Page 35 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Outside, his cousin cursed loudly. Shovels scraped against stone—they must be prying a rock out of the way.
Suddenly, there were voices crying out instructions and the gap widened, letting in more light, more air, and a rush of hope. But the cavern did not wait—the groan of shifting earth deepened to a roar, the ground beneath them trembling as though the very hill was entering its death throes.
“Now!” Fitz bellowed. “Darcy, lift her through!”
Darcy did not hesitate. He grasped Miss Elizabeth by the waist and shoved her high as she leapt, ignoring the pounding in his head and the raw fire in his back. “Grab her!” he urged.
Fitz’s hands reached through, seizing Miss Elizabeth and pulling her to safety.
She was free.
Darcy braced himself to follow, but the moment he moved, the cavern gave a final, deafening crack. Dust exploded around him and his ears rang. He stumbled dizzily to one side.
Fitz’s voice, sharp with panic, cut through the chaos. “Darcy! Move, damn you! I am not digging you out twice!”
He recovered his balance, stepped up on the small boulder he had used before, and jumped upward with all that remained of his strength. Fitz grabbed him around the ribs and lifted, his hold fierce as he threw his entire weight backwards to yank Darcy through. The pain was intense, but the moment Darcy tumbled free, the cavern beneath them groaned loudly.
“Is Miss Elizabeth safe?” he shouted.
“Yes! Worry about us, you big ox.”
“I am!” Darcy shouted as he shoved himself to his feet. Another jolt. A shudder, this one deeper. The earth beneath them heaved. “Run!”
They were the last of the men to sprint down towards the road. Dust billowed over them, and Darcy could hear the remains of the folly tumbling into the denehole in a deafening avalanche. He did not stop running until they had reached the road.
By the time they were safe, there was silence, except for their laboured breathing. Darcy placed one hand on the back of a cart for support.
The horses shifted restlessly, their ears flicking at the commotion. The creak of leather harnesses and the jangle of metal fittings mingled with the murmuring voices of those watching. Somewhere, a man coughed. The scent of damp earth and sweat clung to the air, heavy and unrelenting.
Darcy cast one last glance over his shoulder as the hillside collapsed in on itself completely.
Fitz swallowed before he straightened and brushed some dust from his coat as though that might save the garment.
“Well,” he said as he exhaled. “That was entirely too dramatic for my taste.” He gazed at the decimated folly, or at least where it had once stood. “You do realize this means you owe me, Darcy. I expect a very fine bottle of port for my troubles.”
Darcy let out a breathless huff and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Miss Elizabeth’s hand slip into his.
“If you had all listened to Mr. Darcy about the danger of that folly in the first place,” she said pertly, “neither of us would have required rescuing at all. I believe Mr. Darcy may be the one who is owed recompense, Colonel.”
Fitz blinked with surprise, and Darcy smiled wearily. To have Miss Elizabeth defending him—it was a most unusual and wonderful feeling.
Darcy did not release Miss Elizabeth’s hand, nor did she attempt to withdraw it. The weight of exhaustion bore down upon him, but he could not—would not—give way to it until he was assured of her well-being. Now that they were in the light, he could better examine her. One cheek was already swollen and darkening into a bruise. Her face was streaked with dirt, and tendrils of hair, powdered with dust, fell loosely on her shoulders. Her arm was still bound, and she was limping a little, but she could walk. She was safe. That knowledge alone steadied him.
Fitz, ever practical, was already issuing orders to the men about warning everyone who lived near that the site was too dangerous to approach. They began to gather their tools and toss them in the back of the cart, but he ordered them to leave the bed clear.
He approached them both, brow furrowed. “I had Mrs. Collins send for a surgeon several hours ago. They will be waiting for us at Rosings.” He held out a hand for Miss Elizabeth. “Allow me, Miss Bennet. Darcy, can you climb up unassisted?”
Miss Elizabeth nodded readily enough, but Darcy stiffened. “I am perfectly capable of walking.”
Fitz scoffed. “You cannot see what I do, you stubborn mule. If you attempt it, I have no doubt you shall find yourself in a heap on the road. Not very dignified.”
Darcy straightened, bracing himself against the pain in his head and back.
But then Miss Elizabeth said quietly, “Mr. Darcy, forgive me, butIwould feel more secure if you rode in the cart with me.”
A simple request, yet it carried enough force to disarm him entirely. He looked to her, saw the earnest plea in her eyes, and his resolve wavered. She had been through an ordeal of her own, and she was asking him to care for her. He could never refuse her any comfort that was in his power to give.
He exhaled slowly. “Very well.”
