Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

T he second time Elizabeth Bennet refused Mr Collins's offer of marriage was more exasperating than the morning's previous attempt. Somehow, in mere hours, he had become persuaded that if he could not win her affections through unctuous charm, shaming her into an attachment would compel them.

" No ," she said, more emphatically than she had ever voiced the word to anyone save her youngest sisters. But this was not merely the unwelcome borrowing of a bonnet or the pilfering of the last slice of cake. Those were an annoyance; this was persecution. It was bad enough that a man could refuse to take no for an answer the first time, but to be pursued a second time—hunted and hounded while on a walk? The only thing that could have worsened an already miserable situation was if anyone outside of Longbourn witnessed it.

And that, of course, was when Mr Darcy came upon them .

Mr Collins was in the middle of explaining his importance in the world and the benefits she could accrue as the wife of Longbourn's heir when Mr Darcy's deep voice broke through the cacophony.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth, Mr Collins. Am I interrupting anything?"

Caught between relief at the interruption and mortification at the man providing it, Elizabeth pulled her glare from one man to the other. Mr Darcy stood a few feet away, tall and grave in his fine boots and coat, his proud brow furrowed in amusement at the tableau before him. There was Mr Collins, his own gravity having given way to the urgency of his pleadings to her—and as for herself, she was certain she looked quite wild, in expression if not muddied boots and lopsided bonnet.

"I am escorting Miss Elizabeth on a walk, sir. She is advising me on Longbourn's lands, for as the future squire of this glorious estate, I wish to have a full understanding of its foliage."

A prevaricating vicar! Was it not enough he was overly verbose and falsely pious?

Mr Darcy looked at her intently as if he required her confirmation. Wishing only to thwart his scorn for behaviour he already thought inelegant, she nodded. He stepped closer—too close, she thought—and lifted a hand towards her bonnet.

"May I?"

A moment later, before she could step away or demand he do so, Mr Darcy displayed to her a reddish oval leaf. "I believe this is from a Wych elm, Mr Collins, as you note its pointed tip, sharp edges, and furred sides. I am certain Miss Elizabeth has given you all the particulars on the tree. Perhaps you could show me the location of this tree stand?"

Elizabeth's astonishment was nothing to that of Mr Collins, who stood wide-eyed, clearly grasping for a response to a question he never expected. Suddenly she felt Mr Darcy's warm breath near her ear, quietly asking, "Is all well here?"

He took a step back. She turned and met his gaze—there was neither amusement nor curiosity in it, only what appeared to be concern. She again nodded, but whether it was the pause she took or the expression she wore, his next words showed Mr Darcy understood her discomfort in Mr Collins's company.

"Mr Collins, perhaps another day for that tour of the oaks? I believe a storm is due our way, and Miss Elizabeth should return to Longbourn." Without waiting for any reply, he offered his arm to her. "May I escort you?"

Clearly there was no escape from either man, nor any possibility of continuing the solitary ramble she had begun shortly after noon. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders, adjusted her bonnet, and put her hand on the arm of the man who thought her intolerable, impertinent, and ill-mannered. It was infuriating, that he, of all people in Hertfordshire, was to be the rescuer she did not want but perhaps needed, for not only was he here , but he was the man most able to frighten off Mr Collins, in name, character, and she could easily admit, appearance. She had walked arm-in-arm with her father and uncle and with neighbours on the assembly floor, but none had offered her such a firm arm in so fine a coat—or had required her arm to lift as much as Mr Darcy's. The man was certainly tall, which she had felt the evening before when they danced.

"I was not certain of your comfort with Mr Collins, and whether you felt yourself in some danger from him," he said quietly.

"Danger?" She wished she could laugh but the threat of her cousin's misguided yet insistent affections remained. "My heart is fully safe from him, but I fear he and my mother cannot understand that neither my affections nor my hand can ever be his. Until he accepts my refusal, I am not safe in his company."

"Was he forcing his affections on you?"

"No, he wished to force mine, with his ridiculous paeans to his glorious self and all that he offers as heir to Longbourn and vicar to your aunt, Lady Catherine."

"A heady offering indeed," he said drily before a chuckle slipped out. "Forgive my amusement, but I can well imagine what you would have said to that."

"You seem unsurprised by my refusal. Some would have considered it my duty," Elizabeth replied with some amazement.

"I admire your understanding and your courage," Mr Darcy said. "Familial duty is important but there are other considerations, including a duty to oneself."

Keeping her eyes on the path, she said quietly, "You may leave me just ahead, near that small rise, past that stand of trees. From there, I can outpace Mr Collins and return to Longbourn."

"Outpace? Do you mean you would run?"

His mocking tone confirmed Elizabeth's suspicions that Mr Darcy had seen her previously on her daily excursions. She glared at him. "You have met my cousin, sir. A brisk walking pace will suffice. Besides, there are paths he does not know."

"It is no trouble to return you to your home. Truly, I fear a storm is imminent and?—"

"Cousin Elizabeth! Wait for me! I insist we finish our conversation!"

"Walk faster," she urged Mr Darcy when the sound of rapid, heavy steps reached their ears. He steered her to the left of the path, closer to the stream, and behind a dense copse. They were just in time, as Mr Collins appeared, spinning around as he ran. "Cousin Elizabeth, I command you— oomph!"

A loud thump was followed by the unmistakable sound of a large body falling to the ground, and, if she was not mistaken, tumbling down the embankment.

Mr Darcy peered out onto the path. "Devil take it." He turned quickly to her, looking more vexed than chagrined. "Pardon me."

Alarmed, Elizabeth stepped out from behind him. A few feet below, Mr Collins lay sprawled on his back, covered in muddy leaves, and moaning. She and Mr Darcy made their way down to him and knelt, searching for any injury. His forehead bore a red mark, but there was no sign of blood.

"Mr Collins, are you badly hurt?"

He whimpered more loudly. "My head. A large rock fell upon it."

"A tree branch, more likely," said Mr Darcy. He held up a limb of around three feet in length and gestured at a wizened oak. "It is dead, and dropped a limb. Your cousin has quite a hard head, I must say. "

"It is fortunate, I suppose, that it was so yielding. He is not bleeding."

"Come, Collins. We must get you on your feet." Mr Darcy leant over and extended a hand to him.

Mr Collins quickly protested of dizziness; the confused look he shot at Elizabeth proved he was unhappy. "I could not find you."

Any remorse she felt for having run off and caused his injury fled when he reached towards her face. "You must not play coy with me."

She stood quickly and moved away from the odious man just as a cool wind swept through, stirring the dry leaves around them. Elizabeth felt a raindrop hit her cheek a moment before a crack of thunder ripped the air.

"Of course," muttered Mr Darcy. "Come, now. Before we all are caught in the rain." He bent down behind the cleric, awkwardly lifting him to his feet. Mr Collins swayed; his gaze was as unfocused as his feet were unsteady. "Now, we must walk."

Mr Collins cried out, "My leg! I cannot walk! I have hurt my knee!"

Elizabeth groaned and looked at Mr Darcy; as he struggled to keep Mr Collins upright, his expression grew more troubled.

"He cannot support any weight on his leg, and he is too heavy for me to carry any great distance."

"I will run to Longbourn for assistance. I am quite quick."

If Mr Darcy took note of her impertinent tone, he made no sign of it. "I am certain you are, but even you cannot outrun this storm and return help to us."

His comments were punctuated by another rumble from above. Elizabeth joined him in glancing up through the trees to the darkening sky. Much as she disliked agreeing with him, he was correct.

"We must be more than half a mile from Longbourn and twice that from Netherfield," he said. "If we cannot get to either, we must shelter someplace. What is nearest? A cottage? A folly?"

She was too stricken to admit Longbourn lacked a folly nearby and that Netherfield's closest one was at least a mile east, and across the stream. The stream! Of course!

"There is a boat-house just down the way," Elizabeth cried, pointing in its general direction. "We must follow the stream."

Unlike the grand edifice at Haye-Park, Longbourn's boat-house was little more than its name. The small stone structure had been built decades ago, when her grandfather had been a young man. It had never held more than one rowboat, large enough for two men—or for Mr Bennet and two of his young daughters—to traverse the wide stream that ran through Meryton, and formed Longbourn's boundaries with Netherfield, Lucas Lodge, and the Oldham farm.

She could recall little else beyond it having a stone floor and smelling of fish. But it was sturdily built and the thatched roof had been maintained, at least while she and her sisters had used it as a hiding place.

Mr Darcy nodded and began moving forward, struggling to pull Mr Collins with him. Recognising the futility of his efforts, Elizabeth positioned herself on the other side of her cousin and took his arm in hers. They began an uneven but steady pace towards the stream's edge. Within a few minutes she could see the boat-house and they made a slow descent to the embankment. The rain that had been spitting only moments ago was coming in a steady downpour by the time she pushed in the wooden door. Leaves blew past her as she stepped inside, abandoning Mr Darcy to manoeuvre her cousin over the threshold as she held open the door. The light inside was dim and the leaves underfoot crunched under her boots. Elizabeth kicked at them—following their father's advice, she and her sisters had been vigilant about rats—and led the men inside.

On one side of the interior the rowboat floated in its small quay. The other half of the building consisted of a narrow floor, much of it taken up by a long bench; a pair of oars hung above it, a pail, a broom, and an old pair of boots sat underneath. Uncertain whether Mr Collins could support himself on the bench, or they could get past him to seat themselves, Mr Darcy gently rolled the man into the boat. It dipped dangerously for a moment, and then Mr Collins gave a great sigh, curled up and laid his head back against the wooden planks; the moans that had accompanied them on every step of their journey promptly ceased as the gentle rocking of the boat apparently lulled him promptly into the arms of Morpheus.

"I failed to ask whether it was sea-worthy, but it appears able to hold him if he remains still," Mr Darcy said. He crouched awkwardly, ensuring the boat was firmly tied up before looking about the confines and, she thought, likely regretting walking out and getting caught up in this situation. A man of his station, trapped in a ramshackle boat-house with a woman he scarcely found passable and her obsequious cousin and newly rejected suitor. It was as unpleasant a prospect for him as it was for her.

"I do not think Mr Collins has much familiarity with the water," he said, "but the boat does allow him more comfort than the hard ground."

Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy. She could scarcely not glance at him, cramped as they were. The boat-house was small and serviceable—not a place meant for company and conviviality. She took a seat close to the door, away from the open end of the boat-house, where the rain made a steady patter on the stream. Mr Darcy's hat had fallen off when they entered, and he was brushing it off and staring out at the water.

"This place does not allow for the propriety of hats, sir. You, I fear, are blessed with the kind of height that requires you to stoop, even without the accessory."

"Indeed." He turned to her, seeming to remember her presence, before shrugging off his greatcoat and offering it to her with a simple, "Please, you are shivering." Elizabeth paused only a moment, struck by the gentleman's behaviour, so entirely different from the haughty manners he had displayed the prior evening.

"Thank you." She settled the heavy coat around herself, feeling instantly warmer, and repeated her thanks.

Mr Darcy sat down a few feet from her and lay his hat between them on the bench, almost as if to denote a line of propriety between them. "I have never regretted my height and shall not do so now. No matter its limitations, this building is fortuitously placed as a haven for?—"

Whatever he planned to say next was swallowed by a flash of bright lightning in the sky outside and the roar of thunder that followed. And then the rain truly began.