Page 26 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“We’ll stay the night in Doncaster,” he said. “Unless you prefer to continue.”
“Doncaster will do perfectly.”
A quiet settled between them. Her expression turned pensive.
“You look troubled,” he ventured.
She took her time. “I’m thinking about our plans. Each mile brings it into sharper focus.”
“Second thoughts would be understandable.”
“Not second thoughts,” she said. “Just… clearer ones. I don’t regret it. I simply see it more fully now.”
He studied her in the twilight. Her face, so open and readable, held no artifice.
“We enter this as equals, Miss Bennet,” he said. “Your judgement, your mind—they command my respect.”
“Thank you,” she said her gaze steady.
And as the carriage rolled north beneath the gathering stars, Darcy wondered at the strange fortune that hadbrought them together. Their convenient escape now hinted at something deeper—unexpected and not unwelcome.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth
17th May 1812
The final leg of their journey proved arduous, the terrain growing increasingly wild as they crossed the Scottish border. Rain returned with a vengeance, turning the roads to mud and slowing their progress despite frequent changes of horses.
“We must be nearing Gretna Green,” Darcy said, consulting his pocket watch with a frown. “Though I confess I’m not entirely certain where we ought to go once we arrive.”
Elizabeth looked up from the book she had scarcely managed to read. “I had not considered the practicalities. I believe we seek a chapel? My aunt once mentioned a stable master who conducts weddings.”
“I had heard it was a blacksmith,” Darcy replied, brow furrowed. “Something to do with an anvil ceremony.”
“A blacksmith?” Elizabeth echoed, half laughing. “Surely not. How could a tradesman perform a lawful marriage?”
“I cannot say,” he admitted. “Perhaps a schoolmaster? Some man of learning with authority under Scottish law?”
Elizabeth allowed herself a smile. “We must look a farcical pair—two educated people, utterly ignorant of how to get married.”
“Indeed,” Darcy said, a flicker of amusement in his voice. “Not the manner in which either of us anticipated entering matrimony, I suspect.”
By the afternoon of the second day, they reached the small border village, both travellers worn through.
“At last,” Darcy murmured as the carriage rolled to a stop.
Elizabeth pressed her face to the window, taking in their destination despite her fatigue. Gretna Green appeared unremarkable—a scatter of stone cottages, a modest church spire, and an inn with a weathered sign swinging in the breeze.
“For a place with such a scandalous reputation,” she said, “it seems quite ordinary.”
“The simplest locales often witness the most extraordinary events,” Darcy replied, glancing at her sidelong.
The carriage halted beforeThe Blacksmith’s Arms, a sturdy two-storey inn. Darcy stepped down and turned to assist her. Elizabeth hesitated, suddenly struck by the weight of what they were about to undertake. She had entered Scotland as Elizabeth Bennet. She would leave it as someone else entirely.
“Miss Bennet?” he asked gently, his hand steady, his eyes not quite so.
She placed her fingers in his. “Forgive me. The end of the road has made the journey’s purpose rather… immediate.”
