Chapter 2
Darcy would have expected the air to be warmer than the water, but as he emerged from the water with Maggie, the air was like needles on his skin. Instinctively, he turned the child towards him so that her face nestled in his shoulder, hoping to protect her from the cruel wind.
All the time, he was aware of eyes boring into him.
A crowd had gathered to watch, apparently emerging out of nowhere.
Several gentlemen on horseback were watching as the three of them sloshed their way out of the water and onto dry land.
A sense of resentment seized him. They were insufferable, sitting up there and staring.
Where were they when help was needed? Darcy wanted to growl at the spectators to go away if they could not do anything useful.
The only one who stepped forward to help was an old woman who came to wrap the child in a tattered shawl.
Darcy let her do it, because he did not want to cause offence, and because the child needed as much warmth as possible, though it was clear the old woman’s clothes were too worn to provide much protection against the elements.
He gave the woman a few coins to buy a new shawl and more.
He handed Margaret over to Georgiana, and the girl clung to her tightly, sobbing, her small figure trembling from fear or cold or both. His sister indicated his discarded hat and coat, but he had no time for those now.
They needed the carriage immediately.
He looked around him for inspiration. He wished he had not dismissed the footman when he and Georgiana came to feed the waterfowl.
His gaze went to the horsemen. Perhaps the spectators could be forced to be useful, after all.
“You, sir,” he commanded, to the rider closest to them. “Could you ride back and have my coachman come closer? Tell him Mr. Darcy sent you.”
He described the carriage and explained its location.
“Certainly, sir,” said the young man, raising his top hat with a grin. “Happy to oblige.”
Darcy eyed the rest of the men uneasily. He thought he recognized one of them from his club, but it was a younger crowd, and there was no one there he really knew.
Satisfied that Georgiana was taking care of the child and the carriage would be brought, he took up his hat and wondered if there was any point in putting it on.
He turned back to check on the progress of the mother.
She was struggling to keep her head above the water, but she would soon reach the bank.
He prepared to go to the edge and put out his hand to help her out of the river, but she suddenly stumbled on something and pitched forward.
Fear for her, illogical but pressing, spurred him on. He did not want to return to the icy, murky water, but his conscience insisted. He was honor-bound to get her out of the water as quickly as possible.
He threw down his hat and strode back out, ignoring the shivers as the cold water snapped at him, and resolutely pushed through the reeds to reach her.
He took her arm and helped her stand upright, then lifted her into his arms and carried her through the water.
It was more difficult than he had thought.
Her skirts were heavy with water, and he was trying his best to control the shivering that was settling into his bones.
The shore seemed very far away, even if he knew it would only take a few more steps to reach it.
A harsh sound of protest sounded in his ear.
He stopped and turned to her inquiringly. “Did you say something, madam?”
“Only that you have mistaken the situation, sir. I am not in peril.”
A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “Are you entirely certain?” he said. “I have it on good authority that there are eels in the water.”
He had never carried a woman in his arms, let alone a young lady who was cold, shivering, and eyeing him as if he was holding her against her will. It was ridiculous.
“Would you prefer me to drop you back into the water and leave you to slowly and painfully make your way, madam, while I stand on the bank watching? I am sure it will be a pleasant spectacle. You have already gathered a group of dedicated young gentlemen who are watching eagerly to see if you will survive or succumb to the water.”
Rather than growing flustered, the young lady raised one eyebrow. “I would rather you asked my permission before picking me up like a sack of potatoes.”
He chuckled at the image. Her feminine figure was very far from resembling a sack of potatoes. “I can assure you, you look nothing like a sack of potatoes.”
“Well, that is a relief!” she snickered.
“Though I am sorry to say, you weigh as much,” he added, prompted by the mischief in her laugh.
“You need to not be so insulting,” she replied, ruefully.
“I did not mean it as an insult to your person,” he replied, relishing this very feminine response. “I was referring to the weight of your clothes that are full of water.”
“Ah. Then I am very sorry for you. Though, I should remind you, I did not ask for your help.” She sighed. “Still, I will be glad to get out of the water faster than by myself. I suppose I should let you off the hook.”
He thought about it. Perhaps he should not have picked her up so unceremoniously. It was just that he was cold and wet and needed to be somewhere warm as soon as possible, and he was worried that exhaustion would overtake him.
“If I were a fish,” said Darcy, “then yes, you should let me off the hook. Since I am not, I should apologize and excuse my ungentlemanly behavior by pointing out that it was done with the best intentions.”
“In that case,” she said, a wide smile lighting up her face, “it would be churlish not to accept your apology.”
The smile took him by surprise. As did her dark eyes, shining with mirth.
Even under these unpleasant circumstances, despite the piercing cold, she showed a resilience that charmed him.
Her laughter rose above her discomfort. He found himself admiring her spirit, the way she handled adversity with humor and grace, and for a fleeting moment, he wished the circumstances were different.
He looked away, knowing he should not dwell on that.
Her proximity was evoking all kinds of sensations, but he clamped them down.
The warmth of her body pressed close to his, the subtle scent of her hair, and the undeniable awareness of her presence stirred emotions he had no business feeling.
No doubt it was the experience of danger and urgency that had invoked such sensations.
He reminded himself that she was nothing to him. She was a mother with a child. By tomorrow, he would have forgotten them.
Thankfully, they had reached the bank.
"May I release you now?" he said, taking refuge in extreme politeness.
"Yes, thank you."
As he let her go, Darcy felt suddenly bereft.
There was something about carrying a woman so closely that had brought out a primitive protective instinct.
It would not do. He stepped back deliberately, putting a distance between them, and waited while she pulled down her heavy skirts, conscious now of their audience and the many eyes that were fixed upon them.
As she put out the arms that had been around his neck to reach out to her daughter, he reminded himself that she was a mother, with a child and a husband.
His legs were aching with the effort of wading through the water. His garments clung miserably to his body, and his boots squelched as he moved. He was starting to feel numb.
The carriage came rattling towards them, ignoring the park rules that forbade a carriage from driving through the grass. He was cheered by the prospect of warmth inside, of bricks that might still hold some heat, and, above all, dry blankets. Anything to get out of the raw air.
Darcy’s legs moved towards the carriage of their own volition. Then he stopped suddenly as he realized he still had unfinished business. He could not simply abandon the child and her mother in the middle of Hyde Park at the mercy of the weather.
"Is your carriage far, madam?” he asked.
"The carriage was needed for errands. We were to be collected at noon."
He took out his timepiece. He waited to make sure the hands were moving. Mercifully, the water had not affected it. “That is still half an hour from now.”
His thoughts were sluggish with fatigue. He forced himself to concentrate. "Margaret cannot stay out that long in her wet clothes. Where do you live?"
"Gracechurch Street."
Darcy controlled his expression. From the way she spoke and her clothing, he had judged her to be a gentleman’s daughter. It appeared he was mistaken. Her address spoke of trade. Not that it mattered to him either way. But it did have immediate implications.
Cheapside was further away than he had expected. With only one carriage between them, and with their destinations in opposite directions, he had to work out the best way to take everyone to safety without further complicating an already delicate situation.
The young gentlemen on horseback were still enjoying the spectacle. He was being watched, and there would inevitably be gossip if he rode in the carriage with a young lady, even if she was married. He would rather avoid any complications.
He turned to his coachman.
“In your estimation, Walsh,” he said, “how long would it take in total for little Miss Margaret to reach her home in Cheapside?”
“Too long, sir. I would not advise it, Mr. Darcy,” replied the coachman.
“If you can take us to the road, we can hire a hansom cab.” The mother stated.
“A hansom cab will be cold and drafty,” said the coachman, “The little girl needs warmth if she does not want to catch her death of a cold.”
Darcy nodded. “You are perfectly right, as always, Walsh. We are wasting time. You had better take them both to Darcy House. Then come back for me. I will walk and meet you at the gate. Moving will keep me warm."
The woman gasped. "No. You must go in the carriage. I will wait for mine to be sent round."
It was noble of her to offer , but what kind of gentleman would agree to such a sacrifice?
"You cannot wait out here in frozen skirts," he answered, firmly.
"I am hardy. I have an excellent constitution."
Darcy chuckled dryly. "I do not doubt it. But are you willing to risk Margaret’s health to prove it?"
Her silence answered her question. She could not prioritize him over her child.
“Why must you wait, then? Why not come with us?”
“Because we have an audience.”
She sighed. “Why can people not mind their own business?” she said, in exasperation.
“Because this is London and Society loves gossip.”
She muttered something under her breath.
Whatever it was, he agreed with her, but that was neither here nor there.
“Walsh,” Darcy ordered, in a manner than brooked no opposition. “Take her home.”
***
Mr. Darcy – Elizabeth now knew the name of their savior – expected her to go.
She hesitated at the carriage door. She was grateful to him for considering the proprieties, but surely the presence of the young lady and Margaret was enough to shield her reputation?
Still, she did not want to stand outside and argue.
She was acutely aware of the many eyes upon her, and the way her wet clothes clung to her frame.
The young lady climbed into the carriage.
Elizabeth followed. Then Mr. Darcy swung Maggie up and handed her to Elizabeth.
She settled the trembling girl down, whispering reassuringly.
As she sank into the seat, she risked a glance at him.
He was soaked through, his hair dark against his forehead, and though he gave orders with calm precision, his lips were blue.
"You cannot remain outside, Mr. Darcy,” she said, softly. "Come with us."
He hesitated. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he closed the carriage door.
The carriage moved off. She told herself she was safe in the carriage, that Margaret was safe, and that she should not care about what happened to him.
“How far is it to your home?” she asked the young lady, presumably his sister. The family resemblance was there.
“Five to ten minutes, not more,” said the young lady.
In drenched clothes, exposed to the elements, five or ten minutes was a long time. A man could become very ill indeed. All because propriety did not permit it.
She did not care about propriety. A man’s life was at stake. He had endangered himself enough when he dived in to rescue Margaret. She could not allow his gentlemanly behavior to be at his expense.
“Please stop the carriage,” she said to the young lady. “We cannot leave him out there. It is too dangerous.”
The young woman nodded, looking worried. “Yes. I agree.”
She knocked for the coachman to stop. In a moment, Elizabeth had the door open. It was difficult to jump down in wet clothes, but she was determined. Once on the ground, she walked towards him, calling out his name.
He turned, and she thought he might have uttered an oath.
“I thought we had resolved this issue,” he said, striding up to her and looking vexed.
“You may have thought so, but I did not agree, Mr. Darcy. I insist that you come with us.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This is no time for stubbornness, sir. If you die of a chill, I could not live my life knowing I was responsible.”
He arched his brow. “So you admit your reasons are entirely selfish.”
She nodded, amused. “Entirely. And I am telling you, I will not budge until you join us in the coach. So, you must choose between the two of us perishing together or riding together.”
For a moment, she thought he would refuse. She had issued a challenge, but Margaret was waiting in the carriage, and Elizabeth could not really afford to stand out here for very long.
Then, his mouth twisted and he came to a decision. “Very well. You have convinced me. Let us make haste, then.”