Darcy turned about, scanning the road in each direction. “Do you happen to see anyone about with whom you are acquainted?”
One of her eyes narrowed faintly, and a corner of her mouth turned up. “Someone will be along eventually. Or I will simply hobble home as I am. As you see, I am not entirely lame, and I have already managed half a mile in this… state.”
“Miss, I have no intention of arguing with you, but it is clear that you cannot continue much further. Look here. Permit me to introduce myself, and we shall not be strangers.”
Her mouth turned up even more. “That silly line only works in children’s books.”
“Naturally, but as there is no one else to overhear me, I had dearly hoped you would not call me out on my lazy reasoning. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and my friend—” he gestured over his shoulder and saw Bingley walking toward them after talking with the coachman— “back there at the carriage is Charles Bingley. We would happily offer you a ride back to your home, Miss...?”
“Bennet,” she supplied, her voice clipped. “Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. And while I appreciate the offer, Mr Darcy, I couldn’t possibly impose. I am not fit to be seen, let alone to soil the upholstery of your fine carriage.”
Bingley, who had joined them during the exchange, chimed in. “Nonsense, Miss Bennet! We insist. It would be our pleasure to see you safely home.”
Miss Bennet hesitated, her gaze flickering between Darcy, Bingley, the carriage, and the muddy road ahead. “I suppose I am not quite so well off here as I would like to appear. But the upholstery in your carriage…”
“No bother at all,” Bingley interjected. “For, you see, I had a picnic blanket in the boot, as the weather is fair, and I had intended on an afternoon of celebration on the lawn of… well, that is not to be now, but I already had my coachman cover the seat for you.”
She wetted her lips and looked down at herself, surveying her gloves, her gown, and the boots that were so thick in mud it was a wonder she even kept her footing… and swallowed. “I suppose the usual fears of a lady who finds herself suddenly dependent upon the aid of two gentlemen whose characters are unknown to her are abysmally lacking in this case.”
Dacy stepped marginally closer. “I do not follow, Miss Bennet.”
She held up one hand, spreading the fingers of it to display the crusting mud over her gloves. “You would have to be desperate, indeed, to try to take advantage of me. It would ruin your expensive coat.”
Darcy nearly choked on a laugh, even if holding it back made his ears feel like they might rupture. Had she meant to be impertinent? Or was she simply so out of sorts that the words and thoughts jumbled together in her mouth until they came out sounding gloriously amusing? “I assure you, Miss Bennet, you will be as safe with us as in your own father’s carriage.”
She frowned, a crease appearing under the cracks of mud over her brow as she deliberated. “Well, what about my horse? Frankly, I do not mind leaving the brute here to rot, but my father seems unaccountably to like the rogue. I think he just likes being contrary.”
“The matter of the horse is quite simple,” Bingley replied. “We can fasten the reins to the back of the carriage and lead him. What say you, Miss Bennet?”
She swallowed, her eyes flicking to Bingley, then back to Darcy. “It does sound better than walking, but you do not know what you are offering. Are either of you gentlemen single?”
“Single?” Bingley chuckled a little. “Whatever does that have to do with…”
Darcy put a hand up. “We both are. I can guess at your concern, Miss Bennet. We shall be discreet, but I cannot, in good conscience, drive away without seeing a lady safe on the road. I could never look my own sister in the eye afterwards.”
She shot one more caustic look back at the horse, then nodded wearily. “Oh, what is the use? I am a tragic enough sight as it is. Perhaps no one will recognise me.”
Darcy doubted that very much. Miss Bennet was already fixed in his mind as one of the most unique creatures he had ever encountered, and those who knew her well could not help but spot her at fifty paces, even if she was covered in mud. But he kept this thought to himself as Bingley tugged the horse’s reins from her hand, and Darcy offered his arm to help her hobble to the carriage.
“Oh, I do not think…” She drew back, eyeing his coat. “Sir, I cannot possibly…”
“Your concern is touching, Miss Bennet, but what you ‘cannot possibly’ do is walk unaided. Without leaning on your horse for support, how do you mean to make the carriage?”
“With a great deal of stumbling and more mud on my knees, I should imagine.” She made a wry face. “Very well, but I will touch only your glove, sir.”
Darcy, fighting back a smile at her frank words, offered his hand to assist her to the carriage. “I assure you, Miss Bennet, a little mud is of no consequence.”
Miss Bennet’s lips twisting into a droll smile, accepted his hand and limped away, leaning on him even more than he had anticipated. After some torturous distance, she climbed into the carriage, taking great care to keep her skirts from brushing against the plush velvet. Bingley and the coachman had secured her horse to the back of the carriage, and a moment later, they were underway.
“You will have togive some direction to the coachman. Which way is your home?”
Miss Bennet sat ramrod straight, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed resolutely out the window. “Two more miles to the southeast, I am afraid.”
“Two miles?” Darcy repeated. “However did you mean to walk that distance?”
“One step at a time, sir,” she retorted, but not without a sweet little smirk that took the bite out of her words. “I imagine that is the way most people walk.”
“You must have been enjoying quite a long outing. I take it your ride did not go as planned, Miss Bennet?” Darcy ventured.
