The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth

Her inquiry roused him from his reverie and he peered at her intently. “I have never known you to retreat from an argument before.”

“Are you asking me to quarrel with you?” She shifted on the unyielding wooden seat, thinking that every muscle in her body now ached like her head, and she had no energy for her usual verbal sparring.

“Not on principle. However I would hope you are frank with me when your opinions differ from mine.”

Elizabeth weighed her response for a moment before replying. “When I have been frank with you in the past, I have made some hurtful declarations. I have many sins to atone for.”

“Must you do so by agreeing with me?” An ironic smile quirked up one side of his mouth.

Elizabeth forced herself to think clearly through the fatigue that clouded her mind. “Earlier in Netherfield and Rosings, your good opinion did not matter to me.” His face darkened at this reminder and he shifted his gaze back to the dusty road. “Now it does. Furthermore, you are risking your life to save mine. Surely that deserves some consideration.”

“Find another way to show it.” The words came out almost as a growl. Now she was certain he was offended, but she reminded herself that she had misunderstood him before. His commanding ways did not always demonstrate disapproval.

“You truly wish me to disagree with you?”

“I wish to hear what you are truly thinking. I know you are capable of that.” He sighed, struggling to articulate his thoughts. “I receive very little frankness from most of the people in my life.” She suddenly recalled that he did not regard Miss Bingley as worth arguing with.

“You wish to know what I truly think?” This conversation was important; she pushed herself to focus on it.

He suddenly seemed very wary, every muscle in his body tense,

but he nodded. “Yes.”

“I think you are a very good man.” She could see his profile as he started a little and then turned to see if she was serious. They locked eyes for a moment, and then he gave a small smile.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet.”

She shrugged. “You asked me to be honest.”

Silence fell between them for a few minutes. Elizabeth was quite eager to be quit of the carriage. As she adjusted her bonnet, her head felt too large and swollen all out of proportion. The sunlight was weak on a cloudy day, but it still seemed too bright to her. She had never experienced such a headache! Was it the weather? It had been cool and damp all day. Pressing at her temples, she wished she could somehow relieve the pressure in her head.

“All you well?” Darcy regarded her with concern.

“Just a headache.”

“We shall arrive at a small town in about an hour. Hopefully we can exchange these horses for fresh ones. Perhaps we may rest for an hour and obtain some tea.”

She nodded, but even that small movement hurt. What was wrong with her head? As her foggy brain pondered this question she felt the first fat raindrop land on her arm. “Oh dear!” She peered up at the low hanging clouds in dismay as the first drop was followed by a multitude of others. In a matter of minutes her clothes were soaked. She pulled her shawl around her head, but it provided little protection.

Darcy regarded her with alarm. “Please take my coat.” He made a move to shrug it off.

“No. Please, I cannot.”

“I insist. I also have a waistcoat and shirt. You have only a dress.”

“You are driving this carriage. Our well-being depends on your ability to guide the horses. My well-being is not so essential.”

“On the contrary, your well-being is absolutely vital,” he said through gritted teeth. She shook her head, but said nothing. He appeared about argue further, and she set her chin, waiting to counter his arguments, but he finally just sighed. “In town I will search out an inn where we can await the passing of the rain.” She nodded, attempting not to think about how cold and wet she was.

Darcy was growing increasingly concerned about Elizabeth. Over the past hour she had fallen into a kind of stupor, saying nothing and staring into space, only moving in occasional violent shivers. He recalled that Mrs. Radnor’s son had been ill and the maid Celeste had appeared unwell. Elizabeth could easily have contracted a fever or other illness – which the rain had then exacerbated.

He turned his gaze away from the endless road and toward Elizabeth. Her eyes were closed and her head was drooping, but he could not imagine she could sleep under such circumstances. Then, even as he watched, she began to sway alarmingly, coming perilously close to pitching off the edge of the high carriage seat. Putting the reins in one hand, he quickly flung the other arm around Elizabeth before she could topple out of the carriage altogether.

She awakened instantly. “Mr. Darcy!”

The last thing he needed was for her to believe he was taking liberties! “You were about to pitch off the seat. I believe you fell asleep.”

Her tense muscles relaxed a little under his arm. “It is possible, I am quite tired. I am not sure why.” She shivered violently. “It is so cold.” It had stopped raining, although the sky was still overcast; Darcy refrained from observing that it was a rather mild July day.