Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

E lizabeth had been staring mindlessly for some five minutes before the sound of Mr Collins' snoring cut through the numbing sound of steady rain. Had her family noticed she and Mr Collins were both absent from Longbourn? Certainly Mrs Hill would know. If her father was alerted to the situation, he might be tempted to ride out and lead the search, or at least send Silas or Jimmy to find her.

No, Papa is not reckless, and he knows how well I know the paths. And Mama would happily protest that I was safe with Mr Collins.

"Miss Elizabeth, I cannot go for help and leave you here, with him. When the rain relents a bit, I shall escort you to Longbourn. I promise, here and always, that you are safe from both of us."

Elizabeth turned to find Mr Darcy looking at her intently. "Thank you." She could have added more—that she knew already she was safe from his overtures and admiration—but refrained. He once again filled the awkward silence.

"Meryton has been dry these past weeks. The farms will welcome the rain."

"Yes, it is much-needed."

"But not too much. The ground is dry and hardened, and cannot absorb it all; in a short time there will be danger of flood."

She nodded. He was correct, of course, but did they not have enough to worry about, sheltering in a cramped boat-house with a lamed imbecile?

"Perhaps we should join Mr Collins in the boat, and await the flood that is certain to follow?"

Even in the dim light of their confines, she could see Mr Darcy's lips twitch. She felt a small sliver of victory for having nearly made the man laugh. Not since she had complimented Miss Bingley on the fine quality of Netherfield's book bindings had she seen him repress a smile.

"Indeed, we are fortunate to have an ark. Perhaps even more so that it appears suitable for only two people." He frowned, and in a quieter voice, leant his head towards hers. "I am sorry for not asking before—you are well? Unhurt?"

"Only my pride is damaged. I regret you were witness to my vexation, but I must thank you for your fortuitous appearance. Of course," she glanced at his mud-splattered boots, "your valet may hold a different view."

Mr Darcy shrugged. "He is unhappily inured to the dust and mud I encounter while riding. Is your maid equally accustomed to the aftermath of your walks?"

"Accustomed to my skirts being six inches deep in mud?" She smirked. "Of course, as well as leaves in my bonnet, biscuit crumbs in my pockets, and pebbles in my boots."

She thought she saw his lips twitch again but rather than parry her humour, his response was grave. "In a storm such as this, your absence will worry your family."

Not my mother, Elizabeth thought. She likely drew a map of Longbourn's paths and sent Mr Collins after me.

"Was no one else walking with you and your cousin?"

"If your point is that he is a poor chaperon—and an undesirable one—I must agree. I had wished to do as I often do—walk alone, thinking my thoughts—and then he appeared, plaguing me yet again..."

"Again? This is not the first time your cousin has importuned you?"

Stupid girl, now you have given him more reason to be appalled by you.

"In spite of my efforts to present myself as an uninterested and, frankly, disgusted object of desire, my cousin finds me more than tolerable." She glanced at Mr Darcy, anticipating he would blanch at the reminder of his insult to her. Instead he looked bemused.

"Such efforts would be wasted on many men. Few would not claim you as tolerable."

"You did."

His expression turned to shock. "Pardon? I would not?—"

"‘Tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.'"

His face drained of colour, but even in the dim light, she could see his cheeks flush.

"I said that, aloud? About you?"

Seeing his mortification, Elizabeth regretted her impertinence in mentioning what now seemed to be a careless comment rather than an intentional insult. I wound him as thanks for his chivalry? "I do not know whether your thoughts went further, but you did say it rather clearly after a brief glance in my direction."

"I apologise. It was an appalling outburst of a man unhappy to be at a public gathering and made unhappier still by the importuning of my friends to smile at, or dance with, or mock the locals."

"Mr Bingley could be blamed for the smiling and dancing, but I shall only guess at the ‘friend' who urged you to mock your neighbours."

He smiled faintly, shaking his head slowly. "You are one of the cleverest people of my acquaintance, so I do not doubt the accuracy of your guess." He looked away and began tugging at the thumb of his left glove. "My insult was wholly inaccurate. I regret the expression of such an untruth and that you overheard it."

His obvious remorse, combined with the debt she owed him for his impromptu rescue, prompted her smiling reply. "In light of your heroic arrival on the scene and your rescue of Mr Collins, I shall forgive your prevarication. I trust it shall be the only one you utter."

Mr Darcy ceased tormenting his glove and returned her grin. "An easy promise, indeed."

"Your spirits seemed little better at last evening's ball. Are you truly so displeased by dancing or is it the society you find here?"

He looked surprised by her shift from teasing to such a direct question. "Any society will have those with whom I am displeased. Unlike Bingley, I do not like everyone . "

"I have noticed." She almost laughed; the imperious Mr Darcy sounded like a stubborn little boy with such a declaration.

"I danced with you, as you are agreeable company, as are others I have met in Meryton. The bookseller—Mr Pruitt, is it? Your father and eldest sister, Sir William Lucas, Mr Goulding, Robert Heston..."

Elizabeth sped past her thoughts on the specifics of those he could like and thought only of the name so obviously omitted. "You do not like Mr Wickham, with whom you have a long acquaintance."

There was a long pause before he spoke with more urgency than she had ever heard from him. "No, I do not, nor would I trust him in my home, near my wallet, or in proximity to any innocent woman. I know you are his defender, but I beg you question how openly he speaks of private affairs and disparagingly of others to those of new acquaintance. I would wish that the time you have spent in company with myself and Bingley would allow you a more detailed sketch of our characters than you have had time to do with Mr Wickham."

Never had Elizabeth heard such a speech from anyone, but to hear so many words from Mr Darcy—particularly when in such close company—was shocking. She tried to form a reply, to defend herself and Mr Wickham, but found it difficult.

"Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

Mr Wickham had spoken freely of grievances while avowing he could never abuse any Darcy, yet in impugning the younger man, he did just that. No matter what his history with the Darcy family, he could not be trusted with her confidence. Taken in by a handsome face and charming conversation . Poorly done, Elizabeth!

She nodded. "I understand. I beg you not to think me as foolish as my cousin."

"That is hardly possible?—"

"Lord, what pain... What has happened?"

Mr Collins's keening moans startled them both. Elizabeth groaned quietly, having hoped her cousin would remain asleep and subdued for however long they were trapped here. Her conversation with Mr Darcy had grown quite intriguing.

"Mr Collins, are you well? We were caught in the rain, and you were felled by an angry oak."

"Miss Elizabeth! Where have you taken me? It is quite damp—" He sat up quickly, too quickly, rocking the boat. "Dear heavens, is this a boat? Are we in a boat?"

"We are in Longbourn's boat-house, sheltering from the rain. It came upon us suddenly, and this was the nearest shelter."

"Ah yes, I recall now, leading you here through the rain, in spite of some injury to myself. As was my duty to you."

She had nearly felt sorry for his panic over the boat but this? The man's conceit was insupportable. "I believe it was you who were led, sir. Due to your injury. How is your leg?"

He moaned softly. "It is sore, and I feel a painful lump on my head."

Elizabeth coughed rather than laugh at his dramatics. "You are not bleeding. Your leg will be tended to when we return to Longbourn."

"You are most attentive, Cousin Elizabeth. What an affectionate and amusing first chapter in the story of our courtship."

"Our what?"

"Well, you led me here. We are alone together."

"You and Miss Elizabeth are not alone, Mr Collins."

"Mr Darcy! You are here as well?" The shock in the vicar's voice was matched by the relief felt by Elizabeth. Mr Darcy's silence had been curious, but the sudden deep tones of his voice had effectively sobered Mr Collins.

"Mr Darcy, sir," he said, breathing heavily, "I trust you are uninjured and have not allowed my cousin to impose on you in any manner."

"She has not, nor should you speak of her in such a way. It is Miss Elizabeth who has been imposed upon, and has ensured our safety within this boat-house, which was as unknown to me as it was to you."

"As I had accompanied the lady on her walk, I am certain I ensured her safety. Miss Elizabeth, you understand, is under my care as?—"

"Mr Collins," cried Elizabeth, "I am responsible for leading you here, but it is Mr Darcy you must thank for carrying you to safety."

"Oh, sir! A most honourable deed! I must thank you for your kindness as it exemplifies all that your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has said of you and the estimable legacy of the Darcy name." Mr Collins shifted as if to stand and teetered precariously as the boat shifted wildly underneath him.

Mr Darcy spoke sharply. "Mind yourself and sit down, Collins! You are in a boat. There is little room within this shelter and the boat provides the only place for you to lie down. You must stay seated, else you are in danger of falling into the water."

The vicar lowered himself carefully. "I have never been in a boat. Must it move as it does?"

"If you remain still and quiet, the water will calm."

Mr Darcy's gentle admonition made Elizabeth laugh. "Oh, be wary of calm waters," she said quietly so only he could hear, "for they are more dangerous than turbulent ones, oft full of unforeseen surprises suddenly altering the course of life."

"Do not tell him that," he whispered in return.

"It is so gloomy in here," Mr Collins said. "I do not like it." The darkness and the sounds of the wild storm outside had no success in silencing him, and his wheedling continued. "Miss Elizabeth and I had been in conversation about our betrothal when you came upon us."

"Mr Collins! That is not what occurred." Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy and shook her head.

Mr Collins was not to be silenced. "As you see, Mr Darcy, there is an agreeable connexion between us. Your aunt will be pleased?—"

"Quite the opposite," said Mr Darcy. "Lady Catherine would be displeased by the lack of formality and propriety in what you see as a betrothal. No, Mr Collins, my aunt believes in courtships and decries compromise and cunning." His voice deepened. "No gentleman could claim an attachment to a lady without her expressly stated wish for the same. I do not believe Miss Elizabeth shares your wish."

"No, I do not."

"But— "

"As you have been told, sir, you were struck in the head by a branch. Your memory is fogged. You are distressing the lady with your conjectures, and must stop. Miss Elizabeth already suffers from the worry she knows is felt at Longbourn."

Mr Collins gasped. "Oh, we must send word. I would, of course, volunteer to go but for my injuries."

"You are unable to walk and I am unable to trust Miss Elizabeth's reputation alone in your company. When the storm subsides, the capable Miss Elizabeth and I shall walk to Longbourn and return with men to assist your safe return as well." Mr Darcy gave her an almost reassuring look. "If that would be agreeable to you, of course?"

Before she could answer or Mr Collins could begin his protest, the boat-house door burst open.

"Begone, witch! It is I!"