by C. P. Odom
“I was going to ask for Miss Bennet,” he said, looking over her shoulder at Mrs. Bennet waving her hands about while her husband attempted to quiet the crowd of family and servants. “But it appears something is amiss here.”
“It is Miss Lizzy,” the housekeeper said, wiping a tear from her eye. “She ran out of the house in the afternoon and has not returned though it is raining hard. Everyone is quite worried.”
She gave way immediately as Darcy strode into the house, followed by McDunn. After joining the crowd about Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and trying to decipher what had occurred, Darcy gave up and cried loudly, “What is going on here?”
It took two further repetitions, each one louder than before, plus McDunn’s booming command to “SHUT UP!” before anything approaching quiet replaced the chaos.
“Now, what is going on here?” Darcy repeated, and everyone gawked at him, wondering what these two tall men in rain-slick oilskin coats were doing at Longbourn. Finally, Mrs. Bennet recognized Darcy and immediately fled to him, pulling urgently at the sleeve of his wet coat.
“It is Lizzy, Mr. Darcy!” she cried plaintively. “She is somewhere out in the rain and has not returned to the house! I am certain she is going to die if we do not find her!”
Darcy looked at Mr. Bennet, who nodded without elaborating on his wife’s information.
“And there is little time to find her,” McDunn said, looking out a window at the rain-darkened sky barely illuminated by the setting sun. “The rain is ice-cold. Was she dressed for ill weather?”
Mrs. Bennet only shook her head and dropped her face into her hands while her shoulders shook from her sobs.
“Have you organized a search, Mr. Bennet?” Darcy said, having instinctively taken command of a situation marked by confusion and lack of leadership.
“I was trying to,” Mr. Bennet said, licking his lips uncomfortably. “But we do not even know in which direction Lizzie walked.”
“Where might she usually go? How many directions need to be searched?”
“She might have gone to Meryton,” said the youngest of the Bennet sisters, whom Darcy remembered as Lydia. “She could have gone to stay with our Aunt Phillips.”
“She was very upset by Lady Catherine’s visit,” the other sister said.
At Darcy’s raised eyebrows, Lydia said in explanation, “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“What! My aunt was here? What was she doing here?”
Both sisters looked extremely sheepish and said nothing further though they did look at their mother, who was still sobbing helplessly.
“That is a question I would like answered, sir,” Mr. Bennet said angrily. “Lizzy seems to have been made extremely upset by this inexplicable visit from Lady Catherine, and I want to know why.”
Darcy had to repress the surge of anger he felt at this father who refused to command his own family, but his voice, while cold, was otherwise expressionless. “I will deal with my aunt after we find your daughter, sir. This is not the time for that discussion. Now, where else might she have gone?”
“Lucas Lodge,” Lydia said. “It is very close.”
“Oakham Mount,” offered her sister. “Lizzy always liked the view from Oakham Mount.”
“I know where it is,” Darcy said with a nod. “It is farther away, and my mount is still relatively fresh. I will search in that direction.”
“I know the way to Meryton and even have an idea where the Philips house is,” McDunn said. “I’ll go there and bang on some doors to find it. And Netherfield is only a couple of miles past Meryton. If I do not find her at her aunt’s house, I’ll check it out, though I have no idea why she might have gone there.”
“Nor do I, but we must look everywhere we can think of.”
Turning back to Mr. Bennet, Darcy said, “I would suggest you send a servant on horseback to Lucas Lodge. Could she have gone in any other direction? There are numerous branches in the road.”
“I cannot think where she might have gone,” Mrs. Bennet said through her tears. “I am so very worried.”
“After I check Meryton and Netherfield,” McDunn said, “I’ll return here in case anyone has any further ideas.” Turning to Mr. Bennet, he said, “Do you have any lanterns that will work in this rain? Sturdy ones that won’t start leaking?”
“I…I am not sure. I think we may, but they would be in the stables.”
“Then, Mr. Bennet, I suggest you send any servants who can ride to investigate other branches of the road,” Darcy said. “As for me, I think it best that you roll up four or five blankets and wrap them in an oilcloth against the rain. If I do find Miss Bennet on the road, she will be soaked. I just hope she has not tried to take shelter in a thicket or copse of trees. With the growing darkness, I could easily miss her.”
“And send to your stables for lanterns,” McDunn said.
When no one started moving immediately, McDunn barked at the gathered servants and family in a voice trained by the harsh demands of discipline and combat. “Move it, people! A young lady may be freezing to death while all of you dawdle about!”
All concerned were instantly roused into action, and Darcy looked at Mr. Bennet. “Have those blankets brought to me immediately, sir. Your daughter may need them badly before this is over.”
Giving the older man a cold nod, he turned and strode toward the front door and his waiting mount.
***
Tuesday, September 15, 1812
Hertfordshire
Darcy was miles down the road and trying to quell the cold hand of worry gripping his heart as he continued through the rain. He had seen no sign of Elizabeth, and the darkness was almost complete. He kept riding, his eyes scanning the countryside for a place where she might have sought shelter from the freezing rain.
He was fifteen minutes farther down the road before he thought he saw something in the distance. His eyes squinted against the dark and wet, straining for a better look. It might be a human form, but he had seen similar apparitions several times in the last half-hour. Only when he discerned movement did he kick his horse into a gallop.
The figure he had spied through the rain became clearer as he approached, and the cold hand on his heart relaxed as he confirmed it was indeed Elizabeth Bennet trudging through the rain with her head down and her arms clasped about her chest against the cold. As he reined in his mount and jumped to the ground, Darcy could see her clothing was absolutely soaked. Still she trudged on, apparently aware of nothing except putting one mud-coated boot in front of the other.
“Miss Bennet,” he said gently, placing the blankets and the lantern by the side of the road and stepping in front of her so he could grip her arms and stop her blind plodding. “At last I have found you. It is decidedly—”
A sudden bolt of lightning struck the ground close behind him with an explosive “CRAAAAAAAAAKK!” It sounded as though the sky had split open and everywhere about him was illuminated by a harsh blue-white glare that left Darcy blinded.
When his awareness returned, he found himself flat on his back on the muddy roadway with Elizabeth motionless beside him. His thoughts were blurred, but a surge of energy went through him at the thought the lightning might have killed her.
He breathed a sigh of relief as his hand on her back detected the rise and fall of her chest, and he painfully climbed to his feet and pulled her up with him.
It was then Darcy recognized the full extent of the disaster that had overtaken him. He had dropped the reins of his horse to the ground as he dismounted, depending on the stallion’s training to keep him motionless, but a quick glance told him the beast had not only bolted but was nowhere to be seen.
What in the world do I do now? I planned to wrap her in blankets and the oilcloth before we rode back to Longbourn. With my horse gone, we must find shelter—and quickly before the last shreds of day
light are gone.
He picked up the lantern, glad to see it was still lit even though the light it cast was rather pitiful. Then he picked up the blanket roll but made no move to unwrap it. Shelter was needed before he wrapped the dry blankets around Elizabeth.
Since she seemed able to continue if guided, Darcy began to walk up the road toward Longbourn in search of some kind of trees or brush. If he could find what he was looking for, he should be able to weave the branches into an arch to shelter them both, using the oilcloth and the ropes around the roll of blankets. During his younger years, when he and Wickham had tramped and hunted all over Pemberley, they had made similar shelters many times.
He was growing worried at how long he could keep Elizabeth walking before having to carry her when a promising thicket against a hillside loomed before him. The lantern was of little help against the near darkness, so he hurried toward it, pleased to see a number of dense-leafed, head-high bushes that might be used as well.
When he entered the thicket, the weak lantern light revealed the open mouth of what appeared to be a cave behind the bushes. He shoved his way through, pulling Elizabeth behind him, until he was crouched in total darkness that was gloriously dry.
He looked about with the lantern and gave thanks to his Creator to find himself in a rock cave that may have been low but was deep enough to hold them both. Quickly, he loosened the oilcloth and set the roll of blankets aside before wrapping Elizabeth in the rainproof cloth and settling her in the back of the cave.
His next task was to get a fire lit to warm the cave. Darcy knew any wood he found in the thicket was going to be water-soaked, but he also knew how to solve such a problem and soon pulled a number of promising branches into the dim light of the cave.
Using the knife in his boot, he quickly produced a pile of shaved kindling, pleased to find his skills had not deserted him, and lit a thin twig from the lantern. Within a few minutes, he had a small fire that he carefully fed with larger shavings and trimmed twigs until it was a small blaze going with a mix of kindling and drying branches while the wetter branches dried beside it. Then he could finally turn to Elizabeth.
Her eyes were closed, and he was certain her shivering was worse than it had been before. Clearly, he had to get her sodden clothing off so he could wrap her in dry blankets. It was a terrible breach of propriety, but he knew she would not live through the night if he did not get dry blankets wrapped around her. He would worry about trivialities like propriety later.
Propping her against him in a sitting position, he tried to work at her buttons, but his rain-drenched gloves made it impossible. Even after he took them off, it took only a few attempts with his cold-numbed fingers to realize the futility of trying to preserve Elizabeth’s attire. He sighed, refusing to think of the implications of what he had to do and pulled his knife from his boot again. Then, again thankful for its sharp edge, he set to work, ruthlessly shredding Elizabeth’s clothing and casting it over toward the fire to be used as fuel during the night. The sight of her bare skin induced no forbidden urges in him; he was too terrified by the blue tinge her wet, cold skin had taken.
When he had her completely naked, Darcy wrapped her in successive layers of blankets until she was completely bundled. Only her feet stuck out of the bottom inside her wet walking boots with the shreds of her stockings hanging down beside them. His fingers were still useless to unbutton her shoes, and he had to resort to his knife again, slicing the leather to ribbons before he could wrap her feet in the single remaining blanket and lay her on the oilcloth.
Now he knew he had to build up the fire and secure a sufficient supply of firewood to last the night. He desperately wanted to rest. His effort to find Elizabeth as well as his fears for her safety had almost exhausted him, but he knew he had to finish his preparations because to do otherwise and fall asleep might be fatal.
“Sooner started, sooner finished,” he told himself, and he rose to his feet.
At last, with all he could think necessary completed, he sat down on the oilcloth beside Elizabeth’s motionless bundle of blankets and gave a relieved sigh at the feel of the rough dirt floor and the rock wall behind his back. It felt better than the softest mattress at Pemberley, and he opened his oilskin coat and pulled Elizabeth onto his lap, wrapping his coat and the oilcloth about both of them while he stretched his feet toward the fire. Now he could relax and let himself go limp!
As he watched steam rise from his boots, he felt Elizabeth’s shivering gradually decrease as the blankets and the warmth from the now merrily blazing fire helped drive away the harsh chill of the September night. Sighing tiredly, Darcy set his hat aside and laid his head on the rock wall. He knew he ought to feel as tired as the girl he held in his arms, but the thoughts flooding his mind would not allow him to sleep.
Chapter 24
Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.
— Leo Tolstoy, Russian author
Wednesday, September 16, 1812
Hertfordshire
The first rays of sunlight slanting into the cave brought Darcy awake, and he groaned at the aching pain in his neck from his contorted sleeping position. He had not fallen asleep until well into the morning hours as he pondered the events that brought him to this cave in Hertfordshire. What little sleep he managed had done little to refresh him. His eyes burned—they were gritty as he blinked them against the daylight—and he turned his head slowly, wincing as stabbing pains protested the movement.
When he looked down, he started when he saw Elizabeth’s dark eyes staring at him intently. Her face bore an expression he could not interpret, but it made him distinctly uncomfortable.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he finally managed. “How are you faring?”
“Fortunate to be alive from what little I remember,” was her polite reply, but the strange expression on her face did not alter. “I do thank you for saving my life, sir, but I must ask: What in the world are you doing here?”
Darcy busied himself for a moment by touching her forehead and was relieved to find no fever. Still, it was several moments before he answered.
“I found you plodding along the road in the rain, and—”
“No, no,” she interrupted. “I know how I came to be in this cave. You must have brought me here and started this fire to warm me. And obviously, you wrapped me in these blankets.
“The last thing I remember is the icy rain that had me shivering so hard I thought I would never be warm again. But what I mean to ask, Mr. Darcy, is why are you here in Hertfordshire? Instead of at your estate in the north? Or in town?”
***
It seemed a long time to Elizabeth before Darcy said anything, and when he did, his answer was unrelated to her question.
“I cannot tell you how shocked I was by our encounter at Netherfield last November, Miss Bennet,” he said slowly and seriously.
“That is not an answer, sir! What brought you to Hertfordshire so you could find me and save my life? I do not wish to seem ungrateful since I am well aware I should not have survived the night otherwise. But why do I find you here, sir? After that night at Netherfield, I thought everything was settled between us.”
“And so I thought at the time,” he said softly, and it appeared as though his eyes were focused far away. “But I have come to think such a determination may not have been a wise decision.”
Elizabeth had been in a quandary ever since she awoke to find herself not only still alive but in the arms of the man she had never expected to see again. Now, after hearing him make such a statement, she was completely dumbfounded, and though her thoughts whirled about in her mind, she tried to find something tangible to grasp and bring sense to this strange morning.
A host of other questions tried to make their way to her lips,
but it was clear that Darcy was following some convoluted path of reasoning only he could understand. Trying to question him now would likely impede, rather than accelerate, finding the answers she sought.
Darcy’s face was intent and thoughtful, and Elizabeth could not keep herself from staring helplessly at the man she loved so desperately and so utterly in vain. Her chest ached with suppressed yearning to know how he came to be in Hertfordshire, but she ruthlessly forced herself to wait.
At long last, he said, “Everything seemed so clear at Netherfield. I agreed readily to what you suggested, certain it was the best course. Our spheres were simply too far apart for there to be any other resolution.”
Elizabeth nodded since her thoughts were exactly the same, but she said nothing and let Darcy continue.
“Over the following months, I found myself unable to forget the depth of grief in your voice and your expression when you said, ‘It is no use,’ and ‘Nothing will ever change.’ Your words haunted me. My selfishness haunted me.”
Elizabeth was immeasurably grateful that Darcy was not looking at her since she doubted she could control the emotion coursing in her heart and surely visible on her face—an emotion she thought never to feel again, not in all of her life—the possibility, the merest possibility, of hope.
“You were probably unaware of it, but I watched you often, even before the Netherfield ball. Increasingly, I found you…enticing. Though perhaps ‘bewitching’ would be a more accurate term.”
Elizabeth felt as though the breath had been snatched from her lungs, and she could find no words with which to respond. Finally, her throat tight, she managed to say, “I did not notice any particular regard on your part at first, and I never imagined, never thought…”
Further comment failed her. Now, completely incapable of subterfuge or concealment, she could only look helplessly at Darcy. She knew he must be able to comprehend the longing within her, on her face…and she was frightened. Terrified. The hope she held so briefly could not be entertained; it must be ruthlessly suppressed. She could not bear the inevitable disappointment if she did not do so.
