Page 2 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
The sound of pounding on the ground made her raise her head. The horse must have been deprived of company for a long time because it was charging towards her at full gallop, and although she would never admit it, she became a little frightened by its haste. It would soon be upon her, but she did nothing at all because her legs would not obey her. She just watched until it reached her and reared up on its hind legs.
If she did not move, its hoofs would land on her, but her feet trembled and remained frozen to the ground. She covered her head with her arms and waited for the inevitable impact.
A shadow emerged from her right and smashed into the horse’s chest. A tall and gangling boy had come to her rescue. Her legs collapsed as he pushed the beast away from her. If not for him she would surely have been trampled to death.
A lovely rich, soothing voice spoke from above, calling for her to leave the enclosure, but her legs were still not cooperating; they trembled so violently that walking was simply impossible.
“Mother! You must not open the gate. This beast is wild and untamed. I cannot vouch for your safety.”
“You have him well in hand, dear Fitzwilliam. I am certain I shall be safe until I have rescued the adorable little girl.”
Elizabeth watched the boy struggle. He leapt high in the air, managed to grip the horse’s mane, and used all his weight to bring its head towards the ground.
Two soft arms wrapped around her and lifted her to her feet.
“You must not carry her in your condition,” the boy admonished his mother.
“Do not worry, Fitzwilliam. She is as light as a feather,” the woman replied.
Elizabeth was carried to safety just as four men came running to aid the boy. Fitzwilliam… The name had a distinguished ring to it; he might even be royalty, though not from a faraway land. He was very handsome with his head of unruly brown curls, which might have been tamed before he had to fight the beast. He was much older than she was, yet still not a man like her uncle. Whatever he was, Elizabeth would forever admire him for his heroic rescue. She broke down in tears and hid her face in her hands. It would not do to cry at this moment, and she never cried, but cry she did…
“Hush, little one. You are perfectly safe, and no harm will befall you,” the lady tried to console her.
“I know, but my eyes do not want to obey me,” Elizabeth lamented.
The lady laughed softly and patted her head.
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet cried, and she was ripped from the solicitous lady’s arms. “What on earth have you done this time?”
Elizabeth cowed at her mother’s wrath and could not get a word out. She worried about what Miss Cavendish would say and glanced at the boy who had rescued her. His handsome face was marred with a scowl. She closed her eyes, and a fresh bout of tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I am Lady Anne,” the lady informed her mother. “And my son just braved a wild beast to save your daughter. She had entered the enclosure where an untamed and vicious stallion is kept in solitude because of his history of attacks on both horses and men. He charged at her, but by the grace of God, Fitzwilliam managed to shove him away before she was trampled.”
Mrs Bennet glanced at the horse. Four stout men were struggling to lead the raging beast away. “I am most grateful.” Mrs Bennet tempered her vexation and spoke with misty eyes.
“It was our pleasure, I assure you,” Lady Anne said. “Your daughter is charming, and I believe just a few years older than my daughter at home. I could not bear to see a child injured, even if it is not my own.”
“I am most grateful. We are here for the wedding of my brother, Mr Gardiner, and I only went inside for a minute to speak to the innkeeper…” Mrs Bennet hurried to excuse her moment of inattention.
Her uncle humbly stepped forwards at the mention of his name. “Lady Anne, we are most obliged to you and utterly impressed by your son’s bravery. If I can ever be of service to you, please do not hesitate to ask.”
He offered Lady Anne his card, which she accepted.
Elizabeth dared to open her eyes when she was certain neither her uncle nor her mother sounded angry with her.
“I am very sorry for causing you so much trouble.” She glanced at her rescuer and gasped. A trickle of blood ran down his hand.
“You are bleeding!” she cried and ran to him.
She pulled out her handkerchief from her pocket and tried to dab it, but he pulled back.
“That is not necessary.” He spoke with a pleasant voice, hiding his hand behind his back.
“Would you allow me to inspect your wound?” Lady Anne asked.
“It is only a small nick of no consequence and will heal by itself,” Master Fitzwilliam asserted heroically.
He must be the bravest boy she had ever met, not at all like the Lucas boys, who cried with hardly any provocation. Her admiration grew, and she was ever so pleased when Lady Anne suggested they all needed a cup of tea after their ordeal. Her disappointment when Master Fitzwilliam begged off to go to the bookshop was poorly hidden. Elizabeth reluctantly followed Lady Anne, her mother, and her uncle to the inn whilst casting long glances back at her saviour.
