Page 1 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners
Lambton, 13 th July 1801
Elizabeth
“It is a lovely summer’s day, excellent for travelling, and the roads are in very good condition.”
Francine Bennet was giddy with anticipation and had not stopped talking since they left Derby. Elizabeth worried that Uncle Gardiner regretted inviting both her and her loquacious mother to accompany him on such a long journey. She glanced up at him and was relieved to see a benevolent smile gracing his countenance. He was too happy to feel any perturbation, regardless of the provocation.
“And for such a good cause too.” Her mother sighed, looked significantly at her daughter, and clasped her hands to her bosom. “I remember when your father proposed to me. I was shocked that the handsome and astute owner of Longbourn had even noticed my existence. He was so heartbroken that I worried for him, as did Sir William, though he had not yet received his knighthood and was only plain Mr Lucas back then. But regardless of their rank, the entire neighbourhood embraced him and tried to comfort him as best we could, did we not, Brother?”
Mr Gardiner nodded solemnly.
“I had no idea he was singling me out as his future wife, but one day he fell to his knees and begged me to end his suffering and agree to marry him. I was speechless for such a long moment that he felt it incumbent upon himself to declare his ardent feelings. And then—he made me promise to never change.”
Elizabeth laughed and thought wryly that her father must have long since repined discouraging her mother’s silence. She sighed and hoped that she too would one day be so madly in love. It must be with a prince, or at the very least a lord, who rode a shiny white stallion with gold reins and owned a property far away from Longbourn. She would not mind travelling quite an extensive distance, even to the continent—about which she had only read but never visited. Though the Midlands had much to offer as well, she imagined that France or Greece must be infinitely superior.
“Lizzy!” her mother admonished. “Are you wool-gathering? We are here, look.”
Mrs Bennet pointed out of the window, and sure enough, they had arrived at a busy inn. The Rose and Crown, she read on a sign above the door.
“Is she here?”
“No,” her uncle chuckled. “She is at the parsonage, but we shall see her later. We need a good dusting and cleaning before we meet my future wife.”
“Yes, of course, Uncle,” Elizabeth agreed demurely, though washing her face was not what first sprang to mind when she stepped out of the carriage.
Farther down the lane, by the smithy, stood an impressive horse chestnut tree beckoning her to conquer it.
“I can see the direction of your thoughts, Lizzy, and there will be no tree climbing while we are in Lambton. What would your future aunt think of us if we allowed you to run wild as you do at home? Oh no, we are to make a good impression on the fine lady so that she does not jilt dear Edward.”
“Certainly, Mama!”
Elizabeth had not thought of it in that way and was heartily ashamed of her inclinations. It would not do to destroy her uncle’s happiness, now that he had found a young miss he wanted to marry. She only had one aunt, but Mrs Phillips favoured her sweet and well-behaved sister Jane. If there was any justice in the world, Miss Cavendish would be adventurous and prefer small but courageous and boisterous girls.
“Oh, let the child be, Francine. She has been cooped up in the carriage for nigh on three days. Lambton is a small, quiet town and perfectly safe. I say we let her explore a little round the premises while we make the arrangements with the innkeeper.”
“Oh please! May I, Mama?”
Mrs Bennet frowned but must have realised the advantages of letting Elizabeth release her pent-up energy before she was required to sit still at the vicarage.
“You may, but only within the boundaries of the inn. Just the garden and the courtyard, mind you.”
“I solemnly promise,” the nine-year-old avowed with a serious mien.
“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Mrs Bennet mumbled to their driver, who was leading their horses towards the mews.
Elizabeth heard the driver’s deep sigh as she watched her mother and her uncle Gardiner enter the inn. Only when they were out of sight did she allow her eyes to roam the adventures on offer. The street was tempting, with a teahouse nearby, but she had promised not to venture that far.
The garden was small; not much more than a few shrubs and a bench. She watched the mews, where a fine-looking carriage was being harnessed for departure, but that was not what caught her eye. Behind the conveyance and beyond the mews was an enclosure where something white and shiny beckoned with joyous neighs. The driver, who was supposed to watch her, had disappeared to tend to her uncle’s horses.
Elizabeth walked round the inn and espied the most magnificent beast she had ever seen. Charlotte Lucas had a white cat, but that was nothing compared to the impressive white horse that was fit for a king. Besides, the cat was deaf, and the horse was not. She could tell by the ears that were pinned back against its head.
She approached, and the horse made a funny face, wrinkling its nose and baring its teeth as if it were attempting to smile but could only muster a grimace. Elizabeth laughed, stopped at the gate, and looked about. The horse was alone in the field and stood at the opposite end regarding her with big sorrowful eyes.
“Are you lonely, dear horsey?”
The steed nodded by throwing its head up and down. It must be horse language for an invitation, she reckoned, and climbed up onto the top of the gate—it was not a tree, so she was breaking no promises. The horse stamped its hoofs impatiently in an obvious invitation for her to proceed. She jumped off the gate and tumbled into the soft grass, earning her green stains on her dress that her vigorous brushing spread wider rather than removed. She sighed as she got to her feet whilst imagining the scolding she would receive.
The sound of pounding on the ground made her raise her head. The horse must have been deprived of company for a long time because it was charging towards her at full gallop, and although she would never admit it, she became a little frightened by its haste. It would soon be upon her, but she did nothing at all because her legs would not obey her. She just watched until it reached her and reared up on its hind legs.
If she did not move, its hoofs would land on her, but her feet trembled and remained frozen to the ground. She covered her head with her arms and waited for the inevitable impact.
A shadow emerged from her right and smashed into the horse’s chest. A tall and gangling boy had come to her rescue. Her legs collapsed as he pushed the beast away from her. If not for him she would surely have been trampled to death.
A lovely rich, soothing voice spoke from above, calling for her to leave the enclosure, but her legs were still not cooperating; they trembled so violently that walking was simply impossible.
“Mother! You must not open the gate. This beast is wild and untamed. I cannot vouch for your safety.”
“You have him well in hand, dear Fitzwilliam. I am certain I shall be safe until I have rescued the adorable little girl.”
Elizabeth watched the boy struggle. He leapt high in the air, managed to grip the horse’s mane, and used all his weight to bring its head towards the ground.
Two soft arms wrapped around her and lifted her to her feet.
“You must not carry her in your condition,” the boy admonished his mother.
“Do not worry, Fitzwilliam. She is as light as a feather,” the woman replied.
Elizabeth was carried to safety just as four men came running to aid the boy. Fitzwilliam… The name had a distinguished ring to it; he might even be royalty, though not from a faraway land. He was very handsome with his head of unruly brown curls, which might have been tamed before he had to fight the beast. He was much older than she was, yet still not a man like her uncle. Whatever he was, Elizabeth would forever admire him for his heroic rescue. She broke down in tears and hid her face in her hands. It would not do to cry at this moment, and she never cried, but cry she did…
“Hush, little one. You are perfectly safe, and no harm will befall you,” the lady tried to console her.
“I know, but my eyes do not want to obey me,” Elizabeth lamented.
The lady laughed softly and patted her head.
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet cried, and she was ripped from the solicitous lady’s arms. “What on earth have you done this time?”
Elizabeth cowed at her mother’s wrath and could not get a word out. She worried about what Miss Cavendish would say and glanced at the boy who had rescued her. His handsome face was marred with a scowl. She closed her eyes, and a fresh bout of tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I am Lady Anne,” the lady informed her mother. “And my son just braved a wild beast to save your daughter. She had entered the enclosure where an untamed and vicious stallion is kept in solitude because of his history of attacks on both horses and men. He charged at her, but by the grace of God, Fitzwilliam managed to shove him away before she was trampled.”
Mrs Bennet glanced at the horse. Four stout men were struggling to lead the raging beast away. “I am most grateful.” Mrs Bennet tempered her vexation and spoke with misty eyes.
“It was our pleasure, I assure you,” Lady Anne said. “Your daughter is charming, and I believe just a few years older than my daughter at home. I could not bear to see a child injured, even if it is not my own.”
“I am most grateful. We are here for the wedding of my brother, Mr Gardiner, and I only went inside for a minute to speak to the innkeeper…” Mrs Bennet hurried to excuse her moment of inattention.
Her uncle humbly stepped forwards at the mention of his name. “Lady Anne, we are most obliged to you and utterly impressed by your son’s bravery. If I can ever be of service to you, please do not hesitate to ask.”
He offered Lady Anne his card, which she accepted.
Elizabeth dared to open her eyes when she was certain neither her uncle nor her mother sounded angry with her.
“I am very sorry for causing you so much trouble.” She glanced at her rescuer and gasped. A trickle of blood ran down his hand.
“You are bleeding!” she cried and ran to him.
She pulled out her handkerchief from her pocket and tried to dab it, but he pulled back.
“That is not necessary.” He spoke with a pleasant voice, hiding his hand behind his back.
“Would you allow me to inspect your wound?” Lady Anne asked.
“It is only a small nick of no consequence and will heal by itself,” Master Fitzwilliam asserted heroically.
He must be the bravest boy she had ever met, not at all like the Lucas boys, who cried with hardly any provocation. Her admiration grew, and she was ever so pleased when Lady Anne suggested they all needed a cup of tea after their ordeal. Her disappointment when Master Fitzwilliam begged off to go to the bookshop was poorly hidden. Elizabeth reluctantly followed Lady Anne, her mother, and her uncle to the inn whilst casting long glances back at her saviour.