Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (23 page)

CHAPTER 20

Nellie pricked her ears and whinnied softly, shaking her head between the straps. And then the whinny turned into a snort and her shoulders rippled when she shook her head once more, with renewed vigour. From his seat, Wilkins soothingly clicked his tongue and flicked the long reins over her back.

“There now, girl. Ye’ve bin as twitchy as a nervous bride all mornin’,” he chuckled, then ruefully turned to his young passenger. “Beg pardon, Miss. She don’ much like it when the winds change in the spring, does Nellie,” he elaborated, rubbing his chin. “But then she always settles in a while. There now, girl,” he repeated, with another cluck. “We’ll be at the
Bell
in no time an’ you can have a moment’s rest.”

But Nellie was not of a mind to either rest or settle. Her head came up again and she neighed, stomping her front hooves higher off the ground. By the time the less perceptive human ears, both young and old, caught the sound of thundering hoof beats, she had already broken into an anxious canter with so little warning that the occupants of the gig were nearly thrown back. Elizabeth gripped the edge of the backrest to steady herself and Wilkins muttered an oath as he fumbled for a better hold onto the slipping reins, forgetting to apologise this time.

The increasing noise approaching from behind was not in the least to Nellie’s liking, nor was the sharp tug on the reins, urging her to slow her pace against her will. The whites of her eyes showing, she neighed and bridled, then broke into a run.

The dark shape now galloping beside her, cloak aflutter, was a far from calming sight, and she shied further to the right before the outstretched gloved hand could grip the harness. The slick mud gathered at the bend did the rest. Hooves slipped sideways, and so did the wheels. Closer and closer to the ditch they came, until the right one fell into it with a resounding thud, violently rocking the gig and its two occupants, who were by then hanging for dear life onto the sides with sharp exclamations of shock and protest at the commotion and the newcomer’s sudden appearance and antics.

Nellie’s hind legs slid into the ditch as well, first one, then the other. Shaking and snorting, her nostrils wide with fear as much as with the effort, she strained to pull against the new obstacle of the slippery bank, struggling for a proper foothold and finding none. Neighing in panic, she strained again and scrambled over the edge at last, stubbornly fighting the restraining reins, pulled taut by Wilkins in his attempts to draw her to a halt. Crazed with fright, she might have fought further and dragged the dangerously-angled gig to its occupants’ doom, had the rider not leapt from his horse and ran to grab a firm hold of her bridle and work to still her with wordless murmurs and reassuring pats.

A bystander might have been awed by his skill and reflexes. But there were no bystanders to survey the scene, and the other two caught in the confusion were too intent on keeping themselves from being thrown out of the gig to spare admiring glances to feats of horsemanship. Not that Wilkins was in any way inclined towards admiration. Reins still wrapped around his wrists, he restrained from bellowing his anger for fear of further spooking Nellie, and merely growled instead:

“Young fool! Look what ye’ve done. Nearly overset us an’ lamed this poor mare an’ all. An’ fer what, eh? Juss to ride hell for leather down the road, like ye owned it?”

The growl faded into a muffled “Humph!” when the whippersnapper stepped aside and his head emerged from behind Nellie’s, to reveal that in fact he did own the road and pretty much everything else on an eight-mile radius.

The apology came out of necessity rather than conviction.

“Beg pardon, Mr Darcy, Sir. Di’n’know ‘twere ye.”

“Never mind that,” the gentleman replied curtly. “Come over and lend a hand to calm your mare, would you? I do not dare let her loose just yet.”

“Aye, Sir. Comin’. Not lost me legs, the Lord be praised,” Wilkins muttered as he scrambled off into the ditch, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He gripped hold of the gig to redress himself and looked back at his young passenger.

“How ‘bout ye, lass? Are ye aright?”

“I am well. Just fine,” Elizabeth assured him, her voice rather too shaky to lend much credence to the statement, whereupon, from his place at the end of the traces, Mr Darcy spoke up with some impatience.

“Wilkins, how are you getting on?”

“Dandy, Sir. Be right wit’ye,” the older man called back and, still muttering under his breath, he squelched his way to Nellie to pat her neck and gentle her, thus leaving Darcy at liberty to abandon his post and approach Elizabeth at last.

He was just in time to see her leaving her precarious seat to jump down, then lean against the muddy wheel for support. Instinctively, his hand shot out to steady her.

“You are not injured, I hope.”

She shook her head and drew back from his touch, making Darcy sigh as he consciously offered:

“You should take shelter from the rain.”

Her glance shot back at him in defiance and she retorted tersely:

“I was fairly well sheltered under the hood until just now.”

Darcy bit his lip.

“Of course. I–… That was unfortunate, and not what I intended.”

Her old anger in nowise abated, she glanced up again.

“Then what did you intend?”

Without the slightest hesitation the reply came, low and earnest.

“To find you. Beg you to return. Beg you to forgive me.”

She leaned further back to catch his eye and her brow arched in unappeased resentment.

“Indeed! Whatever for? You were simply stating the obvious.”

“No! I was unjust, bitter and resentful. I never should have– ”

He broke off with a frustrated huff and forcefully ran his gloved fingers through his hair, pushing it back and sending droplets flying. It was still soaked from the earlier ride, and even more so once his hat had fallen off and was now lying trampled under his horse’s hooves, somewhere in the road behind them. But the fate of his hat concerned him not one jot. How was he to say everything that must be said – there, in the pouring rain, and in Wilkins’s hearing?

Darcy inwardly damned the rain, his own unpardonable conduct, the poor skittish mare and, for good measure, blameless Wilkins too. He took a step closer and his hand found her elbow under the heavy cloak. But the right words were far more difficult to find.

“I never should have said and done a great many things, Miss Bennet,” he said at last, his voice heavy with contrition. “We must talk. I hope you would allow it.” His lips tightened and he added, dispiritedly gesturing around him. “Not here, naturally, and not now. We ought not linger. You must be taken somewhere dry and warm as soon as may be.”

She made no answer, and he anxiously searched her countenance. It was drawn and pale under the hood, filling him with an overwhelming admixture of fresh guilt and the deepest need to hold her. But for now all he could do was plead.

“I beg you would consent to return to Pemberley.”

To his acute dismay, he read the protest in her eyes even before she could draw breath to speak, so he earnestly entreated against his every wish, but knowing it had to be offered nonetheless:

“Just for tonight, if it must be so. If you must leave, then let it not be thus. A carriage can take you to Netherfield. But ‘tis getting late and you must be very cold and very tired. Come back with me. Just for tonight.”

His heart sank at her severely pursed lips and the deep shadow settling in her eyes, little knowing it was not so much in response to his entreaty as her own thoughts. That she reluctantly recognised he was in the right. She was wet, cold and – just five miles into a journey of over one hundred and sixty – already exhausted from the day’s tempest of emotions, the trek in the rain and the latest misadventure. After all, the entire purpose of a swift departure was to avoid him. And she had failed spectacularly in that.

But Darcy had no notion of her distraught reasoning, which perhaps was just as well. All he heard was the sigh and the resignedly spoken, “Very well.” But it was enough to bring a much-needed surge of hope.

“Thank you,” he whispered warmly, then spun around with renewed energy. “Let me help you turn about, Wilkins. We are going back.” He carelessly trod into the waterlogged ditch and called out to the older man, “I shall try to ease the wheel out, if you would coax your mare into tugging,” he instructed as he grabbed hold of the hub.

With some effort on his part and a great deal more on Nellie’s, the gig was brought back onto the road. Leaving Wilkins to look for signs of damage, Darcy removed his now muddy gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket as he made to return to the trim form huddled up by the side of the road. He did not get that far. Wilkins recaptured his attention with a dismayed mutter and Darcy turned to find him shaking his head despondently.

“Thought she’d be lamed, Sir, an’ so she is. She’s hurt hersel’. The left hind leg, see? She’s limpin’. I’d as soon not tax her wi’ more weight, if ‘tis all the same to ye. Miss Bennet makes no difference, she’s light as a feather, but I’d much better walk wi’ my Nellie rather than have her carry me.”

“The poor thing,” Darcy heard Elizabeth quietly commiserate from much closer than expected. She had approached them without notice, fearful as she might have been around horses – and, as of that day, with further reason. But that had not stemmed her natural compassion, and he also heard her offer promptly, “Mr Wilkins, I do not wish to tax her either. I will walk with you.”

Darcy frowned.

“You cannot! It would take forever.”

Elizabeth frowned back.

“No longer than if Wilkins walks and I do not. I can go as fast as he. At least it would keep me warm.” Her voice grew distant as she added, “You need not wait around to ensure I will keep my word. With Nellie injured I am not likely to dash the other way as soon as your back is turned. I will see you at Pemberley.”

Darcy’s frown twisted into fresh contrition at her implied reproach.

“I was not thinking of myself. I should not wish you to endure this weather for another hour.”

Barely mollified, she shrugged.

“There is nothing to be done.”

“There is, in fact.”

“And what is that?”

“You could ride my horse.”

Her eyes widened.

“I thought you were speaking of possibilities, Sir.”

“And so did I.”

The volley of brief retorts was replaced by warm persuasiveness as he entreated:

“You need not be concerned. I will not walk him very fast. But it would still be faster than with Wilkins’s Nellie.”

She shook her head.

“It is not sound.”

“Would you at least try?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips again, and Darcy hastened to take her grudging silence for consent. He turned to the older man.

“You would do well to start on your way back. If my scheme is unsuccessful we will catch up with you.”

“Very well, Sir. I s’pose ye won’t be needin’ this now,” Wilkins said with a grin, bending down to retrieve and offer the flattened remains of the fashionable hat and, for the first time in many hours, Darcy’s lips twitched.

“I should imagine not. Pray dispose of it if you would be so kind.”

Wilkins tossed it carelessly onto the seat, then added:

“But ye might wish to take Miss Bennet’s bag wit’ye.”

Darcy nodded and Wilkins fetched it from the gig, making his heart twist at the sight of the pitiful and bedraggled receptacle for the few belongings she had left his home with – she, who should have everything! Without a word, he strapped it to the saddle and turned to her.

“I shall lift you up, if you allow me. You need not fear. Hold on and all will be well.”

Her sceptical grimace was simply adorable, and also rather welcome – it distracted him from her bewitching closeness. Yet, despite her wet and cumbersome woollen cloak, there was precious little that could distract him from the feel of her slim waist between his hands when he raised her into the saddle. Or from the clasp of her gloved fingers on his shoulders. From the dark eyes intent on his. The damp cheek – no longer pale, but growing rosy. So very close, barely above him. Stoking the insane temptation to let her slide back down into his arms and claim her lips with all the longing and the passion he had unreasonably fought against for such a length of time. Until she understood there was no way under heaven that he could ever let her vanish from his life.

She nervously bit her lip in the selfsame endearing fashion he unconditionally adored, until he had to forcefully remind himself in no uncertain terms that if she was so incensed at him as to leave Pemberley as she did, kissing her in the middle of the lane to Kympton and under Wilkins’s scrutiny was not likely to appease her.

She pushed against his shoulders to straighten up and, all things considered, he encouraged it.

“Aye, sit up and hold on.”

“Oh, believe me, I would,” she retorted promptly as she fumbled for a grip on the back of the saddle, “but there is precious little to hold on to.”