Page 13 of A Forced Marriage
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the carriage wobbled precariously. For a moment, everything was motion and noise—metal groaning, wood splintering, the staccato beat of her own heart loud in her ears.
Gripping the rail lines with white-knuckled intensity, Elizabeth fought to steady herself. Mr. Darcy, his words, and his contemptuous dismissal faded into insignificance. There was no room for injured pride or smouldering resentment in the face of immediate peril.
The carriage finally flipped, landing with a heavy thud on its side. The horses, terrified, bolted, their frantic neighs echoing in the stormy night. Elizabeth, thrown from her seat, felt a sharp pain in her leg. The wet fabric of her gown clung to her skin, mingled with mud and rain.
"Miss Bennet! Are you all right?" The coachman, himself shaken but unharmed, hurried to her side and helped her to sit up, his face pale with worry.
Elizabeth winced, attempting to move her leg. "I fear I have strained it. I cannot walk."
The coachman looked around desperately. "There is an old manor nearby, Miss. It belongs to Mr. Greene but has been abandoned for some time. I believe we could take shelter there while I fetch help."
Elizabeth nodded, shivering from the cold and pain. "Yes, that will do. Go and get help. I will wait at the manor."
"Very well, Miss Bennet," the coachman agreed, helping her to her feet. Elizabeth leaned heavily on him as they made their way to the small, dilapidated manor, its once-grand façade now weathered and forlorn.
As they walked, Elizabeth asked, "What of the horses?"
The coachman replied, "Perhaps the ropes fastening them to the carriage came off, and they ran out of fear. Had they remained, I could have managed to ride one, with you seated atop, back to Longbourn."
Inside the manor, the air was musty, and the windows rattled with the force of the wind. The coachman settled Elizabeth on an old settee, wrapping his own coat around her for warmth. "I know a footpath that is closer to Lucas Lodge than to Longbourn. I will return as quickly as I can with help, Miss Bennet," he promised.
Elizabeth nodded, her teeth chattering. "Thank you."
The coachman departed to seek assistance, leaving Elizabeth alone with her troubled thoughts. She found herself attributing her new ill fortune to Mr. Darcy, though her better judgment suggested that the mishap was merely due to the heavy rain and the carriage wheel striking a stone, which had caused it to break and forced it from its proper course.
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Mr. Darcy found himself increasingly disenchanted with the assembly. The lively music and cheerful conversations seemed distant to him, as if muffled by the persistent echo of his unkind words to Elizabeth Bennet. His earlier dismissal of her and her family now haunted him, and the whispers of those who had overheard his remarks only deepened his sense of regret.
Gossip of what he said to her buzzed around him like unwelcome bees, each sting a reminder of his impropriety. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he didn't wish to mar Mr. Bingley's first assembly in Meryton. Bingley, after all, was renting Netherfield and had every reason to establish friendly relations with the local community. As a mere guest, Darcy felt it inappropriate to draw attention to himself by compelling Bingley and the party with them to depart too abruptly.
Determined to leave without causing a scene, he discreetly called Sir William Lucas apart, who was conversing with a group of guests. "Sir William," Darcy began, inclining his head in a respectful greeting, "might I impose upon you to borrow a horse? I find myself in need of a solitary ride back to Netherfield."
"Why not ride in the coach with Mr. Bingley and his sisters, Mr. Darcy? The assembly will soon conclude." Sir William said, his surprise clearly etched on his face.
Darcy managed a tight smile. "I do not wish to inconvenience anyone. Besides, I feel the need for some fresh air and solitude."
"It is rather amusing, Mr. Darcy, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet departed not long ago, citing a similar need for fresh air and rest. It seems you are both of a mind this evening." He replied, chuckling lightly.
Darcy's heart sank at the mention of Elizabeth. "Indeed," he murmured. "Might I borrow a horse, then?"
"I have a spare in the stables," Sir William replied discreetly. "I will have it brought to you."
"Thank you, Sir William. Please, do not mention my departure to Mr. Bingley unless he asks expressly or when the ball is over and he is ready to leave," Darcy requested.
"Very well, Mr. Darcy," Sir William nodded, then quietly instructed a servant to fetch the horse.
As Darcy waited, Mr. Collins, who had been watching him converse with Sir William, approached with a deep bow. "Mr. Darcy, it would be an honour to make your further acquaintance. Lady Catherine de Bourgh speaks highly of you, and I should very much like to write to her of our meeting."
Darcy's patience, already strained, snapped. "Mr. Collins, I will inform my aunt of my whereabouts as I see fit. Good evening."
Mr. Collins, taken aback by the abruptness of Darcy's response, blinked in surprise. His face flushed with embarrassment as he quickly straightened from his bow. "Ah, of course, Mr. Darcy, I—I did not mean to impose," he stammered, his earlier confidence faltering. With a hasty nod, he retreated a few steps, mumbling something about needing to attend to other guests, before disappearing into the crowd with a rather flustered bearing.
Just then, the servant returned, leading the horse. Darcy thanked Sir William and mounted the horse, leaving the assembly behind. As the horse galloped along, the cold breeze bit at his face, matching the chill of his thoughts. His mind replayed the scene with Elizabeth, each detail sharpening his regret. How could he have been so thoughtless, so dismissive? He barely noticed the change in weather condition until the intensity of the rain became a downpour.
The thought of turning back hit him, but Darcy dismissed the idea and resolved to press on. He was determined to reach Netherfield, rain or no rain. As he rode, his eyes caught the wreckage of a carriage, its wheel broken off and lying in the mud. A crude drawing of a butterfly on the rear confirmed his worst fear—it was the Bennet's carriage. He had noticed the drawing earlier when he watched her leave.
"Miss Bennet!" he called out, his voice cutting through the storm. He dismounted and searched the wreckage, his heart pounding as he spotted a piece of blue fabric clinging to the broken carriage. If memory served him right, it was the same she had worn at the assembly. His breath quickened, and his hands trembled as he picked up the sodden cloth. What could have caused the accident? The rain, most likely. He glanced around desperately, seeking any sign of her amidst the chaos.
