Mr. Darcy's Refuge (6 page)

Elizabeth crossed her arms and glared at Mr. Darcy. “No. Absolutely not.”

“This is a matter of simple practicality, not a gift. I do not wish you to become ill from exposure to the rain.” He held out the woolen cloak to her once more.

“Indeed it is not a gift, for I will not accept it.”

“Miss Bennet, it is as much for my sake as yours. If you refuse to take it, I will have to insist that you wear my greatcoat to stay dry, and then I will be soaked. Now, will you wear it, or shall we stand here and argue until it becomes too late to travel back to the parsonage? If you think accepting a cloak from me could be a problem, how will you explain spending a night here with me?”

Had he truly said that? Of course, he
wanted
to marry her, so he would not care if they were forced to marry because they had been stranded for the night together. She snatched the heavy woolen cloak from him and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking the package for Jenny underneath it.

“Thank you,” said Darcy tiredly. He reached out and raised the hood, settling it over her bonneted head with more gentleness than she had expected, his hands lingering for a moment near her temples. “Shall we go?”

Once out from under the protection of the colonnade, Elizabeth was grateful for the heavy cloak, although she would have preferred to suffer endless torments rather than to say so. She tried to be gracious about accepting Darcy’s help in mounting the mare, and was glad he was there to steady her when the wet leather of the sidesaddle proved to be slippery.

She found the riding to be treacherous even on the turnpike road. The mare, who had cooperated well enough on the ride there, disliked the pounding rain and now had to be coaxed every step of the way. Once they had turned off onto the dirt road to Hunsford, it became even worse as the mare struggled to keep her footing in the mud and shied from every low hanging branch. Elizabeth could barely keep her seat. Once she only managed to stay on by grabbing onto the edge of the heavy saddlebags, and her heart pounded with fear of falling. Beside her, Darcy seemed to be having no difficulty, which only made her feel worse.

After half an hour, during which time they seemed to make little progress, Elizabeth began to wish they had stayed in town, even if it meant having to marry Mr. Darcy. Despite her best efforts, the cold rain had found its way inside the cloak and ran down her neck, and she felt thoroughly miserable. Even worse, the light was starting to fade. But there was nothing to do now but to go forward.

She was conscious of Darcy casting concerned glances in her direction, and once or twice he asked her if all was well. Somehow she managed to answer in the affirmative. Then, as they crossed through a large patch of mud and puddles, the mare caught her foot in a hidden hole and lurched to a stop.

Elizabeth could tolerate it no longer. She slid down the side of the horse, miraculously landing on her feet in mud that immediately covered her half-boots.

Instantly, Darcy dismounted and was by her side, water pouring off the capes of his greatcoat. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I cannot do this. I will walk the rest of the way.” She knew even as she said it that between the condition of the road and the late hour it was impossible.

Darcy was silent for a moment, then he disentangled the mare’s reins and tied them in a knot. “My horse is more surefooted and can keep a better pace. You can ride before me.”

“What about her?” Elizabeth gestured to the mare.

“She will most likely follow us back to her stable, and if not, someone can be sent for her later. She is hardly likely to run off in these conditions.” He turned to his horse, easily two hands higher than anything Elizabeth had ever ridden, and made adjustments to the saddle. “Come.”

He lifted her to the saddle as if she weighed nothing, despite the sodden cloak. She grabbed the slippery leather, but the horse stood perfectly still, even when Darcy mounted behind her, as gracefully as if he did the maneuver every day. She did not dare breathe as she felt Darcy’s hands on her waist, shifting her position slightly forward, then pressing her legs between his knee and the horse’s shoulders. She could feel the shape of his other thigh behind her.

“There. Are you comfortable enough?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Are you certain this is safe?” She did not want him to know how much the closeness of his body to hers disturbed her.

“I have done this often with my sister when she was younger. She used to love to ride with me, even after she learned to ride on her own.” His arm came around her from behind, circling her waist and holding her firmly against him. “I have you, and you cannot fall. Stormwind is the most sure-footed horse you will ever meet.”

Without warning, he nudged the horse into a brisk walk. Elizabeth stifled a gasp, unable to keep herself from clutching his shoulder. He said nothing, but his face beneath his hat rim was stern, so she forced herself to release her hold on him.

“Relax, Elizabeth. Sit back and let Stormwind do all the work.” His warm breath brushed her ear.

How could she possibly relax? Not only was she atop a very tall horse, but Mr. Darcy was effectively embracing her. She tried closing her eyes so that she would not have to see the distance to the ground, but that only increased her awareness that the entire side of her body was pressed against him. It sent chills down her spine, just as it had when his lips had played along the back of her neck. She tried to pull herself upright and further away from him, but that did not help either.

“You may find it easier if you lean against me. That is what my sister did.”

What did it matter, anyway? Her position could not be any more improper than it already was. She tried following his advice, and it did make her feel more secure, even if the pounding of her heart threatened to drown out the rain. “I am sorry. I am not usually so
Miss-ish
.” She felt pleased that her voice sounded so even.

“No, you are not,” he agreed. “I am sorry to have put you through all this trouble. I know you thought it unnecessary, and I should have told you then that I was not merely being arbitrary. I have been assisting my aunt’s steward in dealing with some lawless behavior on the part of a few of the men from Hunsford village. I could not have left you there safely.”

“I see.” That was some consolation, especially since their little junket had turned out to be even more compromising than staying alone would have been. She should be grateful that the rain kept everyone indoors so there was no one to see them now. She closed her eyes again, this time appreciating the feeling of security in being held so carefully.

They rode in silence for several minutes, then Darcy said, “Elizabeth, what did Wickham accuse me of doing?”

She tensed, but realized he sounded more tired than annoyed. “He said that your father left him a living in his will, and that you did not honor the bequest.” At the moment, the story did not sound as sensible as it had in Meryton. After all, a will could not be ignored, could it?

His chest moved in a sigh. “That again. I suppose he did not tell you the part where he informed me that he had resolved never to take orders and requested some sort of pecuniary advantage in lieu of the preferment. Nor, I imagine, did he tell you that I gave him three thousand pounds, in exchange for which he resigned all claim to assistance in the church.”

Elizabeth bit her lip. “He said he asked you for the living and that you refused to give it to him.”

“That is true as well, but it happened some three years later, after he had dissipated away the earlier sum I had given him. He said then that he was absolutely resolved on being ordained if I would present him the living in question, of which he trusted there could be little doubt. As he told you, I refused to comply with his request, for reasons which I hope you understand.”

His explanation threw Elizabeth’s mind into turmoil. It fit with Mr. Wickham’s story in all but the one crucial detail. In truth, she knew nothing of Mr. Wickham’s past but what he had told her himself; she had never heard of him before his entrance into the militia. There was no particular instance of goodness on his part that she could recall, only that he had enjoyed the approbation of the neighborhood based on his countenance, voice and manner. He had not told his story to anyone but her until after Mr. Darcy left the area, when it became generally known. Could she have been so very wrong? The idea made her feel ill.

When she did not reply, Darcy spoke again, this time with seeming reluctance. “Unfortunately, that was not the last of our dealings. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was taken from school last summer and given into the care of a Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were unfortunately quite deceived. She had a prior acquaintance with Wickham, and with her connivance, he was able to recommend himself to Georgiana. She recalled his kindness to her as a child, and was persuaded to believe herself in love with him, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, and unable to imagine that Wickham’s chief object was her fortune of thirty thousand pounds. No doubt he also hoped to revenge himself on me. Had I not discovered their plans by happy accident, his revenge would have been complete indeed.”

Elizabeth could not help gasping. It was so completely unexpected and horrible, but she could not conceive of Mr. Darcy making up such a tale about his own sister.

“I do not imagine my word is worth a great deal to you, but for the truth of this I can appeal to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who can verify every detail. I will ask him to make himself available to answer any questions you may have.” Darcy’s voice was now toneless.

Attempting to muster her scattered thoughts, she said in a shaky voice, “I… that will not be necessary.” She no longer doubted his version. He had no reason to lie, and every reason to hide the truth.

Even through her cloak and the heavy greatcoat he wore, she could feel the tension leave his body. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth sank into a miserable silence, remembering Wickham’s sudden change of allegiance when Mary King had come into her inheritance, his flippant behavior with Kitty and Lydia, encouraging them to run wild, and the impropriety of confessing his secrets to her on their first meeting. Flattered by his attentions to herself, she had been willfully blind to it all and had fallen into the snare of his lies as if she had no more wit than Lydia. She had blithely dismissed Mr. Bingley’s assurances that there was another side of the story, as if her slight knowledge of the principals were more valuable than his years of friendship with Mr. Darcy.

To crown it all, she had not even had the sense to keep her thoughts to herself – no, she had to make a fool of herself with wild accusations to Mr. Darcy’s face. After all he had suffered at Wickham’s hands, she had compounded the injury, and even enjoyed the knowledge that his tender feelings for her would make him that much more vulnerable to her words. The recognition of her vanity, her lack of insight, and even her cruelty pierced her deeply.

All that time she had thought herself so clever and perceptive! If only she could hide herself away from the world, and most especially from the one man who had the most reason to resent her – the one who at this very moment was sheltering her in his arms. At least he would never know that tears of humiliation were running down her face; it would just look like that much more rain.

She did not even realize the horse had stopped moving until Darcy said gently, “Elizabeth, we are here.” He swung himself down, somehow managing to keep a steadying hand on her arm. He lifted her down from the saddle, his hands lingering on her waist as she stood in the narrow space between his body and the horse’s flank, but her mortification was such that she could not bring herself to look into his face.