In the moments before the whole world became a place of sickening motion, confused chaos and pain, Darcy's Second Sight came to him like a curse. It foretold the violent upheaval of the automobile spinning wildly out of control and showed the nightmarish image of Elizabeth lying pale and bloody in the snowy streets.
He might have yelled against this image, it was so horrific to him when he had only just begun to mend things with the woman he loved and had still not had any opportunity to tell her or to demonstrate to her the depth of his ardor. He felt cheated and furious, instantly and comprehensively, with everyone and with everything in the world if he should have come this far only to lose his best reason for living.
The images of violent motion then became reality, and Darcy flung himself as far away from Elizabeth as the tossing of the automobile would allow. It went against his every instinct to try to cover and protect her from a force so much stronger than both of them, but his Second Sight had shown him the hazards of doing otherwise.
He heard Elizabeth scream once and then felt a tremendous blow land against his right knee. The thud was sickening and he worried that he had not interpreted the warning his Second Sight had tried to give him and that Elizabeth had surely been killed when her head had struck him there.
Ignoring everything else, Darcy scrabbled in the darkness, only barely aware that the automobile had at last stopped moving.
"Elizabeth?" His searching fingers found an arm and followed it up to the joint of her neck and then to the smooth skin of her face. "Elizabeth? Please!"
He was sobbing, he realized, feeling a hot splash of liquid on his hand and barely able to hear the faint moan Elizabeth made over his own gasping breaths. Mastering himself with some effort, he called her name again.
She moved beneath his hands and he begged her to try to remain still. There was no telling what sort of injuries she might have suffered. If she heard him, she did not heed him, and continued to struggle upwards. All at once, she fell back. His hands were there to catch and ease her back into a supine position before he desperately sought her throat, looking for a pulse.
When he found it, he was relieved at it seeming strong if not altogether steady. But that might have been his own erratic flow of blood interfering. He felt light-headed but ignored the sensation as best as he could, focused only the woman he loved.
The instinct to ensure she was, indeed, breathing properly kicked in and he crouched over her, putting one hand on her forehand and the other beneath her chin, tilting her head gently back. The next maneuver was performed only with great physical difficulty, but Darcy barely noticed the strain it put on his muscles to hover his ear close enough to Elizabeth's face to listen to her breath, all without crushing her in the cramped confines of the automobile. Her breath came steady, if a little shallow, and he listened for several long moments in an agony of fear that she might begin gasping or choking.
He was so focused on listening to her breathe that he did not at first notice his driver had opened the door and was now peering into the dark space.
"Sir?" Fitch's voice was the only thing to call him to attention. "Sir, are you alright?"
"Yes. But Elizabeth is injured. I cannot tell the extent of it. And you?"
"Shaken, Sir, but not suffering more than a few bumps. I'll see if I can't find some light for the lady."
Relieved that his driver seemed unharmed, Darcy turned his attention back to Elizabeth. Placing two fingers back on the pulse at her throat, he gingerly explored the rest of her face with his other hand, cursing quietly when he encountered something warm and sticky that could only be blood. Half terrified that he would do more harm than good, he nevertheless searched the pockets of his overcoat until he found his handkerchief and used it to dab at the mess.
Still keeping his touch as tender as he could make it, he ghosted his fingers over her until he found what he thought was the source of the bleeding. Even in the dark, he could tell that her skin was swelling and tender and deduced that this must have been where her head struck his knee.
Swallowing back his fear at the half dozen worst-case scenarios that could play out as the result of such an injury, Darcy applied his handkerchief to the wound, wondering how much pressure was too much.
"Oh, Elizabeth," he cried to her unhearing ears, "I wish I knew whether to be grateful that you aren't feeling the pain you must otherwise be in or to be concerned that you aren't conscious to tell me what your name is and how many fingers I might be holding up."
He was still crying and the salt of his tears made his eyes sting, but he needed one hand to hold his makeshift bandage in place and would not dream of removing the other from the only proof he had that her heart was still beating steadily away. Turning his face to his shoulder, he wiped it against the scratchy wool of his coat as best as he could.
Cold air swirled into the back of the automobile again and Darcy looked up to see Fitch who was triumphantly holding up an aldetric torch.
"She's got a head wound," Darcy informed the other man, gesturing with his chin to the floor where Elizabeth lay crumpled. "It's bleeding but I cannot tell much else."
Fitch obligingly shone the light at Elizabeth, searching with the beam until he located the position of the pressure bandage that Darcy was applying. Lifting the handkerchief to better see the site, Darcy's first thought was relief that it wasn't as bad as he had feared.
That being said, it was still quite swollen and appeared to be coloring in nasty shades of red and blue. Having heard of people who had suffered what had only appeared to be minor bumps to the head only to die of hemorrhaging hours or days later, Darcy knew not to be too optimistic.
He had to get Elizabeth help and he had to get it for her now.
Tearing his eyes away from her face, he looked over at Fitch who, while rather pale and sporting a few swelling bruises of his own, did in fact appear to be in fairly decent condition.
"We must get her help as soon as possible. I dare not move her around too much. She was thrown pretty hard and I have no way of knowing the extent of the damage. Is the automobile able to be driven?"
"No, Sir," Fitch replied, face grim by the wan light of the torch. "I'm so sorry, Sir. I tried to start the engine back up in order to keep you warm back here, but it wouldn't turn over."
"Where are we? Is there anywhere nearby we could walk to for help?"
"There is, Sir," Fitch sounded relieved to be able to provide good news. "We're not far from Mr. Bingley's residence, actually. Shall I run and fetch help?"
"Yes," Darcy replied automatically but then caught himself. "Wait. Are you certain you're well enough to go? I won't risk your life needlessly."
"Oh, I'm fine, Sir," Fitch protested eagerly. "It's not that far. I can make it."
Giving his driver a more comprehensive inspection, Darcy reluctantly removed his hands from Elizabeth and began to shrug out of his coat. "Wear this," he commanded. "I should be well enough without it for a time and if you are to brave the mess out there, you will need it more."
The driver accepted the garment with a murmur of thanks, exchanging it for the torch. "I have gloves and a scarf as well," Darcy continued, glancing around as though these objects might present themselves to his sight on their own volition. He shined the light around the passenger area but did not immediately see any of the smaller articles of clothing. "Somewhere in here."
Fitch was already buttoning up the coat. It was a little big on him, but the skirts of it would not impede his walking. "I have gloves already, Sir. But the scarf would be much appreciated if we can find it."
They searched together and quickly spotted it lying on the floor, half under Elizabeth's back. Extricating it carefully, Darcy handed it over and fixed his driver with a serious look. "I'm counting on you, you know that. But I won't have you do anything reckless or foolhardy. We can manage here for some time without there being any more danger, I think."
"Yes, Sir," Fitch acknowledged. "I'll be careful."
"Very good." Darcy felt a bit as though he were sending the other man off to his potential doom and hesitated slightly before giving an indication of dismissal. He supposed that he was, in fact, risking the other man's life, but he saw no other way to deal with the current situation and still give Elizabeth the best chance of receiving proper medical care as soon as possible. Of course, they might all stay together and still freeze to death before anyone should chance by.
"We are out of the way of any traffic, if it should pass by?" he asked.
"Yes," Fitch assured him. "Though I haven't seen anyone else on the roads tonight, Sir."
"Very well," Darcy nodded reluctantly, watching as his driver shut the door firmly and turned away. He was soon lost to sight among the blowing snow and Darcy found himself speaking aloud, "Good luck, and godspeed."
Since there was nothing else he could do now for the other man except to worry, Darcy turned his attention to attempting to arrange things inside the automobile. With Elizabeth lying on the floorboards between the two benches, there was not much room to maneuver. He had just spent the past several minutes in a sort of crouch over her legs, one knee wedged in a scrap of open floor between her left leg and the seat.
Moving slowly, he braced his arms on either bench and pushed himself up as far as the roof of the automobile would allow, which was not very far. Shoving off one from one side, he propelled himself gracelessly onto the opposite bench and then took a moment to endure the sensations of circulation returning to his lower limbs.
Still moving slowly, he eventually managed to get into an undignified position on all fours on the bench. Braced on two knees and one hand, Darcy wedged the torch into a handy seam that ran down the middle of the opposite bench and used his free hand to make small adjustments that he hoped would make Elizabeth more comfortable. He attempted to remain detached as he moved her and straightened her coat, which had twisted beneath her. Not until he had finished the task did he allow himself to think of her as anything other than a mannequin.
That done and not knowing what else he could possibly do, Darcy curled himself on his side on the seat above Elizabeth and rested his face so that he could look down on her. His free right hand drifted down to feel once again for her pulse; no matter how many times he found it still steady and strong, the small reassurance was a comfort to him.
For just a moment, in the relative peace and serenity of the moment, Darcy marvelled at how soft her skin was beneath his hand and wondered how it might feel to be able to touch her as often as he wished and in a manner far more intimate that this was.
As soon as the thought had formed, Darcy shuddered in revulsion that he could be so base as to think such a thing when Elizabeth was lying beneath him, bruised and bleeding and having not even granted him permission to touch her as he was touching her now.
Vowing to keep his thoughts under better regulation, Darcy resumed applying a gentle pressure to the handkerchief on her temple and whispered to her unconscious ears that he loved her and would do everything in his power to see her happy and safe.
"And," he added, unable to stop himself from expressing it for even a moment longer, "I will care for you for the rest of our lives, if only you will permit me to do so."
Would she? Darcy wondered, allowing his mind to drift back over their earlier exchange. It had been the most honest conversation that they had ever had and, in many ways, the most complete one. Yet, there was still so much left unsaid and there were still secrets between them.
Secrets were not the same thing as dishonesty, though, and Elizabeth had seemed to accept that he had things that he could not tell her, though she had seemed curious about it. Had she pressed him, as he feared she might, for he had given her no real explanation at all, he would have told her everything.
He knew that she deserved to know the full truth about him and his Second Sight, but the whole idea was so unlikely that if it wasn't something he had lived with all his life, he would never have been able to accept it as an explanation from someone else for their behavior and actions. He might eventually believe it, but Darcy knew he would require some sort of proof and he would have to know and trust the other person very well before he could reach a state of acceptance.
Elizabeth would have no reason to believe a story that seemed so fanciful and, he thought, now that he knew her a little better, he imagined she might very well rage against the very notion that she was somehow fated to be with him, whether she willed it or no. If anything, she seemed just stubborn enough to set herself entirely against the idea of loving or marrying him if only to prove she had her own considerable strength of mind.
That much, he was certain of, since he was convinced that she had somehow discovered his hand in the secretarial position at Blue Line and had rejected it utterly.
He had Bingley to credit for his even being aware of that particular piece of information. The two men were back to being on entirely friendly terms and Bingley had come by a few nights previous and regaled him with the tale of what it had been like to dine with the Bennet family. Apparently, it was something of a departure from normalcy.
Well, those had not been the precise words Bingley had used. It was more of a convoluted recounting of Mrs. Bennet's crassness, Mr. Bennet's disinterest in doing anything other than laughing at life around him, and a few remarks that seemed to imply the youngest daughter took very much after her mother in terms of temperament and thoughtlessness. These were neither Bingley's words nor impressions, but he had said enough that Darcy felt he had a fair picture of the rest of the Bennet family. Recalling his thought of perhaps getting to know the elder Bennets as a means to get to spend time with Elizabeth, Darcy could not help but be grateful that another opportunity had presented itself.
Of everything Bingley had shared about that night, of greatest interest had been a warning that Elizabeth had mentioned very casually that she knew Darcy had purchased Blue Line and that she had made a particularly cutting remark about being afraid she was about to lose her job as a result.
If he had required it, that would have been all the confirmation Darcy would have needed to know that Elizabeth was, indeed, justifiably still upset at his initial treatment of her. As it was, that she was angry came as no particular surprise but it did have the positive effect of redoubling his determination to make things right between them. Or at least as much as she would allow him to do so.
Bingley had mentioned several other items of particular note, the most outlandish of which was that when Caroline had leapt unnecessarily to Darcy's defense, Elizabeth had appeared almost as though she would like to claw the other woman's eyes out.
"How on earth is that a good thing?" Darcy had asked, baffled at how pleased Bingley seemed with that reveal.
"It's obvious to anyone that my sister has set her cap at you," Bingley had replied. "Elizabeth sees it and she doesn't like it, though I suspect she doesn't realize she's jealous."
It all sounded very nice, but Darcy could not help but remain skeptical over Bingley's interpretation of events. He would never have said as much to his friend, but he thought it was far more likely that Elizabeth merely found Caroline to be as obnoxious as everyone else did.
Yet, Elizabeth had seemed to have thawed towards him even before they had been able to speak of the important matters that lay between them. She had accepted his offer of a ride and even if that had been simply to avoid having to walk in the blizzard, she had begun the conversation and she had rescinded her earlier demand that he refer to her only as Miss Bennet.
Perhaps Bingley was a better study of other people than Darcy had ever given him credit for. His friend was not stupid by any means and such an idea had never even occurred to Darcy, but Bingley was so often at a loss when it came to managing accounts or planning for the future of his company that it was easy to overlook the other strengths the other man might own. If nothing else, it was seeming more and more likely that Bingley had done better in reading Elizabeth's signals than Darcy ever had.
The thought, though not new, was still sobering. How could he be so convinced of his love for her when he did not even know her? Was he not doing her a disservice to treat her as just another in a long line of successful business transactions inspired by his Second Sight? Darcy was not close to many people - he was not shy*, but he found being in the company of people he did not know well to be quite taxing - but even he knew that the transactions that went on in relationships between two people were nothing at all like those legal documents that required some discussion and then a signature.
Looking down on her pale face from his cramped position on the bench, Darcy studied her fine features in the light afforded by the aldetric torch. Even without the interference from his Second Sight, he would most likely have been attracted to her. She was undeniably beautiful, with nearly flawless skin and symmetrical features. That her right eyebrow seemed almost always to be at least half raised as though in challenge only added to her charm.
Of all things, though, Darcy thought it was her hair that he found most enchanting. She still had not cut it since their first meeting and it was grown quite long. He wondered if he would ever be able to thread his fingers through those dense tresses and, once again, broke off such a train of thought before it could go too far.
It was growing colder in the back of the automobile and, without his coat and wearing only the fine formal attire he'd had on in anticipation of the ballet, he found he was almost cold enough to shiver in response. Worried that the floor would be colder still, Darcy fretted for some time about whether or not he should try to move Elizabeth up to the opposite bench and wondered just how long it might take Fitch to reach Bingley's house and make a return.
In his stress during the moment, he had not thought to ask precisely how far away they might be. Fitch had only said "not far," but that could have meant anything from a few blocks to several miles.
Georgiana would be quite worried when he did not return home at the time they had previously agreed upon to leave. She had not known anything of his plans to see Elizabeth tonight or to offer her a ride home. He had told his sister only that it was a holiday party and that he felt he must attend.
Groping for his pocket watch, he examined it in the light, pleased to see that it had managed to survive the accident. He was surprised to find it was near to 10:00 already. How long had they been stranded here? How long had Fitch been gone? Georgiana must be frantic by now.
Darcy worried over his sister and his driver for several more minutes before realizing that it would not only do them no good, but it would also serve him no purpose. It was up to him to keep watch over Elizabeth and to make any decisions that might need to be made if Fitch were not back within the hour. He must keep a clear head for both of those tasks and so he redirected his thoughts to what he might do if he were forced to act.
Waking Elizabeth was the first thing he would try, he determined. Knowing more of how she felt and what condition she was in would be necessary to determining the most appropriate course. And if he could not wake her... Darcy suppressed the idea rather savagely, unwilling to contemplate the scenario until and unless it should become a reality.
Mentally willing Bingley to be home and available to assist, Darcy turned his thoughts to more pleasant avenues, feeling that whatever else the night might have brought, he had at least been able to clear up the idea that he'd had anything to do with purposefully breaking up Miss Marchrend and Bingley's relationship.
That had been another dicey conversation, but he had been lucky twice in the same night, and Elizabeth had not asked him precisely what he had said in the midst of his fever that had been the inadvertent cause of Bingley's impetuous and reckless course of action.
Even now, he thanked God that Elizabeth would no longer labor under that wrong impression. Darcy felt he could believe with some certainty that Elizabeth might forgive any number of sins committed against herself but that she would never overlook a hurt done to her beloved sister.
In this, they were much alike. Georgiana meant the whole world to Darcy and he had never forgiven anyone who had managed to distress her, however slightly.
Such thoughts inevitably led back to how much he himself must have distressed her this evening and he found himself hoping that the staff would be able to keep her calm until he could return and assure her that he was well. Save for the fact that his knee had begun throbbing some time ago and seemed ready to persist in doing so for the foreseeable future, he was relatively unharmed by their misadventure.
As the minutes dragged on, Darcy could almost feel his thoughts growing increasingly hazy. Whether it was the cold, the aftermath of the adrenal high or simple exhaustion, a sharp bite of fear for Elizabeth's well-being was all it took to bring him to alertness once again. But the waiting was growing interminable and his nerves were slowly fraying.
Just when he was beginning to fear that he must try to wake Elizabeth and formulate a new plan, a sound came from outside. There was a shout and a confused babble of voices. Darcy struggled to a more upright position just as the door to the automobile was pulled open and Fitch's triumphant face appeared.
"Mister Bingley has brought his carriage, Sir," the driver informed him. "And has sent someone to fetch a doctor to his residence."
"Thank God," was all Darcy could say before Bingley was there, taking charge in a most un-Bingley-like manner, arranging to have Elizabeth moved onto a makeshift stretcher and conveyed to his coach.
Although Darcy felt as though the task should be his, these were not his servants and he felt increasingly dim, as though with Elizabeth in hands other than his own it was at last appropriate for the demands of his own weary body to take precedence.
In what seemed to him a blur of motion, they were all soon settled into Bingley's largest carriage, Darcy's automobile abandoned almost without thought on the side of the road and making their way back to Bingley's house.
Bingley questioned Darcy about the events of the night but soon desisted when he realized how tired his friend was.
"You must stay with us tonight. We will sort everything else out in the morning when you have rested."
Darcy shook his head in response. "I must get home to Georgiana. She will have been expecting me long since and must be nearly frantic with worry."
"And it will do neither of you any good if you overtax yourself and end up on your sickbed again," Bingley shot back. "I will send someone to tell her you are safe with me. Besides, I really feel you ought to have the doctor look at you as well. I don't like how you limped all the way over to the carriage."
Feeling really too weary to argue, Darcy acquiesced with a nod, saying only that the doctor should be sure to examine Elizabeth first.
In a much shorter time than he would have thought possible, given how long it had seemed to take for help to arrive, they were pulling up to the portico at Bingley's front door and servants swarmed them to assist with getting them indoors and stripped of their outerwear.
Summoning all his strength to do so, Darcy followed after Elizabeth's unconscious form, and took a chair next to where she was deposited on a comfortable couch near to a fire. He was offered a cup of brandy and took it mindlessly, though he did not make the effort to lift it to his lips.
"The doctor should be here soon," Bingley assured him, taking a seat nearby. "Do you think there is anything we can do for her before he arrives?"
"I do not know. I think getting her warm is the best thing and the least risky. Head injuries are tricky."
Bingley murmured his assent and may have made some other observation, but Darcy did not really pay attention. Closing his eyes in a hopeful prayer that Elizabeth would be well, he slipped into a light doze, not ever having intended to do so.
A/N: I always think I'm not going to have one of these and then I always do. Oh well. I'll try to keep the babble to a minimum.
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I actually wrote the first pass of it the day after I posted Chapter 19 but then my beta was like, "Um, no. This sucks and you can do better." So I ended up chucking most of those 5000-odd words and starting over. I'm never very good at "killing my darlings" so it took a lot of effort to get it reworked, even though I knew exactly where it was going. But my beta was correct, as she so often is, and so you all have her to thank for not getting a total rehash of 19.
Oh, and I know I've been terribad about replying to reviews lately (which is to say that I haven't), but please know that I do appreciate each one! You're all awesome!
xoxo -Imp
* Regarding my line about Darcy not being shy, this is a tremendous pet peeve for me and I feel so strongly about it that I'm going to get on my soapbox. Because I can. I don't know how many of you are familiar with the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator or how much you've paid attention to it if you are familiar. A Google search will bring up a bunch of information if you haven't heard of it. Anyhow, I find it interesting and fairly accurate myself, and I am an INTJ (which is supposed to be one of the least common types and even more rare among women). In reading about INTJs, I found a list of famous (whether real or fictional) people who are also INTJs. Guess who was on that list? Mr. Darcy! I would believe he is an INTJ, but especially the "I" part. He is one seriously introverted dude.
Being introverted is so very much not at all the same thing as being shy. I'm not bashful. I just think it's very draining emotionally and physically to have to interact with other people. I like to say that I'm not fearful of talking to people, I just so rarely find it worth the time and effort to do so. As a result, much like Mr. Darcy, having not taken the time to practice, I am sometimes bad at it.
So there you go. Darcy isn't shy and I will have words with anyone who claims otherwise! And that's my rant for the day. Feel free to ignore me and go about your business. :D