Mr. Darcy's Refuge

  “And this,” cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! Perhaps someday you will do me the honor of telling me what manner of falsehood Wickham is spreading about me now, and for what reason you have chosen to believe whatever he said in the complete absence of proof!”

  “I saw enough proof with my own eyes! Your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation before I ever met Mr. Wickham; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

  “Now it is all clear! You disliked my pride, so clearly any manner of slander attached to my name must be true. I ask you again, what proof did he supply of his so-called misfortunes?”

  “And I might ask you what proof you can offer that his claims are untrue!”

  “None, in as much as I do not know what claims he made, but I can produce more than enough evidence of his deceitful nature. It is clear there is no point in doing so, however, since you clearly have already determined not to believe a word I say. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time. I will hope for the good fortune of an end to this rain so that you need not tolerate my presence in the morning.”

  With these words he hastily left the room, and a moment later Elizabeth heard a door bang shut.

  Covering her face with her hands, Elizabeth sank into the nearest chair, tears of anger and fatigue filling her eyes. What a disaster! She did not know which was worse, his ridiculous assumptions or her intemperate behavior. Even if he had misunderstood her earlier, she should have simply been firm with him about her refusal. There had been no call whatsoever for her to lose her temper with Mr. Darcy, but exhaustion and shock at his unseemly behavior had taken a toll of her composure. His forwardness had been disturbing, but was understandable enough given his misapprehension. Still, his abominable pridefulness surprised even her. That he should think she had been hoping for his addresses! And that she would agree to marry him, for no other reason than that he wished it! She would have found it comic if she had not been so very tired – and if she did not have to face him in the morning. And to think her opinion of him had been improving since he had been so helpful and polite to her once the refugees had arrived! It was only because he believed he had prevailed. Vexing man!

  Somehow she must get some rest. Swaying slightly, she trudged up the stairs, but stopped short at the door of her bedroom. The girl Jenny lay in her bed, while the elderly woman who was watching her would likely be asleep in the bed Maria Lucas used. Elizabeth leaned her head against the doorframe, forcing herself to think. There was Charlotte’s room, but that had a connecting door to Mr. Collins’s bedroom where Mr. Darcy would spend the night. The mere thought was enough to banish sleepiness. No, the smallest bedroom, the one that had been used by Sir William Lucas prior to his departure, would be her best option, even if the bed was not ready.

  At least the small room had been aired out already, the bare mattress resting on the bedframe. She considered hunting for linens, but she could not face the effort, nor the possibility that she might once again encounter Mr. Darcy. It did not matter; the counterpane sat folded on the windowseat, and she could simply wrap herself in it for the night.

  She would have to sleep in her shift in any case, since her nightdress was in the other bedroom. Undoing the buttons on the back of her dress presented something of a challenge, but somehow she managed it. As the muslin slid down her body, her hands paused on her hips as she unexpectedly recalled the sensation of Mr. Darcy’s hands around her waist. Her skin tingled oddly, a disturbing sensation which made her step out of the dress with less care than she might have otherwise. She tripped over the skirt in the darkness, and the sound of ripping fabric made her wince.

  Elizabeth shook her head at her own clumsiness. It was just one more sign of this disastrous evening. Tossing the dress carelessly over a nearby chair, she took the counterpane and climbed onto bed, hoping for sleep to come instantly. It might even have done so had the memory of Mr. Darcy’s lips on the sensitive skin of her neck not intervened. Her hand crept up to touch the spot, and she fell asleep with her fingers covering it.

  Chapter 3

  The sun was already high in the sky when Elizabeth awoke. The strange bed reminded her instantly of the events of the previous evening, and she burrowed her face under the pillow in hopes that it would somehow all go away if she just did not look at it. Unfortunately, life seldom cooperated in these matters, and now that she was awake, she could not understand how she had slept so late with children’s shouts punctuating the clatter from the kitchen, not to mention the rain thrumming against the window.

  She could not stay in bed with so much to be done. Apart from making certain that everything was in order before Charlotte and Mr. Collins returned, she should check on the injured girl. It made sense to do that first, since she would need to go to her room for fresh clothing and her hairbrush in any case. Yesterday’s dress had a narrow rip running several inches up from the hem. Still, she had to wear something, so she slipped it back on, managing to fasten all the buttons except the one in the very middle of her back.

  Fortunately, the passageway was empty, and the door to her usual bedroom at the opposite end stood wide open. Hoping to avoid notice while wearing her wrinkled and torn dress, she hurried in. To her dismay, the last man in the world she wished to see was sitting beside the little girl’s bed, talking quietly to her.

  Darcy’s voice broke off in midsentence. With a chilly expression, he stood and bowed in greeting, but said not a word. Elizabeth mentally cringed as her belated curtsey served to reveal a full view of her ankle through the tear in her skirt, just as she realized that he was once again in her bedroom. The presence of one small injured girl could not change that fact.

  To make it worse, that one small injured girl had tears running down her face, something Elizabeth could not ignore, even if it meant speaking to Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth crossed to the far side of the bed before laying a comforting hand on the girl’s arm. “Does it hurt so very much?” she asked gently.

  The girl’s voice quavered in response. “It’s terrible bad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The girl turned pained eyes to her. “Can you find my mama, Mrs. Darcy?”

  Elizabeth turned a look of betrayal on Darcy, but before she could correct the girl, Darcy said, “Jenny wants her mama to sit with her, but her mother ran into the water after her brother, and she has not seen either once since then.”

  “The river was taking him away, so she had to catch him. We’re not supposed to play in the water, but he just slipped,” Jenny said, her calmness a certain indicator that she did not understand the implications.

  “Jenny has been waiting for her ever since,” Darcy said gravely.

  Their eyes met in mutual acknowledgment that their own quarrel had no place in the presence of tragedy. Darcy said, “I was about to make inquires as to the whereabouts of her parents.”

  “That is kind of you, sir,” Elizabeth said, meaning every word.

  His lips thinned. Without a word, he left the room.

  Elizabeth, feeling oddly as if she had been chastised, did her best to distract Jenny, asking the girl’s opinion on which of her several dresses she should wear and requesting her assistance in putting her hair up. She did not care to think of how she would look, but Jenny seemed delighted with the opportunity, so she resigned herself to whatever lopsided hairstyle resulted from the experiment.

  As she returned the favor by brushing and braiding Jenny’s thin hair, the girl began to open up, telling her about her father’s mill and the doll she had left behind in the flood. “I put her way up high in the rafter
s, so she’d be safe no matter how high the water came.”

  “That was very clever of you,” said Elizabeth, hoping that Jenny’s doll had in fact survived the flood. She was likely to need to comfort of her familiar toy soon.

  Afterwards, Elizabeth realized she had never corrected Jenny’s error about her relationship to Mr. Darcy. Well, what did it matter if a little girl she would never see after tomorrow thought they were married? It might be easier to allow her to believe that than to explain why they were both in the same bedroom.

  ***

  When hunger finally sent Elizabeth downstairs in search of some sort of breakfast, she was relieved that Mr. Darcy was nowhere to be found. It looked like the rain had finally stopped, so with any luck, he might have taken his horse to wherever the next bridge might be and found his way back to Rosings Park. The kitchen was in chaos, with six women working in a space sufficient for no more than three. It was fortunate that Charlotte could not see what had become of her well-organized domain.

  She helped herself to a bun, deciding that the prospect of a hot drink was hopeless. It was not worth the effort to try to make herself heard over the din. She sought out refuge in the dining room where she startled the maid who was carefully counting the silver.

  “Oh, Miss Bennet, you made me jump! I thought I should see that everything is here, with all the comings and goings, and Mrs. Collins sure to be furious if anything goes missing. I’m thinking I should take the valuables upstairs where they’ll be less in harm’s way.”

  “A wise idea,” said Elizabeth. She did not doubt that Mr. Collins’s parishioners would be trustworthy under normal circumstances, but some of them had just lost all their possessions, and temptation might get the better of them. “I take it they cannot yet return to their homes?”

  “Mr. Darcy says not, but he sent some of them to stay in the barn at Brown’s farm over the hill. Old Tom Brown was happy to take them in, but he doesn’t have anything to feed them, not this time of year. I don’t know what we’re going to do, miss, if this keeps on. We’ve already gone through most of the provisions here.”

  Elizabeth chewed a bite of the cold bun thoughtfully. “We will have to send someone to a nearby town to buy more food, then.”

  It was her turn to jump as a familiar deep voice came from behind her. “It has already been attempted, Miss Bennet, but without success. The road to the east has been washed out, and the men I sent to Tunbridge Wells returned empty-handed because the shopkeepers there would not extend them credit.” He turned to the maid. “There is a manservant here, is there not?”

  “Usually there is, sir, but John lives on the other side of the river.”

  “Pity. I will need you to press my clothing as soon as possible, then.”

  “Yes, sir.” The maid scurried off to do his bidding.

  Elizabeth turned slowly to face him. She had not noted his appearance earlier, but he certainly lacked his usual impeccable style. The coat he wore, made for the heavier Mr. Collins, hung off his shoulders, and his cravat was limp. She hardly thought that ironing his clothing was a matter of the highest priority in a situation such as this, but apparently it was to a man of such pride and vanity. “So you are returning to Rosings, then?” she said.

  “No. Lady Catherine can be of no help to us here. It would take a day, if not more, to reach Rosings. I would have to ride most of the way to London to go around the floods. I am going to Tunbridge Wells. They will not refuse credit to Lady Catherine’s nephew, but I will need to look the part if I am to convince them.” He looked down ruefully at his rumpled appearance.

  She quickly revised her opinion of his foolish vanity. “It will be a long trip for you if the rain begins again.”

  He shrugged, his lips thinning. “There is no other choice - for either of us,” he said pointedly. “You will, of course, have to accompany me. I regret the necessity of exposing you to the elements.” He did not have to add that he regretted exposing her to himself as well; it was clear in his expression.

  “I have stayed here without Mr. and Mrs. Collins before, and there is no reason why I cannot do so again,” she said sharply.

  “It is not the absence of your cousins but the presence of so many strangers that is the difficulty. Regardless of what you may think of me, I cannot and will not leave you here unprotected, so either we both go to Tunbridge Wells or we both remain here while all these good people go hungry tonight. The choice is yours. I have asked for Mr. Collins’s mare to be saddled for you.”

  She swallowed with difficulty. “I am not a horsewoman, sir.”

  “You can ride, I assume.”

  “A little. I have no particular skill in that regard. Could we not take the cart?”

  “The cart is stuck axle deep in the mud less than a mile from here. Horseback seems our only option.”

  “Then I had best tend to my own appearance.” Elizabeth touched her half-fallen hair. “I discovered this morning why four-year-old girls are never hired as lady’s maids, but Jenny did enjoy playing the role.” For a moment she thought he was starting to smile, but then it turned into a frown. “Were you able to discover anything about her parents?”

  “Her father was last seen trying to free the mill-wheel. Her mother and brother were carried off in the flood. She has an aunt who is in service at Rosings and an older brother, thought to be twelve or thirteen years old, who is apprenticed to a miller near London. One of the women has agreed to take her in until her aunt can be contacted, but until she can be moved, it seems a moot point.”

  It was what she had expected, but Elizabeth felt a deep pang for the bright-eyed girl who would never see her parents again. She wondered who would tell her the sad truth.

  Mr. Darcy tugged at the loose cuffs of the coat he wore, examining them as if they were of great interest. “In any case, we should leave soon if we are to have food here by nightfall. Can you be ready in half an hour?”

  She hesitated, then said, “I do have one question. Why are you doing this? You have no responsibility for these people.”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Why am I doing this?”

  “Yes, why? You cannot possibly wish to ride to Tunbridge Wells in the rain, especially in my company, yet you insist upon it.”

  “It is my duty, madam.” His voice was icy. “Did you think I would shirk it? No, please do not answer that. I would rather not know. Even your dear friend, George Wickham, will tell you that I always do my duty. It is a characteristic, I believe, that he holds in some scorn.”

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. I have never seen you show such interest in the welfare of those so far beneath you. That is all.”

  He seemed not to have heard her. “Of course, I have many habits he holds in scorn. I pay my debts. I speak the truth, even when I would rather not. I do not gamble more than I can afford to lose. I do not take advantage of young women with no one to protect them. I have no doubt that George Wickham would find an excuse to sit indoors and drink all your cousin’s brandy rather than ride in the rain in search of food, but I will not. These people are my aunt’s tenants, and in her absence, I am responsible for them – and for you. Whether I like it or not is irrelevant.”

  Elizabeth felt as if she had stepped off the edge of a precipice with no idea of what lay below. She had never seen Darcy – or anyone, for that matter – in such a cold rage. She would not have been surprised to see icicles forming around him, but she would not let him intimidate her, so she met his eyes steadily.

  He had the grace to flush. “I will see you in half an hour, madam.” He turned on his heel without even a proper bow and left the room.

  Chapter 4

  Darcy discovered quickly that Elizabeth was not being modest when she described herself as a poor rider. Her back was ramrod straight, but given the death grip she had on the pommel of the sidesaddle, it was more likely out of fear rather than an attempt at proper posture. He had already instructed her twice to give
the mare more slack on the reins, and again she was making the horse restive by pulling them too tight. If she continued to sit that way, she would be stiff and sore tomorrow. She would need to improve her seat when… he cut off the train of thought before it could begin. It was better not to even think of the future.

  At least the rain had stopped for the moment. The road was in sorry shape, pitted with mudholes and covered in deep puddles whenever it dipped into the valley, but it was passable. No doubt it added to Elizabeth’s anxiety, though. His own horse was sure-footed, but Darcy kept a close eye on the mare who had stumbled more than once.

  He could not believe he had lost his temper with her yet again this morning. There had been a few hours last evening when he had thought they had a happy future ahead of them, and he had been shaken into fury that night when he discovered his error. As he lay sleepless in Mr. Collins’s bed, he had resolved that in the morning he would calmly explain the truth about George Wickham to Elizabeth, and she would see reason. But when he finally had a moment to speak to her alone, it had taken only one ill-timed question from her to turn him into a raging beast again. His goals were more modest now. Maintaining a distant politeness seemed the best he could hope for.