Chapter 1 #2
Other than one of his boots and a few inches of that leg’s breeches, his clothing was dry.
He asked Miss Elizabeth to hold the child, and he quickly removed his riding coat and then his waistcoat; he unwound his cravat as Miss Elizabeth wound the waistcoat around the child, and they were able to use the buttons and the cravat to hold the cloth around her.
She did not fight them, but her cries switched to calls for her mama.
Darcy wondered who the child was, but he did not ask.
He put his warm greatcoat around Miss Elizabeth’s shoulders, and she put her arms into the coat and then had to push the sleeves up.
He donned his riding coat and then, holding both the child and Miss Elizabeth’s hand, he hurried to Freyr.
Along the way, Miss Elizabeth spotted and scooped up his hat.
Darcy lifted Elizabeth and Betty onto Freyr’s back.
Her skirts pushed up as she sat astride the horse—but propriety could go hang, Darcy thought.
In any other position, Miss Elizabeth would not be able to hold the child.
He climbed up behind Miss Elizabeth, pulled her close so that his body heat could be shared, and then arranged his greatcoat to cover her legs.
While he did this, she directed him to a particular tenant house. “Is Betty their child?” he asked.
“Yes. The mother has just had another baby and is suffering from a fever. I brought her willow bark to use in her tea this morning, and while I was making the tea, the eldest boy went out to get eggs and left the door open. I had no idea that Betty was outside until I heard her scream as she fell into the river.”
Darcy had ever been impressed by Miss Elizabeth, and indeed her courage impressed him further, but his voice sounded harsh. “You jumped in although you do not swim?”
“I know how to swim, sir,” she said. There was a bit of umbrage in her tone. “It was more difficult than I thought to swim, in this situation, what with the current and Betty and wearing a woolen gown and…”
“Forgive me,” he begged. “I am upset because I am worried about you. Both of you. We must get you warm.”
When they reached Betty’s home. Elizabeth called ahead, “We have Betty. She lives!”
Looking down at the child over Elizabeth’s shoulder, Darcy could see that little Betty, whose cries had finally subsided into hiccoughs, could not see her family running to them, but her father’s choked voice, calling her name, prompted her to start crying again.
“We must get Miss Elizabeth and Betty in front of a fire,” Darcy said. Of course, he was sure that the girl’s father knew that, but he had seen people in a panic who did not exhibit much sense, so he felt it important to state the obvious.
“Yes, of course,” the man said. He snatched Betty from Elizabeth and ran inside, calling directions to his older children.
“Hot tea for Miss Elizabeth!” he directed an older girl.
“Can you put some milk in a tin cup for me, John?” he asked a very young boy.
Darcy had dismounted and carried Miss Elizabeth in towards the fire.
“We need to get them out of their wet clothing,” Darcy suggested.
Elizabeth supplied the names in a sort of hasty introduction, and Darcy learned that the family name was Ackerman.
As the man peeled his daughter’s wet clothing off, dried her vigorously with a rough-looking towel, and dressed her again in a dry gown and pantalettes, he thanked Elizabeth and Darcy several times.
“’Tis what anyone would do,” Elizabeth said warmly. “But although I know that any gentleman would attempt to help, Mr Darcy, I do appreciate that you were so very competent at actually doing so.”
Thinking about her words, Darcy felt a jolt of pleasure at her praise and a jolt of pride in the rescue, but he also felt doubt that “anyone” would do what she had done.
He himself would have tried to save anyone, young or old, friend or stranger, or even, likely, an enemy, but he doubted very much that some members of the ton would endanger their apparel to do so.
Certainly, neither Mrs Hurst or Miss Bingley seemed likely to jump into a river in order to save a tenant’s child.
Even if they were good swimmers, which he also doubted, they would likely just stand on dry land and screech for others to exert themselves.
Which a small part of him wished Elizabeth had done.
Perhaps, if she had done so, he still would have heard her and would have been able to save little Betty, or perhaps Mr Ackerman would have saved his own child.
Either way, Miss Elizabeth would not be soaked to her skin and be in danger of illness or—
Darcy made himself stop going down the what-if path.
“Thank you, Abigail,” Elizabeth said as the older girl brought a pile of dry garments to one corner of the cottage, where there was a privacy screen.
Darcy attempted not to picture what was happening behind that screen, trying with only partial success to regulate his breathing and other bodily responses.
Elizabeth soon emerged wearing a simple brown frock.
She hung her sodden pelisse and gown near the fire, and Darcy swallowed hard as he saw her attempt to hang her wet undergarments in a place obscured by the outerwear.
She tried to return the greatcoat to Darcy, but he reversed it so that the slightly damp part was held away from her, and he said, “Miss Elizabeth, I urge you to sit close to the fire and use this as a sort of blanket. Certainly you will get warmer faster if your hair dries.”
He then watched her take her hairpins out. Waves of dark chestnut tumbled down her back, all the way to her waist, and he had to concentrate once again on stamping out his own responses to what he had often longed to see.
Abigail brought the two of them hot tea. “I am terribly sorry, miss, sir,” she said. “But I have no milk nor sugar. I can bring you some honey.”
“That would be perfect, I thank you,” Elizabeth said. Her smile was as genuine as if Abigail had provided cream and white sugar.
Darcy finished hanging his cravat and waistcoat near the fire before taking his cup of tea.
Abigail asked about his preference, and he said, “No honey for me, thank you.” He noted that Mr Ackerman helped little Betty drink warm milk, and he felt glad that the little bit of milk the family had on hand was going to the young child.
He said, “Miss Elizabeth, this farm is part of the Netherfield estate, is it not?”
She was busily fanning her hair out and waving it in the fire-warmed air, and a slight scent of lavender wafted to Darcy’s nostrils.
Being so near to this woman was intoxicating to all his senses—although a part of his brain pointed out that he knew nothing of her taste, and he had to suppress, yet again, the improper thought.
“Yes, the Ackermans are tenants of Netherfield Park,” Elizabeth said. “But Jane and I have been visiting Netherfield’s tenants, as well as Longbourn’s, for years. Most leaseholders do not seem to do so, I have found.”
She was goodness beyond measure. He was shaken as he contemplated her courage and selflessness, and even more so as he remembered the utter devastation he had felt when he had imagined her drowning.
For the first time, he wondered about his firm decision that Miss Elizabeth was not a candidate to be his wife—was that mere hubris?
He had learned of her lack of dowry and connexions the same week he had met her, in mid-October.
These circumstances had pinned her in the enormous category of women he could not possibly marry.
However, every time he saw her after that—the dinner at Lucas Lodge, calls back and forth between Longbourn and Netherfield, the morning when Elizabeth’s walk coincided with Darcy’s ride—at every meeting he felt more and more enamoured of her.
Now, his emotions pushed him towards the belief that, not only was she a candidate for the position of Mrs Darcy, but indeed, she was the only candidate he would countenance.
I have money and connexions enough.
He sipped the tea and stared at Elizabeth’s hair changing colours as it dried.
It went from the darkest chestnut to a warmer and slightly lighter colour, but the magic was the dancing highlights of gold and bronze and even copper as her hair reflected firelight.
Her hair waved and curled so much that it seemed to shrink by half a foot, but every time she combed her fingers through it, helping it to dry, it stretched out long again and then bounced back to the waving mass that only covered half of her back.
Darcy attempted to exert his usual logical reasoning over the teeming emotions and thoughts he had found himself pushing aside. He did in his head what he routinely did on paper: he made a list.
Firstly, he needed someone to help him with Pemberley’s many tenant families, especially to provide the kind of feminine contact so many women among the tenants seemed to crave. Elizabeth was responsible, intelligent, and kind enough to do this job better than anyone he had ever met.
Secondly, he needed someone to help his sister Georgiana heal from the shame and guilt she felt over the planned elopement to a fortune-hunting reprobate.
Again, Elizabeth seemed to Darcy to be amazing with all of her sisters.
She was warm and loving, but she did not allow bad behaviour to pass without at least attempting to quell it.
How many times had Darcy seen Elizabeth and her elder sister, Miss Bennet, try to rein in their youngest sisters, acting when their parents were close at hand but did not stir themselves to… be parents!
Elizabeth’s warmth and kindness would make her a perfect sister for Georgiana while she recovered her confidence.
He also needed someone to help Georgiana with coming out in several years. Elizabeth lacked the consequence to be accepted by most people of the ton, he thought; on the other hand, his aunt was perfectly positioned to help Georgiana, so perhaps this need was not crucial.
A thought clicked in Darcy’s mind: after several years (honestly, even several minutes!) of being Mrs Darcy, Elizabeth would, in fact, have money and connexions enough to be sought after in society.
Fourthly, he needed someone he enjoyed spending time with. A friend who could keep loneliness at bay. Someone he would be able to talk to about his concerns, his worries. Someone he could talk to during long carriage rides.
Again, Elizabeth was a better conversationalist than any other woman he had ever met.
He found her humorous, intelligent, opinionated, and fascinating.
She was not ten times a better conversation partner than the fawning women who echoed his every opinion; she was more like ten million times better.
Fifthly, and though last, not least, he needed an heir.
He hoped for several children. Again, Elizabeth seemed likely to fulfil this role better than anyone.
Her physical strength boded well for bearing children, and her happy attitude, her integrity, and her steadiness all spoke to her being an excellent mother.
So… Darcy was still mesmerised by Elizabeth’s beautiful hair, which sadly had now dried and was being swept up into hairpins again, but he wrestled his mind back to the list. As if he were at a debate, with the proposition being, “Elizabeth is worthy of the Darcy name, and I should propose to her,” he had listed many items on the affirmative side.
Having discarded considerations of fortune and connexions, the only thing he could think of that truly belonged on the “Opposition” side was that she was unlikely to want to marry him!
The entire time she had known him, Darcy realised, he had been the gloomy fellow who Georgiana had wanted removed from her presence.
The scowling man who had never smiled at even such an excellent servant as Jim, the stableboy.
The glowering fool whom Bingley had fretted over and Hurst had teased and Aunt Elaine had hoped against hope would learn to frown, not less often, but less severely.
Good God, Elizabeth must hate me!