Chapter 7

A s Elizabeth Bennet sat in the carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels over the rough country road provided a dissonant accompaniment to her tumultuous thoughts. Though the skies had been clear during the ball, a sudden downpour now lashed against the windows, mirroring her inner turmoil.

"Who in God's name does he think he is?" Elizabeth sneered, her voice rising above the clatter of the wheels as they churned up thick swathes of mud along the road. Her bonnet had slipped askew, and a few raindrops that had sipped in through cracks in the carriage roof clung to the fine strands of hair that had worked free, yet the chill that gnawed at her skin was a mere shadow compared to the fire of displeasure burning within her chest.

The carriage struck a particularly deep rut, causing Elizabeth to be jostled sharply, yet she scarcely flinched. Each bounce, each shake, only served to fuel her simmering anger towards Mr. Darcy, who had so effortlessly dismissed her—her, Elizabeth Bennet! Her father might not be the wealthiest man in Meryton, but he was undeniably decent and kind, Elizabeth thought. Also, although her younger sisters could be frivolous and her mother overbearing, Elizabeth did not consider them deserving of such insult. How dare he? His arrogance, his presumption...

Her thoughts swirled with the echo of his words, which seemed to haunt her even here, amid the solitude that should have been an escape from such vexations.

I can assure you, Caroline, that aside from thanking their father, who seems to be a man of kind heart despite his incessant jest, there is nothing about the family which I find agreeable. Her sisters are silly, and her mother is overly familiar. She is surely not handsome enough to entice me.

"Even after all the kindness Papa showed him?" Elizabeth mused bitterly, her jaw tight as she repeated the question to herself. To possess such wealth and position, yet lack any semblance of humility or kindness—it was unconscionable. And to think he carried himself with such... such...

"Self-importance!" she spat out the word as if it were poison on her tongue. It was bad enough that Mr. Darcy thought so highly of himself, but to presume that others were beneath him solely based on their place in society? That was something Elizabeth could not, would not, accept.

As the carriage trundled onward, Elizabeth wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She was resolute in her conviction; no man, no matter how grand or esteemed, would ever sway her to compromise her principles. Mr. Darcy, with all his airs and graces, was nothing more than a man—a man who, unbeknownst to him, had just fanned the flames of Elizabeth Bennet's fierce determination.

Elizabeth's internal tirade was abruptly interrupted as a sharp crack pierced the air. The carriage lurched violently, throwing her against the unforgiving wooden bench. Her hands flew out, grasping at the rail lines that ran like veins along the side of the carriage.

Chaos erupted around her; the horses, spooked by the sudden jolt, neighed in panic, their hooves churning up clumps of mud and gravel. Somewhere close, a voice cursed—a raw and guttural sound that matched the fear gnawing at Elizabeth's insides. She could only think of the coachman as the one cursing.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the carriage wobbled precariously. For a moment, everything was motion and noise—metal groaning, wood splintering, the staccato beat of her own heart loud in her ears.

Gripping the rail lines with white-knuckled intensity, Elizabeth fought to steady herself. Mr. Darcy, his words, and his contemptuous dismissal faded into insignificance. There was no room for injured pride or smouldering resentment in the face of immediate peril.

The carriage finally flipped, landing with a heavy thud on its side. The horses, terrified, bolted, their frantic neighs echoing in the stormy night. Elizabeth, thrown from her seat, felt a sharp pain in her leg. The wet fabric of her gown clung to her skin, mingled with mud and rain.

"Miss Bennet! Are you all right?" The coachman, himself shaken but unharmed, hurried to her side and helped her to sit up, his face pale with worry.

Elizabeth winced, attempting to move her leg. "I fear I have strained it. I cannot walk."

The coachman looked around desperately. "There is an old manor nearby, Miss. It belongs to Mr. Greene but has been abandoned for some time. I believe we could take shelter there while I fetch help."

Elizabeth nodded, shivering from the cold and pain. "Yes, that will do. Go and get help. I will wait at the manor."

"Very well, Miss Bennet," the coachman agreed, helping her to her feet. Elizabeth leaned heavily on him as they made their way to the small, dilapidated manor, its once-grand fa?ade now weathered and forlorn.

As they walked, Elizabeth asked, "What of the horses?"

The coachman replied, "Perhaps the ropes fastening them to the carriage came off, and they ran out of fear. Had they remained, I could have managed to ride one, with you seated atop, back to Longbourn."

Inside the manor, the air was musty, and the windows rattled with the force of the wind. The coachman settled Elizabeth on an old settee, wrapping his own coat around her for warmth. "I know a footpath that is closer to Lucas Lodge than to Longbourn. I will return as quickly as I can with help, Miss Bennet," he promised.

Elizabeth nodded, her teeth chattering. "Thank you."

The coachman departed to seek assistance, leaving Elizabeth alone with her troubled thoughts. She found herself attributing her new ill fortune to Mr. Darcy, though her better judgment suggested that the mishap was merely due to the heavy rain and the carriage wheel striking a stone, which had caused it to break and forced it from its proper course.

****

Mr. Darcy found himself increasingly disenchanted with the assembly. The lively music and cheerful conversations seemed distant to him, as if muffled by the persistent echo of his unkind words to Elizabeth Bennet. His earlier dismissal of her and her family now haunted him, and the whispers of those who had overheard his remarks only deepened his sense of regret.

Gossip of what he said to her buzzed around him like unwelcome bees, each sting a reminder of his impropriety. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he didn't wish to mar Mr. Bingley's first assembly in Meryton. Bingley, after all, was renting Netherfield and had every reason to establish friendly relations with the local community. As a mere guest, Darcy felt it inappropriate to draw attention to himself by compelling Bingley and the party with them to depart too abruptly.

Determined to leave without causing a scene, he discreetly called Sir William Lucas apart, who was conversing with a group of guests. "Sir William," Darcy began, inclining his head in a respectful greeting, "might I impose upon you to borrow a horse? I find myself in need of a solitary ride back to Netherfield."

"Why not ride in the coach with Mr. Bingley and his sisters, Mr. Darcy? The assembly will soon conclude." Sir William said, his surprise clearly etched on his face.

Darcy managed a tight smile. "I do not wish to inconvenience anyone. Besides, I feel the need for some fresh air and solitude."

"It is rather amusing, Mr. Darcy, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet departed not long ago, citing a similar need for fresh air and rest. It seems you are both of a mind this evening." He replied, chuckling lightly.

Darcy's heart sank at the mention of Elizabeth. "Indeed," he murmured. "Might I borrow a horse, then?"

"I have a spare in the stables," Sir William replied discreetly. "I will have it brought to you."

"Thank you, Sir William. Please, do not mention my departure to Mr. Bingley unless he asks expressly or when the ball is over and he is ready to leave," Darcy requested.

"Very well, Mr. Darcy," Sir William nodded, then quietly instructed a servant to fetch the horse.

As Darcy waited, Mr. Collins, who had been watching him converse with Sir William, approached with a deep bow. "Mr. Darcy, it would be an honour to make your further acquaintance. Lady Catherine de Bourgh speaks highly of you, and I should very much like to write to her of our meeting."

Darcy's patience, already strained, snapped. "Mr. Collins, I will inform my aunt of my whereabouts as I see fit. Good evening."

Mr. Collins, taken aback by the abruptness of Darcy's response, blinked in surprise. His face flushed with embarrassment as he quickly straightened from his bow. "Ah, of course, Mr. Darcy, I—I did not mean to impose," he stammered, his earlier confidence faltering. With a hasty nod, he retreated a few steps, mumbling something about needing to attend to other guests, before disappearing into the crowd with a rather flustered bearing.

Just then, the servant returned, leading the horse. Darcy thanked Sir William and mounted the horse, leaving the assembly behind. As the horse galloped along, the cold breeze bit at his face, matching the chill of his thoughts. His mind replayed the scene with Elizabeth, each detail sharpening his regret. How could he have been so thoughtless, so dismissive? He barely noticed the change in weather condition until the intensity of the rain became a downpour.

The thought of turning back hit him, but Darcy dismissed the idea and resolved to press on. He was determined to reach Netherfield, rain or no rain. As he rode, his eyes caught the wreckage of a carriage, its wheel broken off and lying in the mud. A crude drawing of a butterfly on the rear confirmed his worst fear—it was the Bennet's carriage. He had noticed the drawing earlier when he watched her leave.

"Miss Bennet!" he called out, his voice cutting through the storm. He dismounted and searched the wreckage, his heart pounding as he spotted a piece of blue fabric clinging to the broken carriage. If memory served him right, it was the same she had worn at the assembly. His breath quickened, and his hands trembled as he picked up the sodden cloth. What could have caused the accident? The rain, most likely. He glanced around desperately, seeking any sign of her amidst the chaos.

A feminine cry echoed from a distance, pulling Darcy from his thoughts. Without a moment's hesitation, he leaped back onto his horse and urged it towards the sound. The outline of an old, weathered manor loomed in the distance, its once-grand fa?ade now crumbling and overgrown.

His heart pounded with fear and determination. What if they had been robbed? What if something worse had happened? He had no answers and little time to dwell on the possibilities. All that mattered was finding Elizabeth. He urged his horse onward, through the rain and darkness towards the abandoned manor.

****

Elizabeth huddled in the corner of the abandoned manor, shivering under the weight of her soaked clothes. She had moved from the uncomfortable settee when the wind and rain had driven through a broken window, leaving her little protection from the elements. The coachman's coat provided some warmth, but the chill from the wet fabric and the cold air made her shiver. She tried to steady her nerves, but the oppressive silence of the manor, broken only by the occasional creak of old wood, made her uneasy. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Mr. Darcy, his cruel words replaying in her mind.

Elizabeth sighed and pulled the coat tighter around her. Her eyes scanned the shadowy corners of the room, the creaks and groans of the old building only adding to her anxiety. Suddenly, her gaze fell upon a small, dark slithering shape creeping towards her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and in a moment of panic, she screamed, imagining it to be a snake.

Frantically, she moved her legs, hoping to scare it away, but a sharp pain shot through her injured limb. Just as she scanned around desperately for something to kill the snake, the door burst open, and Mr. Darcy strode in, his eyes immediately finding hers.

For a moment, Elizabeth thought she was hallucinating. Had the snake bitten her? She had heard tales of venom causing delusions. But why would she see Mr. Darcy, of all people? The worst man in the world?

"Miss Bennet," Darcy's voice cut through her confusion, "What is it?"

Remembering the reason for her initial panic, Elizabeth pointed at the creature, her voice trembling. "There... on the floor."

Darcy followed her gaze and quickly moved to the small intruder. "It's just a harmless snake," he said, bending down to pick it up. "A grass snake, not venomous." He flung it through a nearby window, then turned back to her. "You are safe now."

Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief, but it was mingled with annoyance. The last person she wanted to see in a heroic light was Mr. Darcy. She gathered her composure and spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I did not expect to see you here. I thought I was in danger of the snake's bite."

"I came upon your carriage," Darcy explained. "The wheel was broken, and I feared the worst. When I heard a scream, I simply followed."

Elizabeth nodded, her irritation simmering beneath the surface. "We had an accident and the Horses took flight. However, the coachman has gone to find help. I will be fine once he returns."

"Miss Bennet, the cold and your injury are not to be taken lightly. You need to be in a comfortable shelter, not in this drafty, abandoned manor. Allow me to take you to Longbourn. I am sure the help party will understand if they don't meet you when they arrive." Darcy's brow furrowed with concern.

Elizabeth bristled at his insistence, not wanting to owe him any further. "No, Mr. Darcy. I am certain help will arrive soon. I do not wish to leave."

"Miss Bennet, you must consider your health. If you stay here much longer, you risk falling seriously ill. Please, let me assist you." Darcy stepped closer, his gaze intent.

Elizabeth's resolve weakened as she felt another shiver run through her. If taking her to Longbourn would make him leave her, then so be it. She decided against arguing further and tried to stand, only to wobble and nearly fall. Darcy caught her instinctively, his arms around her. Their proximity was sudden and intimate, and Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, they were both still, the storm outside a mere backdrop to the tension between them. Elizabeth could see the worry in Darcy's eyes, and despite her anger, she couldn't deny the sincerity of his concern.

"Mr. Darcy," she began, her voice softer, "I appreciate your offer, but—"

"Miss Bennet," Darcy interrupted, his voice equally gentle but firm, "I cannot, in good conscience, leave you here. Please, allow me to help you."

Caught in his earnest gaze, Elizabeth found herself nodding reluctantly. Darcy carefully helped her to a nearby chair, ensuring she was steady before releasing her. While he did, he stepped backward only to slip on the wet floor, pulling Elizabeth down with him. They landed in a tangle, Darcy's body shielding her from the hard floor. Elizabeth's skirts bunched up to her thighs, her shift totally exposed.

Their faces were inches apart, and Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. For a moment, neither spoke, the unexpected closeness leaving them both flustered.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment, "this is highly improper."

Darcy's face flushed as he tried to disentangle himself without causing further discomfort. "Miss Bennet, I assure you, it was not my intention—"

Before he could finish, the door to the manor creaked open again.