CHAPTER 19
Mr. Darcy led the pony into the stable yard, Elizabeth following close behind, acutely conscious of how strange a picture the two of them must make, filthy, exhausted, she in a farmer's borrowed skirts and he scarcely better dressed.
A stable boy came forward, and upon being asked whether the establishment dealt in horses, directed them to a small office adjoining the yard.
Darcy asked Elizabeth to wait with the animal while he saw to the business, and she was glad enough of the excuse to simply stand still a moment, one hand resting on the pony's warm flank.
Ten minutes later he returned with a short, stout man in tow, who circled the pony once, looking it over with evident approval. "Fine beast, this. Eight pound, I'd say."
Darcy was not greatly pleased with the sum, plainly worth a good deal less than the animal's true value, but he agreed to it readily enough regardless, extending his hand.
He had, she thought, watching him, rather more pressing concerns than a fair price just now.
The man shook on it and counted out the payment from a well-worn purse.
The transaction complete, Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm, and they walked out toward the main street together, her hand settling into the crook of his elbow as though it belonged there. "We shall find an inn, and I will send an express directly to my cousin, and to your father."
"Do you think they are close behind us still?" She could not quite keep the anxious edge from her voice.
"I think it wise to remain on our guard, and to move quickly, whatever the truth of it." He did not slow his pace as he said it.
She nodded, conscious of how thoroughly disreputable they both must look, filthy and travel-worn, easily marked by anyone who cared to notice, and yet too weary, just then, to feel much shame over it.
"The stable master mentioned an inn just around the corner.
And, can you guess where we find ourselves? "
"Somewhere north, I should think," Elizabeth said.
He said it almost absently, his eyes still moving over the street ahead, "North indeed. We are in Wales."
"Wales?" Elizabeth repeated, astonished, stopping mid-step.
"I can scarcely credit it myself." A small, tired smile touched his mouth. "Come, this way."
They walked the length of a long white building before he turned them down a side street. Rounding the corner, he pointed, something like triumph in the gesture. "There, the Bull Inn."
Elizabeth let out a breath of relief so complete it left her briefly light-headed. "Thank heaven."
Darcy glanced at her, smiling despite the exhaustion plain on both their faces, and patted the hand resting upon his arm, a small, unconscious gesture of reassurance he seemed to offer without quite thinking of it. She returned the smile, and together they climbed the steps.
The inn proved loud and cheerful within, well filled with custom, the warm clatter of dishes, the low roar of conversation, a fire crackling somewhere beyond view, and they made their way between the crowded tables to a tall desk at the far end, Elizabeth keeping close at Darcy's side, unnerved by so much noise and company after days of near-total isolation.
"Sut mae? What can I do for ye?" An older man at a desk asked the couple.
"Sir, my wife and I have met with an accident upon the road." Darcy delivered the falsehood without the smallest hesitation, his voice perfectly level. "We are in need of clothes, food, baths, and I must send an express as soon as may be."
"We can see to a room, supper, and baths readily enough, sir.
The express office lies just down the way.
" The man gestured toward a building visible through the inn's front window, his eyes passing over them both with the incurious ease of a man who had seen a great many travellers in far worse states than these two.
Darcy gave the man a slight nod, "Thank you."
"That'll be a pound, five pence." He nodded toward Darcy expectantly, already reaching for his ledger.
Elizabeth had tried, the moment the word wife left his lips, to slip her arm from his, but found herself unable to withdraw it without drawing further notice. She burned with mortification, unable to meet the innkeeper's eye, conscious of the falsehood so plainly told on her account.
Darcy paid the sum directly, and they followed the man up a narrow stair, away from the noise of the common room below. He stopped at the third door, unlocked it, and passed the key to Darcy.
"Bath'll be up shortly," the innkeeper said, before descending again.
***
Darcy ushered Elizabeth inside and shut the door behind them. The room proved modest but comfortable with a settee before the fire, a large four-post bed, a window overlooking the street, a wash basin, and two small tables.
He stood behind her a moment, uncertain how to begin, turning the room's single key over once in his hand before setting it down upon the table, as though its weight alone might somehow soften what he had to say.
She drew a steadying breath and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed before her, colour still high in her cheeks from the walk up. "What can you have meant, sir, by taking a room as man and wife? I might easily have passed for your sister!"
He was quick to reply to justify his fib.
"A sister would have travelled with a maid, and you have none.
" He met her eyes squarely, though there was something almost apologetic beneath the firmness of his tone.
"It seemed to me the more prudent course, under the circumstances.
I shall sleep upon the settee; you shall have the bed.
In that way I may watch over you, and see you kept safe through the night, whatever comes. "
"Could we not hire some woman to attend me?
We might, certainly, once your cousin arrives, but until then, you have no female companion for me at all.
I will not have you sleeping unguarded while danger may yet find us.
I must go and send word to my cousin and your father directly. Do you understand me, madam?"
"I understand a great deal more than you seem to, sir!
I am an unmarried woman, about to share a room with an unmarried man.
Whatever the cost to you, it will be a good deal worse than death to me.
I require a chaperone, sir, or a room of my own, can you not see I shall be ruined?
Cast from polite society entirely, through no fault of my own, but at the hands of a pack of villains!
What do you suppose your cousin, or my own father, will make of finding us alone together in a single room?
Sleep upon the settee or not, I am lost regardless. "
His nostrils flared, and for a moment he looked entirely unlike the composed man she had come to know these past days.
"Damn your reputation! I care a great deal more for your life!
We are pursued by armed men who have already shown themselves willing to fire upon us, and I will not let you from my sight, not for the sake of what the neighbours might say of it! "
"Damn my reputation?" Her voice rose despite herself, shaking now with something that was not entirely anger.
"How dare you say such a thing to me! Without my reputation I am as good as ruined entirely, cast off, unmarriageable, a burden upon my own family for the whole of my life!
You, sir, standing there with your fortune and your name to shield you from every consequence, show the most selfish disregard for anyone's feelings but your own comfort! "
"Elizabeth Bennet!" he exclaimed, his temper thoroughly roused now, matching hers in kind. "I shall marry you, and we shall go on from there, your reputation entirely intact, madam, and the whole of this argument rendered entirely academic. Now, I beg you, let us have done with it!"
Flustered, and thoroughly confused by the suddenness of it all, she retorted, "I do not wish to marry you, Mr. Darcy! You are rude, and unkind, and you have not even the decency to ask me properly!"
"Rude and unkind! Might I remind you, madam, that I have rescued you from your captors, brought you to safety, and mean now to see you entirely free of them, and yet I am called unkind!
If I am unkind, then you, madam, are unfeeling!
" He stepped closer to her, furious and, for all that, unable to look anywhere but at her.
A soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting their dispute. And, rather than ignore it, Darcy wheeled around, wrenching it open, and bellowed, "What is it?"
A timid servant girl and a lanky boy stood outside, both plainly startled by his tone. The girl, gasped out loud, hardly daring to meet his eye, murmured that they had brought up the bath he had ordered.
His shoulders fell, and he exhaled slowly. "Bring it in." The pair carried in the supplies as quickly as they could manage and withdrew at once.
Darcy shut the door behind them and turned back to Elizabeth, only to find a very different scene from the one he had left. He saw that Elizabeth sat upon the bed, and had turned from him, her shoulders shaking as she fought to hold back what were plainly deep, wrenching sobs.
In truth, Darcy had never known what to do in the face of tears; his sister's had always undone him entirely, and Elizabeth's undid him now no less. Some part of him wished to quit the room altogether; a better part knew he could not.
He crossed to her and laid a hand upon her back.
She flinched, turning her face further away, her sobs growing only louder.
He patted her back gently for some time before, at a loss for any better remedy, he seated himself beside her and drew her into his arms. She stiffened a moment, then wept harder still, turning her face into his chest. He shifted to better hold her, still patting her back, and spoke low against her ear.
"Elizabeth, do not cry." His own voice caught on the words. "I am sorry. I have made a thorough mess of this. I am so very sorry."
She continued to weep, unable to stop now that the dam had broken, but nodded against him, as if in agreement, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as though she might otherwise lose her hold on something entirely.
Foolish imbecile! He thought of himself bitterly.
Darcy had never meant to propose to her in anger; only she had failed, in her fear, to see what circumstance now plainly required of them both, and in truth he cared nothing for the impropriety of their present room, compromised as they already were beyond any real repair, whatever the world might later say of it.
Of course I must marry her, there had never truly been another course open to either of them.
And yet she remained a lady deserving of rather better than the proposal he had just delivered her, thrown at her like an accusation, with no more grace or sense than a man losing his temper in a public house.
He spoke softly. "Elizabeth, I am so sorry.” He inhaled, trying again, to speak as softly as he could.
“So very sorry, my darling." He pressed his face gently against her hair, breathing in the scent of rain and woodsmoke still clinging to it despite everything, then kissed the crown of her head, resting his cheek there after, in some desperate, half-formed hope of comfort, for her, or perhaps, he admitted to himself, for them both.
She answered only with a small, broken hiccup.
He drew back enough to allow her to turn around.
Her eyes were red brimmed, and he instantly took her face gently between his hands and tilt it toward him.
Anger, sorrow, relief, and utter exhaustion; he could read every one of them plainly in her countenance, laid bare in a way he suspected she would never have permitted herself under any ordinary circumstance.
His own eyes stood bright with unshed tears he did not trouble to hide from her.
"I am truly sorry, dearest." He looked at her earnestly, searching her face for some sign of what she felt beneath the tears, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"You are the very worst, Mr. Darcy," she whispered, the words trembling somewhere between accusation and something gentler.
Uncertain whether she spoke in earnest or in jest, and not entirely trusting himself to guess correctly, he answered simply, "That I am," and kissed her forehead once more, resting his own against it after, his eyes closing briefly at the small relief of simply being allowed to remain so close to her.
"Will you ever forgive me, Elizabeth?" He asked, his eyes daring across her face in concern, while slowly moving a finger to caress her cheek, ever so gently.
She nodded, her forehead moving with his hands, the small gesture more eloquent than any words she might have managed just then. He smiled, feeling something in his chest ease for the first time since he had spoken so rashly. "Elizabeth, you are the loveliest woman I have ever known."
She said nothing, only looked at him, something unreadable and entirely new passing behind her eyes.
"Dearest, I must go and send word to my cousin, and to your father. I shall not be long, I promise you." He hesitated, reluctant even now to leave her. "Do you think you might manage your bath before I return?"
She nodded, and he pressed one last kiss to her forehead before forcing himself to rise and take his leave, setting off into the gathering evening to deliver the letters he hoped, with his whole heart, might secure their freedom at last.