Page 29 of The Briar Bargain
And then he saw her.
She was striding across the northern field with the purposeful gait of one who had a destination firmly in mind, her skirts lifted just enough to clear the wet grass, her bonnet tied firmly against the wind that tuggedat her pelisse with increasing insistence. Every line of her figure spoke of determination.
The sight of her sent alarm coursing through him. She was heading away from Netherfield, away from warmth and shelter, into the storm-tossed countryside. Surely she could not mean to . . . but even as the thought formed, he was already moving, his long strides eating up the distance between them.
"Miss Elizabeth!" he called, his voice carrying clearly across the field despite the wind. "Miss Elizabeth, stop at once!" The command escaped him with more force than he had intended, driven by a rising panic at the thought of her disappearing into the grey landscape.
She halted as though she had been struck, her spine stiffening in a way that suggested his summons was far from welcome. For a moment she stood perfectly still, and he feared she might bolt like a startled doe. But then, with what appeared to be considerable effort, she turned to face him. Even across the distance that separated them, he could see her eyes flashing with that familiar fire.
"Mr. Darcy," she said flatly.
"You intend to leave the grounds?" His voice rose in incredulity as he drew closer, close enough now to see the determined set of her jaw, the heightened colour in her cheeks that spoke of both the cold and strong emotion. "In this weather? Where?"
"I am going to the northern bridge." Her chin lifted in that gesture he had come to recognise as a prelude to battle. "I believe it is passable, and once across, I will send back a groom with a horse for my sister."
The simplicity of her plan only served to underscore its fundamental madness. "You mean to walk ten miles in the cold and damp?" The words escaped him in a tone that bordered on the explosive. "Miss Elizabeth, what the devil are you thinking?"
Her eyebrows rose at his language, but she did not retreat. Instead, she seemed to draw herself up to her full height. "I amthinking," she returned evenly, her voice carrying a calm that was somehow more alarming than any show of temper might have been, "that I am equal to the task. And better I undertake such exertion than to remain under a roof where I am daily insulted by my hostess."
The words fell between them like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples of shock and dismay through him.
His brow furrowed as he studied her face, noting details he had missed from a distance, the slight pallor beneath the wind-induced colour, the careful, pained way she moved, the faint tremor in her hands that might have been cold but which he suspected had deeper roots. "Surely you exaggerate."
He knew that she would not, but he could contrive of nothing else to say.
"Do I?" Her lips curved in an expression that bore only the bitterest relationship to a smile. "I am forever reminded that I am an intruder. It is slyly implied that I cannot possibly be accomplished, for I have not had the benefit of a London master for the pianoforte or the harp, and that I speak only French and not Italian. I am told that my clothing is inferior and my family an embarrassment.” She paused to meet his eye. “Mr. Darcy, you may share Miss Bingley’s disdain for the Bennets, but my mother would never speak toanyguest in such a way."
Darcy’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The litany of small cruelties she listed painted a picture that had fury and mortification warring within his breast. That Miss Elizabeth should be subjected to such treatment under any roof was unconscionable; that it should happen while she was a guest, while she was still recovering, made it infinitely worse.
"This is intolerable," he said at last, his voice low and carrying a dangerous edge that would have warned anyone who knew him well to proceed with caution.
"Indeed," she agreed, and he caught the slight lift of her chin that suggested she was fighting back emotions that went deeper than mere annoyance. "Your friends have made it very clear that I should leave, and so I shall give them what they most desire. I hope that you will find the remainder of your time at Netherfield more bearable in my absence."
"They are not my friends,” he hurried to assure her. “Only their brother.”
“That is not what they believe. Are you certain?”
“More certain than I can express.”
Her shoulders fell as she exhaled, and she winced a little.
“You are weary," he said. She was still sore from her time in the water, he could see that as well. Neither was a great revelation. He could see it in every line of her posture, the way she held herself too carefully, as though relaxation might lead to complete collapse. "You have not fully recovered from your ordeal, you are exhausted from tending others, and yet you will not rest, because they have made you believe you are unwelcome."
"Are they wrong?" The question was delivered with characteristic directness, but he heard the underlying vulnerability that she could not quite conceal.
"Yes," he said sharply, the word emerging with more force than tact dictated. "This is my friend's house, and I will not see his guest hounded from it.”
She glanced behind him, in the direction of the bridge.
“Our bargain, Miss Elizabeth, was that you would accept my assistance when you required it. You cannot expect me to stand silent while you break your word.”
Her eyes shot back to him. “And you, sir, forget that you are not permitted to scold me untilafterthe danger has passed. You would not wish to be thought dishonourable, surely?”
"Very well. But I would ask that you stay.”
"Stay, and endure? I fear that I have reached the limits of my patience, Mr. Darcy."
"No." The word emerged with quiet intensity, and he found himself taking a step closer, drawn by an impulse he could not fully name. "Stay, and allow me to endure it on your behalf."
