Page 23 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FRIENDS IN LOWLY PLACES

E lizabeth abruptly wakened to the sound of expletives.

She realised, in that instant, that both she and Cassandra were sprawled across Mr Darcy in a dreadfully undignified manner—and he must be terribly uncomfortable.

She sat up, noticing him carefully stretch the arm that had been sheltering her, probably trying to return feeling to his fingers.

“I am sorry—I do not usually sleep while travelling.” Flustered, she straightened, trying to put a bit of distance between them, only then noticing that they had stopped.

“I am happy you were able to rest for a brief hour,” he said. “There appears to have been some sort of accident, resulting in the loss of several barrels and an overturned wagon which is blocking the road. The, um, participants are a bit annoyed.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “Annoyed? They sound ready to come to blows.”

“’Tis mostly bellowing. I doubt it will amount to more.”

Judging by the strength of the ‘bellowing’, she could not help but distrust this conclusion. Peering out, she could not see much from her side of the carriage—beyond the fact that several others were stopped. Cassandra chose that moment to waken, yawning, looking around with sleepy curiosity.

“What is a ‘buck-fitching mutton monger’?” she asked curiously.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but before she could think of an answer, Mr Darcy did.

“I believe the arguments outside have gone on long enough,” he said. “If you will excuse me.” He smoothly slid Cassandra onto the seat beside Elizabeth and exited the carriage, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Where’s he going?” Cassandra asked.

Elizabeth scooted the girl out of the way to look out of Mr Darcy’s window.

From this viewpoint, she could see two burly, belligerent men, roughly dressed in the clothing of their trades, engaged in a hostile shouting match.

Mr Darcy was heading straight for them. Mr Frost and a footman, only just noticing their employer’s intent, hopped off the driver’s seat and started after him, but they were still several feet behind when Mr Darcy reached the two.

She could not hear whatever it was that he said, but she could see the incredulous looks upon their faces, and then the sneers.

With growing alarm, she easily heard their foul-mouthed responses.

Mr Darcy seemed unaffected; again, she could not hear his quiet reply, but she saw the halting motion he made towards his own men—warning them to come no closer.

Is he mad? Why would he refuse the assistance of the brawny footman and coachman? She hoped they would ignore him.

Mr Frost stopped where he was—far too eager, she thought, to stay out of the fray. The footman looked from Mr Darcy to Mr Frost, appearing anxious to provide succour; the coachman waved him away from the impending brawl, even as Mr Darcy continued to talk. Cowardly!

And then it happened. The larger of the two, with loud oaths, drew back a meaty fist to strike; Mr Darcy appeared to lean forwards slightly, head down, and the brute’s violent arm was suddenly in Mr Darcy’s possession, twisted at an odd angle, and with little apparent effort, the man was flailing, screaming.

Mr Darcy’s other arm wrapped around the bigger man’s neck, and suddenly he was incapacitated, unable to move, speak, or do anything except groan in pain.

Cassandra, over her shoulder, said “Why is Papa hugging that man?”

The other man involved in the altercation, with an alarmed glance at Mr Darcy, hurriedly abdicated from the scene, returning to his cart—it, evidently, was not the overturned one—and applied himself to extricating it from the chaos on the street.

As Mr Darcy continued speaking to the fellow in his grip, the hostility seemed to drain from him.

Within moments, Mr Darcy removed his hold as the former combatant—sheepishly, it appeared to Elizabeth—nodded along to whatever was said.

“What is happening?” a sleepy-eyed Tommy asked, sitting up.

Elizabeth could only shake her head. It was all completely astonishing, but it grew ever more so.

With a nod and signal to Mr Frost and the footman, they all approached the overturned wagon.

Mr Darcy directed the coachman to remove the rather sad-looking horse from the traces, and then the four of them joined forces to right the wagon.

When that was accomplished, Mr Frost quickly did something with a length of rope to fashion a makeshift repair, the horse was reunited with the vehicle, its owner and the footman reloaded the fallen barrels, and within a very short time, Mr Darcy was re-entering his own carriage.

“Did you make a new friend?” Cassandra was quick to ask.

Mr Darcy made a sound that was almost a chuckle. “One can only hope,” he said in wry tones.

Elizabeth could not form words to express her bewilderment at the whole exchange. By the time she found any, the carriage was moving again; Tommy and Cassandra marvelled, with many expressions of wonder, at the sights of the outskirts of London as seen through their windows.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she whispered.

His shrug was barely discernible. “My cousin served for some time in the army abroad, and made some, hmm, interesting friends who taught him a few manoeuvres that are sometimes useful. He enjoys sparring when we have the opportunity—which is not often these days, since his marriage.”

He sounded a bit wistful.

“You overcame the man so easily.”

“Ah, well, anyone can be overcome by a trick he has never before encountered.”

His modesty was so unexpected—in fact, in an obvious effort to change the subject, he pointed out several buildings of interest to the children.

Elizabeth had not believed him to be a boastful person; she had seen early evidence, however, of his innate arrogance, his dislike of those not of his class.

Their first meeting, in fact, had been characterised by this sort of disdain.

It was many years ago , she reminded herself. He is no longer that man, just as I am no longer that young girl. She had bet upon it with her entire life, as a matter of fact. The truth struck her as never before.

He is my husband.

Somehow, in the whirl of activities created by packing up and rearranging their entire lives, she had managed to think as little as possible upon the realities of her marriage.

He had offered her a platonic bond, one that preserved and vastly uplifted her own position without any sort of intimacy required.

Now her thoughts rested upon that offer—did she want, eventually, more than that?

Could she respect him enough to permit him liberties—the awkward, possibly amusing and always enigmatic liberties that led to motherhood?

In the very early days of her marriage, Jane had hinted that those liberties were enjoyable.

In fact, she had used words like ‘wondrous’ and ‘enthralling’.

At first, Elizabeth had been extremely curious, had even asked her sister a few questions; after all, the extent of her education in such mysteries was limited to the procreative methods of her father’s cattle, and there was certainly nothing wonderful about those.

Unfortunately, on this topic, Jane had been unable or unwilling to vocalise details, revealing almost nothing of what actually occurred between a husband and wife.

Besides, after the terrors of Jane’s birthing experience with the twins, Elizabeth had decided that whatever the requirements were, they could remain a mystery—nothing could be worth such pain. She had asked no more questions.

Lydia’s explanations this morning seemed…incredible. She blushed again at the thought of them.

Glancing over at the man beside her, patiently answering Cassandra’s enquiry regarding the purpose of one of those buildings they passed, she began to feel the old curiosity rising to the surface. Mr Darcy returned her look, smiled, and continued with his explanations to Cassandra.

For the first time in ever so long, Elizabeth wished she was not quite so unenlightened.