Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

MR. FITZWILLIAM DARCY wasn't exactly good in a crisis.

It pained him to admit this, because he was a proud man in many ways, and he expected quite a lot from himself. He was not one to shirk duty, and he did not attempt to get around rules. He did not place pleasure above propriety. In every way he knew, he tried to be a good man, and for the most part, he succeeded at whatever task he put to himself.

But he had to admit that he didn't like it when plans went awry. He felt a great deal of anxiety when things went badly, and he wasn't always proud of the way he handled that anxiety.

So, now, standing outside a broken and ruined carriage, the driver lying prone on the ground with his neck bent in such a fashion that it was obvious he would never be moving of his own volition again, his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam unconscious, and Sir William Lucas with what looked like a broken leg, Mr. Darcy's voice was short and clipped when anyone attempted to ask him questions.

"Silence, Miss Lucas," he said to Maria Lucas, who was wringing her hands, standing over her father, "if you don't mind it. I am trying to think."

"What's there to think about?" Miss Elizabeth Bennet's voice was brisk. She was kneeling next to the carriage driver, holding his wrist.

"Is that necessary?" said Mr. Darcy to her. "He's obviously no longer with us."

"Yes," said Elizabeth, wincing. "Yes, I think you're right." She stood up, smoothing out her skirts. "Well, there's nothing for it. We must go for help. Mr. Darcy and I shall set off on foot, and you stay here with the wounded, Maria."

"All right," said Maria, who looked ready to start crying. "But how long will you be and where will you go and what should I do if the colonel wakes up and—"

"Your job," Elizabeth interrupted, "will be to keep your father as comfortable as possible and also to watch the road for another carriage, which you should flag down. Use your shawl, all right? Can you wave it for me?"

"My shawl…" Maria looked about for it. "Oh, it must be in the carriage."

The carriage was turned on its side. It was impossible to get in unless one climbed all the way up the top of it, which was how they'd all gotten out of the thing in the first place. Mr. Darcy had done that, had opened the door and then had hauled his cousin out and helped Sir William out. At that point, he'd felt ignited from within, functioning as if according to instinct. But now, he was confused.

"Here it is," said Elizabeth gently, touching the shawl, which was actually draped over Maria's shoulders.

"Oh," said Maria. "Oh, of course." She snatched it off and began waving it wildly. "Like this, then?"

"Exactly right," said Elizabeth, smiling at her. "If you see a carriage, that is what you do."

Mr. Darcy didn't see that it mattered. Anyone along the road would see the overturned carriage and stop. But he wasn't going to argue with Elizabeth about that. "There's no reason for you to accompany me," he said to Elizabeth. "You should also stay here with the wounded."

"Oh, nonsense," said Elizabeth. "You'll need me. You're rather in shock, Mr. Darcy. I'd go on my own, even, if you'd like."

"Don't be ridiculous!" He gaped at her.

"All right, then," she said with a shrug. "Sir William, you keep your leg as still as possible, won't you?"

Sir William nodded, gritting his teeth. He'd been mostly silent, owing to the pain, Mr. Darcy thought.

"Good," she said with a stiff nod. She started walking off, heading down the road. "Mr. Darcy, are you coming?" she called, without even looking behind her.

Mr. Darcy fumed, silent, looking at Sir William, who winced and didn't meet his eye, and at his cousin the colonel, still unconscious, where Mr. Darcy had laid his body in the grass after hauling him out of the carriage, and at Maria, clutching the shawl and looking down the road. Then he turned and looked at the disappearing figure of Elizabeth Bennet. He hurried after her.

He fell into step with her in several moments, and she looked up at him with a little nod. "What a horrible afternoon we're having, hmm?" she said, letting out a little laugh.

"Indeed, madam," he said softly.

By all rights, she shouldn't have even been in this carriage with him. He had not planned to come to visit his aunt, Lady Catherine, at Rosings for several more weeks at least.

However, by chance, he'd come across Elizabeth at the theater in London only last night. She was there with her vulgar relations who lived in the unfashionable part of town, and some sense of proprietary exclusion might have led him to ignore her, but he found he could not do it. He'd seen her. She'd seen him. It seemed abhorrent to simply turn away and pretend as if they had not, in fact, seen each other.

He must at least say hello, even though, weeks ago, he'd done his best to keep his friend Mr. Bingley from knowing that another Bennet sister was in town, staying with these same vulgar relations. When it was Jane Bennet, it was easier, he thought.

Something about Elizabeth…

He didn't know. It was ridiculous, really, positively ridiculous. He became different around her. Sputtering, tongue-tied, like a schoolboy. She wasn't even that pretty. He'd once called her tolerable, and he tried to convince himself that was how he saw her now.

The evidence was stacking up against him. Even if he hadn't had those few verbal sparring sessions in Netherfield, where her fine eyes had danced as she lifted her chin. I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any. Even if he hadn't danced with her at the ball Bingley had held. Even if she hadn't brought up Wickham of all people. Even if…

Well, whatever the case, the evidence that she swayed him dangerously was there.

What had happened at the theater?

His intention had been to exchange pleasantries quickly and get away from her. To this end, he'd placed himself in her path and bowed to her, and said, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, so good to see you. I hope your parents are in good health."

"Oh," she said, giving him a smile that was so fine and bright that he felt promptly dazzled. "Yes, of course. They are quite well. So kind of you to ask."

"This is my, erm, my sister," he said, nodding at Georgiana, who was with him. "Miss Darcy."

Georgiana gave him a funny look at this, having not expected it.

Indeed, it wasn't in the plan, but he couldn't not introduce her. It was pointedly rude

"Miss Darcy, this is Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet, Miss Darcy.'

"Such a pleasure," said Miss Bennet.

"Oh, quite, so lovely to meet you," said Georgiana. "But we are just on our way to the carriage, are we not?"

"Yes," said Mr. Darcy, and then he stood there, as if struck dumb, looking at her. She wasn't pretty. Or was she? What was it about her? Maybe it was the way she smiled. She seemed to smile in such a way that indicated that she knew a great many secrets and that she was not inclined to share any of them. She smiled as if, oh, he couldn't say, but almost as if she thought herself superior to him. Certainly as if she found him amusing in some way.

Him. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

She shouldn't do that.

And it should enrage him, by all rights, when she did. Why didn't it enrage him? Why did it… intrigue him?

"Yes," he said, finally, nodding. "We are heading to the carriage. And I do hope your parents are in good health. And all your sisters? And…"

"Oh, yes," said Elizabeth, laughing now, as if unable to help herself.

Lord, she thought him ludicrous. He was ludicrous. She cut him off at the knees. He must be in love with her, he supposed, because this was how men supposedly behaved when they were in love, but he did not wish to be in love with her. Perhaps he could talk himself out of it.

"And your sister, she seems in good health," said Elizabeth, turning her smile on Georgiana. "Truly, we are heading home ourselves."

"Perhaps we will see you here in town on another day,' he said. "Good evening."

"Oh, no, we are leaving in the morning for Kent, in fact," she said. "But I am ever so happy to have had this time to speak with you, of course. You have a good evening as well." She made to go around him, now. They were in the lobby of the theater, and the doors were behind his back.

"Kent?" he said. "Do you have relatives there?"

She stopped, turning back to him. "Sort of, I suppose. Mr. Collins is my cousin, but I am primarily going to visit Mrs. Collins, who you may remember as Miss Charlotte Lucas. Now, she is married and settled at the rectory there."

"Oh, yes," he said. "How interesting. You know that my aunt lives at Rosings, quite near to the parsonage there. What is it called? Hunsford?"

"Oh, yes, you know it," she said with a smile.

"I do indeed," he said. "I am, in fact, planning on a visit there, to my aunt's estate, in just a few weeks."

"Truly? What a small world. We shall be there for some weeks, so perhaps our visits shall overlap."

"How are you getting there tomorrow?" he said. "I don't suppose your relations here have a carriage."

"No, we are going post, of course," she said.

"Oh, how dreary," he said. "I am sorry."

"No reason to be sorry," she said, laughing. "It is no hardship, Mr. Darcy, but of course you would find it so."

He cleared his throat. She was laughing at him. Again.

Georgiana glared at him.

He tilted his head to one side. "You know, I could quite move up my visit to my aunt. It seems a waste if we are both going the same direction, after all. We should travel together. You should take my coach."

Elizabeth drew back, shocked at this. "What?"

He swallowed. Why did I say that? "Well, it's not as if it's an inconvenience to me, Miss Bennet," he said. "After all, I am going anyway."

"In a few weeks, you said. So, it would be an inconvenience, and I'm afraid I couldn't possibly—"

"No, no, you most certainly could possibly, and I—"

"Mr. Darcy, truly, we cannot impose upon you in such a way, and I must insist—"

"It is I who must insist, madam, and I wish to assure you that I know my own mind in this matter—"

"But, sir, changing your plans so quickly? No, please, I shan't be able to forgive myself for it."

"I have told you, it's convenient for me," he said. "Not another word."

She let out a breath, but she was silent.

"Now, we shall come for you tomorrow, in fact. I shall send a servant with a message to arrange the times and all the rest of it, but I insist that we all travel together."

The smile she gave him was flat. "That's… very kind of you, sir."

Yes, it is. And nonsensical. And awful. "Think nothing of it."

This was how it came to pass, then, that they were all traveling together today. No one had been pleased to discover he had volunteered the carriage to transport Miss Bennet and her party, or that he was leaving, in the morning, for Rosings. None of the servants were ready for such a thing, and Georgiana had expected him to be available the following week for a dinner party with the Bingleys, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was accompanying him to see his aunt, didn't wish to go there so soon.

He told everyone he was just being polite.

They all gave him a look, as if they could also tell that he was in love with her and that they were just as horrified with him as he was with himself.

Mr. Darcy had no intention of falling in love, really. Embarrassingly, he'd sort of hoped he might be immune to such things. Everything about being in love sounded messy and unpredictable and altogether unfavorable. He wished to make a proper match that pleased everyone in his family and pleased propriety. It would be nice, of course, if she were pretty or pleasant, but it hardly mattered. He hadn't thought he would care overmuch about such things.

Well, seeing as everything was now in a state of disarray, clearly this would have chased off his feelings for this woman. Especially since she hadn't listened to him when he'd told her to stay behind.

This was awful, and he was not pleased about the death of the poor driver, and he hoped his cousin was going to recover without serious damage, but at the very least, it would have served a purpose if it drove away his wretched attraction to this woman.

He glanced at her sidelong.

Damnation, she looked pretty with her hair falling out of her traveling bonnet in little wisps, didn't she? She was pretty. She was ever so pretty.

"I'm so sorry," she said ruefully. "And to think, if you hadn't seen us at the theater last night, you wouldn't even be here."

"It's no one's fault," he said. The horses had come loose from the carriage and run off into the wooded area when the carriage had overturned. He wondered if they should have run off after them instead of going on the road. Having horses would prove to be helpful, wouldn't it? Maybe, if they found the horses, the could put the wounded on the horses' backs to transport them.

These were the sorts of things that made him agonize in a crisis. It was hard to know what the right thing to do even was, and crises seemed to demand action and certainty. He hoped it hadn't been a bad idea to leave the horses.

Anyway, the horses would have run off, breakneck speed. They might have no hope of catching them.

Yes, going down the road for help, it was likely the best thing. It had to be.

"It's only that I know you don't even like me, Mr. Darcy, so it must rankle indeed for this to have happened."

"What?" He stopped walking.

She did not. She let out a long trill of laughter. "Oh, what has gotten into me? I shouldn't have said that out loud, should I have? Here we are, though, and there was a dead man, and I am out of sorts, I must say. Who can be polite in this situation?"

He hurried to catch up to her. "Miss Bennet, I like you."

"All right, of course you can be polite," she said. "Nothing disturbs your disposition. Not Mr. Darcy."

Why had she put that strange emphasis on his name? "I do like you," he said.

She glanced at him, brow furrowing. "Really?"

He understood, then. She didn't like him. Oh, yes, he should have realized, shouldn't he? She had mocked him, really, on more than one occasion. That sense he got from her of superiority—he was interpreting it wrong. It was dislike he was feeling from her. He felt horrifyingly embarrassed, now, his throat closing up, his face getting very hot.

Why hadn't he seen it? It was very obvious now, actually, when he thought back over their conversations and interactions, especially that one at the ball at Netherfield where she said the things about Mr. Wickham, and he'd been too angry to even defend himself. He wondered what it was that Wickham had said to her. A pack of lies, undoubtedly.

But it didn't truly matter, did it, because she had been like that before. The conversation about the accomplished women was only one of the examples. Your defect is a propensity to hate everybody, she had said, after all.

He was an idiot.

This woman despised him. And he'd trapped her on this carriage ride with him, insisted upon it, leaving her no way to refuse him. "I think," he muttered, "it is you who have been drawn into an unfortunate situation, not me, madam."

"Oh, both of us, of course. Everyone. The driver most of all, though, truly."

Well, she was right about that.

"Do you know his name?" she said softly.

"I do," he said, nodding. He felt miserable. "It's on the tip of my tongue."

"It doesn't matter, really, not at this moment."

"He hasn't been with us all my life or something," he muttered. "I just hired him, only two weeks ago, so that's the reason I don't remember—oh, poor man. It's awful this happened to him. We were sheltered inside the carriage, but he was out there with nothing over him, and he was easily unseated. He must have been flung far and wide."

"I think it happened quickly, anyway," she said. "He wouldn't have suffered. I suppose that's something."

"Precious little, really, to his loved ones."

"Is he married? Does he have children?"

"I haven't any notion, I'm afraid," he said, and he felt even worse. "Miss Bennet, I know you must see me as some sort of arrogant, short-sighted man, who is involved with himself and who does not notice the world around him, and I can see why you might think that about me, but you must understand, I'm not indifferent to others, not at all. I simply need things to be predictable to a degree, and if they're not… never mind. I am out of sorts. And I feel quite foolish, I suppose."

"Well, you shouldn't feel foolish," she said. "It's not as if you could predict the carriage rolling over. And whether or not you knew the driver's name is of little matter at this point, after all. If I indicated that it was some slight on your character, I didn't mean it. We have so few servants, it is quite different for me, I must say."

"That's not why I feel foolish, although, you're right, it really should be why. I feel foolish for not noticing your dislike of me. I feel extraordinarily arrogant and conceited. It must seem to you that a man like me cannot even comprehend being disliked."

She stopped walking, hand to her chest. "I didn't— that is, I—"

"It's all right," he said. "You don't have to like me." He stopped walking, too.

She bit down on her bottom lip, very contrite. "Oh, you really have been rather kind to me, and my family—my mother—my sisters… you wouldn't have a good impression of me, anyway, I suppose, so it's really out of the bounds of decency for me to judge—"

"It's fine," he said and started walking.

She caught up with him. "You deprived Mr. Wickham of his living, though, and I don't know what excuse you have for that—"

"That's what he said," he muttered.

She fell into step with him. "Is that not what happened?"

"Mr. Wickham is a young man who wishes life to be different than it is," he said. "He thinks he is entitled to have pleasure and excess and money. I may have advantages myself, advantages that come only from the accident of my birth, but I work to deserve them. As for him? Well, he, too, has had advantages, ones a man of his birth should not expect, and he has squandered them. He does not get more advantages, not after he's proved he does not deserve them."

"What do you mean?" she broke in.

He sighed heavily. "This is not the time to get into all this, madam."

"Perhaps not," she said.

"Look," he said, "is that smoke?"

"I think it is," she said, smiling. "Oh, that must be a chimney, that must be a house."

"At least we shall have help soon," he said.

She walked faster, picking up her skirts. "Yes, indeed, sir. That is all we must focus on for now."