To Conquer Pride

by Jennifer Altman

  From the doorway, Thomas coughed into his fist, causing both Darcy and Elizabeth to jump. Neither of them had noticed his return.

  “Sir, I think it would be best if I went for assistance. If I can make it to the inn tonight, I can have a physician here at first light. Besides, there is nowhere to shelter the horse, and I do not like the idea of leaving him outside in this weather.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I would have to agree. You need medical attention as soon as possible. It would not be wise to delay.” Elizabeth’s eyes moved to the window, and Darcy followed her gaze. Thomas had opened the shutters and even through the frosted glass, it was clear that the snowstorm had not abated. If anything, it looked worse than before.

  Darcy frowned. After what they had already endured, he had serious qualms about sending his footman out in such treacherous conditions—not to mention the chance Elizabeth would be taking with her reputation if she remained alone with him overnight. He looked at her now, but if she had any misgivings, they were not apparent in her expression. His fingers moved to rub his brow. The unrelenting pain in his leg and ribcage were making coherent thought increasingly difficult.

  “Miss Bennet, are you certain this is agreeable to you? I will understand if you would prefer for Thomas to remain.”

  “I am perfectly agreeable, Mr. Darcy. After all, if Thomas leaves now, we shall be rescued that much sooner.”

  Darcy’s spine stiffened. Of course. She could not wait to be free of him, regardless of the method employed to achieve that end. He felt the muscles inside his neck tighten and he briefly looked away. God, what a fool he was. Rhapsodizing over the feel of her fingers against his skin, when she was only doing her duty. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to escape this nightmare as soon as humanly possible.

  “As you wish, Miss Bennet.”

  Thomas shifted his attention from Darcy to Elizabeth and back again.

  Tension hung heavy in the air and Elizabeth stood, moving in the direction of the corridor. “I am certain the two of you have matters to discuss. If you will excuse me, I will…have a look around.” And then, like the worst sort of coward, she hastily quit the room.

  ***

  It did not take Elizabeth long to explore the remainder of the small cottage. Besides the front parlor, there was one bedchamber, sparsely furnished, a cramped dressing room, and a surprisingly large kitchen where she found a well-stocked larder. After filling an old copper kettle with snow collected from the back garden and hanging it over the fire to heat, she made her way to a corner of the room, lowering herself into one of the high-backed chairs surrounding an old wooden table.

  She had made Mr. Darcy angry. She hadn’t meant to. Was it simply that she had sided with his footman about going for help? Or was he offended by her impatience to be away from the cottage—away from him? She shook her head. No, she could not believe it. Certainly he would be as eager as she was to remove himself from such an awkward situation.

  The soft whistling of the kettle tugged Elizabeth from her ponderings. Crossing to the pantry, she raised herself onto the balls of her feet, reaching for the tea caddy which had been placed on one of the upper shelves. But before her fingers closed around the lacquered box, a sharp pain caused her to flinch. Elizabeth pushed up her sleeve, stretching her neck to peer over her shoulder. To her surprise, a lengthy gash ran down the outside of her arm where an angry bruise was beginning to form just above her elbow.

  A sudden movement drew Elizabeth’s attention to the center of the room. Mr. Darcy stood framed in the open door, his tall figure blocking out the light from the passageway.

  Elizabeth jumped, tugging at her sleeve. “Mr. Darcy! You should not be walking around!”

  Darcy took a shaky step, gripping the handle of the fire-iron he was using for support, but his eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “You are injured.”

  Elizabeth colored. “It is nothing. Only a scratch. Pray, sit. I was just preparing our tea.”

  Darcy dropped into the seat Elizabeth indicated, his mouth flattened into a firm line.

  “Did Thomas leave?” Elizabeth asked, retrieving the box of tea and busying herself with the kettle. “I thought I heard the door.” Elizabeth looked up and Darcy offered a terse nod. “Oh. I had intended to offer him some refreshment.”

  “Do not concern yourself. He was impatient to depart.”

  Elizabeth reached for a teacup, surprised to see that her fingers trembled.

  Narrowing his gaze, Darcy pulled himself to his feet. “Miss Bennet, I think you should sit.”

  Elizabeth blinked at him before slowly sinking into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I… I do not know what is the matter. I feel rather dizzy all of a sudden.”

  Darcy frowned. “The events of the day are catching up with you. You have had a shock.” He reached for the teapot, splashing hot liquid into a cup. Pulling the flask from his pocket, he dispensed a generous amount of brandy into the tea before passing the cup into her hands. “Here, drink this.”

  Elizabeth looked at him for a moment before wrapping her fingers around the heavy porcelain and taking several rapid swallows. The warm liquid scalded her throat but she continued to drink until the cup was empty.

  Darcy drew his chair alongside hers. “Let me see your arm.”

  “There isn’t any need. I told you, it is only a scrape.”

  Darcy gazed back at her, his expression unyielding. “Miss Bennet.”

  Releasing a soft huff, Elizabeth pushed up her sleeve.

  Darcy stretched out his hand, gently running his fingers along the rough skin and Elizabeth’s pulse fluttered inside her throat.

  “You are correct, it does not look serious. But you should clean the wound. Have you more water?”

  Swallowing her discomfiture, Elizabeth nodded, moving to the fire and filling a small basin. Returning to the table, she reached for one of the linen towels resting on the sideboard, but Darcy pulled the cloth from her fingers. Dipping it into the water, he pressed it gently to the abrasion.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Not much.”

  “How about your head?”

  Elizabeth touched her temple. “I will confess to a bit of a headache, but otherwise I am well.”

  Darcy set aside the damp cloth and Elizabeth slowly rolled down her sleeve. They regarded each other for several moments before Darcy released an anguished groan, dropping his head into his hands.

  Elizabeth stood, a knot of fear instantly forming in her chest. “Mr. Darcy? Are you in pain?”

  He shook his head, but when he lifted his eyes, Elizabeth could see genuine torment reflected in his gaze.

  “This is my fault. I never should have suggested that we travel in this weather. If it were not for me, you would be safe at the Bell.” He paused before adding in a choked whisper, “And a good man would not be dead.”

  Instinctively, Elizabeth stretched out her hand, allowing her fingers to settle on his shoulder. “Sir, you take too much upon yourself. It is indeed a horrible thing that a man lost his life today, but it was an accident. That axle could have cracked just as easily if the weather were fair.”

  “You are too generous, Miss Bennet. The fact remains that you were injured because I insisted you accompany me.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, but as she did, a memory prickled at the corners of her consciousness, and her breath stilled inside her lungs.

  “You grabbed me. In the carriage. Right before the crash.”

  Darcy’s head jerked up, and his countenance visibly paled. “Dear God. Did I hurt you?”

  Slowly, Elizabeth shook her head as everything came flooding back: Mr. Darcy’s strong hands drawing her to the center of the compartment, shifting their positions to put himself between her and the door as the carriage rolled over on its side.

  “You pulled me away from the window. You switched places with me.”

  “But your injuries… The bruises, on your arm…”


  “Mr. Darcy, you did not cause me any harm. I think you may have saved my life.”

  “Miss Bennet, were it not for me, you would not have been in danger in the first place.”

  Elizabeth began to speak, but before she could gather her thoughts, a low rumbling filled the air, breaking the tension.

  “One of us is hungry, I think.”

  Darcy colored, but seemed glad to have a turn in the conversation. “It would appear so. I do not suppose there is anything to eat inside those cupboards?”

  “Oh, but there is!” Hurrying to her feet, Elizabeth disappeared into the larder.

  “Miss Bennet, are you well enough for that? I would not have you go to any trouble on my account.”

  “‘Tis no trouble. I am quite recovered,” she called, returning several minutes later, her arms laden with parcels. “Besides, you are not the only one who is hungry.”

  Turning back to the sideboard, Elizabeth surveyed her haul: a sack of lentils, four slightly withered carrots, one large bag of onions, two turnips, and a length of dried meat. She gave this last a tentative sniff. Venison? Or possibly mutton? Not that it mattered, so long as it was edible.

  Filling a pot with what remained of the water, she carefully hung it above the fire. Surely something that passed for a meal could be fashioned from the assembled ingredients. Reaching for a knife, she began to peel the onions, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for all the days she had spent hiding out in the Longbourn kitchens.

  Behind her, Darcy shifted in his chair, and although he remained silent, Elizabeth could feel his impenetrable gaze upon her back.

  The onion she had been about to cut skittered across the worktop. Darcy leaned forward, catching the wayward vegetable before it could hit the floor. Elizabeth flushed, taking it from his outstretched palm and murmuring her thanks before hastily returning to her task. She worked in silence for several minutes before Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.

  “Miss Bennet, is there anything I might do to assist?”

  “No, no,” she answered quickly. “I have things well in hand.” Taking up the sack of lentils she scooped out several large spoonfuls, hesitating briefly before tossing them into the pot.

  A smile twitched at the corner of Darcy’s lips. “Miss Bennet, do you know what you are doing?”

  Elizabeth twisted around to look at him. “Certainly.”

  From his place at the table, Darcy leaned back in his seat. “Do you mind if I remain here while you cook?” he finally asked. “I would not wish to make you uneasy.”

  “No, I am happy for the company. In any case, you should stay off that leg. Oh! I have totally forgotten!” Dropping the knife she had been using to chop carrots, she crossed the room, returning with a small bundle of toweling. “Ice. For your leg.” Elizabeth smiled. “At least that is one thing we have in abundance.”

  Darcy relaxed back into his chair, accepting the cold compress, and Elizabeth returned to her task. When she had finally hung the heavy iron pot over the fire, she took the seat opposite Mr. Darcy, and the two spent the next hour in quiet conversation. Elizabeth rose several times to tend to their meal, and eventually a rich, earthy aroma settled in the air.

  “You seem to know your way around a kitchen, Miss Bennet,” Darcy offered, as Elizabeth used a long wooden spoon to stir the thick stew that was now bubbling over the embers of the fire.

  “Does that shock you, Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

  Darcy opened his mouth to answer but Elizabeth’s laughter stilled the words on his tongue.

  “Indeed, I suppose it is rather shocking,” she said, covering the pot and coming to take the seat across from him. “My mother would die of mortification if she knew anything about it.” At Darcy’s confused expression, she continued, “If you were to speak to my mother, she would tell you that we were well able to keep a cook, and that none of her daughters had a thing to do in the kitchen.” Elizabeth laughed. “What my mother does not know, is that I used to retreat to the kitchens at Longbourn when I was a child and the weather did not permit me to go out of doors. Eventually, our cook took pity on me and agreed to teach me a few simple skills. I always thought the knowledge would be useful one day… and now you see it has been. Although I must confess, I always preferred assisting with the desserts. I’ll have you know that I make an excellent pie, Mr. Darcy. Alas, the ingredients I require are not present. Perhaps some other time I will have the opportunity to bake one for you.”

  Darcy blinked back at her, but it wasn’t long before Elizabeth’s smile slipped and her expression grew somber. “Mr. Darcy, I feel I should apologize for what happened earlier. I assure you, I am not normally prone to swooning.”

  “Believe me, Miss Bennet, I never thought you were.” Elizabeth dropped her gaze and Darcy leaned forward, his voice low and intent. “I know of no other woman who could have born up so admirably under today’s circumstances. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Elizabeth gazed back at him and warmth began building in her belly. Quickly, she slid out of her seat. Returning to the hearth, she lifted the cover off the pot and a savory aroma filled the kitchen.

  “I believe our feast is ready, sir,” Elizabeth announced, keeping her voice light. Darcy watched her as she ladled out the thick stew and set two steaming bowls upon the wooden table.

  “You will have to pardon the simplicity of the meal, Mr. Darcy. I am certain this is not what you are accustomed to.”

  “Not at all. I actually prefer simple food, and this looks excellent.”

  Elizabeth surveyed the dish in front of her as Darcy lifted his spoon. If she was being honest, she wasn’t quite as confident as she had let on. While it was true that she had often assisted their cook, Mrs. Doyle, in the kitchens, she had never prepared a meal of any type entirely from scratch. And to think that for her maiden effort she was serving a stew of mysterious meat and questionable carrots to Mr. Darcy! Good heavens, the man probably had a French cook.

  Across the table, Darcy swallowed his first mouthful and his eyes lit. “Miss Bennet, this is delicious.”

  Elizabeth flushed at Darcy’s praise, and the two ate for a while in companionable silence. When Mr. Darcy had devoured the last morsel, he sheepishly asked for more, and Elizabeth stood to refill their bowls. Turning away from the hearth, she was surprised to see Mr. Darcy grinning back at her.

  Elizabeth’s brows lifted. “Might I ask what you find so amusing, sir?”

  “Forgive me, I was just imagining how I would have fared if I had been stranded here with Miss Bingley rather than yourself. Besides the fact that it would have been a most unpleasant experience, I cannot think that I should have been treated to a meal such as this. As a matter of fact, I am quite certain we would have starved.”

  Elizabeth’s bright laughter filled the air. “I am afraid you are likely correct. I somehow doubt Miss Bingley has ever seen the inside of a kitchen!”

  Elizabeth soon regained her seat and she and Mr. Darcy conversed amiably for the remainder of the meal. When they had both finished, Elizabeth stood to clear their dishes, taking them to the stone basin in the corner of the room. Rolling her sleeves, she proceeded to the hearth, heaving up the large pot of water she had hung there to heat.

  Watching her, Darcy’s expression sobered. “Miss Bennet, may I ask what you are doing?”

  Elizabeth tilted her chin. “What does it look like I am doing, Mr. Darcy?”

  “It looks like you are preparing to wash dishes.”

  “You are very perceptive, sir.”

  “Miss Bennet, that is not required of you.”

  Setting the pot back over the fire, Elizabeth turned to face her companion. “Oh? Have the servants arrived from Pemberley? Forgive me. I did not see them come in.”

  Darcy blew out a frustrated breath. “Miss Bennet, cooking is one thing. But I will not have you scrubbing pots like a scullery maid.”

  Irritation prickled beneath Elizabeth’s skin and her expression darkened. Folding her arms, s
he attempted to regulate her temper. “Mr. Darcy, I realize that you are accustomed to having a large household to see to the less pleasant necessities of life, but as we are stranded here without the benefit of servants, I am afraid we must make do.”

  “I think you misunderstand me,” Darcy replied, stiffly.

  “What is there to misunderstand? Clearly you think this type of work is beneath your station, and my own. If it offends you to watch, pray, feel free to leave the room.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think of me? That I believe honest, hard work is in some way demeaning?” When Elizabeth did not answer, he continued, “As it happens, I have nothing but respect for the individuals in my employ, and I would ask no task of a servant that I would not undertake myself, should it prove necessary.” He took a breath, as if pausing to give himself a moment to think. “I beg your pardon. I believe I expressed myself poorly. It is only that I would prefer not to see you scrub pots after all you have been through today. I meant no offence.”

  Despite her ire, Elizabeth’s gaze softened. “I appreciate your concern. But as I said, I am well recovered. It will not take long, and I would prefer to leave things as we found them.”

  Slowly, Darcy nodded. “Very well, I will concede. But then you must allow me to be of some assistance. May I dry for you? I think I should be able to manage that, even from my position here at the table.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted, practically reaching her hairline. Mr. Darcy, drying dishes? It was all she could do to keep her composure. “I… If you wish…” she finally sputtered. When Darcy nodded, she moved to the cupboard, collecting a stack of toweling and bringing it to where he sat. With the two of them working, the chore was finished in very little time. When all was in order, Elizabeth assisted Mr. Darcy to the parlor before heading to the corridor where Thomas had stacked the extra wood. In the small parlor she built up the fire before settling comfortably into one of the two armchairs facing the hearth. Across from her, Mr. Darcy stared into the flames and Elizabeth regarded him from the corner of her vision.