Chapter Six
It was a good night for traveling. The moon shone clear and bright and there had been no rain for nearly two days.
The roads were still damp enough not to toss up dust but firm enough to support even the duke’s substantial coach.
Darcy’s eyes rarely left an unusually silent Elizabeth.
He wished heartily that they were alone so that he could offer her some comfort.
It was increasingly difficult to witness her suffering and be unable to sit next to her, to draw her into his lap, to allow her to rest her head under his chin.
He did not wish to rush her to marriage, but he longed for the right to hold her.
His eyes strayed to the window from time to time.
The outriders regularly rotated positions, no doubt to remain alert.
He was beginning to feel drowsy but would not sleep until they had all made it safely to St. James and he had seen Elizabeth restored to her aunt.
It was not terribly far to his own home from there.
Before they turned onto the Great North Road, he related the story of his aunt and the letter.
He had already denied Collins’s claims that he had an understanding with Anne but wanted there to be no misunderstandings.
Tavistock demonstrated an interest in the forgery, but Elizabeth only nodded sympathetically as she worried the hem of her glove into unraveling.
His own hands curled as he tried to keep himself from moving to her side.
Darcy withdrew his gold watch and opened the cover. In the light of the lanterns, he could see that it was nearing half-past three in the morning; they should reach St. James’s Square by five. He placed the timepiece back and glanced at Elizabeth again. Her pallor was returning.
Damn it. Ignoring Tavistock, he leaned forward and reached out to Elizabeth with one hand.
She leaned towards him and took it, her now gloved fingers cold in his, a stark contrast to the warmth of their first dance only a few hours earlier.
Her troubled gaze lifted to his and she tried to give him a smile.
A loud crack split the air.
Darcy’s fingers closed convulsively around Elizabeth’s wrist and he tugged her forward.
In one fluid movement, they were both kneeling on the floor, Darcy’s body shielding hers, his back to the direction of the sound, his hand holding her head to his chest. There were shouts and the pounding of hooves outside as several riders raced off to pursue the threat.
The carriage horses sped up, and Darcy braced his bent arm against the bench to hold them both steady.
The carriage rattled wildly for a few minutes before the coachman brought the team back to a steady gait. There were no more shots.
Darcy loosened his grip, placed a hand on her cheek, and stared into her eyes. “Are you well?” he asked Elizabeth, his voice rough with fear for her. She gazed back, frightened and weary.
“I am uninjured, sir,” she said quietly, moving to rest her forehead against his chest. “I thank you.”
Tavistock had moved to their side of the coach and already had a pistol in his hand.
He handed another to Darcy, who helped Elizabeth back to her seat before accepting it.
He then bade Elizabeth to slide to the center of the bench as he took up the place next to her and nearest the window where she had been sitting.
Darcy heard the riders calling out their return—his cousin among them.
Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to take the horses over unknown terrain, and although he knew instinctively that Richard had given chase, he also knew his cousin would not want the carriage to travel too far ahead without him.
Whoever it was had likely taken a random shot and then run off into the brush before their outriders could respond.
Richard maneuvered his mount to the side of the carriage where the men were now sitting. “Is everyone well?” he inquired, his voice raised a bit.
“We are,” Tavistock assured him.
Behind him, Darcy heard a small sniffle that briefly took his attention away from the window. The maid was trying not to cry, her face collapsing in on itself in the attempt. She was very young. Elizabeth put her arm around the girl and pull her into a comforting embrace.
“There now, Delilah,” she said. “It is just someone trying to frighten us.”
“Pardon me, miss,” the girl replied, beginning to hiccup, “but he is succeeding.”
“He can only succeed if we allow it, my girl,” Elizabeth said soothingly. “And we never shall. Come, dear, dry your tears.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it over. Darcy turned back to the window.
“Oh, no, miss,” Delilah protested behind him. “’Tis too fine a cloth.”
“The material is lovely, Delilah, but I am sorry to say that I have already ruined it,” Elizabeth said with what he recognized as an intentionally dramatic sigh. “My embroidery is dreadful but my aunt was determined that practice was all I required. Would that it were true.”
Darcy recalled his Aunt Catherine’s similar refrain and smiled a little to himself. A very little. Tavistock snorted.
“There now,” Elizabeth said gently as Delilah wiped her eyes. “Look how well protected we are, Delilah. Do you think these men will allow anything to happen to us?”
A few more tears tracked down her cheeks, but the girl shook her head. “No, miss.”
Elizabeth focused on comforting Delilah, grateful for the excuse to turn her attention away from what was happening outside.
When Mr. Darcy came to sit in her place by the window, she purposely did not move entirely away.
The occasional touch of his hip or leg against hers made her feel safer, stronger.
She was aware that the duke and marquess received many letters like the one Francis had carried to Netherfield; only very rarely did they amount to anything tangible.
Her concern had primarily been the effect of the threat on her aunt.
It was typical of the family to travel with a small army—the number of outriders had never alarmed her, nor the use of a coach and six, one that could outrun any other it might encounter.
She had learned long ago that with a title such as John’s came many enemies, earned or not.
It was yet another reason her Uncle Phillip had been content simply to remain a gentleman.
In the long months immediately following her Uncle Phillip’s passing, her aunt had trouble sleeping.
Many nights, Elizabeth would read or sing to her, and when she could at last see her aunt’s eyes beginning to close, she would hum.
It had helped her aunt relax into slumber and caring for Aunt Olivia had helped her make her own way though that terrible time.
She closed her eyes and began to hum softly, hoping it might work to calm Delilah as well as still her own wildly beating heart.
They traveled on that way for close to ten minutes, nothing being said, the only sound in the dark of the carriage her gentle humming, when the horses began to slow.
She wondered why, whether the rain had opened a hole in the road they would need to move around or one of the horses had thrown a shoe.
Then they stopped completely. The men tensed, alert. Elizabeth stiffened. What now? Delilah’s eyes were wide with fright, and she wrung her hands. Fortunately, the girl remained silent and still—she did not give in to tears again.
Elizabeth stopped humming and for a second it was silent as the men peered out into the night. Francis slid across the bench to the other side of the carriage, where he had originally been seated, and moved to open the door.
“Tavistock,” Mr. Darcy said with quiet urgency, “let the escort come to us. Our place is here.”
Francis frowned, but removed his hand from the door. “Quite right, Darcy.”
It was not long before Mr. Fitzwilliam was again at the window.
“There is a large branch blocking the road,” he called.
“We have men removing it.” He did not join those men, though, instead remaining where he was.
Elizabeth noted that a second outrider had taken up a similar position on their other side, and that both men were holding their rifles.
It is a branch, she reassured herself. It might just as well have been knocked down by the rains. There is no reason to fear. But sitting still in the middle of the road, not far from where someone had fired a gun as they passed and where anyone might engage them—it was a daunting prospect.
She could feel the tension building inside the coach and thought she ought to do what she could to ease it. So she began to sing softly, choosing a popular folk song they might all know. “Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly to-day.”
Delilah turned her face up, and Elizabeth nodded encouragingly. Delilah added her voice, and they sang together softly. “Were to change by to-morrow and flee from my arms / Like fairy-gifts, fading away!”
They continued the song, and Elizabeth did not fail to note that both Francis and Mr. Darcy seemed to benefit too, the tautness in their shoulders loosening just a bit. In a few minutes, she and Delilah were singing the final line, “The same look which he turn’d when he rose!”
She was considering what they might sing next when several shouts rose from the front of the carriage, and Mr. Fitzwilliam leaned in to tell them that the road had been cleared.
Francis gave her an approving smile, and Mr. Darcy reached over to squeeze her hand.
He removed his hand directly, though she wished he would not.
She understood. He was eloquent and romantic when they were alone or had some expectation of privacy, but like many men, he did not appreciate an audience.
Nor would it be proper, she chastised herself.
He is showing you the respect you have always demanded.