Chapter 1
ONE
“If it were not for that flood at Swarkestone Bridge, we might already be in Lambton,” grumbled Mr Gardiner to his wife as their hired carriage slid heavily through the Derbyshire mud. “I am of the suspicion that our journey is cursed.”
Elizabeth was inclined to agree with her uncle.
However, she remained silent, for fear of sounding ungrateful.
Never had there been a more unfortunate expedition.
Unseasonably heavy rain had plagued them at every step, forcing their party to stay in an assortment of dreadful accommodation.
Yesterday, they had reached the village nearest the bridge, hopeful that they might be able to continue their travels, only to find their passage impeded by the heavy rainwater.
Enthusiasm for this tour of Derbyshire had dwindled almost to the point of non-existence, and after yet another uncomfortable bed in an overcrowded coaching house, Elizabeth suspected her uncle was eager to turn back.
However, after some gentle persuasion from his wife, it was settled that they were to travel east in the hope of finding another place to cross the River Trent.
Elizabeth ought to have been relieved to be on the move once more, but a rattling nausea churned in her stomach—one that she could not solely attribute to the shockingly bad road or last night’s broken sleep.
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
For nearly five months, these words had haunted her every waking moment.
This declaration, as impassioned as it was unexpected, had sprung forth from the lips of Mr Darcy, a man she had only ever considered to be haughty and proud.
No matter how desperately she tried, she could not forget the mortified expression on Mr Darcy’s face as she refused his proposal.
Even now, Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed at the memory, and she was glad for the shadows in the Gardiners’ carriage.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mr Darcy’s manner of address had much to be improved upon, but I spoke to him about matters of which I knew little, and I cannot rid myself of the injustice of my accusations.
To know one’s opinions to be erroneous was not an easy feeling, and this, perhaps, provided an explanation for the fluttering of nerves dancing in her stomach as she and her travel-weary relations journeyed towards Lambton, some five miles from Pemberley, Mr Darcy’s familial home.
Without warning, the carriage pitched violently. Elizabeth flung out her hands to steady herself. Underneath them, the wheels squealed to a halt.
Mrs Gardiner gripped the edge of the seat, her knuckles white. “Merciful heavens, what is happening?”
Shaken, Elizabeth peered out of the window. All she saw was a muddy country lane, her view partly obscured by the team of horses. “I do not know.”
From the box seat came the muffled bark of their coachman as he called out to an unknown traveller.
On the rutted track ahead, a horse and its rider came into Elizabeth’s line of sight, the wretched creature stumbling about in pain and fear, the man on its back pulling desperately at the reins.
With a heart-rending scream, the animal reared.
Panic caught in Elizabeth’s throat. A sickening cry pierced the air, followed by the thud of flesh against wet ground.
Mr Gardiner had joined Elizabeth by the window, his face ashen.
The rider lay sprawled motionless in the middle of the waterlogged road.
Is he dead? Elizabeth could not tell. What in heaven’s name should we do?
The nearest town was at least three miles away, through mud and water and with no guarantee of finding a physician.
Yet, whatever the outcome, they could not simply abandon this stranger in his hour of need.
The same thought must have occurred to Mr Gardiner. “Wait here.” He placed a steadying hand on his wife’s arm. “I will offer my assistance.”
“You must be careful.” A tremor broke in Mrs Gardiner’s voice. “He might be a robber, feigning an injury to lure good-hearted citizens away from their carriages.”
Mr Gardiner’s mouth tightened. “That accident looked real enough for me.” He squeezed her arm reassuringly, but a muscle clenched in his jaw. “Besides, the horse is wounded as well as its rider. We can leave neither to their fate.”
Calling out his intentions to the coachman, he hastily stepped down from the carriage.
Still the man had not moved. Elizabeth watched anxiously as her uncle made his way through the mud and crouched low to the rider’s side.
For a few breathless moments, it seemed as though all was lost, but then the man weakly raised his arm.
A sigh of relief escaped Elizabeth’s lips as her uncle helped the stranger to his feet.
He swayed alarmingly from side to side, gesturing jerkily towards his mount and then back at Mr Gardiner, who simply shook his head in answer to whatever the man had said.
“Is there any danger?” Mrs Gardiner squinted her eyes. By now, Mr Gardiner had clasped his arm around the injured man’s shoulders and was guiding him with laboured steps towards their carriage.
“My uncle has it all in hand,” Elizabeth reassured Mrs Gardiner, her eyes fixed by the sight of the injured man, his tall stature and broad shoulders unaccountably familiar.
As the two men drew closer, the gentleman looked up at their carriage.
Elizabeth’s stomach plummeted. Mr Darcy.
Without hesitation, she flung the door open and rushed to his side.
“The ground is too wet. Return or you will fall,” her uncle admonished.
“I came to help.” Fighting away her blushes, Elizabeth placed her hand under Mr Darcy’s shoulder, and, with all her strength, helped him into the carriage.
“See that he does not move,” Mr Gardiner warned. “With no small amount of difficulty did I persuade him to leave his horse. I will speak to the coachman now about what can be done for the poor animal.”
Elizabeth scarcely heard her uncle, her attention fixed on their wounded passenger.
His face deathly white, Mr Darcy lowered himself onto the seat, his actions unsteady, his gaze unfocused.
He hissed in pain. Elizabeth swiftly took her place next to him, her eyes examining his torso for any signs of injury.
Mercifully, there was no sign of blood on his mud-soaked clothes, only an angry, red mark swirling at his temple.
Fingers trembling, she retrieved a blanket from a box at the bottom of the carriage and draped it over his legs.
This innocent action roused him from his stupor.
His dark eyes focused sharply on her face, his expression filled with astonishment, then confusion.
“Miss Bennet?” he said hoarsely. “I do not understand.” He gasped, clutching at his ribs.
“You are not to talk.” Elizabeth forced herself to sound calm. “You have had a dreadful fall.”
Wincing, he nodded, unable to speak much more, and sank back stiffly on the padded walls of the carriage. “Forgive me,” he managed, before his eyes fluttered shut.
By this point, Mr Gardiner had returned. “We are to journey onwards to King’s Newton. It is the best chance we have of finding medical assistance for this poor fellow.”
Speechless, Elizabeth nodded, unable to break her gaze from Mr Darcy’s outstretched body. He always seemed so full of vitality and purpose: to see him vulnerable was terrifying. She blinked away a tear.
“He said your name, Elizabeth. Do you know each other?” asked Mrs Gardiner, her brow pinched.
Elizabeth gazed down at Mr Darcy, pale and insensible, his declaration of love echoing in her ears as sharply as it did all those months ago.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice unsteady. “We can certainly claim some previous acquaintance.”