Page 2

Netherfield, Stable Yard - Darcy

“ W e should check the Longbourn road first,” Darcy said as they mounted.

Bingley nodded, and they rode into the storm.

The wind whipped their coats, rain pelted their faces, and the well-maintained road had turned treacherous.

Mud and standing water made the footing uncertain.

Fallen branches forced them to slow, picking their way carefully.

Darcy was soaked within minutes. He would have much preferred the warmth of Netherfield, but his conscience would not allow him to let Bingley search alone. He told himself the chaise was merely delayed, but each fallen branch heightened his concern for Miss Elizabeth’s safety.

“Could she have taken shelter before the worst of this?” Bingley shouted over the wind. “Perhaps at a tenant farm?”

Darcy shook his head, though Bingley likely could not see it. A chaise was built for speed on proper roads, not for navigating farm tracks in such weather. The driver would have stayed to the main road. Unless… He forced the darker possibilities aside.

* * *

Netherfield, Overturned chaise - Elizabeth

Elizabeth pressed herself against the side wall, trying to remain still as the chaise groaned under the men’s efforts.

Her head throbbed. The taste of blood lingered on her tongue.

Through the cracked window above, she glimpsed shadows moving in the rain.

Each scrape of metal made her flinch. What if they shifted it further?

She could hear them clearly now, grunts of exertion, muttered curses quickly followed by apologetic coughs. The door remained jammed.

“The whole frame’s twisted, miss!” one called. “We’re trying to force the hinge, but—” His voice was swallowed by wind and rain.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, forcing calm. Water dripped steadily through the door seams, each drop marking time. She focused on breathing, ignoring the bench seat looming above and the creaking frame.

A sudden crack made her start as the chaise shuddered.

“Almost got it, miss!” Yet the door would not budge.

* * *

Road to Netherfield - Darcy

Darcy told himself it made no difference that it was Elizabeth Bennet trapped. She was likely safe at Longbourn even now, sitting by their fire. He pictured it. But the image dissolved as rain lashed his face.

Up ahead, movement emerged through the gloom. Dark figures clustered around something in the road. His heart clenched. The chaise lay on its side, its elegant lines broken. One wheel turned slowly in the air. A massive fallen tree blocked half the road.

The footmen strained against a makeshift lever. Relief crossed their faces as the riders approached.

“Mr Bingley! Mr Darcy! Miss Elizabeth Bennet is trapped inside. The door’s completely jammed!”

Darcy was off his horse before the man finished. “Miss Elizabeth! Can you hear me?”

“Yes! The door is jammed. I cannot reach it!”

Her voice trembled, though she tried to remain composed. His jaw tightened as he scanned the wreckage.

* * *

Netherfield, Overturned Chaise - Elizabeth

Elizabeth’s heart leapt at Mr Darcy’s voice. She wiped blood from her lip, painfully aware of her dishevelled state. The knowledge that he was outside only sharpened her embarrassment.

She shifted, but her ankle flared sharply. The sound of Darcy giving orders outside was both reassuring and mortifying. To be found like this was intolerable.

The chaise groaned under new efforts. The seat above creaked ominously. She pressed tighter against the wall.

Her ankle twisted again as the frame lurched. She could not suppress a cry. Her hands scrabbled against the panels for balance.

* * *

Road to Netherfield - Darcy

Elizabeth’s cry cut through him.

“Stop! The chaise is shifting. You will bring it down.”

The footmen froze. “The hinge is bent through, sir. The whole frame’s twisted.”

“Leave it. We try the window.”

He moved to the shattered side window. Through the rain-streaked frame, he glimpsed Elizabeth’s pale face, framed by damp blankets.

“Miss Elizabeth, can you reach the blankets? We will use them to shield you from the glass.”

“I have them,” she answered, trembling but steady.

He stripped off his greatcoat, cushioning the frame’s edges before clearing the shards with his sleeve. The glass resisted but finally gave way.

“Bingley! We need something to stand on. Those branches, quickly.”

To Elizabeth, he spoke softly. “I will help you through. When I say, push with your good foot. I will do the rest.”

She nodded. Darcy braced himself.

She reached. He caught her hand.

“I have you,” he said. “On three.”

She pushed. He pulled.

In a breathless moment, she was half through, swaying into his arms. He caught her firmly, her trembling body pressed against his chest.

* * *

Road to Netherfield - Elizabeth

Elizabeth clung to his shoulder, the cold air sharp after the tilted dark. The roof beneath them shifted. She froze.

“Hold on to me. I will carry you down.”

A sharp shout rang out. Elizabeth turned instinctively, slipping as her ankle protested. She saw Thomas lose his seat and fall from his horse. John barely caught him.

She gasped, but Darcy steadied her. “Stay still. The surface is unstable.”

Darcy crouched, studying the descent. The roof sloped down to muddy ruts below. Not far, but treacherous.

“Hold on to me. I will lower you carefully.”

“I can manage,” she began.

“You have done enough. Let me help.”

She allowed him to slip one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back. She clung to his jacket as he rose.

The descent was slow. His boots slid but never faltered until they reached solid ground.

He did not set her down at once. Simply held her. Rain pounded around them. For a moment, all she heard was her breath and heartbeat.

“Thomas is hurt!” someone called.

Elizabeth lifted her head, seeing Bingley crouched by the fallen servant. Urgency returned. A stretcher would be needed.

* * *

Road to Netherfield - Darcy

Darcy saw her gasp beside him, pale and concerned. When she stepped forward, her ankle buckled. He pulled her close, steadying her before releasing her.

He retrieved his soaked greatcoat. “We must get you back to Netherfield.”

“I can walk,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “It is not far.”

“You can barely stand. We must ride.”

“I can,” she said too quickly.

He watched her tight jaw. “You are frightened.”

“I am not—”

“You are. And there is no shame in it.”

She said nothing. Her fingers curled into his coat.

“I will lead him. You need not worry. I will be beside you.”

Bingley offered his steadier horse, but Darcy shook his head. “My mount will do well enough.”

He turned to Elizabeth, speaking gently. “I know you dislike riding. But my horse is steady. I will help you up and remain beside you.”

After a pause, she gave a small nod.

He led her to the horse, speaking softly to both mount and rider. The animal stood quietly, steam rising from its flanks.

“I will lift you now. Hold the pommel.”

She flinched but allowed him to place his hands at her waist. She gripped his shoulders tightly as he lifted her. Once seated, she clung to the saddle, knuckles white.

He adjusted her skirts and placed her feet in the stirrups. “There. You are doing well.” His hand steadied her waist .

The moment was impossible to ignore. This was not like guiding his sister. Pushing such thoughts aside, he spoke softly. “I will stay right here.”

With gentle pressure, he led the horse forward, one hand steady at her waist. The muddy path forced caution.

* * *

Road to Netherfield, On Horseback - Elizabeth

Elizabeth’s world narrowed to three things: the pommel beneath her hands, Mr Darcy’s steady hand at her waist, and the terrifying movement of the horse. The rain poured, but she barely noticed.

“You are doing well,” Darcy said. “I will be right here.”

Each step made her stomach lurch. His kindness was unexpected. She felt a rush of gratitude.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, drawing her attention. “My sister Georgiana was once afraid of horses.”

The remark surprised her. “And did she overcome it?”

“She did, with time and patience. She fell when she was young. I used to walk beside her, talking to distract her.”

“What did you speak of?”

“Everything. Books, music, Cambridge stories.”

As he spoke, her grip loosened. His voice anchored her. Tales of Pemberley and childhood hiding places drew her in. When he described Georgiana’s dog herding sheep into the library, she laughed despite herself.

“I can scarcely imagine it. Was your father angry?”

“He was amused. He helped chase them out.”

The fondness in his voice revealed a tenderness she had not expected.

The rain began to ease, though the wind still whipped her skirts. She realised her grip had loosened considerably. His stories had not only distracted her; they revealed a side of him she had never seen.

“Mr Darcy,” she said softly. “Thank you for your patience with my… weakness. Most gentlemen would find it silly.”

“Not at all, Miss Bennet. Fear is not a choice. You show great courage.”

The warmth in his voice made her cheeks flush.

Through the gloom, Netherfield’s chimneys appeared. Relief mixed with strange reluctance. The journey had been terrifying, yet oddly precious. In these few miles, Mr Darcy had become something quite different than the man she thought she knew.