Before she could answer the piece of wood she was standing on made a slight cracking noise and Darcy was instantly by her side.
“We should go back, lest my lie to the others prove a premonition.”
His hand was on her back and Elizabeth froze. The sun beat down on them, but there was a gentle wind here near the water. He kept his hand on her back for the length of only one heartbeat, but it felt like forever.
“I—” Elizabeth paused, then shut her mouth. What to say to this man? “Why did you lie?”
He adjusted his stance so that he stood slightly away from her, but still protectively close. “I wanted—I needed—to speak with you.” He seemed to stand a bit taller now, as if on edge. “May I have permission to speak freely, Mrs. Allerton?”
“I am sure you have no need of my permission, to do anything in life, Sir.”
Mr. Darcy ran his hand over his face quickly, his perfect façade breaking for one second. Elizabeth hated that she was fascinated by this: the way his blue eyes surveyed the wide, brown waters below them. His dark brows were slashed across his noble visage, and when he finally turned and looked at her, his face was open and unguarded.
Elizabeth felt as if the rest of the party—indeed, the rest of the world—faded into a quiet, background hum. There was only her skin pulsing beneath the heat of the sun, and the wood and water below them, and Mr. Darcy’s eyes, catching hers and boring deep down into her soul.
For what felt like a long time—or perhaps only seconds—they stared at one another. Finally, Mr. Darcy spoke, clearing his throat, his voice low and husky.
“I fear you do not wish to speak with me because the last time I was alone with you I proposed and you—you rightfully refused me.”
Elizabeth could not look away from his eyes, blue and turbulent and deep as the sea. “You surprise me, Mr. Darcy,” she finally whispered. “I had hoped you would not remember that day as—”
She was about to say “as clearly as I do” when he spoke.
“Of course I remember it. I remember every detail. You wore a yellow dress and were writing a letter when, like a fool, I rushed into the parsonage. And your cheeks.” He paused and coughed lightly, finally looking away. “The angrier I made you, the more you blushed. You looked lovely—and vicious—and I could not stop staring at your beauty or your fierce anger.”
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips, in awe of his words. “I should apologize. I had hoped you would have forgotten it all.”
“Apologize for what?” Mr. Darcy turned, unconsciously moving slightly closer to her. “You spoke the truth. I had torn your sister and Charles apart. I did not behave like a gentleman. My only point of contention was your opinion of Mr. Wickham, but I knew his history as you did not. You were innocent and honest and correct. In every way, I was insufferable and insulting—”
“Please, stop,” Elizabeth cried. She clutched her heart and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. She didn’t want Mr. Darcy to see how affected she was, so she strode past him, crossing almost to the other side of the bridge. He followed her, overtaking her and turning to face her.
“I should be the one apologizing,” Elizabeth said. She would not run and hide any longer—not from Mr. Darcy, and not from her own fears and feelings. “I was young and foolish and ever so idealistic. I was determined to marry for love, but I—I perhaps failed in even that. I should not have spoken so harshly to you. Everything you said was true, I just did not want to admit it. I could not see it then.”
“Elizabeth—” he whispered.
“It does not matter,” she continued. “It does not matter now.”
“But it does. First, you must know that after you refused me in Hunsford, I wrote you a letter. I poured my heart and soul into it. I explained everything.”
Elizabeth frowned. “But I never received a note from you.”
“No. I burnt it.” Mr. Darcy stared at the waves below them. “I realized that I had been selfish in every way before proposing: I had separated Charles from your sister. I had insulted your family. And I had been offended—and jealous—that you took such an active interest in George Wickham. You had made it abundantly clear that you despised me. To explain everything would make me feel better—but I feared it would only cause you more grief.”
Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy as he ran his hand through his thick hair, then turned to stare at her. “And so the next morning I burned the letter and rode to London to fix all these problems that I myself had caused. I informed Charles that I had been wrong and encouraged him to seek out your sister and beg her forgiveness.”
“Well, you succeeded on that account,” Elizabeth said, trying to calm him. Mr. Darcy looked so tortured that she had begun to feel nervous.
He smiled, but seemed determined to tell her something—or everything.
“And then I addressed the matter of George Wickham.”
“You say his name with so much venom,” Elizabeth said. “In truth, I could not even remember his name until you reminded me of it. He was a gentleman who passed through Meryton, and our lives, without affecting so much as a ripple of change.”
“And I am more grateful for that than you know. Someday I will tell you the entire story, but not now—I don’t want to sully this moment with his memory. But please know I dealt with him and had intended to find you and—and make things right. But then I heard your father had passed. And then you married. And—and I knew it would be selfish to ever hope. But then I heard you were coming here.
“Elizabeth, look at me.” His voice was low and urgent and she could not refuse. Every part of her wanted to look at him, to stare, to fill herself with this moment and sear his image into her memory. Because she knew now she did care. She had cared for him more than she would admit, years ago. She had been afraid…of so many things.
And now, what was she afraid of?
Losing her heart—to a man who had claimed another woman?
Or was it more than that? Was it safer to be alone? One could not hurt so deeply, the way Elizabeth had when she lost her father and her husband, if one did not let a man touch her heart.
“I still had hope—wild, foolish hope, perhaps—but it lives here.” His fist touched his chest, fiercely. “And then I heard you tell Caroline you do not intend to marry again? What did you say—that you have none of the usual inducements of women to marry?”
Elizabeth placed her own hand over her heart. He wanted to speak of marriage?
Behind her there was a sudden shout and then a great many people laughing on the riverbank. Elizabeth ignored the tumult, though she was fairly certain she heard Mrs. Potter’s shrieks above all else.
Mr. Darcy didn’t look up, either. He continued to stare deeply into Elizabeth’s eyes. “I cannot pretend to understand how a woman’s mind works, yours least of all. Your thoughts are too quick for me to capture. But is it true: are you happy as you are? Would you never consider marrying again?”
Elizabeth shook her head. She could not speak. She could barely breathe.
“Elizabeth, I came to Netherfield to see you. Surely you must know that.”
How could Mr. Darcy say such things, if he was engaged in an affair with Caroline? He looked so earnest, but must be lying. Why would Caroline have said—
Elizabeth frowned. Why would Caroline have said all those things? Could she have been…lying outright?
“I did not know that, Sir,” Elizabeth said. “I was under the impression you came to spend time with Mrs. Doughton.”
Mr. Darcy’s own, formidable eyebrows raised. “Caroline? Why on Earth would you—” His entire demeanor changed suddenly, his handsome face growing angry. Furious. “What did she say to you?”
But before Elizabeth could answer, there arose a great shout and now they both turned to find Mrs. Potter, halfway to them on the bridge, shrieking as her leg fell through a broken slat.
“My God,” Mr. Darcy said, racing her toward her.
But not before the ancient
wood gave a warning crack, and then Mrs. Potter disappeared entirely into the waters below.
14
Elizabeth
Everyone on the shore began to shout, but none louder than Mrs. Potter from below the bridge.
Elizabeth shouted, “Don’t worry, it isn’t very—”
But Mr. Darcy didn’t stop to listen to Elizabeth’s words. “Stay there,” he ordered, racing across the bridge and toward the hole Mrs. Potter had made. He arrived at the missing slats and with barely a moment’s hesitation, he dropped his body nimbly through the hole after her.
“—deep!” cried Elizabeth.
She ran to the broken section and peered down, terrified that either one of them had broken an ankle. Mr. Darcy stood in waist-deep water, trudging toward Mrs. Potter, who was screaming as if she were being swept out to sea. Mr. Darcy didn’t so much rescue Mrs. Potter as drag her, shrieking and crying and wet, to the shore, where Jane and Charles and almost the entire party gathered around her, trying to calm her and stop her dog from biting various legs.
Elizabeth easily leapt over the broken section and joined Mary and Mrs. Graham as the wagons were called. They watched as Mr. Darcy carried a weeping Mrs. Potter to a large chair, depositing her much more gently than Elizabeth would have, given her wailing continuously in his ear.
Then Mr. Darcy turned, stared directly at her, and began hiking up the hill towards them.
“Gracious,” said Mrs. Graham, “That man looks divine in a wet shirt.”
Elizabeth agreed but certainly would not say so out loud.
Mr. Darcy reached them and Elizabeth realized he was angry. She assumed at Caroline, until he opened his mouth.
“Mrs. Allerton, what were you thinking?” he growled.
“Excuse me?” said Elizabeth.
“Running across a broken bridge?” His voice broke slightly, and he gestured toward the bridge then ran his hand through his wet hair. “You could have injured yourself. Or worse!”
“What could have been worse?” Elizabeth said, in shock that he would berate her. He had no right! It was bad enough that Daniel had constantly found fault with every little thing she did. She had been with Mr. Darcy for all of two days and he was practically shouting!
“Calm yourself, Sir,” she hissed. “I have played upon that bridge since I was a child! It was nothing to leap over a few broken slats. And the water, as you yourself discovered, is not deep.”
Mr. Darcy stood there, his massive chest annoyingly distracting as he took great, gulping breaths.
“Dear me, you’ve just had a fright!” said Mrs. Graham. “I found Mr. Darcy’s actions rather brave, didn’t you, Mrs. Allerton?”
Elizabeth nodded curtly. “You were brave, Mr. Darcy, but also foolish. You could have hurt yourself, leaping into shallow waters. I would have warned you, but you did not take the time to listen to anyone but yourself.”
Mr. Darcy’s mouth opened, then closed. He bowed curtly and said, “I apologize. In the heat of the moment, I wanted nothing more than to ensure your safety, Mrs. Allerton.”
Elizabeth could not argue with that, though this entire scene was entirely too reminiscent of Daniel and the way he expected her to follow his rules, at all times.
“May I escort you ladies back to the wagons?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, still feeling heated and off-balance. How could she want to kiss the man one moment, and the next wish to throw him back in the river? “I must help Jane. I am sure she is frantic.”
“Eliz—Mrs. Allerton, I would hope to continue our conversation tonight?” Mr. Darcy said.
Before Elizabeth could decide how she might answer, Jane rushed to her side. Her reddened eyes tracked the wailing of Mrs. Potter, as three footmen attempted to help the soaked woman into a wagon.
“Oh, it’s all ruined,” Jane whispered. “Mr. Potter won’t want to have anything to do with Charles now.”
“Please, Mrs. Bingley, do not fear. If a man makes business decisions based on an accident, then he is no man with whom you want to pin your family’s consideration upon,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Oh, well said!” Mrs. Graham said, giving Mr. Darcy’s wet arm a rather thorough squeeze. And then another one.
“Mrs. Allerton.” Mr. Darcy spoke softly and calmly, and she had no choice but to look at him. “I also wish to discuss what Caroline said to you.”
“Caroline?” sniffed Jane. “Where is she? I thought she was joining us later?” But Jane was too distracted to truly care—so distraught that Mr. Darcy ended up escorting her to the wagons.
“Come, my dear. I am not so elderly that I cannot walk back to the house with you,” Mrs. Graham said, linking their arms. “Perhaps a walk will calm your nerves?”
“My nerves?” Elizabeth said. “Distraught nerves are my mother’s dominion, as you well know. I cannot lay claim to that particular malady. It might make Mama jealous.”
Mrs. Graham laughed as they began to walk. “Well, you just appear to be a bit…discomposed, perhaps? Worried about Mrs. Potter, are you?”
Elizabeth glared at the wagons, slowly lumbering ahead of them. “It’s that man, Mr. Darcy. He is quite confusing. And overbearing. Did you see how he tried to order me about?”
Mrs. Graham nodded. “Yes, yes. He didn’t want you crossing a bridge that was falling apart before your eyes.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Well, yes. But also—”
Mrs. Graham smiled and interrupted her. “Are you entirely sure you and Mr. Darcy are not a wee bit more than mere acquaintances?”
Elizabeth did not answer. In truth, she no longer had no any idea.
After the party returned to the house, the apothecary was called for Mrs. Potter. She took to her bed and was not at dinner—a relief for everyone, Elizabeth imagined. Even Mr. Potter, who seemed quite jolly.
But Mrs. Potter was not the only person missing from the table.
Apparently, Caroline had requested a tray in her rooms, claiming a headache. And Mr. Darcy had told Charles and Jane that he had business in town.
“What possible sort of business could Mr. Darcy have in Meryton?” Elizabeth whispered to Jane as the ladies went toward the parlor.
“Yes, hello, I’m fine and you’re welcome for the lovely dinner, too!” Jane laughed.
“I’m sorry,” Lizzy said. “You’re correct, of course: how are you after such a trying afternoon? And dinner was inspired. I shall never be able to eat roast duck again. Cook’s duck has ruined me for all other waterfowl.”
“Oh, stop it,” Jane laughed. “I have recovered, even if Mrs. Potter has not. And to answer your urgent question, I have no idea why Mr. Darcy had to go to town. Shall I ask Charles if he knows?”
“No, no,” Elizabeth said. “It matters not. I don’t know why I even asked.”
And that was what Elizabeth told herself, all evening long and even afterwards—as she spent many sleepless hours trying very hard not to think of Mr. Darcy at all.
15
Elizabeth
“Ah, you beautiful creature!” Elizabeth ran her hand along Sabine’s neck, and the dun-colored mare nickered in response. Lizzy smiled and leaned close. “We shall be friends, shall we not?”
“I’ll saddle you for her, Mrs. Allerton, ma’am.”
Elizabeth turned to the young stable boy and tried not to let her smile falter. She had come to the stables early this morning—so early that as she had walked across the fields, the thick morning mist had swirled around her ankles like a magical river. Elizabeth had hoped that she might arrive before anyone else was awake, and be able to saddle her own horse with a gentleman’s saddle—as she did at home where riding astride would not cause a scandal.
Apparently the stable boy was an early riser, as well.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” Elizabeth said. She did not want to embarrass Jane in any way, and so, side-saddle it would be today.
Once Sabine was ready, Jeremy led Sabine out to the paddock and toward a mounting block. The young boy watch
ed approvingly as Elizabeth quickly mounted the mare and led her in a short warm-up walk. Elizabeth smiled down at his freckled face and was just about to thank him when his eyes shifted, looking at something—or someone—behind her.
“Oy, m’Lord! I’ll be right there!”
Elizabeth heard his voice and knew who it was before she saw him.
“I’m no Lord, boy. My stallion’s there.”
Elizabeth turned and attempted to nod sagely at the gentleman. Mr. Darcy was dressed in forest greens, his hair wet and curling from washing, his face freshly shaved.
Of course, Elizabeth thought. Of course he wakes early, and looks perfectly presentable before breakfast.
She refused to tug down her riding jacket, arrange her skirts, or indulge in any nervous movements. She would not let Mr. Darcy know that she suddenly wished she had glanced in the looking glass after putting her hat on.
Elizabeth imagined that Jeremy had run to fetch the great, black beast that had been in the far end of the stables. She turned toward the stables to check his progress, though of course she could not see anything but the darkened entryway. When she turned to face Mr. Darcy again, she found his blue gaze taking her in.
“Mrs. Allerton.” He bowed gracefully. “Good morning. I thought I might be the only early riser here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I’m afraid I’ve ruined your plans of a solitary ride,” Elizabeth said, annoyed when Sabine shifted suddenly. The horse jerked on the reins and fought the bit for one moment, as if Elizabeth’s nervous energy had transferred from her body into the beast’s.
Elizabeth forced herself to take a calming breath, just like Daniel had taught her when he first told her she would learn to ride, or that he’d die trying.
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