Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The carriage rumbled on, through the night and mostly through the dawn. Darcy tolerated the
rough ride half asleep, his thoughts caught between his own future and that of the sleeping
woman across from him. Soon, they would arrive in London, and he would have to return to
his role as the head of the Darcy family and leave Elizabeth to her own fate.
Somehow, the thought proved extremely unpalatable.
Darcy sighed. Soon, Bingley and his sisters would follow to London, a relocation designed to cool his feelings for one Miss Jane Bennet.
Supporting such a separation had never induced any guilt in him before.
But now an unexpected weight lingered in his conscience.
Miss Bennet was hardly an unequal match for Bingley, if she indeed cared for the man.
Bingley's own ambitious sisters might like to think he ought to marry a higher-born heiress, but Miss Jane Bennet was a gentleman’s daughter—and the position brought its own share of prestige.
There was, of course, still the issue of her uncouth relatives. The very memory of the younger Miss Bennets flirting outrageously at the Netherfield Ball still sent Darcy frowning.
But if the destiny of the sisters at Longbourn was to be forced to the altar with men such as Mr. Collins, could Darcy truly blame them for finding even the officers of the militia to be unduly attractive?
Across from him, Elizabeth stirred, distracting Darcy from his private musings. He prepared himself for a difficult conversation regarding her prospects.
Instead, she seemed to be embroiled in an entirely different conversation of her own.
"No, Papa, please—" she begged, face scrunched in turmoil. She curled her limbs inwards, no doubt finding the carriage cold despite the blanket he'd spread over her earlier. "I cannot. Do not make me. He is—no, please—"
Darcy frowned. Georgiana had similar nightmares after the events at Ramsgate. To watch another woman he cared for, however much against his will, suffer similarly was nigh unbearable.
"Mama, please, Papa—not him, not—I refuse—" Her begging shifted to sobbing, and Darcy could contain himself no longer.
"Miss Elizabeth." He maneuvered himself across the small distance and squeezed into the space between her and the carriage wall.
She turned and clung to him almost immediately, her eyes still shut.
Cautiously, Darcy placed his arms around her shoulders.
"Miss Elizabeth, do not be distressed. You are no longer at Longbourn. "
"I cannot marry him, no—" She sobbed, oblivious still. "Please, do not make me."
Darcy's heart clenched. And in a moment driven more by sentiment than reason, he pulled her fully into his arms, his nose against her hair, her bonnet long discarded. "You are safe. You will not marry him—not if I can do anything about it."
Slowly, her sobs ebbed, even as Darcy's own eyes watered.
Was this the sort of future reserved for ladies of Elizabeth's station?
The Bennet sisters were born gentry, and yet their modest backgrounds afforded them few opportunities to meet, much less become engaged to, men of good fortune and character.
It would not be surprising if others in her position resigned themselves readily to a life with Mr. Collins.
Yet Elizabeth did not.
Could he truly hold any of her humble roots against her when she showed enough courage to risk her future for the sake of avoiding an unwanted match? Such will and determination would have done Georgiana a world of good.
"Mr. Darcy?" A small voice rose from his chest.
Darcy, abashed, pulled back to see Miss Elizabeth gazing up at him, face tear-stained yet eyes round and curious. He swallowed before gently letting her go.
"You had a nightmare," he tried to explain. What a cad she must believe him to be! It was unthinkable for her to wake to him holding her the way he did, much less after he had given his word to act in a gentlemanly manner. "I tried to calm you but—”
"I suppose I must have been hard to calm." She pulled back, blushing. They each shrank against opposite sides of the carriage, but their knees remained touching. "I have always been so when having bad dreams. Both Mama and Jane say so."
Darcy swallowed. "I see."
The growing sounds outside the carriage, and the rattle of the wheels against the paved roads, indicated that they were now approaching the heart of London. Soon, their temporary safety and privacy would be over.
"Forgive my liberties," said Darcy, "I'm afraid I did not think well of the situation. My sister, when she would have night terrors—”
"You must have been a good brother."
"I—I hope so." Darcy pursed his lips. "My sister is over ten years my junior, rendering me more parent than brother at times. I have failed her, many times, but it is my desire to do so as little as possible."
"You cannot have failed as spectacularly as my family has failed me."
"I did not force her to marry someone, no." A familiar ache tightened in Darcy's chest. "But I did not protect her quite well enough from fortune hunters and charmers."
"It cannot be your fault when a young woman falls under a charming man's spell."
"Perhaps not."
The carriage rattled on, and soon their little embrace would be forgotten. At least, Darcy hoped it would—though he did not have much optimism about the matter.
She knew, in theory, that Mr. Darcy had tried all he could to make sure they arrived in London as fast as they possibly could.
But the evidence of people bustling about while she made her escape still unsettled her.
Elizabeth darted a glance at Mr. Darcy. Did he ever even step foot in this side of London?
Or was his life contained to where the upper crust lived, where well-appointed ladies promenaded with their maids on wide, clean streets and fashionable gentlemen drove by in their fancy curricles?
She didn't know to credit the tension in his jaw to discomfort for having to bring her to Cheapside or anger at how she had imposed upon him with her nightmares.
Hopefully, she hadn't said anything too embarrassing.
She knew she'd dreamt of Papa and Mama forcing her to sign the marriage register with Mr. Collins.
She could only hope she hadn't mumbled anything aloud about Mr. Darcy rushing into the church to come to her rescue, on a large white horse, no less.
Their situation was embarrassing enough without odd dreams involved.
"I believe this is the street?" Mr. Darcy whispered, his hand lifting the curtains just enough to allow a private glimpse of the road.
Elizabeth stopped her private musing and mirrored his actions on the other side of the carriage. Merchants and workers milled about, no doubt ready to start a long day of industry.
Young maids and matrons rushed around, none sparing a glance at their conveyance.
With any luck, only servants and not gentlefolk would witness her arrival, although Elizabeth hardly knew to be thankful that any eyewitnesses might be too busy to spare her a thought or to despair that servants were the most keen on gossip out of anyone in London.
"Yes, it is," she answered before lowering the curtain. "Just another street further.”
Mr. Darcy nodded in acknowledgement. He tapped the roof of the carriage in some sort of pattern that was no doubt meant to communicate something to his coachman. The horses outside neighed as if they understood.
Elizabeth sighed.
Somehow, in the span of the last twelve hours, she had gone from despising Mr. Darcy for his pride and his ill treatment of Mr. Wickham to owing the man for her deliverance, seeking comfort in his embrace, and appreciating his confident control over the situation.
She still believed him wrong in many things, but it was becoming rather difficult to hate the man when he played the role of her complicated savior.
The carriage slowed, indicating their arrival. Elizabeth moved to thank Mr. Darcy for his unexpected help, but he spoke before she could, "How is your foot?"
"My foot." Elizabeth noticed belatedly that she'd hardly been paying heed to her injury ever since waking from her nightmare. She tried to move her foot, only to hiss in pain.
Mr. Darcy frowned. "You are still unwell."
"It is not as unbearable as last night." Elizabeth tried to trade her grimace for a smile. "With some assistance, I might be able to make it to the door."
"Are you certain? I can—or, perhaps, I can request your uncle or aunt to send out a maid?"
Elizabeth very nearly blushed at having expected that her inability to walk might result in Mr. Darcy carrying her once more when his suggestion was infinitely more practical. She nodded.
"I suppose that might be wise."
He nodded at her, still looking unduly worried over her.
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for your invaluable assistance. I hope I have not disrupted your own plans too severely."
"Not at all," he assured gently. "Do you believe yourself safe from your circumstances here?"
"A simple turned ankle cannot contain me for long."
"Not the ankle, but the—the marriage?"
A pang of gratefulness warmed her heart. "Uncle and Aunt Gardiner are my most sensible relatives. They will not turn me away or force my hand. I trust them wholeheartedly."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Thank you for your concern."
"Certainly."
He nodded his head once more before turning to the carriage door, only to pause just short of opening it.
He turned to face her, his face a complex mixture of hesitation and what appeared to be genuine concern.
He seemed to think hard on something before reaching into his pocket and handing her his card.
"I hope—and, would like to believe—that your uncle and aunt would be able to assist you in everything you need. But if there happens to be anything you need beyond their sphere of influence, do send word. I would be honored to be of help."
"This is hardly necessary." She tried not to cry even as she slipped the card into her sleeve. The situation was making her unduly emotionally fragile, and she rather hated herself for it.
"Although I thank you for the consideration."
"I hope as much as you do that it would not be necessary," he answered. "God bless you, Miss Elizabeth."
This time, her eyes welled in truth. "Thank you. You as well, Mr. Darcy."