FORTUNE FAVORS THE COLD
Written for JAFF Trope Inversion Bingo Collection on Ao3
Here are the prompts used:
"The main character is stranded in a remote place with someone other than their love interest."
"One character rescues another. They do not fall in love."
"A character ends up in soaked and see-through clothes. Their love interest does not see it."
"All horses mentioned in the story remain nameless."
This story begins in the usual way. Our hero, the dashing Captain Frederick Wentworth, was galloping through the countryside roads of England on his way between Shropshire and Bath. (Or, I should say, his horse – who shall rename nameless- was galloping. Not the good Captain. However fit and majestically athletic Captain Wentworth may be, he still preferred to leave the galloping to his horse and it was on the back of said steed that he travelled.)
The journey to Bath provided ample time for wallowing in regret and this was an occupation he took nearly as seriously as nursing resentment. His thoughts were full of self-remonstrations over the way he had treated his beloved Anne Elliot in recent months and how much he hoped to still make amends with her. With news of the impending marriage of Louisa Musgrove to Captain Benwick, he had not a moment to lose in reaching Miss Elliot again.
It had taken all of one and thirty years to learn that shows of indifference, public insults, and open flirtations with other women were all very poor means of gaining the affection of the woman he truly hoped to marry. For some young men, this is a truth they learn much earlier in their lives – and they typically are far more successful in gaining a wife. For others, well, they are not so very young by the time such lessons are learned and a necessary amount of mortification is part of the process. For others, they fail to learn these lessons entirely and the felicity of their future relations with the opposite sex will be proportionally bleak.
Since the previous eight years proved an inadequate amount of time for Captain Wentworth's edification, he required the remainder of the journey between Shropshire and Bath. As we have already discussed, Captain Wentworth was not a very young man anymore, but wisdom had at last favored him. He knew his own heart enough now to plot how to gain the forgiveness and affection of the most excellent of women.
Now, as I have said, he was on the road to Bath when it happened. Just how remote such a road happened to be at the time, I cannot say, however, it must have been dreadfully isolated, or this story would not be possible, and that would be a sad state of affairs indeed. However, happy for us, Captain Wentworth is a man well-known for his good luck and thus, it was only on the most remote and isolated bend of the road that he came upon the overturned carriage.
Captain Wentworth knew enough of the ways of life on land to know that a carriage sitting on its side, without sign of horse nor coachman, was a situation that required action. With an appropriately heroic cry, he leapt from his horse (who gave an appropriately heroic whinny) and he tore open the door to the carriage. Well, as the carriage had been overturned, it is more accurate to say he clambered up and pried open the door that had become the roof. Then he peered in to the dark, cavernous space of the carriage. If it had been earlier in the day or if the sun had not been hidden by the thick, grey mass of menacing storm clouds, perhaps he could have seen more. As it was, all he managed to see was a pile of lace and muslin – one which began to move and moan.
Captain Frederick Wentworth, relying on years of battle experience and the skills only obtained as a sailor in his Majesty's service, leapt down from the carriage, planted his feet on the ground, and tried to right the carriage himself. Unlike during his years of battle experience, this particular wood and iron vehicle was not submerged in water and thus not liable to be prodded by the sheer strength of one sole captain- even one so mighty as Captain Wentworth.
With a few groans and a creak, he gave it up as a lost cause. Instead, he clambered back onto the top of the carriage and climbed into the opened door of the carriage. Carefully, so as to not land on the soft pile of fabric, he instead maneuvered himself to the much more heroic -and far less comfortable- wooden wall. He nearly landed with the grace of a cat but since he is not a cat, he fell in just such a way as to twist his ankle. It was not so terrible of an injury to put him in need of his own rescue, but it was painful enough to make him cry out. Knowing that the companion he came to assist must be a lady, he bit back the exclamation on the tip of his tongue- one far more appropriate for the ears of a sailor. Then, he turned to the moving pile of lace and muslin.
"I beg your pardon, but are you quite well?" he managed to ask. He tried to hide his grimace as he shifted his weight against his uninjured foot and balanced himself against what was once the floor.
The figure shifted and moved so that a head of blond curls and a slightly smashed bonnet appeared. The face that accompanied it far surpassed most every other woman he had ever known for its beauty. Afterall, what hero is not in need of a handsome woman to rescue and what manner of story would this be if the woman he came upon was plain or poor or unimportant? By the fine clothes and even finer features, it was obvious this was no farmer's daughter or milk maid but a woman of impeccable breeding – far more acquainted with riding in fine carriages than climbing her way out of their wreckage.
As if reading his thoughts, a haughty voice responded. "I am trapped within an overturned carriage. Does it appear that I am well?"
It was at that moment, when their eyes met, that Captain Wentworth knew his years and years of inexplicable good luck were at an end.
"Miss Elliot," he said, in surprise. His surprise was understandable. You see, if it was any other story, our good Captain might have been fortunate enough to stumble on the very object of his affections. Why, what better way to regain the favor and affections of the woman he loved than a daring rescue and hours of forced isolation on a remote country road? It might only be the work of a day before he could plead her forgiveness, express the fidelity of his affections, and regain hers through his actions on her behalf. If, indeed, it had been Anne Elliot before him, he would have rejoiced with all his heart and proclaimed it the work of fate in his favor. However, there was one strong obstacle – one dashedly inconvenient fact.
It was the wrong Miss Elliot.
"Captain Wentworth," the pile of lace spat with disdain, the feather on her crumpled bonnet waving as if dismissing him as an overturned oyster ready for the rubbish heap.
Well, Captain Wentworth was no oyster any more than he was a cat, however he did not think it would do him any good to point this out to the lady in question. He bit back the flood of resentment he felt at the unsavory reminder of his past rejection and her habitual disdain. Of all the beautiful women in England that were overturned in carriages on a daily basis, why must he come upon this one?
He was already so close to Bath, so close to the correct Miss Elliot. Now he was stopped in his progress by the need to give aid to her elder sister. Captain Wentworth was not so ungallant a man as to leave any woman stranded in an overturned carriage – not even Miss Elizabeth Elliot- however, at that moment, he would have much preferred to rescue a terribly plain, unconnected, and penniless woman over the one fate threw into his path. It was just his luck that this particular woman – for all her great beauty and even greater airs- was the sister of his beloved Anne. As much as he still hoped Anne to be his someday, by extension, that meant he must wish for Elizabeth Elliot to be his sister. As such, it was in his best interests to rescue her from her predicament and gain whatever goodwill he could manage from the circumstances.
Afterall, he was used to the shining fancy luck had taken to him and maybe, just maybe, fate was still working in his favor.
His surprise at the identity of his damsel in distress was easily mastered by his effortlessly exceptional command of his emotions and his intuitive knowledge of what must be done. After discovering she had no more injuries than a scratched arm and bruised temple, he endeavored to rescue her from the carriage.
This was made more difficult for two reasons. The first was that exiting the carriage required Miss Elliot to either climb or be lifted from the door above them. The good lady did not have the strength to climb herself and her innate sense of propriety adamantly refused to allow her rescuer to give her aid. Next, it was at that moment that the menacing skies overhead opened and it began to pour rain as if buckets of water were being poured from the sky. With a disgruntled cry, Captain Wentworth reluctantly shut the door. This succeeded in keeping out the rain (or, most of the rain- it did rather drip along the edges), but it also meant they were still trapped – within the carriage.
"It is raining," Miss Elliot said, her voice dripping with disdain as she looked up at the door and then back at her would-be rescuer.
"Yes," answered Captain Wentworth, not knowing what else he could possibly say.
"What are you going to do, then?" She asked.
He looked at her quizzically – wondering just what it was she wished him to do about the weather. She only tossed her head – that lone feather in her bonnet now damp and drooping, as if holding him personally responsible for the wetting it had received.
Years at sea fighting the French had taught Captain Wentworth how to escape from tight places. Thus, a bit of prying and kicking and grunting at the back (or rather, what used to be the back) of the carriage led to the desired results. Well, that is to say, the results that Captain Wentworth desired. When the water outside the carriage began to pour inside, Miss Elliot found that the results were much less to her liking. However, she knew better than to argue against her rescuer and his determined grip on her arm so she allowed him to help her out from the carriage and into the deluge beyond.
It was at this moment that Captain Wentworth did the honorable thing and removed his waterproof greatcoat from his back and offered it to the lady beside him. While she ought to have been more grateful, the color did not suit her and she far preferred to look her best whenever she was being rescued. However, as her own travelling clothes were not quite enough to keep her warm, she happily accepted, leaving Captain Wentworth to be soaked through in a moment.
Now, this was time for Captain Wentworth to call for his horse and ride his lady to safety. Unfortunately, he did not remember the name of said horse and he discovered, only too late, that his gallant steed had not been quite gallant enough to stay through the rumble of thunder that shook the ground beneath them. With only an overturned carriage and miles of isolated countryside between them, there was only one thing they could do. They began to walk along the sodden, muddy road in search of shelter.
Of course, in these sorts of stories, there can be a positively baffling absence of small villages, hamlets, or farm houses within a reasonable walking distance. For how populated the English countryside is, somehow, it is only in the vastly unpopulated areas that such accidents tend to occur. Here, the rolling hills of sheep belong to shepherds who cannot be found. The vast fields of crops belong only to farmers who have gone to visit their great aunts for the week. Every possible tenant farmer, day laborer, and cart wagon driver vanish the moment a beautiful woman is in distress. Thus, it falls upon the hero, and the hero alone, to find the only other possible solution: the lone hunting cottage hidden from the road in a grove of trees.
This cottage is always a manageable walk from the point of the carriage accident, it is stocked with enough supplies for at least a day or two, and it is conveniently abandoned. Not so much as an old grandmother, hunting dog, or stubborn rat dwells in the cottage- yet there is still adequate firewood and wholesome food to meet their needs. The lone bed (because there is ever one a single bed) always has enough blankets to keep at least one person warm.
The pair of drenched and bedraggled travelers stumbled upon this cottage just as night began to fall. Soaked through and shivering, they were relieved to find the door unlocked and even a tinderbox waiting their arrival. (Not that they needed the tinderbox. Captain Wentworth, of course, was a man of great resourcefulness and he could start a fire with only a handful of leaves and a coconut… not that he currently had a coconut, but, if he had one, he was a man who knew how to use it.)
Fortunately for all involved, the temperature outside remained warm enough to ensure it was only rain that fell. This was quite an unusual state of affairs because any familiar with the climate of the south of England knows that the countryside is particularly prone to terrible blizzards that last for days. This blizzards occur mostly when a beautiful woman is lost and alone and in need of aid and they typically last long enough for all conflicts between her and the hero to be sorted out. However, as I have mentioned, Captain Wentworth was a man in possession of unusual luck and rather than days spent buried in frigid temperatures and drifts of snow, they found themselves only thoroughly damp without a convenient means of rescue until the morning light.
Within a few minutes, a roaring fire blazed and Captain Wentworth was doing his best to convince his companion to remove her clothes and wrap herself in the conveniently available blanket. By the blue tinge of her lips and the rapid quivering of her limbs, he knew it was imperative to get her warmed up, but the stubborn woman only cast him an affronted glare and pulled his sopping greatcoat closer around herself.
If only she were Anne, Captain Wentworth could not help thinking. Anne Elliot would have kept her senses about her. She would have followed all his instructions without arguing. She would not be glaring at him as if he had been the one to overturn her carriage and cause the rain to fall. And she would even manage to make herself useful, rather than sitting in a sodden, tumbled mess in front of the fire, waiting for hypothermia to set in.
However, Anne Elliot, she most certainly was not and yet, here was Captain Wentworth, trying his best to make the woman disrobe herself before him and parade around the small, confined space in naught but her petticoat and chemise. … and if the blanket and fire were not enough, well, he shuddered at the thought as he looked over at the single bed and lone blanket.
If this story progressed in the way it ought, the hero and the beautiful heroine would have spent the night airing all their many grievances, settling all their longstanding misunderstandings, and expressing their long-held secrets. Then, oh then, they would argue and cajole each other into taking the bed until the very frigid cold would compel them both into the very place each most longed to be – within each other's arms. With the needs of survival overwhelming those of propriety, they could do what they ought to have been doing all along and allow the last remaining barriers between them to fall. Their hearts and bodies would grow blissfully warm and all threat of hypothermia would be long forgotten.
Then, as soon as day broke and they were free to enter the greater world again, they would be forced to wed. All objections against the match would be easily brushed aside. All tethers of honor, all excuses of fortune, all claims of duty would disintegrate like the storm clouds over head and they would merrily march into wedded bliss as soon as the banns were read (or special license procured).
However, as I have already said, this was the wrong Miss Elliot and Captain Wentworth's inexplicably long string of good luck was a bit capricious this day. Though, he was fortunate enough to find not just one but two sets of spare clothes in a trunk beside the bed. While they were the worn, mended clothes of a laborer, they were thick wool and far better than wet muslin and wool and linen.
Miss Elliot adamantly refused to change with him in the room and directed him into the dark, weeping rain outside. Then, in his absence, not only did she wrap herself in the blanket and stake a claim to the bed, but she consumed the only loaf of bread. If Captain Wentworth had not been so upset by her underhanded conquest of his dinner, he might have questioned how the bread was neither stale nor moldy, but he was far too put out for such questions.
It was Captain Wentworth's turn to change out of his sodden clothes and this was a task he could not accomplish out-of-doors. If Elizabeth Elliot had been any other heroine, from any other story, she might have taken the time to appreciate how the rain soaked through the white linen of her rescuer's shirt and revealed just what years at sea can do to a valiant captain's figure. She may have even permitted a peek as he switched his wet shirt for the course, dry one. However, she was not such a heroine and she was decidedly put out – not only at it had chosen to rain, but that, out of all the possible heroes in England, she was forced to rely on this one for aid. If it had not been for the rain, she very well might have remained in the carriage and waited the next hero who would surely come along before night fell. Captain Wentworth was not the only character in this story who had stumbled upon a string of bad luck and thus Miss Elliot found herself trapped in a very small, smoky space with a man she would have much rather never met in the first place, let alone seen again. And Captain Wentworth discovered he would much rather have been trapped with Napoleon in the hold of a ship than here, with her.
For the remainder of the evening, Miss Elliot preferred to remain stoically silent. Not a single great confession was made. No references to his aborted engagement to her sister were discussed. No apologies were made. She did not even inquire into his recent visits with her relatives or the welfare of Kellynch. They did not even discuss the weather or the state of the roads which, considering the pounding of the rain outside, could have at least provided a half-hour's attempt at politeness.
Thus, the long night commenced, made even longer by the sound of rain overhead and the whistle of wind that swept through the hole in one side of the doorframe. Captain Wentworth huddled by the fire, counting the logs that remained before he would be forced to search for dry wood outside or die of cold. He had already determined he would rather succumb to hypothermia than seek any warmth from the bed and its inhospitable occupant. The heart of Elizabeth Elliot was so cold, she must be impervious to hypothermia anyway and he would be in danger of frostbite.
For a time, he wondered what she would do if she woke to find him dead by the fire. Would she feel guilt or sorrow? Would she feel any gratitude or indebtedness towards him? Then, he decided she would simply castigate him for daring to die in her presence and then find some way to walk to the next town, not once looking over her shoulder to the lost hero left behind.
In all the stories, it is common knowledge that for all the isolation of the hunting cottage, there must be a town within a day's walk. Once all conflicts have been resolved and marriages agreed upon, then the weather will turn and the pair will be able to rejoin society again – this time as changed individuals- inextricably tied to one another. In this case, Captain Wentworth would rather face a blizzard without shelter than be forced to marry his damsel.
Indeed, this is where the good Captain found his luck had not entirely run out. For, two fortuitous events occurred as soon as the sun rose the next morning. The first was that the lost and nameless horse inexplicably returned and was found grazing outside their cottage. The second was that Miss Elliot's rescue party came to seek her out.
For, as you must assume, Miss Elliot had not been travelling alone when her carriage fell nor did it travel to its point of disaster without horses. This fair lady had been travelling away from Bath to visit a nearby estate which was owned by an acquaintance of a certain Mr. Elliot. Determining that it would make a grand outing for all involved, Mr. Elliot, Mrs. Clay, and Miss Elliot had taken Mr. Elliot's fine carriage and made their way well beyond Bath, along the remote countryside roads which led to the estate in question.
Why, you may ask, did an outing to a country estate with three friends end in Miss Elliot's tragic predicament? The obvious answer would be pirates, however, that would be the wrong answer because that is for an entirely different story. An attack by brigands is far more likely, however, everyone knows a pirate is simply a brigand without a horse and a brigand a pirate without a ship. Since there was a deplorable lack of both ships and horses – and both ships and horses require names - we shall dismiss that option entirely. It is far more likely something else occurred. Perhaps a lovers' quarrel, a fit of pique, an ill-managed proposal, a search for nuts, or the sudden desire for a walk even when one knows it will rain.
However, since both horses and both companions were missing, along with the overturned nature of the carriage, I find it is far more likely there was a tragic accident caused by an inconveniently positioned log, a broken axle, and the result being an overturned carriage. This accident caused a grave injury to inflict Mrs. Clay and caused all occupants of the carriage to fall into hysterics.
Now, as it happens, this is where plots were afoot and schemes hatched. For, the pair of horses would have been enough to transport the coachman, Mr. Elliot, and the two ladies to safety, Miss Elliot was decidedly put out at the thought that she would have to travel in such close proximity with a servant. Even worse was the knowledge that the injured Mrs. Clay would be wrapped so securely in Mr. Elliot's arms. Piqued with jealousy, Elizabeth Elliot found she would much rather be the one inflicted with a grave injury and doted upon by Mr. Elliot. She tried to exchange places with the injured woman, but to no avail.
Thus, she declared she was far too overcome to be moved and must remain where she was for a time or risk swooning. As any reasonable gentleman would do under such circumstances, Mr. Elliot refused and insisted on leaving the coachman (and the other horse) to keep vigil of the distraught lady. Then, Mr. Elliot promised he would return as soon as possible to come to her aid.
This solution only worked as long as Mr. Elliot's retreating form remained visible. Then, Miss Elliot turned her fiercely beautiful gaze upon the coachman and ordered him to disappear.
"You wish me to leave you alone?" He stated in shock.
"Yes. I will pay you handsomely for your trouble – and your silence."
The coachman was not so much of a gentleman as to refuse such an offer – especially with a glance at the menacing sky. However, he did postpone his departure until a time help was sure to come. It was upon the sound of hoofs that he departed, leaving only after he ensured a gentleman on horseback had arrived to offer aid to the lady.
And he had been correct in his summation- help had arrived – but from the wrong gentleman.
True to his word, Mr. Elliot braved both the gathering dark and thickening storm in order to pursue his "dear cousin." Imagine how dismayed he became when he found the carriage empty! His gentleman companion accompanied Mr. Elliot on a search of the road around the carriage, but to no avail. They could find no sign of Miss Elliot or the hunting cottage. Why, by then, night had fallen and there was nothing to be done but finish the rest of the very fine wine and decry the very poor luck of such an affair. He was able to find ample consolation in the companionship of Mrs. Clay, who had rallied admirably after her tumble and discovered her injury was not very grave after all. Thus, by first morning's light, Mr. Elliot rode out again.
While the rain may have stopped, the warmth of the sun did nothing to thaw Miss Elliot's manner and she remained as frigid as a blizzard, despite her dry, slightly smoky muslin. When she saw the inexplicable return of Captain Wentworth's horse, she only huffed and began to walk back in the direction of the carriage.
"What are you doing?" Captain Wentworth asked.
"Returning to the carriage," she answered. "Mr. Elliot will find me there."
"Who?"
"Mr. Elliot. My cousin. He most likely tried to rescue me already – only you found me first," she spat, as if he had personally insulted her by rescuing her. It was only then that he realized he might not have been alone in wishing he had been trapped with someone else.
"My dear Miss Elliot," he said. "Allow me to escort you to the next town. We can try to contact your family and find appropriate lodgings while we wait for them to come for you."
She looked at him and then at his horse and she turned and began to walk away.
"I would rather wait in the carriage," she answered. Without a single word of thanks, she left- still wearing his greatcoat around her.
Thus, it was that Mr. Elliot found her, waiting for him outside the carriage, bathed in golden morning light. After making an appropriate fuss over her discovery and well-being, he apologized for his lapse the night before. When he asked how she had managed and where she had gone, she told him she had dislodged herself and had the very great notion to find shelter. Then, she spent the night in the nearby cottage.
"A cottage? Were the occupants at home?"
"No. I found no one living there," she answered. Miss Elliot may have been proud, but she was not foolish and she knew it was in her best interest to hide the presence of a second party with her that night.
"You built a fire for yourself?"
"Of course," she huffed.
"And that great coat you wear is yours?" He asked, looking over the coat she had forgotten to return to Captain Wentworth.
"It was in the cottage," she lied, smoothly.
"And the handkerchief you hold with the initials AE on it?"
She looked down on the handkerchief she held, the one she had retrieved from the pocket of the greatcoat. At first, she was surprised when she recognized the embroidery. The she gave a wry smile. "This handkerchief belongs to my sister. Anne Elliot."
"Of course," Mr. Elliot answered, finally satisfied.
He then ushered Miss Elliot into his friend's carriage and escorted her the rest of the way to the estate.
From his position hidden behind a large bush, Wentworth assured himself of Miss Elliot's wellbeing. Once she was safely away in another equally fine carriage, he determined it was safe to leave.
Captain Wentworth continued on to the next town (or, rather, his horse continued on) where he was more than grateful to stop for a few hours. There, he ate a good, hot stew, acquired a new greatcoat, and slept for half a day in a warm, well-blanketed bed.
By himself.
Without anyone else.
And when he woke, he was still unmarried… and unengaged… and very much available.
Thus, he continued on his way to Bath… to find the correct Miss Elliot.
Captain Wentworth decided that luck was still on his side.
If all went according to how he hoped it would, he might, someday, even give his horse a name.
The End
