“What gave it away, Mr Darcy? The mud or the fact that I was trudging along the road like a vagrant?”
A flush crept up the back of his neck as he stammered an apology. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to pry.”
Miss Bennet’s expression softened slightly. “No, forgive me, Mr Darcy. It has been a trying day, and I am afraid my temper has got the better of me—not least in the matter of the horse. I might have still been mounted, had I made some little effort at getting along with that ill-mannered cad.”
Darcy permitted another small smile, but hid it away immediately, lest Bingley should see it. He wanted to knead his forehead and massage away some of that infernal throbbing, but at least Miss Elizabeth Bennet helped to distract him. She was one of the few things that had, oddly enough. “I was not aware that it is ever incumbent upon any lady to make herself agreeable to a… a cad, did you say? Some creatures are better left alone, lest you injure yourself in trying to redeem them.”
The mud on her cheeks somehow faded when compared to the brilliance of a genuine smile from her. Egad, the ladydidhave fine eyes, which sparkled just so in the light from the carriage window. “Well said, Mr Darcy. And now, you and I may be friends. There, I have not done such a wretched thing in accepting a ride from you, after all.”
That might be the first time a lady had ever evoked such an easy laugh from him. Darcy forced himself to look away, for it would not do to wonder what she looked like, properly cleaned up and turned out for… oh, say, a ball. No, it would not do to imagine that at all.
“I say,” Bingley asked, “how did you come to be so…” He cleared his throat and gestured to her person. “... besmirched?”
“I tried to take a shortcut,” she sighed. “And I did not realise that nearly every field around here is doing its best to join the ocean.”
“Yes, that is a deal of mud. Has Hertfordshire suffered more rain than London this autumn?”
“No, that is just the shock of it. No one can discover why it is so, but the irrigation channels have all flooded over and broken down any earthen dikes set up to divert the water.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes. “Interesting. I wonder where the water has come from if it is not raining overmuch yet this season.”
“The lake, I suppose, but it does not bode well for winter.” Miss Bennet’s brow furrowed again. “Or next spring, when the farmers must harvest winter wheat and plant new crops.”
Darcy had begun to let his eyes wander over those very fields out the window, but at her words, they snapped back to her. What a… singular thing for a young lady to mention or even think about. “Indeed,” he agreed. “It does not bode well at all.”
They rode in relative silence for a little while until Miss Bennet straightened, her eyes on something out the window. She bit her lips together and tried to restrain a sigh. “Mr Bingley, I beg your pardon, but did you say this was your carriage? Pray, ask your coachman to let me out just over the ridge there, behind the stand of trees shielding the road from the house beyond.”
“But we have not delivered you to your home,” Bingley protested. “I would not force you to walk in your condition.”
“I would rather endure the pain of walking than other… indignities.” The lady grimaced.
Darcy leaned to look out the window. A cluster of young ladies was walking on the path ahead, with much giggling and tomfoolery between them. One of them pointed at Bingley’s carriage and squealed in some delight, and Darcy was certain he caught the phrase “rich men from London.”
Miss Bennet groaned and sank back into the corner, looking away.
“Friends of yours?” Darcy asked.
“My sisters,” she hissed as a hand covered her cheek from the window’s light. “I only hope Jane does not look up and recognise Papa’s horse behind the carriage. Lydia never would note that sort of thing, but Jane… oh, please beg the driver to slow down and let them pass before we reach the turning of the road! I would rather not make a scene.”
Bingley gave a short command, and they heard the feminine chatter dying away as the girls passed on. Miss Bennet gave a great roll of her eyes and released a shaking breath. “Well! There’s a relief. If Lydia had spotted me in your carriage, I am sorry to say that Mama would have shackled me to one of you unfortunate creatures before sundown.”
“Oh, surely, you jest, Miss Bennet,” Bingley laughed. “Nonsense, for it was only a matter of helping a lady in distress. No one could fault you for accepting, what with an injured ankle and all. I should like to present myself to your father and assure him that your safety and reputation were properly seen to.”
Miss Bennet cast a weather eye over him, then her gaze shifted to Darcy, and she raised a brow. “You understand, sir. I can see that much.”
Darcy dipped his head. “Unfortunately, I do, Miss Bennet.” And the last thing he felt like subjecting himself to just now was a noisy bunch of girls who were hardly out of the school room.
“Then you will understand that I mean what I say when I beg you to let me out before we are quite in sight of the house.”
Darcy nodded. “Indeed, Miss Bennet. Bingley, have the carriage stop just there.” He pointed to the place she had indicated.
“Oh, very well. It seems rather ungallant, though.” Bingley rapped on the roof and said something to the driver.
Miss Bennet shifted on the cloth Bingley’s coachman had laid down as she gathered her skirts and prepared to disembark. “I must thank you, gentlemen, once more. With any luck, I shall not have to endure the embarrassment of meeting you again.”
“Why would that be an embarrassment?” Darcy asked as he disembarked and reached to hand her down.
“Because I shall never have any credit in your eyes after such a miserable first impression! It would take me months to redeem your opinion of me, and I daresay there would be little reward in it for either of us. No, sir, far too much effort. I shall bid you a good day, and you shall return to London or wherever you are bound, thinking that all Hertfordshire ladies are accident-prone and barely civilised.”
