“In t’ village still, tryin’ to save what they can,” the old man said. “Sent me with t’ women, they did.”
Darcy nodded, then turned to the little girl. “You must be very brave and listen carefully to what I say. We are going to find a way to move this, and when I give the word, you must pull yourself out from under it as quickly as may be. Do you understand?”
“Ye…Yes, sir,” she whimpered. “Please, it hurts so much!”
“We’ll have you out of there as soon as we can.” And Elizabeth would be waiting for him, like the treasure at the end of a knight’s quest. With a warm feeling inside despite the cold rain, Darcy pushed a lock of sodden hair out of his eyes, then broke a branch from the trunk and began wedging it under the fallen wood.
***
Elizabeth hurried upstairs to the closets so carefully arranged according to the direction of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It was simple to find the blankets she was seeking, but there were not as many as she had hoped. She added the blanket from her own bed for good measure, then returned to the kitchen and began distributing them, encouraging the women with young children to wrap the blankets around them for warmth. The fire was as high as the maid had dared make it, but the soaked refugees still shivered.
An older women was standing alone, her chapped hands outstretched to the fire. Elizabeth approached her and said, “Can you tell me of the situation in the village?”
The woman shook her head. “You can’t believe how high that water is, and the current strong enough to pull a man off his feet. There won’t be much left by the time it goes down.” Her voice trembled a little.
Elizabeth bit her lip. While Mr. Collins and his wife Charlotte were at Rosings Park, it was up to her to make arrangements for all these people. She had no idea what food stores were available or where they would sleep, but she could hardly send Mr. Collins’s newly-homeless parishioners out into the storm with nowhere to go.
The kitchen door swung open to reveal Mr. Darcy, his dark curls sodden and dripping into his face, carrying a young girl in his arms. He called across the kitchen, “Miss Bennet, a word, if you please?”
She drew in a sharp breath. What was he still doing there? She had expected him to be long gone after she refused his startling offer of marriage. After that insulting proposal, she despised him more than ever, and as her rejected suitor, he must be furious with her. He had clearly expected her to accept him. What unlucky fate had forced them to be together, especially under these circumstances?
Still, she had no choice but to follow him into the hallway. The last thing she wanted to do was to meet his eyes, so instead she turned her gaze to the limp form in his arms. “Is she injured?” she asked.
“I believe her leg is broken. It is fortunate for her that she fainted when we tried to move her. What is the best place for her?” Mr. Darcy sounded remarkably calm under the circumstances. His tone carried none of the anger she had expected.
If he could be civil, she would as well. “Could you bring her upstairs? I will show you the way.” The simplest thing would be to put the child in the room she shared with Maria, since the bed in the spare room was not made up.
He inclined his head. The gesture lost a great deal of its aristocratic air owing to the water dripping from his hair. Elizabeth barely controlled a smile as she fetched a candle from the sitting room and led him up the dark staircase to her room. She set the candle on the vanity and found a towel to spread across the bed.
The little girl moaned as Mr. Darcy set her on the bed, taking great care to move her as gently as possible. One of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle. Elizabeth tried to remove her shoe, but stopped as her action provoked another moan from the child. She only hoped the girl would remain unconscious long enough for her wet clothes to be removed.
Elizabeth dried her hands on a corner of the towel, then looked up to find Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes fixed on her. She realized with a shock that, apart from the unconscious girl, she was alone in a dark bedroom with a man who claimed to be violently in love with her. To her utter astonishment, he smiled slightly.
“But you are quite wet, sir! Mr. Collins’s rooms are just down the passage. I am sure he would not object to the use of some of his clothing. After all, he would be mortified if you were to take a chill while in his house,” Elizabeth said, aware that she was babbling.
“An excellent idea,” he said, but made no move to go.
“And I must find this child’s mother. She will need comfort when she awakens.” Elizabeth began backing out of the room, anxious to depart from his unnerving presence.
He picked up the candle and held it out to her. “Do not forget this. I would not want you to trip on the stairs.”
His courtesy was unnerving, but she would not allow it to intimidate her. “I thank you, but I have been down the stairs many times, and you will need the light in Mr. Collins’s room.”
“I could not possibly…” Darcy paused, then his face lit up with a smile. “Perhaps a compromise is in order. I will see you downstairs with the candle; then, when you are safely ensconced there, I will return with it to Mr. Collins’s room, if you will be so kind as to indicate where I might find it.”
Was this a battle of wills to see who could show the most courtesy? “Very well, sir. An excellent idea.”
He bowed and swept his free hand out, indicating the door. “Also, there would be no point to dry clothes before I find shelter for my horse. The shed in the garden – would it be large enough to accommodate him?”
Elizabeth nodded numbly. “Perhaps there will be a break in the rain soon and you will be able to return to Rosings.” It could not happen soon enough for her.
He shook his head. “I cannot possibly leave you here alone under these circumstances. Besides, there will be no need for a break in the rain. No doubt Lady Catherine will order her carriage for Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and I will return in that conveyance.”
“As you wish. Now, if you will excuse me, I must find out how many guests we must provide shelter for.” Anything to give her an excuse to leave his company. She started down the stairs.
His voice continued from behind her. “However many there are here now, the number is likely to increase. Apparently some of them are still attempting to rescue their possessions, and they will most likely arrive later. I have already instructed the men outside to settle themselves in the church. Fortunately, it is not a cold night, so blankets and hot bricks should be enough to keep them warm until morning.”
Trust Mr. Darcy to assume command of any situation, regardless of whether he had any rights in the matter! Elizabeth fumed, not least because she had not thought of that solution herself. She did not trust herself to answer him in a temperate manner, so she said nothing. She would not waste her energy on Mr. Darcy when there were so many others who needed her assistance.
Chapter 2
Darcy stripped out of his soaking attire as quickly as possible, but he had to wrestle with his tightly fitted topcoat, which was snug enough that it usually required his valet to remove. Being saturated with water did not help matters. If only he could ask Elizabeth for her assistance – how he would enjoy having her remove his clothing!
His wet clothes made a puddle on the floor as he toweled himself dry as best he could. The friction of it warmed his cold skin a little, but not anywhere near as much as Elizabeth could just by looking at him.
Her recent behavior was puzzling, though. She had seemed almost skittish just now, unlike her usual self. Perhaps she was worried about failing to handle this crisis with the aplomb he would expect from the mistress of Pemberley. That was no doubt the cause; it was so like his sweet Elizabeth to be already taking her future role so seriously! He would have to make a point of telling her how well she was doing. Later, perhaps, he could give her some pointers on how she should have behaved. It was generous of her to attempt to help the villagers herself, but she should not have been in the kitchen as if she were one of them.
&nb
sp; The clothes in Mr. Collins’s wardrobe were dry, but that was the best that could be said for them. Some appeared freshly pressed – he supposed he could thank Mrs. Collins for that – but others were rumpled, and all were of coarse fabric he would never dream of wearing under normal circumstances. Although Mrs. Collins had no doubt done her best, his shirts were no longer the pristine white Darcy usually required. Making a face, he picked out the one with the least mending and shook it out. It was passable, he supposed, wrinkling his nose. Like the entire room, it was imbued with the stink of sweat that he associated with Mr. Collins.
He did not mind if Elizabeth wished to continue her friendship with Mrs. Collins. Although her father was in trade, Mrs. Collins was a nicely-mannered woman and would not embarrass either of them, at least as long as she did not mention her family. Mr. Collins was another story. Darcy had no intention of having that fool at Pemberley even for a day. It was hard to believe that he was related to Elizabeth, not that most of her family were much better, of course. Fortunately, there would be little need for her family to interact with his, and Darcy supposed that for Elizabeth’s sake he could somehow manage to tolerate the Bennets in brief doses.
He paused, his arm half-way into the shirtsleeve. Elizabeth was his, by God! Even wearing disgusting borrowed clothes and being forced to deal with the riff-raff from Hunsford could not diminish his sense of triumph that it was finally settled. No more second thoughts or doubts; it was done. And if he had anything to say about it – and he intended to say a great deal about it – they would be married as soon as the banns had been read. He would have liked to hear more of Elizabeth’s reply to his proposal, but that was not the important thing. They were engaged. And he still planned to steal a kiss once he had everyone settled for the night. If Mr. and Mrs. Collins were not yet returned, it might be even more than a kiss. Now there was an idea to improve his mood! If he was very, very lucky, the roads would be completely impassable and he would be forced to spend the night at the parsonage.
He pulled the shirt over his head and looked in the mirror. Ill-fitting, of course, but the smile he could not repress made up for it.
***
Several hours later, some thirty villagers had been settled in the church. Elizabeth had rationed out the few available candles, while the cook took stock of their food supplies, muttering gloomily about having to feed such a crowd in the morning. In the parsonage, a few young children rested on blankets in front of the hearth in the larger sitting room, their mothers beside them. Mr. Collins would not be pleased by it, but Elizabeth had no intention of allowing the children to fall ill simply for his convenience. She had been unable to find the parents of the girl with the broken leg – apparently they were still in the village trying to salvage whatever they could - so Elizabeth had assisted two of the village women in splinting her leg, a nerve-racking experience since the girl screamed in agony whenever they touched it. Fortunately, an older woman offered to sit with the girl afterwards.
Elizabeth peered out the window of the small sitting room for the what seemed like the hundredth time, as if she would be able to make out anything in the ongoing deluge. The single candle, barely lighting the room at its best, flickered each time the wind rattled the windowpanes. It was past midnight, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins still had not returned. Would this day never end? It seemed like weeks since she had walked with Colonel Fitzwilliam in the garden, totally unaware that Mr. Darcy admired her. She leaned her forehead against the window frame.
She could never forgive the part he had played in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley, but in all fairness, he had handled her refusal remarkably well. She would not have thought him capable of even basic civility under these circumstances, but he had been polite and had shouldered responsibility for their unexpected guests.
As if the mere thought of him caused him to appear, she heard his footsteps behind her. She closed her eyes, silently willing him to go away. Instead, the footsteps continued to approach her, stopping only when he was so close behind her that she could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Miss Bennet, you must rest. It is very late, and there is nothing more you can do tonight,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “I will not be able to sleep until Mr. and Mrs. Collins are back safely.”
“They will not return tonight. According to a villager who just arrived, the bridge is out. It is hardly a surprise; it was in need of maintenance, as I have told my aunt on several occasions. But you need not worry; the Collins’ will stay the night at Rosings Park. In the morning, it may be possible for them to travel upstream to the next bridge.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Then I had best make plans for breakfast, if Charlotte will not be here.”
“You need not trouble yourself. I have spoken with the maid, who has recruited two of the village women to assist the cook in the kitchen in the morning. The fare will be simple, but no one will go hungry. All will be well.”
She hated to admit it, but she was relieved that he had dealt with it, relieved enough that she did not immediately realize the source of the comforting warmth around her waist. But she could not miss the brush of lips against the side of her neck, especially since it created a riot of sensation far beyond the immediate stimulus. In a moment of weakness, she was half-tempted to lean back against the strong body behind her, but that very desire brought her to her senses.
She pulled his hands off her waist and slipped under his arm. Once she had reached the safety of several paces away, she whirled to face him. “How dare you, sir! I had just been noting that for once you seemed to be behaving like a gentleman, and now I discover it is nothing but an attempt to take advantage of my situation.”
He had the gall to look puzzled. “I apologize for distressing you. You seemed in need of comfort, and under the circumstances I thought you would not object.”
“Under the circumstances that I am stranded with you and have no other choice?”
“Under the circumstances that we are engaged to be married, Elizabeth. I know you are fatigued, and perhaps it would be better to speak of this in the morning.”
“I am most certainly not engaged to you, and I have not given you permission to make free with my Christian name!”
He inhaled sharply. “I am sorry if I overstepped my bounds, but I cannot believe you wish to call off our engagement because of that.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “There is no engagement! In case you were not paying attention earlier, I was in the process of refusing you when the villagers interrupted us!”
He paled, taking a step back. “That is nonsense. You were hoping for, no, awaiting my addresses. You have no reason to refuse me.”
“No reason! Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister? You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing Mr. Bingley from her, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.
“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.
With assumed tranquility he then replied, “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate, her.
“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago fr
om Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?”
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,” said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction,” cried Elizabeth with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this, and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule!”
Mr. Darcy's Refuge Page 2