To Conquer Pride

by Jennifer Altman

Elizabeth attempted to stand, but Darcy reached out, staying her movement. “You are bleeding.”

  Angling her head, Elizabeth studied her appearance. Her pelisse was ripped at the shoulder and her clothing wet and dirty, but she could see no evidence of blood.

  “Your head.”

  Lifting her hand, Elizabeth winced as her fingers came in contact with the raw skin. Darcy fumbled with the buttons of his coat but instantly sucked in a breath, pain contorting his features. “There is a handkerchief. In my inside pocket.”

  Elizabeth hesitated and Darcy frowned. “Miss Bennet, you are injured. I would remove it myself if I was able to do so.”

  Elizabeth gave him a small smile and nodded, glad to see that he was back to addressing her in a more formal manner. Leaning forward, she tentatively stretched out her hand, slipping it inside his coat and feeling for the inner-pocket. Her fingers brushed the soft fabric of his shirt where it covered the muscles of his chest. Beneath that, she could feel the steady pounding of his heart. Locating a corner of the kerchief, she hurriedly withdrew her hand, pressing the folded cloth to her temple. Mr. Darcy gazed back at her with a stark intensity—his pupils dilated and his breathing rapid. Elizabeth opened her mouth, but the crack of pistol-fire silenced the words in her throat.

  Their eyes locked and Elizabeth surged to her feet, running towards the sound. Nearing the road, she took in the wreckage of the carriage. Beside it, one of the horses lay on its side, a dark stain pooling in the fresh snow. Mr. Darcy’s footman stood next to the animal, a pistol held limply in his hand. Only then did Elizabeth realize that the screams had stopped.

  The man looked up. “His front legs were broken.”

  Elizabeth nodded, staring past the footman. Several feet away, the remaining horse was tethered to a tree, tossing its head. Her gaze continued to move in the direction of the road, stopping when it reached the place where a dark shape marred the snowy landscape. No, not a shape. A body. Elizabeth’s breath hitched and her strangled cry echoed in the frosty air.

  Slipping the pistol into the waistband of his livery, the footman stepped forward, gently taking her elbow. “Come, miss. There is nothing to be done here. We should see to the master.”

  Numbly, Elizabeth nodded, allowing him to lead her a short distance before stopping to peer over her shoulder.

  “Miss?”

  Elizabeth blinked, realizing the footman had been speaking to her. “I beg your pardon, I was not... What did you say?”

  “Mr. Darcy, miss. Have you seen him?”

  “Oh! Yes, of course.” Elizabeth shook her head, snapping out of her daze. There was nothing more to be done for the coachman, but Mr. Darcy was badly injured and in need of immediate attention. She should never have left him on his own! A ripple of alarm made her quicken her pace, the footman hard at her heels.

  When Mr. Darcy came into view, relief swept through her. Somehow, the gentleman had managed to pull himself into a seated position, although his body was slumped, his lips pressed into a flat line.

  As soon as they were within earshot, Darcy spoke. “Thomas, what happened? I heard a shot.”

  “One of the horses, sir. His forelegs were broken. I had to put him down. The other animal appears to be uninjured, merely frightened.”

  Darcy nodded, glancing over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Where is Johnson?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes darted to the liveried servant who shifted on his feet. After a moment, the footman shook his head.

  Darcy drew a ragged breath and his eyes momentarily slid closed. “What caused the accident?”

  “I believe the front axle cracked, sir. I suspected it from the sound, but the carriage is badly damaged now from the crash.”

  Darcy nodded, staring off into the distance. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Thomas, you must get Miss Bennet safely away from here. Walk to the road and wave down a passing carriage. If no one is about, you will have to take the horse and go for help.”

  The man nodded, preparing to depart, but Elizabeth held up her hand, staying his progress. “Mr. Darcy, the road is quite deserted and we cannot leave you here.”

  “I will manage. Please, it will be dark soon.”

  “All the more reason not to abandon you to the elements.” Elizabeth turned to the footman and spoke with quiet authority. “Thomas, if you would be so good as to fetch the horse?”

  The man’s gaze drifted to his employer and Darcy nodded his consent. When the footman had gone, Mr. Darcy turned back to Elizabeth. “How is your head?” he asked quietly.

  Elizabeth explored her brow with the pads of her fingers. It hurt quite a bit more than she cared to divulge, but she schooled her features into a neutral expression. “It appears to have stopped bleeding.” Eager to change the subject, she continued, “We should try to get you on your feet. Do you think you could stand if I were to assist you?”

  Darcy looked momentarily doubtful but responded with a nod. Slipping her hands beneath his arms, Elizabeth attempted to pull him up, but immediately released her hold at his howl of pain.

  Studiously avoiding her eyes, Darcy murmured, “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. Perhaps we should wait for my man to return.”

  The two sat in silence until Thomas reappeared, leading the remaining horse by a piece of rope he had tied to the animal’s bridle. Handing the lead to Elizabeth, he crouched beside his master, carefully hauling him to his feet. Darcy hissed in pain, pressing his back against a nearby tree. Taking a moment to steady his breathing, he turned to face Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, I appreciate your consideration, but I fear my leg is broken. I will not be able to mount, especially without the aid of a saddle.”

  Elizabeth glanced nervously from one man to the other. If it was true that Mr. Darcy was not able to lift his leg over the horse’s back, she could see no way for them to move him in his current condition. However, she would not leave him here to fend for himself. She would simply insist on waiting while the servant sought help. But before she could say as much, Mr. Darcy’s footman stepped forward.

  “Leave it to me.” Leading the gelding a few paces away, he reached inside the pocket of his coat, producing an apple and a silver flask.

  Darcy wrinkled his brow. “Are you proposing to intoxicate the beast?”

  “No, sir. The brandy is for you. Even if we are able to get you onto the animal’s back, the trip is bound to be painful with your injuries.”

  Darcy started to object, but seemed to think better of it, accepting the flask and taking a small swallow.

  Meanwhile, the footman approached the fractious gelding. Speaking in gentle tones he patted the animal’s neck, holding the fruit just out of the horse’s reach. Tugging on the bridle, he motioned to Elizabeth, instructing her to simultaneously push down on the horse’s withers. She hesitated only a moment before stepping forward to do as she was asked. It took several attempts but eventually the gelding’s front legs buckled and the animal staggered into a clumsy bow.

  “That is remarkable,” said Darcy. “Where did you acquire such a skill?”

  The footman shrugged. “My father, sir. Generally speaking, it is not an advisable way to mount. It will be difficult for him to stand, especially with your weight on his back. But given the circumstances, I do not believe we have much choice.”

  Thomas came to his master’s aid, but even with the animal lowered to its knees, Darcy could not raise his injured leg high enough to get it over the horse’s broad back.

  “Forgive me,” Thomas apologized, “but I think you will have to sit sideways.”

  Darcy frowned but eventually consented, allowing his man to assist him up.

  Even with this small movement, the pain was obviously severe and Elizabeth could see that it took everything Mr. Darcy had not to cry out. When he was finally situated, Thomas tugged on the bridle and the gelding lurched to its feet.

  The horse took a few tentative steps with Darcy clutching at the animal’s mane. “Thomas, I appreciate your help, but I am not certain I will
be able to go any distance in this position.”

  “Aye, I would have to agree, sir. If I may, when I went to retrieve the animal, I noticed a small cottage through the trees. It is farther from the road, but perhaps we might take shelter there until the weather improves. It may be some time before another carriage travels this way and the nearest inn is at least ten miles off.”

  Elizabeth studied her companion as Darcy massaged his forehead. Thomas was undoubtedly correct. From what she had observed, there was no way Mr. Darcy would be able to travel ten miles. In truth, he did not look as though he was in any shape to travel ten steps.

  “Yes. I think that would be best,” Darcy finally answered. Tilting his chin, he indicated that the footman should begin leading the horse and then reached into his pocket, removing the flask. After a few moments, he allowed his eyelids to close, but they snapped open at Elizabeth’s sharply drawn breath.

  The party drew to a halt.

  Before them lay the shattered carriage and the fallen horse. Several feet away, a still form was shrouded with one of the blankets from the coach, the thick rug already coated in a fine dusting of snow. The footman turned, clearly intending to lead them in the opposite direction, but Mr. Darcy’s voice cut through the frigid air.

  “Thomas, stop.”

  The footman did as he was directed, glancing up at his master.

  Darcy’s gaze returned to the body of the coachman. “We cannot leave him here. Not out in the elements like this. Can you place him inside the compartment?”

  Thomas looked back at the broken conveyance, which was tipped precariously onto its side. “I believe so, sir, though it would be better if I could right the carriage.”

  Elizabeth stepped forward, and Darcy tensed. “No. I will do it. Thomas, help me down.”

  But Elizabeth continued walking in the direction of the coach. “Mr. Darcy, need I remind you that you can barely stand? You will stay where you are. Thomas... ”

  The footman paused before casting an apologetic glance in Darcy’s direction and joining Elizabeth.

  Darcy frowned, but remained where he was. Elizabeth and the manservant worked together, finally managing to roll the carriage to an upright position. Then Thomas carefully moved the body.

  Elizabeth watched in silence, brushing at the tears that swam at the corners of her vision. When she glanced up, Mr. Darcy was staring at her, his jaw rigid.

  Turning away, Darcy offered his footman a brisk nod. “Very well. Thomas; pray, lead on.”

  Chapter 4

  ELIZABETH TRUDGED THROUGH the driving snow, the sharp wind biting at her neck and cheeks. They had been walking for less than a quarter of an hour, but her boots were already soaked through and she could no longer feel her feet. Every now and then she glanced up at Mr. Darcy, but his eyes remained tightly shut, his expression wooden. She was about to ask the footman how much farther they had to go, when she spotted a squat cottage nestled amongst the trees. Her gaze lifted to the thatched roof. No smoke rose from the stone chimney.

  The party drew to a halt and Darcy opened his eyes. The footman approached the door, rapping loudly on the rough wood. Elizabeth stepped up to the front window, but the glass was shuttered from the inside.

  From behind her, Mr. Darcy barked out instructions.

  “Thomas, go around the back. If the door is locked, break a window.”

  Elizabeth shivered, for once not put off by Mr. Darcy’s domineering manners. Surely whoever owned the cottage would understand their need to take shelter. The sound of breaking glass cut through the gloomy silence and moments later the latch was lifted and the door pulled open.

  ***

  Darcy shifted on the horse’s back, turning to face the entrance to the modest dwelling.

  “It appears to be unoccupied, sir.”

  “That is not surprising. Given where it is situated, this is most likely a hunting retreat.”

  The footman moved to help Darcy dismount, half carrying him across the threshold and settling him into one of the wing-backed chairs facing the hearth.

  Pulling in a shallow breath, Darcy allowed his head to collapse against the back of his seat. Staggering pain assaulted him from all directions. It took every ounce of strength to keep from calling out. Lifting his gaze, he turned his attention to where Elizabeth stood, just inside the door. In the low light, her narrow shoulders trembled, and her breath made soft white puffs in the icy air.

  Darcy’s jaw tightened as he moved to face his footman. “Thomas, see if there is any dry wood. We need to get a fire going at once.” Looking back at Elizabeth he added, “Miss Bennet, you must remove that wet cloak. You will become ill.”

  His voice seemed to snap Elizabeth out of her lethargy and she moved further into the room.

  “I thank you, sir, but I will assist with the fire first.”

  “There is no need. Thomas is more than capable.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Mr. Darcy, but with two of us working, we can accomplish the task that much faster.”

  Darcy released a slow breath, wincing at the pain that seared his ribs. “Very well. But let my man handle the fire. Perhaps you might attempt to locate some candles? It is already growing dark.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again. Nodding her acceptance, she quit the room, returning a short time later with two long tapers. Setting them upon the mantle, Darcy watched as she shrugged out of her wet pelisse.

  “Miss Bennet, come and warm yourself,” he said, indicating the small blaze that Thomas had just started in the stone hearth. “You must be frozen.”

  Elizabeth approached the fire and the footman turned to face his employer.

  “Sir, if I may, I think it would be best for me to ride to Bromley. You require a physician, and if I leave now, I believe I can still make it by nightfall.”

  Darcy tensed. He had already lost one man under his protection today. He would not risk another. “No. I will not have you out in this weather. We will all wait here until morning.”

  Thomas was silent, but his lips turned down at the corners.

  From her seat by the hearth, Elizabeth cleared her voice. “Thomas, would you be so good as to start a fire in the kitchen? I saw a tea caddy when I went in search of the candles. I believe we could all use some refreshment.”

  The footman readily agreed, withdrawing from the room, and Elizabeth slid to the edge of her chair. “Mr. Darcy, forgive me, but you do not look well. Now that we have taken shelter, I believe we should examine your injuries.” Pulling up a footstool, she inclined her head in the direction of his injured leg. “May I?”

  Darcy startled but after a moment nodded his agreement and Elizabeth carefully lifted his ankle. White-hot fire shot up his leg, and Darcy’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair.

  “Where is the pain?”

  “Just above the ankle,” he hissed, and Elizabeth nodded, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “I believe we must remove the boot, but I do not wish to pull on it.”

  Steeling himself against the pain he knew would follow, Darcy reached inside his coat, removing a small penknife. Elizabeth accepted it, opening the blade. Their eyes met before she turned her attention to his black Hessians. Darcy remained silent while Elizabeth worked, but after a few moments he was unable to prevent the muted groan that slipped from his throat.

  Elizabeth looked up. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I know this must hurt, but I can see the leg is already swelling. We must get the boot off while we still can.”

  Not trusting himself to speak, Darcy gave a short nod, and Elizabeth returned to her task. Eventually she had made a rough slit in the soft leather. Setting aside the knife, she cautiously tugged at his heel.

  The resulting gasp caused her to jerk back in alarm, looking away as Darcy swore under his breath.

  Snatching up the flask, Darcy removed the stopper, taking several rapid swallows. When the pain finally receded enough for him to speak, he glanced in Elizabeth’s
direction. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I am afraid I will not be able to remain silent. It would be best if you removed the boot as quickly as possible.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Once again, she lifted his foot, yanking backwards with such force she soon found herself on the hearth rug, the boot still clasped tightly in her hands.

  Darcy let out an anguished cry, and seconds later Thomas arrived at a run from the other room.

  Elizabeth scrambled to her feet as Darcy turned to face his man, assuring him through clenched teeth that all was well. The footman surveyed the scene before offering a bow and retreating to the corridor.

  Setting aside the boot, Elizabeth placed her hands on Darcy’s leg, gingerly exploring the firm muscles of his calf through his fine wool trousers. “I do not feel anything, and there is no blood. But I believe it would be best to view the injury to be certain.” As soon as she said the words, Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed scarlet and she quickly stood. “I will fetch Thomas. I am certain you would feel more comfortable with your manservant attending you from this point forward.” She turned to go, but Darcy captured her hand, surprising them both.

  “Miss Bennet, I am not opposed to you continuing, if it does not make you too uneasy?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “No, not at all.” Taking a breath, she knelt once again beside the footstool, pulling the fabric of Darcy’s expertly-tailored trousers away from his ankle and retrieving the penknife. It took only a few moments to open the seam up to his knee.

  Peeling back the fabric, Elizabeth’s eyes skimmed the exposed flesh, and Darcy wondered if she would now give up and fetch his footman. But a moment later he felt the gentle press of her fingers against his bare skin, and a moan rumbled in his throat.

  Elizabeth’s eyes lifted. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. The leg is almost certainly broken, but the bone is not protruding—which is good. But I would agree that the sooner it can be set by a physician, the better.”

  Darcy nodded numbly, grateful that Elizabeth had misinterpreted his reaction. In truth, while his leg burned like the very devil, Elizabeth’s delicate fingers caressing his skin had given rise to an entirely different sensation. He forced his attention away from such thoughts.