been given five minutes more in the parsonage, I would have refused his offer and none of this would have happened.

But she had not had those minutes and thus had they both been placed into danger, or at least disapprobation.

She breathed deeply against the surge of anger besetting her at that.

She would need to ask him to call on her in Gracechurch Street and there explain why they were positively not engaged, and nor would they become so.

She must have fallen into slumber herself, for she bolted upright, startled, her heart pounding, as a result of a particularly violent jolt.

The coachmen shouted and the carriage swayed and for one terrifying moment it seemed they were in real danger of overturning, but then they did not and the carriage came to a shuddering halt.

Beside her, Maria was awake, pale-faced, with her hands twisting against one another. Elizabeth reached over and patted her arm, and Maria smiled gratefully.

Mr Darcy had also awoken and was placing his hat on his head and looking the very picture of alert command despite his wounds. “Are you well? You are not hurt?” he asked her anxiously.

She shook her head, her hand pressed against her chest. “N-no. What was it?”

“Excuse me while I go and see.”

Instructing the colonel, who had barely regained consciousness, to remain, Mr Darcy stepped out.

He was only gone briefly. Re-entering the carriage, he looked unhappy.

“The road is in such poor condition from all the rain of late that one of the wheels has broken. Happily, my men believe they will be able to repair it without too much trouble.”

“Shall we be required to wait long?” Elizabeth enquired.

“The Bell at Bromley cannot be far off. We should be able to take tea there while the repairs are made, if you ladies would not object to a short walk? Fitzwilliam?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook himself into wakefulness. “Are you equal to it?” he asked Mr Darcy, who nodded.

Elizabeth glanced at Maria who said nothing.

Elizabeth herself was always far from objecting to a walk, though she could not shake the sense that she was going more deeply into a territory from which she could not emerge unscathed.

But we stopped at the Bell on the way her e, she recalled.

A busy place, full of people coming and going and none of them knew me then and likely will not now either.

In any case, what reason might she give to refuse? As if on cue, her stomach rumbled loudly. “Oh! Forgive me,” she exclaimed, feeling herself blush as Maria giggled.

“Have you had breakfast?” Mr Darcy was suddenly all concern. “Have you, Miss Lucas?”

“I have,” Maria squeaked in reply. “But I am hungry.”

“And you Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “I know you did not join us for dinner last night.”

“I did not,” she agreed. “Nor did I eat anything for breakfast.”

“Then it seems the decision is an easy one.” Mr Darcy opened the door again, stepped out, then turned and extended his arm back into the carriage.

The Bell, as it turned out, was within sight, but they made slow progress in deference to Mr Darcy’s injuries. The day had become very fine, with bright sun and a warm breeze; indeed Elizabeth felt she could have walked ten times the distance if needed, even in her present, very hungry state .

Alas, she recognised her first danger the instant they entered.

The innkeeper was quick to come to them, greeting Mr Darcy by name and asking after Lady Catherine.

Mr Darcy did not introduce her, but she saw the man’s curious glance when Mr Darcy placed a hand on her elbow to guide her through the room.

How she wished he might have extended his courtesy to Maria!

Alas, Colonel Fitzwilliam and his red coat had Maria’s full attention.

Mr Darcy had requested, and been granted, a private sitting room in which to enjoy their repast, and it was on their way to that room that a large, red-haired gentleman with a loosened cravat and crumpled hat nearly bumped into them.

“Darcy! What do you do here? Good lord, what happened to you, man?” he exclaimed, in an exceedingly loud voice.

Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy, expecting to see indignation or mortification. Instead, Mr Darcy laughed and clapped the fellow on his meaty back. “This? ’Tis nothing. A few scrapes.”

“Ah, you and your cousin did always like to wrestle about,” the man said cheerfully.

“What do you do here?” Mr Darcy enquired of him.

“Oh, a gang of us went south for Easter, over to Tunbridge Wells. Sir Edmund, Egremont, the usual folks. Ghastly weather, and all Sir Edmund did was whinge about, fretting over his horses.” The man chuckled amiably. “But who is this with you?”

Mr Darcy turned to her then and gave her an intent look that she did not quite comprehend.

Was he asking if she would like the introduction?

She nodded very slightly, thinking that no matter that this man looked like he had just been rescued from an overturned canoe, he was apparently on good terms with Mr Darcy and an introduction could not be refused.

“Elizabeth,” said Mr Darcy, “allow me to present Mr Wallace Rollings of Rollendale Grange.”

“But everyone calls me Jolly,” he exclaimed, rocking back on his heels. Elizabeth liked him immediately; his good humour made any other response impossible.

Mr Darcy quickly introduced Maria and then said, with his dark eyes fixed on her countenance, “And this lovely young woman is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed heartily, and added, “Jolly, well do we know how perfectly useless you are at recollecting names, so fear not, you may forget this one with impunity. It will not be too long until she bears another.”

Jolly stared at him with surprise; Elizabeth thought it likely she had the same expression. To the colonel, he said, “Surely not?—”

“No, no!” The colonel held up his palms. “Not because of me —because of this rapscallion!” He gestured towards Mr Darcy.

“No. No! I shall not believe it,” Jolly exclaimed, but there was such kindliness in his aspect Elizabeth could not be offended by his disbelief.

Again, Mr Darcy gave her that tender look that so discomfited her. “Shocking, I know, but from the first moment of our acquaintance, my heart has belonged to her.”

“Well, this is certainly sweet.” Another man had just joined them, the sort of man who was handsome and knew it, but was affable enough to be liked for it. “Darcy, surely you will not abandon us, your bachelor brothers-in-arms?”

“I fear I must,” Mr Darcy replied cheerfully while Elizabeth swallowed hard and forced a smile. What was she to say? It was certainly not the right moment to disclaim the betrothal, but every word, every syllable , dug her more deeply into the farce.

The assemblage grew from there, the friends that Jolly had been travelling with—numbering eight in total—gradually drifting over to join the group.

At length they all moved into the sitting room, the meal Mr Darcy had ordered appearing quickly and disappearing just the same.

They were an amiable, jovial set of men and ladies, and Elizabeth saw one sure truth among them, something Mr Wickham had once said.

‘Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable—allowing something for fortune and figure’.

Yes, one could not deny that among these people, Mr Darcy was all ease and friendliness.

No, he was not the life and soul of the party, to be sure—his innate gravity prohibited that—but no one in their right mind could have described him as taciturn or ill-humoured.

Had I met this man at the assembly, our acquaintance would have proceeded much differently.

Of course, ‘this man’ did not exist at the assembly, because the assembly was held in a place where the whole of the populace—Elizabeth herself included—was deemed unworthy of Mr Darcy’s notice. The familiar vexation she always felt in his presence renewed itself within her breast.

More tea had been brought to their party, along with sliced ham, fruit, and cheeses with bread, but Elizabeth ate very sparingly.

The events of the day, indeed of the last full day complete, were beginning to make themselves felt.

It was approximately this same time yesterday that she had learnt of Mr Darcy’s actions in separating Jane from her beloved.

Now she sat, in a coaching inn, with the very same man and a group of his friends, all of whom wrongly believed she intended to become Mrs Darcy.

How had all of this happened? And would she be able to escape the engagement now that so many people knew about it?

As soon as we are back in the carriage , Elizabeth decided, I will tell him I cannot marry him. Every feeling within me prohibits it.