Alone with Mr. Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation (2 page)

Fatigue weighed down her limbs, but she
would not give into it, nor show him her weakness. “I must go now, but I will
send assistance to you as soon as may be.”

He turned his face toward her, one side in
shadow, the other catching the firelight. He looked exhausted.  “Miss
Elizabeth, I commend your bravery, but you cannot go out into the storm. How
would you find your way to the road when you can only see a few feet away? No,
we must stay here until the worst of the storm lets up.”

“I cannot stay here! It will be dark
soon.” And if they were trapped there after dark, her reputation would never
recover, even though everyone knew she was not handsome enough to tempt Mr.
Darcy.

“It is unfortunate, but there is no other
choice. I cannot have you risk your life in that storm.”

He
could not have it! Elizabeth tried to count slowly to ten before she
replied. “It is
my
decision, sir, and I intend to go.” Although heaven
knew he was probably right, but heaven was more forgiving than Meryton society.

He shook his head. “I am weary, Miss
Elizabeth. Pray do not force me to stand in the doorway and block your exit. I
am no better pleased by the situation than you are, but I will not have your
death on my conscience.  If my current condition is not sufficient to
guarantee your safety, I give you my word you will be safe with me.” His mouth
took on a bitter twist.

It was not the danger
he
posed that
concerned her, but the danger of gossip.

***

Darcy rested back on his heels, his head
throbbing as he inspected the flickering flames. It had been many years since
he and Richard built fires in the cavern near Matlock, but apparently he still
retained some knowledge from their fumbling attempts. This tiny fire would do
little to chase away the chill in the air, but the pile of coal and firewood
beside the hearth would not last long if he built it any higher. The cold had
sunk so deep into his bones he could hardly imagine ever being warm again.

He stripped off his sodden greatcoat and
hung it over a stool near the fire. He doubted it would make much difference,
but it would not help him if his clothes became wet as well. Wetter than they
were, that is. His trousers were soaked through at the knees and caked with ice
over his boots. As he knocked away what ice he could, he looked up to see
Elizabeth wringing out the hem of her dress. She seemed to have fared somewhat
better than he in that regard; but then again, she had not lain unconscious in
the snow, just walked through it. Her pelisse seemed to have protected her
well, though her stockings must be cold and wet. No. He should not think about
Elizabeth’s stockings or how they must cling to her shapely legs. Not that he had
ever seen her legs except as a shadow through that pale blue dress, but he had
imagined them often enough, usually wrapped around him. Devil take it! He
needed to get control of himself.

He glared at the fire. This was not a good
sign. Here he was, half frozen, stiff from bruises, his head pounding, and in
an old cottage little better than a shepherd’s hut. He ought to be immune to
lust, not thinking about Elizabeth’s legs – especially when those legs
happened to be trapped in a small room with him. Perhaps the injury to his head
had impaired his mental faculties more than he thought.

In a quest for distraction, he noticed two
buckets sitting by the door. They would need water, and he might as well take
care of that while he was still cold and wet. If only he were not so dizzy!
Somehow he managed to put one foot in front of the other for the few steps
needed to reach the door.

Elizabeth said sharply, “Where are you
going? Did you not just say it was unsafe to travel in this weather?”

“I have no desire to travel, only to bring
in some snow to melt. We will want water later.”

“Oh.” She sounded taken aback. “Thank you
for thinking of that.”

A deafening blast of icy wind burned his
face and bit through his clothes as soon as he stepped over the threshold. This
was worse than it had been just a few minutes earlier. He filled the buckets as
quickly as he could and hurried back to the relative safety of the cottage.

It seemed oddly still inside again, even
if he had only been out in the storm a short time. He set the buckets beside
the hearth where Elizabeth stood warming her hands. “The wind has picked up. We
were fortunate to find shelter when we did.”

“I thought it seemed louder.”

There was something odd about the fire. It
seemed to be growing, fading in and out…

Elizabeth’s hand clutching his elbow
brought him back to his senses. “Mr. Darcy, I pray you, sit before you fall
down. One head injury is enough for the day.”

“I am perfectly well,” he said
automatically.

She huffed. “In that case, even though you
are
perfectly well
, would you be so kind as to sit down purely to
relieve
my
anxiety? You would not wish me to suffer for your
stubbornness, I am sure.”

How neatly she had trapped him. And how
fortunate she had done so quickly, since the floor was showing a disturbing
tendency to tilt under his feet. “Very well.”  Keeping a steadying hand on
the wall, he lowered himself to sit on the hearth.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth hesitated, then
hurried away from the fireplace - not that there was far for her to go - and
rummaged through a small wardrobe.

“May I assist you with anything?” It
seemed polite to ask, though he doubted he could even stand up at the moment.

“No, thank you. I am simply looking for…
oh, here they are. If you would not mind keeping your back turned for a moment,
I would appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Darcy bit his lip so hard it
hurt. Surely she was not changing her dress!

Fortunately for his sanity, she quickly
rejoined him at the fire, still wearing the same dress. “Thank you. Now, if you
do not object, I believe it would be wise for me to examine your injury while
there is still light.”

As if he did not feel enough like an
invalid already, having been rescued by the woman he was trying to forget! “I
think it is unnecessary. The bleeding appears to have stopped.”

Her lips twitched. “I knew you to be a man
of many talents, but your ability to see the back of your head is quite
remarkable. Perhaps I misspoke when I said I should examine it if you do not
object. If you
do
object, I still prefer to examine it.”

Trust Elizabeth Bennet to make him laugh
in the most unpropitious circumstances. “Since you insist, Miss Elizabeth, I
will do my best to comply with good grace, but I
still
think it
unnecessary.”

“You may think whatever you like, so long
as you allow me to check your wound. If you could turn away from the window so
it is in the light – yes, just like that.”

He could feel her fingers in his hair,
carefully parting it around the wound. The movement stung, but all he could
think of was her touch. How often he had wished for her fingers to run through
his hair! This was not the way he had hoped for, but still, she was standing so
close to him, he could practically feel the warmth radiating from her.

“I fear the eyes in the back of your head
have deceived you, Mr. Darcy. It is indeed still oozing blood. Do you perchance
have a handkerchief I could use to clean it?”

Darcy reached into his pocket and handed
it to her without a word.

“Thank you. I am sorry to put your fine
linen to such a messy task. I will try to avoid hurting you any more than
necessary.”

He was tempted to tell her it was too late
for that. His inability to possess her had been a constant ache for over two
months. In comparison, the gentle touch of her fingers in an open wound was
nothing, and her concern was more soothing than he cared to admit.

It would be easy to allow himself to enjoy
being cared for by Elizabeth more than he ought. He fixed his gaze on his
drying greatcoat to distract himself. It had been joined by two long white
stockings. Good God, she must have taken them off while he was gathering the
snow! His imagination presented him with a tantalizing image of walking in
while she was peeling those stockings off, one leg at a time. Wounded or not,
he would have been delighted to offer his assistance, and then to…

“My apologies, that must have hurt. I will
try to be gentler.”

It was a good thing she could not guess
the true reason he had stiffened. No more thinking of her legs, which must be
bare and cold under her petticoats. It would only be kindness to warm them for
her. 

He was almost grateful for the blinding
pain that suddenly stabbed through his head.

“There, I can see it now. Fortunately, the
cut is not large, although you have an impressive goose egg around it. I would
guess the bleeding will stop with a little pressure. I have folded your
handkerchief, and perhaps you could press on it here.” Her hand took his and
guided it to the appropriate spot. “Very good. I will check it again in a few
minutes.”

What would she say if he told her the
touch of her hand on his was the best healing he could have?

“How did this happen? Were you set upon by
footpads?”

He winced. “No. I was....” Devil take it,
what
had
happened? Why could he not remember? The road to Meryton was a
safe one, and it would have been broad daylight. Surreptitiously he felt for
his watch. It was still there, gold fob and all. Not footpads, then. They would
not have left that behind. “I am not certain.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but instead of
saying anything, she crossed to the wardrobe and returned with a threadbare
quilt. As she draped it around his shoulders, she said, “It is hardly
fashionable, but it should warm you a little.”

He should have declined, but the sensation
of having Elizabeth worry over him was disquietingly pleasant.

Why had she not gone to the wedding
breakfast at least long enough to fill her stomach? Apart from a roll and a cup
of chocolate when she arose, Elizabeth had eaten nothing all day. “I had best
see if there is anything we can eat here before the light fades.”

“That would be most welcome.”

At least he was being polite, even if he
did keep staring at her. She began to rummage through the shelves and cupboards
lining the wall. There was not much – a few items of simple clothing, a pair
of shoes with holes worn through at the toes, a bag of rags. A shelf holding
simples – dried leaves, flowers, bark – and a small knife. With a
glance backwards to assure Mr. Darcy was preoccupied with the fire, she bit
into a piece of bark, tasting the bitterness of willow. Excellent. She silently
thanked the woman of the house. A cup and a wooden plate.

The last cupboard turned out to be the
larder. Some onions, a cloth sack of oats and another of barley. None of that
would help her. If only her mother had not been so proud that none of her
daughters need learn to cook! At the moment, she would give a great deal for a
few lessons from Cook. Half a loaf of bread so stale it would be given to the
poor at Longbourn. Perhaps this one had come from another fine house. More
onions. Could people live on onions alone? A few carrots, half a dozen wrinkled
apples, and two turnips. She cast a glance at Mr. Darcy. The apples would do,
but she imagined he would have to be very desperate indeed to gnaw on a turnip.

At the bottom, half hidden under another
sack, she discovered a piece of frayed cloth rolled into a bundle. She lifted
it out and unwrapped it. Dried meat! That was a welcome surprise. She would
hardly have expected a poor laborer to afford so expensive an item.

“We are in luck.” She showed Mr. Darcy her
discovery. 

“Indeed.” He picked up a strip and
frowned. “Venison. Apparently our host is a poacher, or has a friend in the
business.”

“You will not report him, will you?”

“I could hardly do so while taking
advantage of the spoils, but it will go against the grain.” He glared at the
offending item.

Elizabeth hid a smile. “Well, we shall not
starve, but it will be far from the fare you are accustomed to, unless you
happen to make a habit of climbing apple trees in winter to pull down the last
wizened fruit.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “It has
been many years since I climbed an apple tree.”

“I observe you do not deny ever tasting
the forbidden fruit! Mr. Darcy, you have hidden depths. We shall not perish from
thirst, either, unless you object to drinking from a wooden cup. There is a keg
in the corner which I daresay holds small beer.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “A
veritable feast! Dried meat, wizened apples, and small beer.”

Who would have expected the stern Mr.
Darcy to possess a playful side? She should be thankful for it. This situation
was difficult enough without having to listen to complaints about it. Watching
him feeding wood to the fire, she might almost think he was enjoying himself.

After filling the small kettle hanging
over the fire with melting snow, she sliced the apples as well as she could
with the small knife, collected the substance of their meager meal and brought
it to the welcome warmth of the hearth. “As there is only one plate and one
cup, I fear we will have to share.” She watched him through her eyelashes,
wondering how he would take this final bit of deprivation. If it troubled him,
he showed no sign of it.

He offered her the cup so she might take
the first sip. Why did he have to watch her as she set her mouth to the rough
edge of the cup? She licked the last drop off her lip as she handed it back to
him. “It is rather sour.”

“Only to be expected.” As he drank from
the cup, his gaze remained fixed on her.

His look made her shiver. She had shared a
cup with her sisters many times, but somehow this felt almost indecent, seeing
him put his lips where hers had been, but there was nothing to be done for it.
She looked away in embarrassment until the silence reminded her he could not
begin to eat until she did, although it could hardly be called silence given
the howling of the wind. She hoped the thatch of the roof would hold, or they
would be in dire straits indeed.

Somehow he had managed to rearrange the
apple slices so the best of the fruit was on her side of the wooden platter.
Despite her hunger, she had to force herself to take one and bite into the soft
flesh of it.

Once free to begin, Darcy attacked the
remainder of the food with a healthy appetite, not hesitating in taking the
most shriveled bits of apple.

“I am all amazement, Mr. Darcy. I would
not have expected you to be so untroubled by our circumstances.” Perhaps the
blow to his head had sweetened his temper.

“When one is sufficiently hungry, even the
poorest fare can be appreciated. This is not completely unfamiliar to me. There
is a small hermitage at Pemberley, no larger than this cottage, which I have
turned into my personal retreat. Naturally the furnishings, though simple, are
better and there is always sufficient coal and firewood, but it is similar. We
are fortunate our absent hosts take good care of their property. I have seen
cottages like this which would be very uncomfortable to occupy even for a few
hours. Not at Pemberley, of course. I would not permit such a thing.”

“Of course not,” murmured Elizabeth,
shaking her head in amusement. “You have seen the homes of your tenants?”

“Naturally. I would be a poor landlord if
I did not, or if I could not recognize the signs of good maintenance. This
cottage is tidy, clean, and well cared for.” He waved a strip of dried meat to
indicate their surroundings, “There are no curtains at the window, but the
walls have been well chinked to keep out cold air, and the chimney does not
smoke. Apart from our host’s unfortunate tendency to help himself to his
master’s game, he would appear to be a capable fellow.”

“Or his wife may be the capable one.”

“I will give her the credit for
cleanliness, and her husband for chinking the walls. Of course, that may be of
lesser importance here than it is in Derbyshire, where the winters can be
bitter.”

“This is quite bitter enough for me!”

“I speak only in generalities, Miss
Elizabeth. A storm like this would be a notable event even in Derbyshire. And
it has been twenty years since anyone at Pemberley lived in a cottage of wattle
and daub like this. The few remaining mud houses there are used only for
storage.”

So Mr. Darcy was back on his high horse!
She should be thankful they had managed a civil conversation for as long as
they had. Once their simple repast was concluded, there would be no need for
talking; they could each follow their own pursuits.

Their own pursuits… in a cottage lacking
books, pen and paper, newspapers, or cards. No doubt there was mending to do
somewhere, but not of a sort she was accustomed to, and certainly no
embroidery. She had found only a small tallow candle, and that would shed
little light. No, she and Mr. Darcy were trapped in a small room together with
nothing to do but talk to one another for the entire night – and to
attempt to avoid thinking about the ramifications of their plight. 

A thought occurred to her. “Is Mr. Bingley
returning to Netherfield?”

There was a pause. “I have no reason to
believe he plans to do so.”

Poor Jane! “I do apologize. I did not mean
to be impertinent; I simply could think of no other reason for you to be on the
road to Meryton, but no doubt you have many concerns of which I am unaware.”

Darcy looked away before answering. “I
wish I could tell you, but I cannot recall that either. I do not even know what
day it is.”

How odd! Clearly he remembered who she
was, so the memory loss could not be profound. “The ninth of January, three
days after Twelfth Night. Does your memory go back to that?”

He frowned as he thought. “I recall
Christmas and the New Year, but not Twelfth Night.”

“It has not been long, then. No doubt your
memory will come back to you soon. It often does after an injury like yours.”
She was more concerned about the wound itself than the loss of a few days of
memory.

“What of you? What brought you roaming so
far from Longbourn on a cold winter’s day?” It sounded somehow accusatory.

A good question. Had she any sense, she
would have made for home after the wedding. “I did not start out from
Longbourn, but from the church. Charlotte – Miss Lucas – was
married there today. Afterwards, there was to be a large wedding breakfast at
the inn, if you can call it a breakfast when it includes free ale for all the
townsfolk. That is no doubt where our absent host can be found. I decided to
take a walk because I did not wish to join the celebration, and I failed to
notice how far I had roamed.” No need to mention her desire to avoid seeing Mr.
Wickham dance attendance on Mary King at the breakfast, especially with
everyone in town watching to see how she responded to it. He might not have
broken her heart, but his quick loss of interest in her still stung.

“I am surprised you wished to miss your
friend’s wedding breakfast.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “She and her husband
departed from the church door, so she would not be there. He lives… he lives
far from here.”

“It is unfortunate you will have fewer
opportunities to see your friend.”

If only that were the case! “Not really.”

“Pardon me. I had been under the
impression Miss Lucas was your particular friend.”

She would not have expected him to notice
such a detail. “She is, or she
was
until she decided to marry a foolish
man, sacrificing every better feeling for worldly advantage. I had expected
better of her.” Why was she telling Mr. Darcy this? He disliked her, and could
not possibly have any interest in her confidences. Perhaps
that
was why,
and she had so longed to say those words aloud to someone.

“It is unfortunate, but that
is
the
way of the world.”

“It is not
my
way! I cannot imagine
marrying a man whom I could not respect, no matter how much he had to offer. I
knew Charlotte’s opinions on marriage differed from my own, but that she should
sink so low! I can never feel the same confidence in her as before.” The words
seemed to hang in the air.

“How long have you been friends?”

She had said so much already; she might as
well tell him all of it. “Since I was fifteen. She is seven years older than I,
and like all girls, I thought older girls were wonderful and sophisticated. I
was flattered she wanted to be my friend. But she has no sisters near her own
age, and she is a clever woman in a household where cleverness in women is not
appreciated, so she sought companionship in me. And now she is married to a man
who cannot even recognize her cleverness!”

“Have you other complaints about her that
you no longer felt you could trust her?”

She dropped her eyes. “No, only that.” But
that was enough.

“I cannot imagine ending a long friendship
because of my dislike for my friend’s wife. Is it such a sin to be married to a
foolish man?”

“No.” It was true. If Charlotte had
married Mr. Buscot, who could barely string two sensible sentences together,
she could have forgiven her that. “Just this particular foolish man. I had
mocked him often when I was with her, and….”

His silence was more of a question than
words could be.

“And I had just refused an offer from him
because he was such a fool.”

“That
is
embarrassing.”

“Indeed it is, and now she wishes for me
to
visit
them! Can you imagine how awkward that will be, with his
incessant conversation and his anger at me for refusing him?”

“Highly awkward. Your friendship must mean
a great deal to her if she still asked you to visit, putting your companionship
ahead of her new husband’s comfort.”

“I suppose.” Yet Charlotte had risked her
friendship to marry Mr. Collins. Had she not considered how uncomfortable
Elizabeth would be with her choice? But it was not as if Charlotte had other
choices if she wished to marry. No man had ever offered for her, and she was
close to becoming a spinster. If she ever wished to be independent of her
family, this was likely the only opportunity she would have. Still, to marry
Mr.
Collins
? But Elizabeth could have forgiven her even that, if it had not
also embarrassed
her
so mightily.

How humiliating that Mr. Darcy, of all
people, could recognize what she herself could not! It was one more thing he
could criticize her for. Of course, she suspected he would run a hundred miles
from something which embarrassed
him
. And still he kept watching her!

To disguise her discomfort, she checked
the kettle. The willow bark tea was still weak, but it might be helpful. She
poured it into the wooden cup and handed it to him. “This may ease your
discomfort.”