Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The evening air hit his cheeks more harshly than he'd expected, but Darcy pressed on. He'd spent time with Bingley's sisters before this trip, both in larger and more limited social situations.
But Miss Bingley's comments ever since Darcy had mentioned Elizabeth's fine eyes had since grown nigh unbearable.
The fact that Miss Bingley's various lamentations about the Bennet family reflected Darcy's own opinions about them only discomfited him more. He did not want to think he sounded remotely like Miss Bingley in his private thoughts, but it was hard not to agree that the
Bennet family did indeed sport unideal connections and inappropriate manners.
Not that Elizabeth did.
Darcy cursed himself. Miss Elizabeth might conduct herself with decorum. She might be able to flirt and tease with all the talents of a seasoned seductress without overstepping the bounds of propriety. But that hardly meant that he could marry her.
He felt an unhappy tug against his chest. His heart seemed to have other ideas, and Darcy knew better than to indulge it.
A man who followed his heart without heeding his mind was a fool.
And Darcy had too much responsibility on his shoulders to allow a summer infatuation to ruin the course of his life.
He owed it to his parents, to his sister, to all his friends and relations to seek a marital alliance that would elevate or at least complement the Darcy name.
What business did he have in contemplating marriage to an unknown young woman from Hertfordshire, just because she pleased his eyes and his mind and his heart?
An annoying thought that one could do worse than marrying someone who pleased one's eye, mind, and heart tried to cloud his judgment, and Darcy struggled against it by marching deeper into the grass.
Through her unique wit and charm, Miss Elizabeth had enchanted him beyond what was acceptable. He had to extricate himself from his precarious situation before he did anything worse. He already had half his belongings packed. Tomorrow, he would instruct his valet to prepare the rest.
It did not matter if Bingley was ready to leave with him or not. He had to go, lest another night of dreaming about Elizabeth sent him marching to Longbourn with an ill-advised proposal.
The sound of laden breathing filled the air. Darcy stopped his determined stalking and leaned over slightly, panting. He knew he had been attempting to walk off thoughts of Miss
Elizabeth, and of how much he almost wanted to defend her against Miss Bingley's vicious claims, even if he himself agreed with half those claims.
But losing his breath like this was ridiculous. He was a hale and hearty man in his prime.
There was no reason a few minutes of intense marching should—
A pained moan accompanied the heavy breaths. Darcy's head snapped up towards the source.
He surveyed his surroundings, feeling the presence of another human being before being able to see one. Was it a villain waiting to hurt him? Or perhaps a stray child lost in the dark?
He walked a little further, taking extra care, until he found tracks—small, feminine ones. He frowned as he looked slightly further.
From then on, it took only a few more strides before he saw, a mere handful of yards away, crouched amidst the grass, Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself. Her hands clutched her ankle as if it was broken; tears streamed freely down her face.
And every single reason Darcy had for having ever wished to leave her behind disappeared into thin air. He could hardly countenance why a young woman would be out by herself at this time of night, in what appeared to be heavy traveling clothes. Her very presence defied all logic.
But she was distressed, and she was weeping. And Darcy knew right then and there that, cursed be honor and expectations, there was nothing he would not do to ensure her well-being.
He watched, his heart aching, as she tried to move her ankle and cried out in pain. Then he rushed forward, his heart ahead of his feet.