Page 1 of Obligation and Redemption
Do nothing from rivalry or conceit,
but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Let each of you look not only to his own interests,
but also to the interests of others.
Philippians 2:3-4
Although dawn, the sky remained black as storm clouds quickly invaded the awakening countryside.
Fitzwilliam Darcy urged his mount to an even quicker pace as he attempted to race the storm.
Lightning had been flashing in the distance as he skilfully steered Hermes, his black Arabian, through the woodland along the leaf-covered path.
Darcy had guessed, upon setting out, that he had about an hour before the storm clouds would overtake him, and he meant to make the most of that time.
He had relieved his mind of all thought, except the path before him and the exhilaration that came from a brisk pace on the back of his spirited mount.
He was himself while unaccompanied, without the need to perform or succumb to the expectations of others.
Darcy could feel the escalating cold air sting his face but rejoiced in the sensation.
He could forget his sister’s near ruin and subsequent pain; he could escape from conniving mothers and daughters; he could forget his own feelings of loneliness and his expected pending courtship. When riding, he was liberated.
Darcy urged his mount faster and had just come around a bend when he saw a sudden flash of colour.
By instinct, he squeezed his legs tighter and steered Hermes off the pathway.
Just then, a flash of light lit his surroundings and sent a tingling sensation coursing through his body, but he did not have time to consider his danger as his world turned upside down, and true darkness enveloped him.
Later, Darcy would have vague recollections of the following few hours of that transformative day.
The pain was immense, as he would open his eyes periodically to take in his location.
He knew he was being dragged slowly underneath a canopy of trees blown forcefully overhead.
The pain in his ankle surged with each rock or root that dared to get in his way.
But that was nothing compared with the relentless throbbing in the back of his head that threatened additional episodes of spinning followed by retching as he was pulled along.
Initially, Darcy thought that he was alone – that the transgressor who startled his horse along the pathway had succumbed to his stallion’s ferocity.
But he soon understood this was not the case.
Darcy knew someone, or perhaps several, were moving him through the woods, whose mercy he, perforce, depended upon; he just hoped that his guardians wished him no harm.
At intervals, when he opened his eyes, he would feel a surge of nausea overtake him, so that he could only take in the conflicting sounds and smells of his journey.
Occasionally, he would get a scent of flowers sometimes followed by a woman’s voice, reminding him of the woman he was to marry.
He supposed that he must have been dreaming as his mind sought an escape from his suffering.
In his recumbent position, the rain fell hard upon his face, sometimes making breathing difficult, while the chill of the blustery wind blew against his frame, causing him to shiver as the journey to nowhere incessantly persisted.
Minutes passed, or possibly hours, during his journey when nothing but a blur of pain mixed with nausea and misery consumed his conscious thoughts.
Darcy awoke to a dimly lit room with dark walls.
He knew for certain that a woman, whom he vaguely recognised, was caring for him; her hands were gentle and her voice calming as she worked to soothe his aches.
She spoke kindly to him as she changed the dressing on his head.
She had tried to solicit a response about something having to do with the dreadful cold, but he could only imagine his words, being unable to rouse enough to be present to the task.
He wondered where the others had gone and hoped he and the woman had not been left alone – a situation he had always stringently avoided.
Without clarity, Darcy would later remember his guardian assisting him onto a bed or cot of some sort and soliciting his help.
The pain in his head and ankle was intense, so he cursed out loud, retching yet again with the movement.
The indignity of his condition was lost on the misery he felt.
If the room would stop spinning, he could assess his predicament, but as it was, he just wanted peace, quiet and warmth.
He could handle any discomfort from his ankle, if his head would just stop pounding.
The calming effect of her ministrations soothed him back to the land of Morpheus, which was fortunate, as it spared him from another episode of retching.
The next thing that Darcy recalled, however, stayed with him.
He had been sleeping, but heard a rustling as he awoke.
He opened his eyes and thought that he must have met his end and an angel was before him, dressed in white, with a glow from behind.
He tried to focus as the fuzzy haze cleared into a distinct picture of exquisiteness.
Before him, not five feet away, was a woman in nothing but her chemise stuck to her frame, showing her shape and curves to perfection.
He could clearly see her abundant assets, as he could not pull his eyes away from her.
He must have unconsciously made a sound with his sharp intake of breath because she abruptly turned around to gaze at him.
He had attempted to turn away quickly, but that only made him more dizzy and confused, and he had to reach up to cover his eyes.
She said something, which he answered in the negative without comprehending her words.
Darcy was of course mortified that he had nearly been caught staring at her.
Could she have known how alluring she was in the wet chemise?
Was that her design, to seduce him into a compromising position?
Now that he looked back on the encounter, he understood that that must have been exactly what she had been doing.
Her curves would have been intoxicating had he been well enough to appreciate them.
Her wet hair had cascaded down to the spot just above the lower curve of her back, drawing his eye to her round bottom.
He could just see her breasts through the thin, wet garment.
He could not have imagined a more delightful sight, howbeit brief.
That vision would haunt his waking and slumbering dreams for many nights to come.
But no matter how lovely she was, he could not, and would not, be lured into this nobody’s lair.
Many more beautiful women had attempted a seduction of him, and no one had been successful.
Focusing on something other than the woman before him, his eyes landed on his coat hanging on a hook by the fire.
In an instant Darcy came to realise that he himself was in a state of undress.
She had been undressing him! This woman had laid hands upon his person and removed his clothes!
He began to fumble under the blanket and was relieved to feel that his shirt and pants were still on, if somewhat damp, which was likely why he still shivered despite being by the fire and under a blanket.
This woman, whoever she was, had thought that she could force a compromise and coerce a marriage with him.
That was certain never to happen. He had enough money to get himself out of any scrape that might come his way, and he would not succumb to her contrivances.
She may have the body to seduce, but he would not fall prey to her purposes.
His head was pounding as his pulse raced in outrage.
The exertion was exhausting to his body, weakened by blood loss and physical stress.
Being cold slowed down his senses and ability to stay awake; therefore, he gave in to sleep, fitfully at first, but then deeply as his body attempted to escape the pain. Darcy did worry about what this woman might do while he slept but could do nothing to stop her deeds.
THE STORM CLOUDS WERE WELL TO THE WEST when Elizabeth Bennet set out on her daily walk.
Although, the temperatures had been unseasonably warm over the past week, at well above the average for October, a cold breeze had begun to stir the night before.
She was anxious to put on her walking boots and take in the landscape surrounding her country home in Hertfordshire.
She had been unable, in recent days, to partake in her customary routine of walking at dawn along the grounds of Longbourn, and willingly faced the possibility of rain in order to work out her pent up energy in active pursuits.
As the clouds grew more ominous, Elizabeth was lost in thought.
Her eyes stayed to the ground, so she would not trip as she walked within a less-travelled part of her father’s estate.
The leaves had begun their descent onto the woodland bed, so the ground was a carpet of reds, browns and yellows.
“Such beauty, such joys!” she exclaimed without restraint.
As a wood nymph, she glided down the lane, occasionally reaching down and tossing up a handful of leaves.
Autumn was her delight, and not even the exceptionally cold wind that had begun to blow in force could mar her spirits.
When Elizabeth noticed that she was some distance from home, and that the clouds might break soon, she picked up her pace in the direction of the house and began to run down the path. This is just what she needed. She laughed in transport as she attempted to race the storm to come.