by Jennifer Joy
With a cry, she held her arms in front of her face, stepped back, and disappeared with shocking speed.
Holding the reins steady, Darcy kept control over the adrenaline surging through him and calmed the animal. He looked to the edge of the road where Miss Elizabeth had been walking, but found her sitting on a ridge where carriage wheels had carved a deep rut. She clasped her ankle and winced until she noticed him looking at her. Instantly, her face straightened and she attempted to stand.
Darcy's anger at himself rose as he dismounted to assist her. Why had he insisted on getting her attention when he ought to have let her continue her peaceful walk into the village? Why could he not leave Miss Elizabeth alone?
Her attempts to stand had only muddied her hands as she tried again and again with no success. Feeling more and more like a brute deserving of a lashing, he went to her.
"Miss Bennet, I apologize. My thoughtlessness caused you harm and I beg for your pardon. Please, let me assist you." Would there ever be a time he would not need to seek her forgiveness?
"No, Mr. Darcy. I am quite well," she insisted, trying to stand and failing for the fourth time.
“You are in pain,” he said, cursing himself.
“It is not so bad. If I could only stand, I could walk,” she insisted in vain.
"Miss Bennet, you are not well, and it is my doing. Please, allow me to help you. Do I have your permission to ascertain if there has been a break?" It was a bold question, but under the circumstances, there was no alternative. They were half-way between Longbourn and Meryton, surrounded only by fields. He gave her a look which he hoped would reassure her.
It must have worked, for after looking around herself for help and seeing that there was none, she nodded her head.
"I will have to remove your boot," he added as he knelt down at her feet. He would not dare touch her without her full permission.
She looked around again. He did too. Were anyone to chance upon them, it would be blasted awkward to explain what had happened.
Leaning back and sighing in resignation, she said, "I do not have much of a choice, do I? I have twisted my ankle before, but not badly enough to prevent me from standing."
Unlacing her boot, he removed it without disturbing her ankle overmuch. He imagined the angry, red swelling under her mended wool stocking. Just under her ankle bone her flesh was noticeably more swollen than it ought to have been. Gritting his teeth together, he willed himself to focus only on the task before him with the cold, calculating precision of one experienced in ascertaining an injury. Waving his hand to cool his fingers, he pressed his hand gently over the thin wool covering her hot, inflamed skin. She flinched, then relaxed as the coolness relieved some of her pain.
"Is that better?" he asked. He was not better, blast it all!
"Yes," she whispered through her breath.
He looked up at her. Her lips parted and she closed her eyes. Her dark eyelashes skimmed the tops of her flushed cheeks. He only realized he had been staring when she opened her eyes to lock with his.
Clearing his throat, he said, "I will have to touch the bones here." He skimmed his fingers over the swollen skin.
"Do what you must, but please hurry. I am more concerned at being seen in such a compromising position than I am in the pain."
Sensible lady. How many women had intentionally set up traps to compromise him since he had inherited Pemberley? Of course, they hardly knew each other. He had to remind himself that he knew a great deal more about her than she did of him. She would only know of his great fault against her father, and he still did not know if she had forgiven him.
She winced when he moved his hand. About to apologize yet again, she cut him short. “Please tell me how you became so knowledgeable in sprains and broken bones.”
“I grew up near my male cousins.”
He felt her ankle as quickly and thoroughly as he could, grateful for all the practice he had had over the years tending to wounds and scrapes with his Fitzwilliam cousins.
She attempted to smile. “I only have sisters, and we got into more than enough scrapes without the rougher play of boys.”
Placing her boot unlaced on her petite foot, he said, "It is not broken, but you have suffered a sprain— one which will keep you off your feet for up to a week, I think."
She pinched her lips together and bunched up her chin. Punching the damp earth with a fist, she shook her head and cackled bitterly. "Now all I need is for it to rain and for my mother to drive by. I can think of no other way this day could get any worse.”
Her frustration increased his guilt.
"Please allow me to see you safely home. You are in no condition to walk." He extended a hand out to her.
She looked around again, hoping that a carriage might cross their path. A carriage would be the best way to convey her to Uncle Phillips’ and then home. Merely thinking of her ankle made it throb all the more. Very well then, she would have to forgo her trip to Uncle. She punched the ground next to her again. Father’s books would be gone by the time she could get to him.
Mr. Darcy held his extended hand out steadily, with no flinch of indecision. His expression inspired trust. He seemed to be just as embarrassed as she was, judging from the blush across his cheeks.
Taking his hand, she let him pull her up to stand on one foot. She hopped a few times to gain her balance, refusing to take his arm until her sensibility overcame her pride. Several preferable circumstances popped into her mind in which she would be proud to take his arm, but she dreaded for him to think her feeble. She did not know Mr. Darcy very well, but she knew enough about him to know that he was not weak. Nor would he appreciate weakness in others.
She looked between him and his horse, her voice trembling despite herself. "How do you intend to return me to Longbourn?" Please let it not be by horse… She held her breath.
"You shall ride my horse."
Attempting to disguise her panic with humor, she said, “That brute that nearly knocked me over?”
In a tone similar to her own, he responded, “Would you rather I carry you?”
“Yes!” she wished to say wholeheartedly, but she swallowed hard instead. “I understand your predicament, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for your gentlemanly manners toward me. But…,” she inhaled. “I have not sat on top of a horse these ten years,” she said in a rush through her exhale.
Mr. Darcy turned in order to stare at her more directly. “Ten years? How is that possible?” The astonishment covering his handsome features made her smile to minimize her own ridiculousness.
In one final attempt she tried to put her foot down and was deeply sorry she did. Groaning in pain as the blood rushed to pulsate in her ankle, she doubled over at the waist while clinging to Mr. Darcy’s arm for support.
“I fear I have no choice in the matter today,” she said, straightening up after the initial jolt turned into a steady throb. How she wished he would wrap his cool hands around it as he had earlier. His touch had sent chills up her limbs until she felt as if her hair stood on end. The memory of it made her reach up to smooth her coiffure.
Hopping toward the horse, her jaw tensing with every inch she drew closer to the saddle, she looked up at the stirrup. It looked so high, it seemed to be an impossible task to get up in the saddle. Why did gentlemen prefer such tall mounts? How on earth was she supposed to get up there? Why could they not ride ponies?
Looking up at Mr. Darcy, who stood head and shoulders above her, she nearly laughed at the image in her mind of his long legs touching the ground as he sat astride a pony.
“Is there something you find amusing, Miss Bennet?” he asked. Was he teasing her? She could not read his expression.
What had she to lose? Without a doubt, he must think her one of the most ridiculous women of his acquaintance. “I was wondering how I am supposed to get up there.” She nudged her chin in the direction of the saddle. “And I was wishing that you had arrived riding on a pony so that I might have a chance of keepin
g my dignity intact while mounting.”
His lips curled up on one side, revealing an appreciation for her odd sense of humor. “If only you knew, you would not tease me so.”
With a deft swoop, he encircled his hands around her waist and plopped her on top of his horse. She closed her mouth to prevent her heart from leaping out of it, and scrambled to entwine her fingers in the stallion’s mane before she toppled off. If she had bumped her ankle in the process, she did not know it. Her nerves were on fire.
Embarrassingly aware of how her skin burned at the forced intimacy Mr. Darcy had been obliged to take, she tried to remember what he had said before her thoughts evaporated into thin air. Ponies… It was something about a pony. Ah!
“If your intention in making such a comment was to distract me from the horse, it did not work, sir. If it was to pique my curiosity, then you have succeeded immensely.”
Silently, he grabbed the reins and turned in the direction of Longbourn. The jolt as the horse took its first steps made Elizabeth yelp in fright before she could stop herself.
Mr. Darcy slowed his pace. “I will lead him slowly and steadily. I will not allow any more harm to come to you.” His voice, lowered into a calm monotonous tone to calm both her and the horse, was reassuring. As was the intensity and confidence in his eyes as he spoke.
Loosening her hold on the mane, she sat up in her seat and nodded for Mr. Darcy to lead on. She trusted him.
They moved in silence for a short time, during which Elizabeth observed the gentleman in front of her. His dark hair curled up over his collar, reaching up as if it would push off his hat. He was taller than most men. He would never have difficulty reaching a book on the top shelf.
She sighed louder than she had meant to. It had been weeks since she had shed tears over losing Father. She thought she had begun to heal, but with his books gone, it felt as if the healing wound had been opened back up to leave her vulnerable and aching all over again. Why had Mother not consulted with her?
“Excuse me?” asked Mr. Darcy, who on top of his many compassionate qualities, apparently had excellent hearing.
“I merely remembered the reason why I wanted to walk into Meryton…” she paused, considering whether she should continue or not. Should she tell him? Or would he feel that she offered details much too intimate for such a recent acquaintance?
She tried to hold the words back, feeling it inappropriate to unburden herself on a near stranger. But his posture changed. A slight tilt of the head and a relaxing of the shoulders invited her to continue.
“I was on my way to see my uncle. He is an attorney in the village and has been helping us arrange affairs after the death of my father.” Her throat tightened, but she pressed on. “I am grateful for the support he and Aunt Phillips have given to us, but this morning, he assisted my mother in the sale of Father’s books.” Her voice cracked and she had to stop. Biting her lips to hold back the emotion which would embarrass her further, she sat quietly rocking atop the slowly moving horse. Her fingers reached for the handkerchief tucked up her sleeve before she remembered that she wore a borrowed spencer.
She looked out over the verdant fields, willing her eyes to focus through the unshed tears.
“It was the small things, the seemingly meaningless details which pained me the most after my mother and then my father died. There would come a day when I would think I had waded through the worst— that all would be well, and I could remember the past like a sweet memory. Then, it would happen. A favorite line of poetry shared, the blossoming of Mother’s favorite flower in the middle of a field, a deep laugh that had me searching the room for my father…” His soft words melted into Elizabeth’s heart. He understood.
He turned to look at her directly. “I am sorry for the loss of your books.”
Elizabeth wished he would keep talking, but he turned and clicked his tongue at the horse to continue their slow walk back to Longbourn.
Chapter 7
It should not have surprised Elizabeth to learn firsthand that Mr. Darcy was a man of few words. After all, when he had given her his handkerchief at their first meeting, he had not said a word. He had not needed to.
Never lacking in conversation, and needing to do something other than sit silently and stew on Mother’s many faults as he led his horse along, she decided to learn what she could about him, though very little it might be.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Hertfordshire?” she asked, starting with a safe topic. Next, she should mention the weather.
“The countryside is pleasant. I have enjoyed many long rides through the hills and the distance to London is not so great as to prevent frequent trips into town when necessary.” He did not sound convinced, but she appreciated his effort.
“I love walking over the fields and roads around Longbourn. Only, I have not been able to go so often as I am accustomed to these past few months.” What with estate affairs to see to and Jane’s fever, she had not ventured out as much as she would like. Otherwise, she surely would have met Mr. Darcy before now. Oh, she almost forgot to mention the weather. “Is the weather to your liking?”
“It has rained a good deal.”
She looked down at her muddy boots. "If you do not mind me asking, how do you know my uncle?"
Looking to the side so she could hear him and see his profile, Mr. Darcy said, "Mr. Phillips has helped me recently in some business matters during my stay in Hertfordshire. I found it easier to speak with him directly than to arrange for my man in town to travel here. Your uncle has been efficient and conducts himself honestly in his dealings."
Smiling at the compliment to her relative, she said, "I am glad to hear that he has won your approval. Two of my younger sisters are to stay with him and Aunt while the rest of us leave for London." She bit her tongue, knowing she shared too much, but wanting to talk about how much her life had changed so badly. Someone who understood. Someone who would not pat her on the shoulder and unthinkingly repeat that everything would be all right.
"From what I know of the gentleman, I am certain that your sisters will feel the advantage of stability in his home." He looked over his shoulder at her and hesitated as if he would ask her more.
It was foolish of her to expect comfort from a stranger. Of course he would only see the practical. "I have never been separated from my family before, and I admit that my dearest wish is to keep everyone together. I know in my mind that they stand to benefit greatly, but perhaps it is my selfishness which clings to my desire to keep them near."
"It is never selfish to want to be close to the ones you love. London is not far," he said softly.
"It is very far indeed when you have no means to travel the distance. I know where my obligations lie, and I refuse to settle for anything less than what I am willing to fight for." Her chest heaved up and down in the intensity of her passion, and she wished she possessed even a small fraction of the calm reserve Mr. Darcy mastered.
Slowing until they almost came to a stop, Mr. Darcy turned. "I can find no fault with that. Life is lived but once, and you should never complacently accept any fate other than the one you desire when it is within your reach to grasp for it. I wish you success with your endeavors… whatever they may be."
Elizabeth did not know what her endeavors were at the present, her efforts to keep her family together having been pulled out from under her feet. Here was a gentleman— a successful gentleman with a good grasp on reality— and he believed in her, yet every decision she had made had negatively affected her family. She ought to be proud to inspire such confidence. Instead, she felt the tears sting her eyes and stuff up her nose.
Mr. Darcy turned again, piercing her through with the intensity in his eyes. It was as if he saw through her. His eyebrows bunched together, casting a melancholy shadow over his face. "You do not seem to me to be one to allow yourself to dwell in sadness. The very tilt of your eyes suits itself more agreeably to amusement."
Could she hide nothing from the man? Sighing
in surrender, she admitted, "I dearly loved to laugh. But now, I feel guilty. How can I feel happy when one I held dearest in my life will never laugh with me again? It feels like a sort of betrayal. I know it makes no sense, but I cannot make sense of death either. It happens every day— we are surrounded by it in nature— but it does not feel natural to me. Otherwise, I should be able to better manage these emotions which would crush me." She wiped at her eyes. How improperly she acted, yet she could not restrain herself. She tried to console herself with the idea that she had no reason to believe she would ever see Mr. Darcy again once they left Hertfordshire… if consolation meant yearning for conversation she would never have again, then her plan was perfect.
Darcy led the horse at the speed of a snail's crawl. It was easy enough to justify. Miss Elizabeth was afraid of horses. She put on a brave show, but the white of her knuckles as she grasped the horse's mane belied her fear. With her injured ankle, he would do nothing to cause her further pain. However, the truth of the matter was that he enjoyed her company. He had been drawn to her before, but this singular opportunity borne of disaster gave him the chance to converse with her… and he liked her all the more as a result of it.
It was a sound he had no right to, but he dearly wished to hear her laugh. It was plain to see that her merry temperament felt crushed under the weight of her grief and guilt. Though, why she should feel guilty, he did not fully comprehend. He, on the other hand…
"Your father must have been a remarkable man. Please tell me: Would he approve of your self-imposed guilt?" he asked.
She answered without hesitation. "No. He would want me to be happy."
"Sensible man."
"Yes… in some ways. My father was a great thinker. He had a great sense for the ironic and ridiculous, and he taught me to appreciate them as well."
"You mentioned his library… What sort of books did he enjoy reading?"
