Page 1 of Superior Connections
E lizabeth let out a cry as the sharp pain surged through her leg. Her left foot — caught between two tree stumps — caused her to stumble, and she dropped her right knee to the cold ground just in time to avoid sprawling in the mud. Her success was only partial, as her gloves were now filthy, as well as half her dress. She crushed a few words between her lips that were highly improper for a young lady, while she tried to pull out her foot. How was it possible that she had been so careless? That path was familiar to her — she had taken dozens of strolls along it in the last year — yet she had taken a misstep and suffered a silly accident, just as she was in a hurry to return home and prepare for Lady Rosseford’s arrival later that afternoon.
The two stumps had imprisoned her shoe as well as her foot. She turned her ankle this way and that but could not find the right position to free herself, so she sat down, disregarding the damage caused to her gown.
Fate was probably punishing her for disobeying her mother, she mused, taking off her gloves. She had left in the middle of a heated argument, blaming a headache and declaring a need for fresh air — which was partially true.
The prospect of her mother’s wrath was not enough to ruin Elizabeth’s pleasure in a long walk to Oakham Mount. Staying indoors was insupportable, especially after three rainy days spent in the house bearing Mr Collins’s annoying attentions.
There was no doubt that their cousin had come to Hertfordshire to find a wife — as his patroness Lady Catherine had demanded — and he considered it a great favour to the Bennets to choose from among his cousins. In truth, his logic was flawless: marrying a daughter from the family whose home he would one day inherit seemed fair, even laudable. Except that none of the Bennet sisters held Mr Collins in any regard, and Elizabeth, who seemed to be his choice, esteemed him even less than anyone else.
As vexed as she was to be Mr Collins’s object of admiration, Elizabeth was also relieved. He had at first been interested in Jane, but her mother had mentioned that her eldest daughter was expected to become engaged soon, so his attention had turned to Elizabeth. Had it not, Jane would certainly have been overwhelmed by his ridiculous compliments, of which he was so proud.
However, Elizabeth feared the anticipated proposal from Mr Bingley might not come soon. His admiration for Jane was irrefutable, and Elizabeth had observed it during the time she had spent at Netherfield, nursing her sister when she had fallen ill while visiting the aforementioned gentleman’s sisters. But also irrefutable was the fact that those sisters were trying their hardest to quash that admiration, helped in no small measure by Mr Bingley’s friend Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth recollected Mr Darcy’s disgust when he had spoken to her mother about country living and the four-and-twenty families that were considered good society in Meryton. He was arrogant and disdainful of everyone in the neighbourhood. He certainly believed anyone outside his circle of family and friends — especially those with lower connections — was not worthy of his consideration.
Of course, Mr Darcy’s contempt towards them all was nothing compared to his cruel treatment of poor Mr Wickham. It was no wonder that the most disagreeable man was jealous of the most agreeable and amiable one and sought to ruin him.
No, that was not true. In fact, it was appalling, astounding, and unforgivable. Mr Darcy’s pride and arrogance were well known, but his dishonourable refusal to comply with his father’s wish and grant Mr Wickham a living was shockingly ungentlemanlike.
Eventually, she freed her foot, only to wince in pain. Her ankle was throbbing and had begun to swell, and a trace of blood had appeared on her stockings. She stood up and took a step, but her ankle would not support her. She sank to the floor again and leant against a tree, rubbing her sore joint and pondering her choices. She must find something for support and walk home, slowly and carefully, before her injury became worse.
“Miss Bennet? What are you doing here? Are you alone? Are you hurt?”
Mr Darcy’s voice startled and vexed Elizabeth. He was certainly the last man in the world she wished to see in her present circumstances; not that she would find his company desirable in any other situation.
She looked up at him on his enormous black steed. “Mr Darcy! Yes, I am alone. I am not hurt…I just…”
He dismounted next to her. “Are you certain? Can you walk?”
“I have hurt my ankle,” she finally admitted. “It is nothing serious.”
“Forgive my insistence, but it does look serious — and painful. And you are wet and dirty. You must be very cold. You look very ill, indeed.”
He sounded concerned, but his scrutiny irritated Elizabeth. He seemed determined to find as many flaws to criticise in her as possible.
“I imagine I must look very ill, and you are probably appalled. You did not favour my appearance even when it was at its best. I do not dare wonder what you think now.”
She heard her own voice, which was harsh and mocking, contrary to his worried enquiry.
“I am not sure what you mean, Miss Bennet, but I have noticed your tendency to say things you do not really believe,” he replied. “You need to go home immediately, and perhaps the apothecary should be sent for. Is that blood?” he asked, and she lowered her eyes, attempting to pull her skirts down over the injury and slipping her hands back into her sodden gloves.
“Yes. It is just a superficial scratch.”
“It is bleeding. Would you allow me to look at it? Perhaps bandage the wound?”
“Look at it?” she answered, dumbfounded, her cheeks heating. “At my ankle?”
“Yes…if you do not mind.”
“I do mind, sir! But I thank you for your concern — it is very kind of you. I must return home now.”
She stood again tentatively and took another step but stumbled and cried out as she did so, for her ankle had become more swollen and more painful.
“You cannot walk. I could go and fetch help, but it might take some time, and you are already freezing. Can you ride? You may take my horse and will be home soon.”
“You are very generous, but I cannot ride your horse. I never even ride my father’s, which I know quite well.”
“Then…would you wait here? I am afraid it might rain again. Or perhaps…”
“Yes?”
Unlike a few minutes ago, Elizabeth was ready to accept his help. She was cold and wet, and her feet had become a heavy burden.
“I shall take you home on my horse,” he uttered. She stared at him, puzzled and doubtful; he looked serious in his offer as well as in his concern.
“Thank you, sir. That would be most kind but also a huge imposition on you.”
“You cannot be imposing, since I offered,” he replied. “Let us not waste more time.”
She nodded, feeling her stomach in her throat, and he took another step closer.
“You must not be afraid. My horse is very gentle and obedient.”
“It looks tall and intimidating,” she said, and he laughed.
“I promise he will not scare you. Can you put your uninjured foot here? Try to hold on to the saddle while I lift you up.”
“Oh…” she whispered, looking at the horse, then at him.
“Trust me, it is easier than it seems. I shall help — there is no danger.”
His voice had become warmer, and he grasped her arm, guiding her to follow his instructions. For a moment, Elizabeth thought that he looked as tall and intimidating as the horse, yet she did as he suggested. She felt his hands holding her waist and lifting her, then placing her in the saddle. She startled and grabbed the reins, but the horse remained calm and still.
“Are you comfortable, Miss Bennet?”
“Not at all, sir. But that is not your fault, and there is nothing to be done about it,” she answered.
He laughed again and said, “It is surprising a young woman so brave and determined like you is scared of horses.”
“Each of us is scared of something, are we not?”
“True,” he admitted. “Let me place your leg in a more comfortable position,” he said.
With waves of cold and warmth, she felt his fingers upon her uninjured leg. The sensation of a man’s touch was distracting, something she had never felt before, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Your gloves are wet. Please take mine — they will be too large for you, but at least they will keep you warm.”
He removed his gloves, then hers, which he put into the pocket of his greatcoat. Then he helped her slim hands glide into his large gloves and smiled as her fingers seemed to be lost inside. She noticed his amusement and smiled too.
“Your ankle looks very bad,” he said, gently touching the injury. In her present position, her lower leg was completely exposed to his scrutiny. “Would you mind if I at least removed your boot? And I shall place my neckcloth over that spot that is bleeding.”
She was tempted to refuse, but his countenance showed such deep concern that she reluctantly agreed. His bare fingers touched her leg with soft, careful movements, causing her a mixture of pain and distressing, strange, overwhelming feelings.
When he removed her boot, she responded with a moan of relief. He put the boot into his pocket too, then untied his neckcloth while Elizabeth watched him in fascination. Her eyes were instantly drawn to his exposed throat, which caused her cheeks to heat even more. He bandaged the wound over her stocking, and she moaned again.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little bit. Thank you, sir. You are very kind and considerate. Truly,” she said, genuinely grateful. Only at that moment did she realise the seriousness of the situation she found herself in, all due to a silly little accident. Without Mr Darcy’s help, she would have certainly been in great trouble.
“Let us hurry now,” he said, taking the reins. He walked ahead, and the horse followed him faithfully.
Despite the slow pace, being on a strange stallion, so high up, with no control over it — or even over her own feet — was disconcerting for Elizabeth.
However, soon enough, her discomfort was overcome by a peculiar sense of safety. She gently touched the horse’s mane, still grasping the pommel with her other hand. Mr Darcy’s large gloves made her movements awkward but protected and warmed her hands. The rest of her body felt imprisoned by cold, and her injured ankle felt heavier, more swollen, and more painful.
“I am very sorry for all the trouble, Mr Darcy,” she said. “I am grateful that you insisted on offering your support, despite my stubbornness.”
“It is no trouble for me, I assure you. But I admit you have been quite stubborn. If it was anyone else in your position, I would have probably just left and sent help.”
His voice sounded friendly, almost teasing, as had happened on a few occasions during her stay at Netherfield. His statement was puzzling, however, and its true meaning was confusing.
“Your choice to take a ride proved to be exceedingly fortunate for me but quite the opposite for you,” Elizabeth continued.
“Not really,” he answered briefly, puzzling her again. “Is Miss Bennet in good health? Did she fully recover after the cold?”
“Jane? Yes, she is in excellent health. It was just a trifling cold, as my mother said.”
“I am glad to hear that. But you should be prudent. I suspect you are in danger of catching a cold too. I hope you will not hesitate to send for the apothecary.”
“Thank you for your concern. I shall be prudent and ask my father to send someone for Mr Jones.”
“Good. That would be the best way of thanking me if you insist on doing so.”
“I do insist,” she said, and he glanced back at her.
“Sadly, this accident will prevent you from enjoying walks for quite a while. And probably the ball too. I know everybody is looking forward to it.”
“I am not too worried about the ball. I may come and just sit on a chair and watch. After all, I have been slighted by other men on previous occasions.”
She knew it was rude of her to attack him when he had just shown her so much kindness, but she realised her words too late.
He stopped, and so did his horse.
“Miss Bennet, I am mortified that you heard my rude remark at the assembly. I imagine how horrible it sounded, but it was not meant for you. I mean, I did respond to Bingley’s insistence that I dance with you, I cannot deny that, but I was in a poor state of mind, and my disposition was unfit for any party. Bingley insisted on me attending, then he insisted on me dancing.”
He paused, obviously embarrassed, while she watched him, doubtful about his clumsy excuse.
He resumed walking, but this time he remained by her side, so they could glance at each other during the conversation.
“Surely you must have also heard that I called you tolerable, but at that moment I had hardly looked at you at all. Since then, I have had the chance to get to know you better, and I have nothing but regard and admiration for you. If my previous actions suggested otherwise, I apologise again.”
His statement left her dumbfounded. He was only being polite, of course, but the effort of explaining himself to her, of justifying his actions and declaring regard and admiration for her, was unthinkable. Mr Darcy, of all people! All this, added to his current generous endeavour of helping her, was beyond belief.
“It is very kind of you to apologise, Mr Darcy, but let us establish once and for all it is not necessary. Your judgment of my appearance, and your desire, or lack of, to dance with me are your personal choices, and you are entitled to them. Each of us is entitled to our own opinions.”
“True. I only hope my repulsive manners have not altered your opinion of me so much that it cannot be remedied.”
“I am surprised that you even care about my opinion, Mr Darcy. And I am saying that in the friendliest way possible.”
“I do care, Miss Bennet. And I am saying that in the friendliest way possible.”
She smiled at his repetition of her words.
“Mr Darcy, regardless of the past, considering your present kindness, I have the highest opinion of you.”
“One gesture should not be enough to sketch one’s character, Miss Bennet. However, there is a favour I dare ask of you.”