Chapter 2
To Elizabeth’s considerable horror, they arrived swiftly at a less than reputable booth peddling gin.
Immediately, she spotted the situation that had alarmed her young cousin: an immaculately dressed young woman had been cornered by a man who appeared to be well into his cups—his hand locked in a tight grip around the poor girl’s slim wrist. She does indeed need to be rescued.
Knowing the situation to be potentially dangerous, Elizabeth turned to caution Peter against acting recklessly; however, her warning was a few seconds too late.
“You there, sir! Leave her alone!” Peter shouted, adopting his best knight-like stance.
Before Elizabeth could stop him, her cousin picked up a small chunk of ice and hurled it towards the drunken reprobate, hitting him forcefully on the shoulder. The man’s head turned sharply, and his angry gaze focused on Peter.
“What the devil?” He growled and stepped towards them, releasing the relieved girl as he did so. “Now see here, you little—”
The scoundrel’s slurred speech abruptly ceased as he tripped over a stool and landed face down on the ice.
For a brief time, no one moved—waiting for some sign that the man would rise and continue his belligerent behaviour.
Relief washed over Elizabeth in waves as the inebriated miscreant moaned once, rolled onto his side, and began to snore loudly, provoking raucous laughter from the other men drinking at the nearby booth.
Without another thought, Elizabeth grabbed Peter’s hand and walked over to the young woman who had not moved an inch. “Miss? Are you well? Have you been harmed in any way?”
Elizabeth spoke gently, though she could not be sure her words were actually heard. The girl continued to stare at the fallen form of her attacker in wide-eyed fright.
“My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and this is my cousin, Master Peter Gardiner.” For some strange reason, the girl positively startled at Elizabeth’s name, looking for the first time at the pair who had come to her aid.
Placing a comforting arm about her shoulders, Elizabeth steered the young gentlewoman around the corner and onto a different path, away from the frightening scene.
“I…I…I do not think I could ever thank you enough!” the young lady began, tears falling down her face. “I cannot believe I was so foolish! My brother will be so angry with me when he learns what I did.”
“Surely you do not think you were at fault!” Elizabeth exclaimed, rubbing small, soothing circles on the stranger’s back, whilst Peter stared up at the girl in surprise.
“Well, perhaps not for everything, but this never would have happened if I had not run off! You see, I had been walking through the fair with my brother when he was hailed by an acquaintance. As they began talking, a small boy bumped into me and stole my reticule!” At this, she pointed shakily to the small bag in her possession.
“I chased him down, and fortunately a good Samaritan spotted him and was able to retrieve it for me. ’Tis not that I am particularly attached to the reticule, but I had stowed away a favourite keepsake of my mother’s in it. Would you like to see?”
Elizabeth nodded, and the girl opened the little bag, withdrawing a beautifully engraved circular pitch pipe and handing it to Elizabeth. She examined it from all angles and showed it to Peter, although she did not permit him to hold it as he wished.
“It is quite charming—I believe your mother will be happy to have it returned, though certainly not at the expense of your welfare.”
“My mother died when I was young,” the girl replied. “My father bought this for her in Vienna, as she was so fond of music.”
“Oh, I see.” Understanding at once why the girl had taken such a risk to save the object, Elizabeth sympathetically replied, “I am sorry to hear about your mother.” After carefully handing back the tiny treasure she asked, “What happened after you recovered your possessions?”
“Well, you see, I had not paid close attention to my direction while I chased the boy, and I simply could not find my way back to where I began before that man detained me! I owe you my most profound thanks, Master Gardiner. Truly—if you had not arrived so quickly, I do not know what I would have done!”
Peter gave a deep, dramatic bow, his cheeks rosy from the praise. “You are welcome. I told Cousin Lizzy I was a proper knight, and knights always rescue fair maidens!”
The girl gifted him with a smile. “Oh, but where are my manners! I did not tell you my name, for I was too astonished when I heard yours.”
“You were?” Elizabeth asked. “Why?”
“Oh, I feel I know you already, I have heard so much about you!”
“You—you have heard about me? From whom?” Elizabeth stuttered, dumbfounded with surprise.
Just as the girl was about to respond, a strikingly familiar masculine voice called out above the crowd. “Georgiana! Georgiana, there you are! Wherever have you been?”
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man whom Elizabeth had always believed to be possessed of little feeling, appeared positively frantic as he emerged from the throng. He was white-faced and grim as he grasped the girl’s hands, surveying her for any possibly injury.
The girl, who Elizabeth now understood was Miss Georgiana Darcy, said, “I am well—truly! Though I would not have been without the aid of my noble rescuers!”
Mr Darcy’s attention shifted to her, and Elizabeth watched as concern changed rapidly to utter shock as he exclaimed, “Miss Bennet!”
With a small curtsey, Elizabeth greeted the irritatingly handsome man she had come to despise that autumn. “How do you do, Mr Darcy?”
The gentleman, it seemed, needed a moment to comprehend the situation, for he only gaped.
Elizabeth sought to ease the awkwardness by adding, “Mr Darcy, may I introduce my cousin Master Peter Gardiner? Though perhaps I ought to call him Sir Peter Gardiner, as he quite gallantly saved your sister from the attentions of a rather inebriated gentleman without any thought to his own safety. His parents may never trust him to my charge again.”
Elizabeth threw a mischievous glance at her cousin, eliciting a small giggle from the boy as Mr Darcy looked to his sister in alarm.
“You were accosted by someone?”
“I am perfectly well,” Miss Darcy assured him again. “But perhaps you ought to thank Master Gardiner for his assistance.”
After a last searching, concerned look, Mr Darcy turned back to Peter. “Master Gardiner, it seems I owe you quite a debt,” he stated solemnly as he shook the boy’s hand.
Elizabeth observed the gentleman’s solicitous behaviour towards her cousin with surprise before they were interrupted by the voice of her uncle calling out her name.
To Mr Darcy’s credit, he permitted an introduction to the rest of the Gardiner family, but not without his customary hauteur appearing.
He spoke stiffly and seemed uncomfortable.
After relating the events of Miss Darcy’s rescue and all that followed, the two parties prepared to separate, but not before Miss Darcy issued a special request.
“If it is not too much trouble, I would be delighted if you would take tea with me on the morrow. Of course, I understand if you are busy, what with Christmas fast approaching…”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy to see what he thought of his sister’s generosity. His countenance gave nothing away. Turning back to Miss Darcy, she said, “I would be delighted—truly.”
“Oh! Thank you! Here.” Miss Darcy produced a card for Elizabeth bearing the address for Darcy House on Park Lane. “I look forward to seeing you!”
As Elizabeth bid farewell to the sweet young woman, she looked again at Mr Darcy, who bowed to her with a strangely fervent yet unreadable expression before the two groups parted.
Wandering back through the Frost Fair, holding hands with both Alice and Peter, Elizabeth was lost in thought over the morning’s most shocking events.
Miss Darcy was not at all as she had expected—and she had heard a fair amount about the young girl during her brother’s recent sojourn at Netherfield Park.
According to Mr Wickham, she was insufferably proud like her brother, yet this description matched little with the timid, pleasant, and open young woman of that morning.
According to Miss Bingley, Miss Darcy was the object of Mr Bingley’s affections.
Elizabeth had always believed this to be a lie, or perhaps hopeful fancy on Miss Bingley’s part.
Not only was Elizabeth still firmly of the belief that Mr Bingley was enamoured with her sister Jane, but Miss Darcy was simply far too young for any marital schemes.
Although her apparel was undoubtedly fine, she still dressed as a gentlewoman who was not yet out in society; thus, her brother’s friend could not be a suitor.
Miss Bingley’s lies were meant to hurt Jane, but what about Mr Wickham?
What was his motive? Although he rightly despised Mr Darcy for withholding a valuable living in the church, as was promised by his godfather, the late Mr Darcy, why would an injury by the brother induce him to lie about the man’s young sister?
Resolving to think on the matter at another time, Elizabeth focused once again on her family and the delights to be had on the ice.
Perhaps tea on the morrow would prove a most enlightening experience.