Part 2
"No, Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth rushed to take his arm before he could open the door. "You must not go! It is too dangerous!"
Darcy regarded her warily. "But certainly, you must despise my company."
"No, I do not, truly." Her eyes watered. "I am uncomfortable, but it is due to my mortification. I am ashamed of how I acted throughout our acquaintance, and I am so very sorry for the cruel words and unjust accusations I made at…our last interview." Darcy's heartfelt declaration, "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you!" returned to her mind unbidden.
"You saw me at the Bell and left directly." There was a decided note of hurt in his voice.
She tried to change the subject. "I was surprised to see you there. I thought you left Kent yesterday."
"My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, did return to London," Darcy admitted, "but I had business for my aunt here in Bromley and spent the night at the hotel." He paused, uncertainty clear in his bearing. "It is not…painful to see me?"
Elizabeth pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She could not look at him. "Painful enough, but it is due to my regretful actions, not yours."
"I would not have you pained for any reason," he said gently, "nor suffer any regrets."
Elizabeth eyes sought his. "Mr. Darcy, you are very kind, but I was very wrong that evening."
"Were you? I cannot say that our interview was not without disappointment for me or that some of your conclusions were based on incomplete and inaccurate information. But I have been contemplating my own behavior, not only at the parsonage, but during the whole of our acquaintance, and I find my conduct…unsatisfying."
Elizabeth could have no answer to that.
Darcy shook himself. "The matter before us is your health. Now, madam, I must insist you remove your wet garments. To give you privacy, I would be happy to step outdoors—"
"My health is no more important than yours, and you must not endanger yourself to comfort me."
"I can turn my back," he offered.
Elizabeth bit her lip. She trusted Mr. Darcy to do as he said, but still… An idea came to her, and she removed one of her blankets. "If you would hang this in the corner, I would be obliged."
Darcy looked at her blankly before the light of understanding filled his face. He quickly stepped to the rear of the cottage and hung the blanket from a rafter. Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised that it nearly touched the floor.
Darcy returned to her side. "There were several nails extending from the beam, which I used to good effect. Your changing room, milady." He bowed and gestured.
Elizabeth smiled as she moved behind the make-shift wall. Mr. Darcy did have a sense of humor!
She quickly divested herself of her coat and pelisse. Unfortunately, her dress was sodden, and with a sigh, she took it off as well. While undressing, she felt a draft. It ended quickly, but now, just in her undergarments, she was horribly cold. She tightly wound the remaining blanket about her body, stepped from behind the cloth wall, and scurried back to the fire. To her surprise, she saw the cooking pot filled with snow on the floor near the flames. She immediately realized the chill breeze before was a result of Mr. Darcy filling the pot outside. She spied him, sans hat and overcoat, resolutely facing the door. She draped her dress over the back of the chair, positioned it close to the hearth, and settled herself on the floor.
"You may turn around, sir."
Darcy turned, sat on the stool, and removed his boots, resolutely keeping his eyes anywhere but on her. After a moment, Elizabeth thought his efforts rather comical, for she had made certain that she was well covered.
Finally, his eyes fell on her. "What do you find so amusing, Miss Bennet?"
"I take pleasure in many things, sir." She certainly was not going to admit she thought it silly that he not look at her! Darcy accepted her cryptic response, set his boots near the hearth, and turned back to her.
"May I?" He gestured to a spot near her.
"Of course. You must keep warm, too."
Darcy took his seat, crossed his arms over his knees, and stared into the fire. He said nothing and Elizabeth was glad of it. Their discussions had a habit of becoming arguments. Elizabeth allowed her thoughts to wander. How long would they be trapped here, and what would happen when they left?
Many minutes passed before Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. "We must ration the wood. I believe this storm will be of some duration."
Elizabeth's worries increased. "Do you think so?"
He nodded. "I have seen these springtime snowstorms before. The snow is heavy and plentiful." He paused. "I fear we must remain here tonight."
"Oh." Elizabeth had half-expected it, but to have it verified aloud brought the gravity of their situation into clear focus.
"I apologize, Miss Bennet."
"Apologize for what, sir?"
He gestured towards the fireplace. "That I lost my bearings. Due to my carelessness, you are now forced to take shelter"—he started to say something and paused—"here." He closed his eyes.
Elizabeth was astonished. "I can hardly blame you for saving my life! If anyone is due an apology, it is you. I am the foolish girl who got lost. I put you in danger, and for that I am heartily sorry."
Darcy said nothing. He resolutely stared at the dancing flames.
Elizabeth continued. "I owe you a great many apologies, starting with my defense of Mr. Wickham."
Mr. Darcy took a breath. "You must not be too harsh on yourself. Wickham's one true talent is his ability to charm the most reasonable people. You, with a kind disposition and no knowledge of his base proclivities, would have no reason to suspect him of impropriety. I hope you forgive me my letter. That was un-gentlemanly of me, and I am sorry to be the cause of disillusionment of your favorite, but my character demanded that I take the liberty of relaying the truth of him. I do not wish to see you harmed."
Elizabeth was taken aback. "I assure you, sir, I am untouched. Mr. Wickham was a friend, an unworthy friend, it seems, nothing more."
"I am glad to hear it. Too many have been injured by him, in small ways and large." He hung his head. "Indeed, the fault, I now realize, is mine. I should have revealed his true character to the world long ago."
"I thank you for your effort to preserve my feelings, but I will own up to my faults. I stupidly believed the lies told by a charming rogue for the simple reason that he flattered me and you did not." She fought back tears. "There, what think you now of my vanity?"
He turned his dark gaze on her. "I think you perfectly lovely." At her shocked look, he recoiled. "Forgive me. I should not have said that."
Elizabeth was stunned. She had been surprised that Mr. Darcy did not hate her for her refusal, as she deserved, but this was the first indication that his high opinion of her had not yet died. Did he still love her? Did she want him to love her? These were issues she was not prepared to contemplate.
She returned to the subject at hand. "Why does Mr. Wickham dislike you so? You do not have to say. I know it is none of my concern, but I own a curiosity of why a young man who had been given opportunity and education few of his station could so much as dream about, could throw it all away, insult his godfather's son, and attempt to ruin a young lady with whom he was practically raised."
"Those are home questions, and I wish I could relate, with reasonable precision, Wickham's motives, but I cannot." He sighed. "Wickham was, in my youth, almost a brother to me. My father encouraged our fellowship. Old Mr. Wickham, good man that he was, was my father's friend, as much a servant could be with his employer. I believe Father felt sorry for George, for due to Mrs. Wickham's extravagance, his family was often in distress.
"My mother never liked George. It was the only discord I know of that ever came between my parents. I always thought it was George's low birth and profligate mother. It was her Fitzwilliam pride—the same pride, I fear infects me—I had thought was the reason. But now I think she saw his true character more clearly than we. Ladies often are more perceptive than gentlemen."
Elizabeth could not help blushing at that. Her confidence in her discernment had been beaten down, thanks to her misapprehension of Darcy, and surely the man beside her knew that. Was this empty flattery? His attitude suggested it was not, but what else could be his object?
Mr. Darcy continued unabated. "George was always getting into scrapes, and sometimes I was dragged into them. My father was disappointed in me when I was. He said he expected better of me. I was to be an example to George. As for George, he was punished but not severely. Everyone felt sorry for 'poor George.' He learned from an early age how to exploit that.
"The sea-change occurred in the wake of my mother's passing. Father, distraught, found comfort in George's high spirits. My father loved me—I should make that clear—but it was time for me to be sent away to school, and I was not often at home. George did not join me until after his own mother died.
"Away from Pemberley, all the weaker particulars of George's character became more evident. He gambled and drank, and at Cambridge, his habits became even more depraved. His vicious propensities, his want of principle—these are subjects unfit for a young lady's ears. He was sent down in disgrace after a year at university.
"About six months after I had taken possession of Pemberley, Wickham demanded and received funds in lieu of the preferment. That he lost it, and the legacy besides, within three years was by then no great surprise to me. What was unexpected was his unreasonable demand for the living when it came vacant. I suppose it was not until then, particularly after a very disagreeable interview about the matter, that I fully apprehended Wickham's jealousy of my situation. He wanted what I had, not because he deserved it, but because he wanted it.
"All of his life, Wickham refused to use what talents he owns to better himself. To put it plainly, he forever seeks the easy way. He thinks me his equal, so why should I have all of Pemberley? He has no comprehension of, or appreciation for, the responsibilities of my position. The decisions I make affect the lives of my family, my servants, my tenants—even the people of Lambton and Kympton—for good or for ill. Wickham only sees the money." Mr. Darcy fell into a contemplative silence.
Elizabeth took time to consider what she had heard. His words held little news—much of it was in his letter—but his tone of voice revealed all. He imparted his story sadly, with much regret. He saw what a waste Mr. Wickham had made of all his advantages. The patronage of his godfather, friendship with Mr. Darcy—Wickham had disregarded it all. There was no hint of superiority or triumph in Mr. Darcy's manner. Wickham was a tragedy in his eyes.
What depth of feeling this revealed! Mr. Darcy certainly disliked Mr. Wickham, perhaps even hated him, but could still pity him. Pity the man who tried to ruin his sister! Elizabeth's admiration grew for Mr. Darcy. She knew she would not be so generous to any who so misused her family. Already, she dismissed Mr. Wickham as a base scoundrel.
Meanwhile, Darcy retrieved a mug of hot water from the pot by the fire. "Here, drink this. 'Tis only water, but it will do you good." He offered the mug.
Elizabeth accepted it, and Darcy looked on with approval as she sipped the slushy water. "Excellent," he said. "A man can survive a fortnight or more without food, but without water he will expire within a few days." At her look, he added, "Another thing I learned in Scotland."
"Apparently, Scotland is an underappreciated font of information. More young gentlemen should go there."
Darcy laughed. "Would it surprise you that Wickham despised going to the hunting lodge? He thought us all fools for living like savages."
A savage Mr. Darcy? The thought charmed Elizabeth. As she handed back the mug, she noted he had loosened his cravat. For the first time, she beheld the naked neck of a man wholly unrelated to her. Unexpected sensations coursed through her, sensations that brought her mind back to the improper situation in which she found herself.
There is nothing to be done about it, she reminded herself. Neither of us could long survive outside this cabin.
Silence fell between them for a time. Elizabeth thoughts occupied with memories of Longbourn. Mr. Darcy's contemplations were a mystery.
The gentleman stirred himself to go to the door. He only opened it for a moment, but it was enough to rob the room of much of its warmth. "As I thought," said he, returning to her side, "darkness is falling, and so too the temperature. You should try to rest." He had his overcoat in his hands. "Here, put this on, or use it as a pillow."
"Mr. Darcy, I cannot. This is yours, and you might have need of it."
He shook his head. "I am perfectly comfortable, and I will venture to state that you are not."
She had to agree. She was shivering in the newly cold air.
"Shall I get the other blanket for you?"
"No. I might have need of it later after my dress dries." She did not remind him that the chamber pot was behind the cloth wall.
"Very well. Rest, Miss Bennet. I shall see to the fire."
Hours later, a drowsy Elizabeth was aware of a heavy, warm presence. "Jane," she complained sleepily, "please stay on your own side of the bed."
"Please pardon my actions, Miss Bennet," a low voice whispered in her ear, "but it is imperative that you remain warm."
"Mr. Darcy!" she cried. She realized it had been a dream: She was not at Longbourn, and that was not Jane who had snuggled close to her! She was trapped in a cold, run-down cabin with Mr. Darcy! "What are you doing? Release me!"
"Please do not take fright," he urged. "I know this is improper, but to have wood enough to last the night, the fire will be inadequate to keep you warm. We have to conserve our body warmth, and this is the most efficient method." He had placed his body behind hers, an arm draped over her, with only the thin blanket separating them.
Unconvinced, Elizabeth tried to scramble out of the blankets. "Mr. Darcy, you are embracing me!" His strong arm tightened its hold on her, despite renewed protests.
"I know! Please stop fighting! I only mean to keep you warm."
Elizabeth never dreamed that things would come to this! Forced, for her own safety, to behave improperly, even scandalously, with Mr. Darcy! Horror battled with a strange feeling of…was it reassurance? She labored to calm herself.
Darcy lowered his voice. "If there were any other way, it would be done. Our lives are at stake; we have no other choice. I promise you will be safe. You must trust me, Elizabeth." He sighed. "I know you have little reason to do so and would wish me elsewhere. I am so very sorry."
Mr. Darcy's regret was obvious. And, after all, I have been trapped for hours with him. How much more can I be compromised? She took refuge in her wit. "It seems I must place my trust in more of your Scottish wisdom, sir. But I must ask you not to refer to me in such a familiar manner."
She felt Mr. Darcy relax somewhat. "Indeed, and I do beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect. Perhaps if I roll over, it would ease your discomfort."
Mr. Darcy removed his arm and repositioned himself. When queried, Elizabeth assured him that she was satisfied. She was not. How could she, lying next to a man she was not even promised to, much less married? She was unsettled. Emotions of shame, guilt, revulsion, and even attraction warred within her. She doubted she would get much sleep that night.
To be continued...