Rescued by Mr Darcy

by Anne-Marie Grace

  “Mr. Charles Bingley, Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Jane Bennet,” the dark-haired man offered, introducing the sisters.

  “Ah, Bennet, yes. I met Mr. Bennet several days ago!” Mr. Bingley said with a laugh. “A truly charming man with five daughters! You must be two of them.”

  “Indeed, we are, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied quietly. Elizabeth noticed that Mr. Bingley’s gaze had not yet left Jane, and Jane seemed equally interested in him. “I am the eldest, and Elizabeth next to me in age.”

  One of the women with the two men cleared her throat loudly. Mr. Bingley seemed to come to himself and wrenched his eyes from Jane.

  “Where are my manners? You must forgive me, the shock of learning that Darcy actually knew someone here has completely robbed me of my mind. Allow me to introduce my sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley.” The woman wearing a deep red gown, with several strings of pearls around her neck and an elegant feather in her hair, inclined her head slightly. “And Mrs. Hurst.” A slightly older woman wearing blue, with equally fine jewellery, nodded.

  Elizabeth felt an immediate dislike for both women; they obviously thought themselves above this gathering. But there was one good thing that came from the introductions: Elizabeth now knew that the dark-haired man was called Darcy.

  “But I am still confused,” Mr. Bingley continued. “Darcy, how do you know the Bennets?”

  “We met on the road,” Mr. Darcy replied elusively. “They had a bit of trouble, and I was able to lend a hand.”

  “For which we are deeply grateful,” Elizabeth added quickly. She hoped that everyone had forgotten her mistake. Mr. Darcy was certainly giving no indication that he was offended. Yet another thing for which she had deep gratitude.

  “Are you the ones who met the highwaymen?” Mr. Bingley asked excitedly. “The whole Assembly is buzzing with the story.”

  “Yes,” the one Elizabeth thought was called Caroline said. “There was a woman screeching about it to anyone who would listen.” Elizabeth’s jaw tightened, feeling certain she was referring to her mother. Her dislike for the woman grew.

  “We were unfortunate enough to fall prey to some despicable men along the road as we travelled home from London,” Elizabeth answered, turning to face Mr. Bingley. She purposefully turned away from the sisters. She knew it was rude, and that Jane would chastise her later, but Elizabeth did not care. The slight on Mrs. Bennet hurt partially because, deep down, Elizabeth knew it was probably accurate. “They beat our coachman and demanded our valuables while threatening harm. Luckily, Mr. Darcy happened to be passing at the time, and he saved all of us.”

  “Why, Darcy, you never told me this story!” Mr. Bingley looked at his friend in surprise.

  “It was nothing,” Mr. Darcy said, looking uncomfortable. “It was more lucky that I decided to carry my pistol. And you, Miss Elizabeth, were handling things quite nicely without my help. It was your quick thinking, and strong kick, that allowed me to end the situation so easily.”

  Elizabeth smiled, feeling warm at his compliment.

  “I know ladies are not supposed to use violence,” she said with a laugh. “And my mother would die of shame should she learn, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “I should say so,” Mr. Bingley agreed with a smile, his eyes back on Jane. “I hope that you are on my side if ever I find myself in such a situation.”

  “I have no intentions of taking up banditry,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “So I shall always be on your side. I cannot, however, promise that I will be at your side.” Elizabeth immediately regretted saying such a thing—she was teasing a man she barely knew! And she well knew that not everyone reacted favourably to such treatment.

  “You have quick wit to make light of such a small slip of the tongue,” Mr. Bingley said with a laugh, his eyes dancing. Elizabeth sighed in relief, it seemed Mr. Bingley truly was as easy-going as everyone claimed. “Miss Bennet,” he said suddenly to Jane. “Would you honour me with a dance?”

  Jane turned bright red and seemed as though she could not speak, but she nodded her assent. Mr. Bingley’s smile widened, a feat Elizabeth had not thought possible.

  “Wonderful,” he said warmly. “And Darcy, why don’t you ask Miss Elizabeth to dance as well?”

  Darcy, instead of immediately agreeing, as Elizabeth expected he would—he was a polite man, after all—stared hard at his friend. Elizabeth felt an unexpected rush of shame overtake her. She certainly did not want to force the man to dance. She was about to free him from the obligation when he turned to face her with a bow.

  “I would be pleased if you agreed to share a dance with me,” he said quietly.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Caroline Bingley tug at her dress in annoyance. Elizabeth wanted to dance with Mr. Darcy, she was still intrigued by the man, but the opportunity to annoy Caroline sealed Elizabeth’s decision.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a smile, and she, Mr. Darcy, Jane and Mr. Bingley, turned to make their way to the floor.

  As they left, she heard Mrs. Hurst say something to Charlotte and the conversation resumed behind them. A stab of guilt hit her; she was perhaps too hard on Mr. Bingley’s sisters. They were in a strange place, after all, and needed friends. She resolved to be kinder to them upon reacquaintance.

  As soon as they stepped onto the dance floor, however, all thought of Caroline and Mrs. Hurst left her mind. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with Mr. Darcy, the music about to start, her heart beating very fast, and her mouth very dry.

  Chapter 6

  Darcy

  Darcy stood facing Elizabeth, watching her eyes dart nervously around the room. She seemed to want to look everywhere but directly at him—the musicians, the crowd gathered around the edges of the room, her sister Jane. But she would not look at him. If it had not been for the residual pink blush on her cheeks, he might have taken it personally. However, he could recognise that she was still embarrassed over her mistake.

  For himself, he too was feeling a sense of embarrassment. He had intended to ask Elizabeth to dance himself, but Bingley had thrust the invitation upon him before he was ready. It had caught him off guard, and he did not like that it had taken him several moments to answer. He had felt quite foolish with Elizabeth standing there, waiting for him to say something. But the invitation was made, and he wanted to leave Elizabeth with a positive impression. Perhaps then, she would remember him, he thought wryly.

  The music started gently. Darcy bowed low to Elizabeth and she returned with a graceful curtsy. The dance began with the pairs coming together, and Darcy took the opportunity to open conversation with Elizabeth.

  “Mr. Bingley, eh?” He asked, attempting levity. Her cheeks burned scarlet again and he knew his attempt had failed. Instead, it seemed that he had caused her more discomfort.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she began, pausing as she spun behind his back. The dance kept them close together. “Words cannot convey how deeply sorry I am for my mistake.” She twirled back to her starting place gracefully, and the blush began to fade from her cheeks.

  “Please,” he returned, moving with the other gentlemen toward the line of ladies. “Do not think of it again. It was not my intent to cause you more embarrassment.”

  “I am glad,” Elizabeth replied, a small smile on her lips. The music began to speed up. “For it is most unbecoming of a gentleman to cause a lady such distress.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Darcy agreed.

  The dance began to pick up pace, and they faced different partners. Darcy found himself dancing with first Miss Jane Bennet, and then a plain-looking woman who he had not met. When he faced Elizabeth again, he was relieved to see that her cheeks were flushed with exertion and not embarrassment.

  “So, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, breathing slightly quicker. “You did not entertain your hosts with tales of your adventure?”

  It was Darcy’s turn to blush.

  “There was no chance,” he said evasi
vely. In truth, he disliked talking about himself.

  “Well, I suppose that makes sense,” she said with a turn. “One can hardly claim heroic deeds for himself.” They spun apart again, and Darcy’s blush became one of pleasure. He liked that she thought his deeds heroic.

  “You flatter me,” Darcy said when they next came together. “For I was armed, you were not. Your deeds were far more heroic than mine.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “Such competing tales we tell,” she said. “It would be better for us to agree: then at least one of us could be the hero.”

  Darcy was surprised by the course of the conversation, with each exchange of partner and return, he became more and more comfortable with Elizabeth. It was most unusual for him to feel anything other than nervous discomfort at gatherings such as this. If given the choice, he would not venture beyond his own party. But Elizabeth was disarming, and he found that he was enjoying himself.

  Their conversation was however soon cut short as the music ended, and they bowed to one another, turned and applauded the musicians. Together, Darcy and Elizabeth walked to the side of the dance floor, clearing the way for other couples to take their place.

  “So, what shall it be?” Elizabeth asked, fanning herself against the heat of the dance. “Shall our tale contain hero or heroine? Shall we tell the tale of the gallant knight, protecting and rescuing fair maidens?”

  Darcy felt awkward. He did not feel like his actions had been anything other than necessary. He had only done what anyone else would have done when faced with the same set of circumstances.

  “You do me too much honour,” Darcy said quietly. “Your labels of heroism are undeserved by me. I only did what was necessary at the time.” He looked at her, waiting for her witty response. To his surprise, she replied in a serious tone.

  “I think you shall find, Mr. Darcy, that acts of courage are done by those who do what is necessary,” Elizabeth looked up at him. “I can see you are uncomfortable with my teasing. I shall free you from this jest.”

  Darcy felt relief wash through him. She was correct; he disliked being teased, even in this positive manner.

  “However,” Elizabeth continued, “in exchange, you must accept my deepest gratitude.”

  Darcy turned and stared into her eyes. He noticed they were a beautiful shade of light brown, and wondered what colour they would be in the sunlight. But more than their colour, he saw the stubbornness in their depths. She would not allow him to escape.

  Sensing his defeat, he bowed.

  “I believe I can do that much,” he said. As he glanced up, he saw a woman bustling towards them. She was older, bedecked with ribbons, and heading directly for Elizabeth. He nodded his head in the woman’s direction. “I believe someone is coming to speak with you.”

  Elizabeth turned to see who had caught his attention.

  “Mama,” she said in greeting. The woman clasped Elizabeth’s hand, and Darcy could see she was out of breath. She held a handkerchief in one hand and delicately lifted it to dab the sweat from her forehead.

  “Lizzy!” The woman said, not glancing at Darcy, and he bristled at the slight. “Lizzy, have you seen Lydia and Kitty? I cannot find them. The silly girls seem to have wandered off!”

  Elizabeth coloured, looking apologetically at Darcy. She seemed to realise the rudeness in her mother’s interruption, even if the puffing woman did not.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said, looking pointedly in Darcy’s direction. “Mama, may I introduce Mr. Darcy? He is the gentleman who helped Jane and I. Mr. Darcy, my mother, Mrs. Bennet.”

  Darcy bowed his head in greeting. Mrs. Bennet still seemed too distracted to practice good manners, however, and Darcy felt his lips tighten in disapproval.

  “Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet asked distractedly, still looking around the room. “I thought it was Mr. Bingley who helped you?”

  Elizabeth’s apparent distress at her mother’s poor behaviour deepened.

  “Mama,” she said a third time, sharper than before. She took her mother’s shoulder and turned her to face Darcy. “No, I was mistaken. It was Mr. Darcy.”

  Mrs. Bennet finally looked at him, tearing her eyes away from her search for this Lydia and Kitty. Elizabeth’s sisters, Darcy assumed. Mrs. Bennet eyed him up and down and finally dropped into a belated curtsy.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Her tone changed in an instant. Gone was her distraction and now, her words dripped with honey. “Mr. Darcy, please forgive my inattention. A mother’s worry, you know!”

  Darcy felt his disapproval build, for Mrs. Bennet’s change in demeanour reminded him all too well of the scheming mothers across the nation who wished to have their daughters wed off to whichever bachelor was deemed the wealthiest at the time. However, he saw the distress in Elizabeth’s face, and he sighed. For her sake, not her mother’s, he would set aside his silent censure.

  “Mrs. Bennet,” he said stiffly. He winced inwardly and attempted to soften his tone. “Yes, I am given to understand that motherhood can be quite stressful.”

  “You have heard true, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said seriously. “Especially for someone of with my nervous composure…”

  “I have not seen Lydia and Kitty,” Elizabeth said, quickly cutting off her mother. Mrs. Bennet hardly seemed to notice.

  “Where could they be?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice was taking on a note of panic. Darcy was confused; there were many people at the ball, but he wondered if the situation was more serious than he understood.

  “I am sure they are around,” Elizabeth said, patting her mother’s arm in a soothing manner. It seemed she was well accustomed to managing her mother’s moods. Elizabeth looked around, over her mother’s head, and seemed to find what she was searching for quickly. “Look, there they are.”

  Darcy turned to follow her gaze and saw two girls weaving through the crowd with a pair of officers on their heels. He noted that the girls were quite pretty—rather young, though, perhaps around the age of his own sister, Georgiana—and he could see that they were frivolous. They were as covered in frippery as their mother and possessed none of the calm or composure of their elder sisters.

  He then focused his attention upon the men in red coats. Tall and well-built, they were like any officers in His Majesty’s militia. But, with a surge of shock, he at once realised that he recognised one of the men. He clamped his teeth together in anger.

  Wickham! What was Wickham doing here, of all places? Darcy could feel rage building up in him, and he fought to control himself. He could feel his fists clench at his sides and his jaw began to ache. How dare that man appear in polite society, he thought viciously.

  Wickham was not fit for any company other than rogues and villains. Darcy’s mind went, unbidden, to memories of Wickham’s foul treatment of his sister, Georgiana. To promises made and broken. To disgusting attempts to seduce, and the lengthy lists of lies.

  Due to which Georgiana had to suffer.

  Darcy had seen Wickham first, but Wickham soon realised Darcy’s presence. He watched as a look of surprise crossed Wickham’s face, followed quickly by fear. Darcy felt a surge of satisfaction. Perhaps the man would be too cowardly to face him after all. However, the fear was soon replaced by a repulsive look of arrogant satisfaction. Darcy’s anger reached a boiling point and he was afraid it would spill out.

  “I apologize, but I must take my leave,” he said suddenly, his voice tight. “Please excuse me.”

  He bowed stiffly to Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet, and strode away before either of them could say anything. As he left, he could see Elizabeth’s surprised expression out of the corner of his eye, but he was not in the mood for explanations. Not now, not ever.

  He regretted his abrupt departure, but he knew it was necessary. The temptation to cause the man bodily harm was far too great. Darcy grimly hoped that he would someday repay Wickham’s crimes, but it was not yet that day.

  Chapter 7

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth watched Darcy disap
pear through the crowd in surprise, her cheeks again burning with embarrassment. She could think of no reason for his departure besides Mrs. Bennet. This was not the first time her mother’s behaviour had caused her shame but, for some reason, this time felt particularly disappointing. She realised she wanted Mr. Darcy to have a good opinion of her. It was a startling realization—she usually did not care what others thought of her or her family.

  “I wonder where he has gone off to,” Mrs. Bennet said grumpily. “I see the rumours about him are true: he was quite rude.” Elizabeth felt a flash of frustration toward her mother. Mr. Darcy had been nothing but polite! Even in his sudden departure—that was no doubt caused by her mother’s rudeness to him in the first place.

  “Rumours? Whatever do you mean? Who said he was rude?” Elizabeth asked, her annoyance evident in her voice.

  “Everyone,” Mrs. Bennet said, twisting her handkerchief in her hands. “He has the most unpleasant disposition I have ever seen. This is the most delightful gathering, but I have yet to see him smile. He gazes about, casting judgement upon everything his eye touches. No, I am quite relieved to see the back of him!”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped in angry shock. Was that truly what the people in attendance said about Mr. Darcy? It was a most unjust assessment, and Elizabeth could not believe that her neighbours would cast such aspersions! However, her disbelief lasted only a heartbeat; she loved her home, but she was all too aware of the judgement people could place upon strangers. Mr. Darcy did not deserve such treatment.

  “He saved Jane and I from highwaymen,” Elizabeth reminded her mother.

  “So, he did,” Mrs. Bennet grudgingly agreed.

  “And he has been nothing but kind to me,” Elizabeth added, and Mrs. Bennet’s face brightened at this news.

  “He has been kind, has he?” She said, a note of excitement entering her voice. “You know, they say he is a rich man…”