Too Close to Mr Darcy Page 5

  “What is it?” he gasped, still disoriented from his nap and thrashing about like a trapped bird. “Are we being robbed?”

  He snatched his precious book from the seat next to him and held it tightly to his chest.

  Because that would be the first item a road robber would reach for, Elizabeth thought and giggled lightly.

  “No, Cousin Collins,” she said. “Just another uneven spot on the road.”

  “Ah, of course,” Mr. Collins sighed with relief and fixed his collar.

  To pass the time while their driver was assessing and possibly fixing their situation, Mr. Collins amused himself by trying to guess by the landscape how far they were from Rosings. Unlike the open fields dotted with clusters of tall birches that surrounded Longbourn, here the terrain was more sylvan.

  “I believe we are close,” Mr. Collins said in an authoritative tone.

  Elizabeth was ready to snort once again at his preposterous claim. Since both sides of the road were nearly choked with thick woods, as they had been for miles already, it was impossible to judge how far anything was. Cousin Collins, however, insisted on being the expert on every topic ever since they had crossed into Kent, which he considered his “dearly missed home,” so Elizabeth let him ramble.

  A loud knock on the window caught both of the travelers by surprise. Behind the mosaic of condensation droplets on the window appeared the ruddy, weathered face of the driver. Mr. Collins hurried to open the door.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mr. Fudge?” he asked. The driver would not normally bother them if the problem with the carriage was minor and required no outside assistance.

  “We’ve cracked a wheel,” Mr. Fudge informed them.

  “So?” Mr. Collins said. “Can you not fix it? I must remind you that we are expected at Rosings very shortly and we cannot—”

  “There ain’t fixing it,” Mr. Fudge said without any compassion. He was a simple man stating simple facts. “We need a new wheel.”

  Unfortunately, Mr. Collins saw nothing simple about it. He was suddenly enraged.

  “Have we got one?”

  “No.”

  “But you do not understand!” Mr. Collins shrieked. The extended travel had gotten the better of him. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh trusts my word and if we are not to—”

  A sudden loud crack cut his words short. The driver’s face disappeared from view. There was a screech, then a groan and the carriage abruptly tilted to one side, causing both Elizabeth and Mr. Collins to slide sideways on their benches until they bumped into the opposite wall of the car. Both gasped in pain.

  More thuds followed outside and as soon as Elizabeth regained her composure, she realized that the valises that had been packed on top of the carriage had one by one thumped to the ground. She winced, picturing the thick mud that covered the road.

  Mr. Collins jumped out of the carriage at once and, stepping over the cases containing Elizabeth’s life, he charged at Mr. Fudge. Elizabeth could hear the sound of his panicked voice, as well as the driver’s unperturbed tone, recede down the road.

  She peeked behind the open door, which swung loosely on its hinges. Engaged in a heated discussion on the best course of action and perhaps looking for an approaching coach, Mr. Collins and Mr. Fudge had disappeared behind a bend in the road. Elizabeth gathered her skirts and carefully stepped out of the carriage. Her boots squelched in the sticky, wet dirt.

  She gulped in horror.

  A valise lay open in the mud in front of her, its contents spilling out onto the ground. An ugly, filthy footprint glared right in the middle of a pile of white undergarments. Apparently, in his rush to get to Mr. Fudge, Mr. Collins had stepped right on top of her clothes. Petticoats, shifts, stays and garters lay stained and sodden in the dirt.

  A hot flush of embarrassment rosed Elizabeth’s cheeks. She immediately got to work, kneeling down in the mud with no regard to her dress, and started hastily collecting her belongings, stuffing them back into the valise. If there was an item of clothing that had accidentally remained clean in the whole mess, its fate was promptly remedied and soon all the valise’s contents shared the same damp dirty-brown quality.

  So engrossed was Elizabeth in her frantic activity that she did not become aware of a sound that increasingly grew in intensity. The huffing, snorting and stomping of the four restless horses harnessed in her carriage somewhat obscured the approaching clatter of another set of hooves.

  “May I be of assistance?” a deep baritone sounded behind her.

  Elizabeth’s breath caught in her already constricted throat. Her heart galloped. On impulse, she clutched a handful of chemises to her chest and turned to face the intruder. It took her a mere instance to recognize the gentleman who was already dismounting from his horse. She turned back as fast as she could and pressed her eyes closed tightly.

  “It cannot be,” she whispered to herself. Squelching steps sounded behind her. He was coming to her.

  Elizabeth prayed the man had not recognized her as instantaneously as she had placed him. She quickly tucked the unruly locks that had fallen over her forehead behind her ears. The gesture had a less than desirable outcome. Unknowingly, she smeared fresh dirt across her cheeks and brow, only partially concealing the crimson that was spreading up her neck and face.

  Nearly paralyzed with shock, she wished with her whole being that Mr. Collins would return or that the intruder would simply walk away. She could not gather the courage to turn around again. Only when she spotted the gentleman crouch down and pick up a soiled pair of bloomers a few paces away from her was she shaken into action.

  “No!” she shouted. “Mr. Darcy, please!”

  8

  Mr. Darcy’s name had flown out of Elizabeth’s lips before she had had the chance to censor it. She was desperate to stop him before he realized what it was he was fishing out of the mud.

  She winced once more and reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze. There was no swallowing back what she had said. She might as well face the gentleman with all the dignity she could muster.

  The man stood, his fingers locked around the crumpled piece of undergarment, and squinted at Elizabeth. He appeared dumbfounded at having heard his own name under such unexpected circumstances. His expression spoke of confusion as well as effort to place both Elizabeth’s voice and muddied face.

  “Miss Bennet?” he finally said, bewildered. “Is that truly you? Whatever are you doing around these places?”

  He took a step towards her. Immediately, Elizabeth rose and retreated a few paces, only to bump against the door of the wrecked carriage behind her. For a moment, she was about to lose her balance and tumble into the mud, but with a less than graceful flailing of her arms, she managed to regain herself. Finally, with a solid footing on the ground, she smoothed down her sullied gown and remembered to tuck the hand holding the pile of chemises behind her back before she cleared her throat.

  “Indeed, it is me, Mr. Darcy,” she said with more confidence than her appearance warranted. “I am traveling to Rosings, the residence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, if you are familiar with her. Unfortunately, we have hit an unforeseen obstacle.”

  While she explained herself, her eyes constantly darted towards Mr. Darcy’s hand and the pair of bloomers he still held. She tried to will him into dropping it in the dirt but to little effect. Realizing that her erratic looks might draw even more attention to the embarrassing item, she fixed her gaze on Mr. Darcy’s eyes and decided this strategy might produce a better result, as uncomfortable as it felt to every fiber of her being.

  Suddenly, as she observed Mr. Darcy’s normally arrogant and rather aloof expression reassemble itself into a slight smirk, Elizabeth grew enraged.

  Is he mocking me? She thought bitterly. Whatever is it that he finds amusing in my predicament? What an awful, awful man!

  Perhaps noticing her sudden distress, Mr. Darcy turned serious again.

  “How fortunate!” he said to Elizabeth’s surprise. “I myself am curre
ntly staying at Rosings. In fact, I have only just arrived and am taking my first tour of the property.”

  Fortunate indeed… Elizabeth thought wryly. The only person I will know at my new home will be the one person I would rather avoid meeting again for the rest of my life.

  “You mean I have already reached my destination?” she said instead. So, Cousin Collins was right after all. “That is a relief!”

  “The Rosings estate is quite large and you might not spot any sign of habitation for another few miles. It took me a while to ride to here.”

  As he spoke, Mr. Darcy looked around Elizabeth at the carriage that lay destroyed behind her. For a moment, Elizabeth was relieved that his piercing dark eyes were no longer inspecting her person.

  Mr. Darcy frowned.

  “This looks rather unpleasant,” he mused aloud. “Are you traveling on your own?”

  “Of course not!” Elizabeth said with a measure of indignation, realizing for the first time that she was out in the woods, alone with a man, with no idea of where her companion and driver might have gone. If the handsome gentleman she had encountered in the woods had not been as intolerable as Mr. Darcy, she might have even been thrilled.

  What she noticed, however, was that despite his numerous flaws, Mr. Darcy did not inspire fear in her. Admittedly, meeting a stranger while on her own in the forest would have, in the first place, terrified her. Mr. Darcy kept a respectable distance between them and did not engage in any rash movements that might put her off. He acted altogether honorably.

  “I am traveling with my cousin, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “He and the carriage driver should be here somewhere, looking for help.”

  Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy quieted and listened. Apart from the rustling of dead leaves, the groaning of heavy branches swayed by the wind and birdsong, it was completely quiet. There was no trace of anyone else being within earshot. Cousin Collins must have gotten carried away in his indignation and walked further away from Elizabeth and the ruined carriage than he had intended.

  “It might be a struggle to find anyone around these parts and it could take too long to walk to the house on foot. Let me ride back and announce your arrival. Help should be on its way shortly.”

  “That would be very generous of you,” Elizabeth said, genuinely humbled by Mr. Darcy’s display of kindness. She would not have expected him to show such interest and willingness to act in a situation that concerned him so little.

  “I shall not be long,” Mr. Darcy said and walked towards his horse. Elizabeth thanked him and curtsied before turning around to resume collecting her ruined belongings.

  Unexpectedly, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the carriage windows. The blood drained from her face in an instant as she regarded her appearance. Hair stuck out in all directions. Her bonnet was filthy and dangled limply around her neck. Worst of all, however, was her face.

  “Oh goodness,” she whispered, lifting her hand to cover her mouth in horror. “I look like a chimney sweeper! No wonder he was smirking…”

  “Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy’s voice caught her unawares from behind. For a moment she debated whether to turn at all, but given that he had already had his share of amusement at her appearance, she decided there was no way she could lose any more of her dignity at the moment. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and turned to face him.

  “Yes?”

  Mr. Darcy had already mounted his horse. He was bending down from the saddle, extending a hand towards Elizabeth.

  “I believe these are yours,” he said in an even tone.

  Elizabeth was horrified to see him offer her the handful of dripping-wet, soiled bloomers.

  Her mortification was now complete.

  While she settled in her new room, Elizabeth found herself constantly returning to the odd encounter she had had in the woods a few hours ago.

  The room was modest in size and yet it was distinctly not a servant’s room. For one thing, it was not situated in the servants’ quarters, and for another, it was furnished with all that was necessary without displaying the somewhat excessive opulence that was prevalent in the rest of the house. The draperies, carpets and bed clothes were not luxurious by Rosing’s standards, but they came close to the quality of those at Longbourn.

  What she liked best about her room was the view to the large expanse of rolling lawn that reached as far as the deer park. To the left, Elizabeth could see the vast maze of rose gardens that Rosings was famous for and to her right was a large pond with a quaint gazebo perched on its shore and a gaggle of wild geese frolicking in its waters.

  Elizabeth was content.

  As she searched for a salvageable outfit to wear for her audience with Mrs. Byrd, Rosings’ housekeeper, Elizabeth found herself conjuring the image of Mr. Darcy in her mind once again.

  What inconceivable coincidence to meet him here of all places!

  She could not erase the peculiar sensation that made her entire body tingle when she remembered the way his smoldering dark-brown eyes had widened upon recognizing her. At the time she had been too insulted by his smirk to give it much thought but now, as she recalled his every gesture and word, she decided that he had not at all been the insufferable, haughty man she had previously met.

  It had been more than a year ago now, when her life had been completely different and her parents had still been alive, when she had set her eyes on Mr. Darcy for the first time. The Bennets were attending the annual Meryton Assembly when two gentlemen, new to the area, arrived to the gathered crowd’s delight. The sentiment was soon reserved for only one of them, Mr. Bingley, Netherfield’s new occupant and Mr. Darcy’s friend, who appeared cordial, polite and gracious with his new neighbors.

  His companion, Mr. Darcy, however, exhibited every sign of displeasure at attending an event that was so clearly beneath his social station. Elizabeth, who had only briefly considered him attractive, soon reevaluated her opinion of him after hearing him share a rather insensitive comment about her very person!

  Upon Mr. Bingley’s suggestion that he danced with Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy had called her not handsome enough to tempt him. He had thought his time better spent in ways other than giving consequence to young ladies who were slighted by other men.

  Oh, how infuriating! Elizabeth fumed inwardly even now.

  A knock on the door startled her. She was not expecting anyone. Not yet, anyway. It had been decided that she would be settling into her duties on the next day, once she had had a good rest after her travels. Elizabeth scurried to the mirror hanging over the water basin at the washstand and inspected herself in a hurry.

  If the person behind the closed door was Mr. Darcy again, or, say, Lady Catherine, there would be much more to be desired from her cleanliness, hair and dress. If, however, it was simply a maid come to offer assistance, Elizabeth did not have much to be embarrassed about — nothing a deft maid’s hand would not be able to help her fix.

  As she walked to the door, she reminded herself that she should stop harboring illusions of such sort. Surely there would be no maids assisting her with anything. She was not a guest at Rosings. She was an employee, just like every other maid in the house. Despite the relative privileges a lady’s companion might have over the rest of the staff, like attending meals with the rest of the family and receiving a salary rather than wages, she was still not entitled to any help with her hair or dress.

  The knock sounded again just when Elizabeth pressed the door handle and peeked outside. A neatly gloved hand was left hanging in the air, mid-knock. It belonged to a woman, not much older than Elizabeth and one she had not yet seen or met.

  “Miss Ashburn,” the woman introduced herself with a playful smile and made to enter the room past Elizabeth. When she noticed Elizabeth’s resistance to let her in, evident in her stiff body blocking the entrance and her rather serious face, the woman added, “I am Lady Catherine’s companion. I thought, since we would be closely serving the two ladies of the house, I would intr
oduce myself as soon as possible. Offer you a welcome of sorts.”

  Elizabeth was rather stunned. Miss Ashburn’s bubbly voice, cheerful manner and almost childlike face seemed at odds with her introduction. It was unusual for a woman of Lady Catherine’s age to employ a companion that much younger than her. What would they have to talk about in the first place? Additionally, Elizabeth doubted Lady Catherine would have the same amount of energy and spirit to match Miss Ashburn’s in any activity. She wondered what the girl’s story was.

  Regardless, Elizabeth finally remembered her manners and stepped aside to let her visitor in.

  “Miss Ashburn, please,” she said and gestured for the girl to enter. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Oh, I know,” Miss Ashburn said as she stormed into the room and started poking at this object and that. “We have all been excited to meet you and finally put a face to the name. We could not believe Miss Anne was getting a new companion.”

  Elizabeth was disturbed by both the girl’s words and by her failure to respect her privacy. Miss Ashburn had just picked up the silver brush from the dressing table, the one Jane and Elizabeth had shared at Longbourn and which was a dear keepsake, and was turning it in her hands. Elizabeth longed to snatch it from her grasp, but she managed to contain the impulse.

  “It appears that you have all heard more about me than I have about you,” she said instead. It was curious what the servants had talked about her before her arrival. Surely enough, now that she was here, her name and person would be brought up even more frequently in their quarters. Given her lack of experience, she was bound to make more than a few blunders that could very well serve to entertain the rest of the staff.

  Stop, she mentally scolded herself. Here is a chance to make a friend. Use it, for who knows how amicable the rest of the people at Rosings would be!

  “Nothing to satisfy our curiosity, I am afraid,” Miss Ashburn said and waved the silver brush in the air.