Page 8

CHAPTER 8

“ M r. Darcy!” Elizabeth reached for her sodden skirts, pulling them down over her legs even as her eyes pinched in pain. She clutched her ankle.

I cursed under my breath. What was she doing here? She was soaked through, as the side where she had slid down the hill was covered in mud. A perfectly reasonable explanation existed, I was certain; every other unlikely encounter with the lady had proven to me that, although circumstances might appear otherwise, Elizabeth was a sensible lady in possession of a rational mind.

She laughed—an unexpected sound but a welcome one, coming from her. “Of course it is you! Who else could it possibly be?”

Feeling more like a hero than an annoyance, I bent down to scoop her up in a swift movement I had performed only the previous day. She draped her arm over my shoulder and looped her arm around the back of my neck in a move we had unintentionally practiced more times than decency would normally allow.

Thunder rumbled, and I began to tighten my grip on the flighty horse’s reins a split second before the sky cracked like a rifle shot. It was too little, too late. The leather tugged free from my grasp, and the horse bolted out of reach before I could attempt to prevent it. With my arms full of Elizabeth Bennet, I was unable to give chase.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled against my throat, sending a wave of liquid heat coursing through my veins.

“Oh dear,” I repeated, my voice gravelly and thick. The rain poured in sheets now. Even were there a house nearby, I would not see it through the sudden thick fog and rain. I stared up at the heavens, thick raindrops pelting my cheeks, at a loss to know where to go and wondering how this situation could get any worse.

“I do not suppose your groom is nearby with a spare horse?”

I spoke through gritted teeth. “He is at Netherfield, caring for my ailing horse.”

“You are riding alone?”

“You are walking alone.”

The rain hardened into hail, striking my hat and bouncing on the ground. Desperate, I squinted into the fog, searching for anything solid that might offer shelter.

Elizabeth burrowed into me, her face pressed against my neck, her body trembling. “The nearest building is a tenant house that way.” She lifted one arm and pointed.

I started walking in long, cautious strides in the direction she indicated. We would be quite a sight for the poor family. I could only hope they were not too large of a family, for tenant dwellings were small and we might cramp them for space until the storm abated.

How long that might be, it was impossible to determine. Judging from the thick gloom surrounding us, it would storm for the rest of the day, perhaps into the night.

A flash of lightning blinded me, a roll of thunder booming while I blinked to see.

“That was close!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Much too close. We needed shelter, and we needed it now.

I prayed the horse would find its way to the Meryton stables without incident. They would see my saddle, but they would not be so reckless as to ride out in this weather.

Boots slurping and sliding over the slick field, I clutched Elizabeth tightly to me, trying not to notice how her body molded against mine, how her fingers intertwined into my hair at the back of my neck, how her other hand wadded my cravat at my chest… I moved faster, towards the safety of the tenant house and the people inside.

The cabin finally came into view. I ran toward our salvation, chased by another bolt of lightning and crash of thunder. Shoving the door open, I charged inside, muddy boots and dripping coat, apologizing to the inhabitants for the intrusion.

The cold, dark interior offered no comfort. Nobody was there. Not one soul.

I did not know why I had expected anything else. Since meeting Elizabeth, nothing had gone according to expectation… or propriety.

In front of me was a fireplace; to the right, a single bed; to the left, a small table and chair. It was not much, but I was heartened to see wood by the fire and a blanket on the bed.

Hail pounded against the single windowpane, making me grateful for the roof over our heads. Setting Elizabeth on the bed and pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, I occupied myself with the fire, looking about the fireplace until I found the flint to make a spark.

Once the fire was lit, I spent an inordinate amount of time fanning the flames and placing the wood just so in order to delay turning around to face Elizabeth. I did not know what to say, and I suspected she did not, either. She had been silent since we had entered the vacant tenant house.

This was now the third compromising situation into which we had found ourselves. Judging from the sound of the wind and hail pushing and pulling on the walls, we would not be leaving this abandoned room anytime soon?certainly not before one of us was missed.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her sitting on the single bed, her hurt ankle raised on a pillow. I swallowed hard. Of all the stories of compromises I had heard or imagined, this was the worst. What if we were forced to stay overnight?

I could not leave her here alone without protection in a stranger’s cottage in the cold without food, especially when she was in pain. I hoped Elizabeth had enjoyed a hearty meal earlier that day.

“Mr. Darcy?” Her voice was soft, uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, I finally turned away from the fire.

She had wrapped the blanket up and over her head, her skin pale and her eyes exceptionally large in the center of the opening. “I saw him… Mr. Wickham. He limped.”

My breath leaked out of my lungs in a slow hiss. I bowed my head, nodding and avoiding her gaze once again—not because I was ashamed, but because she probably felt that way on account of her sister. If she knew how near to ruin Wickham had brought my own sister, she would realize I was incapable of judging her.

Her knuckles tightened around the blanket. “Lydia is too impulsive for her own good. She has been allowed too much freedom, and I shudder to think what would have happened had you not intervened. I… I wish to thank you.”

My head jerked up. She was grateful? To me? When I had unwittingly done so much to make her think poorly of me?

She sucked in a breath and continued, “I did not see the mark on Lydia’s neck at the ball, but I knew you would never involve yourself with us unless it could not be avoided. What a scandalous sight we must have been that night!”

Shame burned my face. Her observation about my attitude that evening was correct. I had felt so far above my company that I had spent the first part of Bingley’s ball avoiding conversation, too busy criticizing to dance.

“I did not believe Wickham capable of the evil you described to me, but I did believe my sister naive enough to act as foolishly as you said. Her boasting about it made me angry… and hurt.”

My heart plummeted. “You would not be the first to fall for Wickham’s charm.”

She shook her head so hard that the blanket fell to her shoulders. “I was flattered at the attention he gave me, and I admit my vanity suffered a terrible blow. But I did not love him. Any inclination I might have had toward him died the moment his name crossed my little sister’s lips.” She shivered. “I am grateful my mother did not hear what Lydia said that night. She would have announced their engagement to everyone at the ball. I could not bear to have such a man for a brother.”

The shake in her voice displayed her obvious vulnerability and raised her in my esteem. How many of her youngest sister’s fires had she been required to extinguish to protect her family from scandal? It must be exhausting to always keep watch over someone so boldly reckless—and having a mother who encouraged such conduct and a father who did not lift a finger to put a stop to it.

A gust of wind shook the windowpane and rattled the door, sending a frigid draft swirling through the room. I heard Elizabeth’s teeth clatter, and her chin shook. “Mr. Darcy, I rarely fall ill, but if I do not get out of these wet garments, I fear I shall catch a dreadful cold.”

Thanks to my greatcoat, I was merely damp, but she was thoroughly soaked. There was nothing else to be done. To insist on propriety would be to condemn her to certain illness.

I looked at the bed. It had another blanket, a thin sheet covering it. “How long is the sheet? Will it reach from the fireplace to the door?”

Rocking to one side, she pulled it free while I released the other. I stretched it to the top corner of the door. The rough wood stuck to the thin fabric, holding it in place as I had hoped. Taking the other corner from her, I pulled it over to the small mantel above the fireplace, holding it to the side that would afford her the most warmth from the fire.

She objected. “You will be cold on the other side.”

“I cannot place it in the middle without the sheet catching fire. You need the warmth more than I do if you are to lay your clothing out to dry.”

“There must be a way to secure it in the middle.” I heard the frown in her tone.

“I will be warm enough,” I lied. “But please lay my greatcoat out so it, too, may dry.” Grabbing an extra piece of wood, I placed it on top of the sheet to hold it in place at its base and create a diagonal barrier between me and Elizabeth.

While I could not see more than a blur through the fabric—I should have looked away but my eyes would not obey—I could see her bare foot hopping and her shadowed figure as she crossed the space on her side of the sheet. I heard the scrape of the wooden bed as she pulled it closer to the fire, and I berated myself for not thinking to do that before placing the sheet between us. I was about to say as much when her skirt landed with a thud on the ground.

I looked away sharply as though scorched by the fire, the image of her toes and shapely ankles and… other parts filling my mind and threatening my composure.

Another cold draft blasted through the room, and I welcomed it until the chill seeped through my waistcoat and shirt. Moving as close to the sheet near the fire as I could, I huddled there with my arms wrapped around my legs and pondered the insufficiencies of ladies’ outerwear. Had Elizabeth possessed boots as high as mine, her legs would be warm and her ankle sound. Great coats might be considered too cumbersome for a lady, but they were practical. Apart from my cravat and the front of my shirt where I had held her against me, I was dry.

The bed creaked, and I saw a large shadow plop on top. “You may take the sheet down now,” she instructed.

“It is not necessary.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Darcy. I am wrapped up like a mummy and perfectly decent.”

I hesitated, recognizing the safety the barrier provided.

“Unless, of course,” she continued, a smile in her tone, “it would offend your gentlemanly sensibilities.”

At least she considered me a gentleman now. I could not help but smile.

More seriously, she added, “You cannot be completely dry, sir. If you catch a cold, I shall feel responsible for it, knowing myself to be the cause. Please, Mr. Darcy. Lower the sheet.”

Another draft shook the door, releasing its grip on the sheet and sending it fluttering to the floor as though it agreed with her.