Page 23 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
He could not come to the dinner when she had been perfectly attired, no, he must witness her gracelessness, he must see her looking like a vagabond who had been caught in a downpour. Of course. This was a sad commentary on her life of late, and the absurdity of it could not help but make her laugh a bit.
The laugh died in her throat when Mr. Darcy tore off his greatcoat, dashed down the pier, and waded into the water, boots and all, until he was at her side.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, bemused. “It is not deep here.”
“Not forme,” he said wryly, and indeed, the water did not reach the top of his boots. He held out both hands to help her to her feet, then put one strong arm around her waist and led her the few steps back to the pier. “On the count of three,” he said, “jump, and I will lift you up.”
Her face must have turned a bright red, for he murmured, “We must get you out of the water as quickly as possible, madam.”
She had preferred it when he had called her Elizabeth. But she did not protest, simply nodded. Mr. Darcy’s large, strong hands nearly encircled her waist, and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the exquisiteness of his touch.
“One,” he said. “Two.”
Elizabeth bent her knees.
“Three.”
She pushed up with her legs as hard as she could and found herself being easily lifted onto the wooden platform again. Mr. Darcy placed both hands on the side of the pier and pushed himself up, gaining his feet in no time.
Then he stood before her, strong, tall, handsome, caring. She studied his face and noticed a small white scar near the corner of one eye. “I thought you were gone to Pemberley,” she said, irritated at how her shivering made her words stutter like a staccato note on the pianoforte.
“I intended to. Horse trouble,” he said roughly, and her disappointment was acute.
Stupid girl. Did you think he had stayed for you? How many times must the man rescue you from your family’s folly and your own?
He placed his arm around her waist again, leading her to the shore. Elizabeth leaned into his side, willing to be brazen for she might never have another chance to be so very close to him. When they reached the place where he had discarded his greatcoat, he let her go to retrieve it.
A blast of icy air blew through her wet clothes and froze every part of her. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and tried to stop shaking. She bent over, trying to make herself smaller, to conserve what heat she had.
Suddenly, she was swathed in warmth and was being lifted off her feet. “What are you doing?” she asked shakily, more surprised than offended.
Mr. Darcy had wrapped her in his greatcoat.
“You are shivering so hard you cannot stand,” Mr. Darcy replied sternly. “We must get you to the house and changed into dry clothing.”
He meant nothing by it, of course, his talk of changing her clothes, but Elizabeth imagined what it would be like were they wed, and he could take her to their chambers. Would he see to her care himself or leave it to the maid? Would they sit together before a fire after and laugh at her clumsiness? Would he read to her until she fell asleep on his shoulder, then kiss her forehead and carry her to bed—carry her as tenderly as he carried her now?
“Put your arm around my neck,” he instructed her.
Elizabeth did so, then buried herself deeper into his coat and closer to his chest, mortified not by the thoughts themselves, but that she was having them at all. The man clearly did not want her. He had been in the house, no doubt aware that she was in residence, but had not even bothered to come down for dinner last night. More than that, he had been at Netherfield since the wedding!
Her thoughts slowed. She was very cold. Instead of trying to figure out what the confusing man holding her had been about, she simply laid her head against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart.
Darcy was nearly frantic with worry. Elizabeth’s shivering had abated somewhat, but she had fallen silent. She was soaked from head to toe. Between the nearly freezing temperature of the water itself, the wind was biting, making her body respond as though it was even colder. If the undergardener’s illnesswasspreading through the house, she would be more susceptible to it. He lengthened his stride, ignoring how the gusty winds were increasing in strength. When he reached the top of the rise, his hat flew from the top of his head, and he involuntarily paused to see where it had gone. But the next moment, he tightened his grip on Elizabeth—she felt so small in his arms—and plunged ahead towards the house.
“My goodness, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice muffled in his coat, “your legs are very long. Perhaps the next time I need to walk to Meryton I should ask you to carry me there. I should save nearly half my time.”
Darcy’s heart eased a fraction to hear her teasing, but he could not think of her, bent over, shaking, her lips painted with a faint bluish hue, and be entirely sanguine. “I am at your service, Miss Bennet,” he told her without breaking his stride.
She sighed, and Darcy imagined carrying Elizabeth like this on their wedding night. God forgive him, if this was the only way he would ever have her in his arms, he would cherish it. “My sister Georgiana used to insist on riding me like a horse throughout the nursery and out in the hall. She once wanted to ride me down the stairs, but even as a reckless youth I would not risk that.”
“You are full of surprises, sir.”
“Is it surprising, Miss Bennet, that I was once a boy like any other?”
She was silent for a moment before saying, “I suppose not. Were you much in the way of surprising young ladies and making them fall in the pond?”
“Are you blamingmefor this?” he cried in mock affront.
