Page 5

CHAPTER 5

“ O uch!” Miss Elizabeth jumped away from the plant, the thorns holding fast to her gown where they did not tear through the fabric. Until then, I had not noticed how thin and worn the muslin of her garment was. It shredded like tissue paper.

I immediately came to her assistance—a gentlemanly gesture to which she reacted by retreating deeper into the thorns, showing a stubborn preference for the prickly bush over any practical help from me.

Frustrated and concerned at the angry welts with beads of blood I saw rising on her arms and hands, I looped my steed’s reins over a branch and opened my hands in front of me, speaking as softly as I would to a scared doe tangled in brambles. “Miss Elizabeth, I spoke in ignorance. It was foolish of me, and I apologize for causing offense to you. Now, will you permit me to help?”

“You did not lie?” she pressed.

Good gracious, she made this apology difficult! I could not tell her the truth without revealing too much of my changing opinion of her. Gazing upon her at that moment, her hair loose and her cheeks in high color, I found her appealing, indeed. I would gladly plunge my hands into the thorny bush to spare her from any further injury if only she would allow it. However, I would not expose my current vulnerability to convince her of my sincerity. “I was determined to find fault with everything and everyone that night. I spoke thoughtlessly at the height of my pique with Bingley, and I apologize for making you the target of my ill-humor.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. Apparently my apology was weighed and found lacking, because she attempted once again to free herself from the hedge without assistance. I folded my arms, demonstrating my willingness to wait for her to request aid despite my growing urge to provide the help she obviously needed. She had to be the most stubborn woman of my acquaintance.

The inevitable happened. While I could not see the tear, I heard the distinctive sound of fabric ripping.

After a moment’s pause, she scrunched her mouth, her chin high and proud. “If you will extract me from this hedge, I shall be very pleased to forget any of this ever happened.”

Finally! I could not agree more.

Stepping forward, close enough to reach behind her, close enough to smell the rosewater in her hair, I breathed deeply through my nose, letting her pleasant scent calm my treacherous racing heart. I had yet to look down.

“Is it very bad?” There was a plea in her tone I did not understand.

I looked down and stifled a groan. Now I understood. At least two dozen thorns pierced her gown below a gaping hole. I did not pretend to be an expert in ladies’ fashion, but I was not completely ignorant of the foundational garments most ladies wore to preserve their modesty. Not only had the thorns torn her gown, but they were well on their way to shredding through her unmentionables. There was precious little there to protect her from the stiff breeze. Unless I could find a way to remove the thorns piercing the delicate fabric, she would be exposed.

I pretended blindness and chose to speak more encouragingly than truthfully. “I shall get you out of here in a matter of minutes. You may have my coat as soon as your sleeves are freed.” How I wished I had donned my great coat!

Taking great caution to avoid touching her skin or tearing the fabric any further, I painstakingly plucked the linen off the first thorn. My gloves made my fingers clumsy, so I removed them. Warmth radiated from her in heated waves. A trickle of sweat trickled down my side whiskers.

“Can you not work any faster?” Her voice was strained.

I dared not.

“If I just—” She leaned forward before I could stop her.

Instinctively, I spun around to preserve her dignity, but there was a ripping sound, this one much louder than the last. From the corner of my eye, I saw what must have been her skirt drop into the mud puddle behind her… all of her lower garment that did not remain stuck on the thorny bush.

“Do not look!” she cried.

I was already not looking. I contorted my torso to remove my coat, wishing the narrow coattails of the riding coat were wider for her sake… and mine. They would not be enough to cover her fully, and the now-wet fabric of her morning gown would do little to help.

What kind of woman left her house on a chilly day without a coat? A stubborn, impatient one who refused my help and then would not wait for me to do an effective job!

I finally succeeded in pulling my arm from the second sleeve of my coat and held the garment behind me for Miss Elizabeth to take. At least it would cover half of her, so long as the tails were strategically held in place. Her hands brushed mine, damp and ice cold. When I thought I heard her teeth chatter, I could endure no more.

“Cover yourself,” I commanded. Keeping my head turned to the side, I dove my hands into the bush behind her, heedless of the pricks they suffered, and tugged her free of the thorns.

Still not looking, I scooped my arms under her legs and lifted her into my arms. I could not leave her on the path; she might be observed in her present state of undress. So long as I held her, I could not see her. Therefore, I saw no other option but to carry her the short distance to Longbourn.

The lady, of course, protested. “Put me down this instant!”

I hesitated to do as she wished—her request was not in the best interest for either of us—but ultimately, I obeyed.

I swear I did my best to avert my eyes, just as I am certain she did her best to arrange my coat around her figure, but I saw a waxing crescent moon-sized sliver of her backside. My face burned. Though I tried with all my mental strength to think of anything other than the shape of her, my face heated with the exertion.

My horse snickered—actually laughed at me. “Brute,” I whispered, plucking his reins from the branch and holding them loosely in one hand.

“Um,” Miss Elizabeth said to my back.

I had not yet regained my composure.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes?” I croaked.

“I cannot move without—” She stopped, not needing to complete her sentence for me to know she required my help. Nevertheless, I had already been reproved for my assistance and would wait for her to ask before I moved or even flinched in her direction.

“That is to say…” I distinctly heard her teeth rattle. It took every ounce of my self-control not to lift her into my arms again and carry her to Longbourn. “I am in need of…”

Decency be hanged—she was miserable. “Are you as covered as you can make yourself? Especially… the back?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I am going to turn around and—without looking—I will lift you in my arms and carry you the short distance to Longbourn.”

“Yes, please.”

“You will have to hold the reins to my horse.”

“That is not a problem.”

Without another word, I spun around, kept my eyes fixed on our feet and the muddy path, shoved the reins at Miss Elizabeth, and lifted her up. She tucked against me, her outside hand resting on top of my shoulders with a firm grasp on my horse’s reins. I pressed her close against my chest as much to lend her my warmth as to cover as much of her as I could.

While I had made a pact with my eyes not to look at her, I was not prepared for the feel of her.

She buried her face against my neck. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

I could not account for the rapidity with which my frustration became delight at being the recipient of her gratitude. Had I needed to carry her five miles, I would not have tired.

“I believe your horse would follow you even without the lead,” she observed.

Eager for the distraction conversation provided, I asked, “Do you ride?”

She sighed. “I used to.”

“You do not anymore?” I asked, hoping she would fill the silence and abate the looming awkwardness.

“I had a lovely mare. Persephone.”

“Queen of the underworld?”

“It is what my father called her. Once my sisters caught on, the name stuck. Unfavorable connotation aside, it is a beautiful name, is it not? Far superior to her original name, Sugar.”

I admitted it was a superior name, though I could say nothing against Sugar. That had been the name of my little sister’s first pony. “How did she earn such an appellation?”

“She was very particular about who she allowed to ride her. If she did not like someone, she would lie down and pretend to sleep until they went away. Or she would ram their legs into fence posts. Or kick and rear to test the firmness of her rider’s seat.”

“Yet she behaved with you?”

“I did not allow her to get away with poor behavior. Once she determined I would not put up with her foolishness—which did not take long at all—she was the best horse I have ever been privileged to ride.” She paused, adding softly. “She liked it when I sang to her.”

The sentiment in her tone tugged at my heart. “I had a stallion no one else could ride. My cousin Richard, who prides himself on being the best rider in the family, got thrown and dislocated his shoulder when he tried.” I bit my tongue to prevent myself from boring her with stories of Richard and my horse she would not fully appreciate, having met neither of them. That stallion had kept me alert and had taught me a great deal about control, but once I had gained his trust, he responded to me like no horse I had ridden since. I understood why Miss Elizabeth would miss such an animal. “What happened to Persephone?”

“None of my sisters could ride her, so my father sold her to purchase a calmer horse. Winnie is as gentle and sweet as they could hope for, but I find no joy plodding along when Persephone sailed over the fields. There was not a fallen tree, stream, or hedge she could not jump over.”

The mare sounded fearless, much like her mistress. Miss Elizabeth was not afraid of a challenge, and she did not approve of or allow for misbehavior. No wonder she had reacted so strongly to my rude comment. I was glad I had apologized.

Avoiding the gravel path leading to the front entrance of Longbourn and doing my best to remain out of view from anyone who might peer through a window, I carried Miss Elizabeth to the back, where the kitchen was usually located.

Near the water pump, there stood an orchard of pear trees. She pointed me to them. “We can tie your horse here.” I felt her hand lift from my shoulder and heard the reins flip around the branch with the flick of her scratched wrist.

We made our way to the back door, which I nudged open with my foot. The cook continued to knead her dough, not even looking up as she scolded, “Do not stand there with the door open or this bread will never rise!”

I kicked the door closed behind me. “My apologies.”

She looked up at the sound of my voice, raising her floured hands to her face. “Miss Lizzy? Are you hurt? Oh! Look at your arms!”

Miss Elizabeth laughed softly. “My gown fared worse than I did, I assure you.”

Slowly, I bent down to set my load on her feet, but Cook’s gasp had me snatching her back up in my embrace. I had no option but to hold her while Cook clucked and mumbled under her breath. “You stay here while I fetch the mistress.” To me, she added with narrowed eyes, “Keep your hands where they are. Do not move.”

The reality of my situation crashed over me. I had been fortunate to have evaded the consequences of one compromise… only to be caught neck-deep in another. One glance at her daughter’s tattered dress, her bare skin covered mostly by my hands, and Mrs. Bennet was certain to demand a wedding.

I straightened my shoulders and widened my stance, waiting for the inevitable and accustoming myself to the idea. Miss Elizabeth was a strong-willed young lady of good character and firm opinions. I could do far worse. In fact, once we adjusted to each other, I imagined we might find some happiness. It was not a hopeless situation.

Mr. Bennet walked into the kitchen with Mrs. Bennet’s voice and then the lady herself trailing behind him. “I shall never speak to Lizzy again! I mean it! I said I would never speak to her and—” She saw me then. “Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet might not be on speaking terms with her daughter, but she held no qualms about screeching my name.

Mr. Bennet appeared amused. “Do not tell me you brought another gentleman here to propose, Lizzy. One is sufficient for any day.”