“Had I not been a gentleman, I would have ignored the weight of the basket she was carrying and never would haveoffered to have the two of us escort her to Longbourn. However, I am a gentleman. Do remember that if you are able.” This time, the smirk was his, though that was not his overriding emotion. Movement over his cousin’s shoulder caught his attention.
Was that…? Darcy inhaled sharply.Blast and damnation!
George Wickham entered the inn across the street in the company of three militia officers. He wished he could be proud of him, acknowledge him for who he truly was. Instead, George slithered through society with little care, whether he left behind bleeding hearts after stealing the innocence of maidens or the last coin from a hungry man’s pockets. It was the first time Darcy had seen him since Ramsgate.To avert danger, he needed to make sure his cousin did not see him, too.
“Come, Richard. You can search the shelves for entertainment while I meditate on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman and a well-turned leg can bestow.”
With the arrival of Wickham, he would need to keep Richard busy, help Bingley learn to run an estate he probably should not have leased, manage his affairs, and avoid entanglement with Miss Elizabeth. When and why had his life become such a trial?
A gustof wind hit the side of Mrs. Hammond’s house, rattling the windows set in the bricks until the curtains on the inside floated parallel to the floor. When the chimney began to whistle, Elizabeth closed the door, deciding to remain inside until the air settled. She hurried to place the screen as close to the fire as possible. Mrs. Hammond still burned wood scraps instead of coal, as did others in the locale. She had a large woven carpetcovering the stone floor and doilies under every surface that could easily catch fire from the shooting sparks.
“The chimney cap must be gone,” Mrs. Hammond moved to close the inside window shutters. “I shall have Hannah’s brother repair it once the winds calm. You know, I did not approve when Mr. Hammond installed these shutters inside the house as well as outside when we purchased this place despite living through hurricanes in the West Indies. Now, I am grateful.”
Elizabeth helped her with the latches, which were stiff from disuse. After many tries, the shutters were locked. Then she closed the damper in the fireplace. With one lone candle burning, shadows from their movement danced on the walls.
Thinking Mrs. Hammond was as safe as she could be, Elizabeth said, “I must depart now.” With more trepidation than before and concerned that if she did not leave at that moment, she would be unable to return to Longbourn, she grabbed her basket and started for the door. A fierce howling like a thousand pounding horse hooves racing toward them, a sound unlike anything Elizabeth had ever heard before, stopped her. At the same time, rain burst from the sky, pounding on the shale roof.
“Good lord.” Elizabeth’s hand went to her chest. “Does cannon fire sound like this? I do not believe I have ever heard anything as loud.”
Fists pounded against the door, or was it tree branches that had been blown against the house?
“Open up, we beg you.”
Reacting instinctively, Elizabeth threw the latch, allowing Mr. Darcy and his cousin to enter. They were soaked, their hats gone.
“We beg your pardon.” Mr. Darcy wiped the rain from his eyes as he spoke. “Is there someplace we may temporarily shelter our mounts?”
Mrs. Hammond said, “There is a lean-to in the back.”
“Stay here,” Mr. Darcy ordered his cousin. Within a heartbeat, he passed a parcel to Colonel Fitzwilliam and was out the door. Disobediently, his cousin set the package on the table and followed.
“Oh dear!” Mrs. Hammond scurried around the room while Elizabeth stayed in place. “Light more candles, dear. I shall gather towels and blankets for the gentlemen if you would lay them out on the table.”
Spurred into action, Elizabeth removed the food and drinks, placing them on a small shelf against the far wall. When Mrs. Hammond nimbly ascended the stairs to the upper floor, Elizabeth lit the tapers.
By the time the gentlemen returned, enough blankets had been stripped from the bedrooms to warm the whole militia, and enough candles had been lit so they could see each other properly.
Mr. Darcy and the colonel were drenched and shivering.
“Come, warm yourselves. Miss Lizzy and I shall retire to my private rooms where you can take advantage of the fire and the hot water in the kettle. I have a rack where you may hang your outer clothing and boots to dry. Pray let us know when you are comfortable.”
Mrs. Hammond’s words hit Elizabeth one after the other. For the duration of the downpour, she was stuck in a small cottage with Mrs. Hammond and two gentlemen; one she loathed, the other a complete stranger. Even though her circumstances were far from joyous, she had a lifetime of making do. She would be pleasant to Mr. Darcy, even if it killed her.
Fitzwilliam Darcycarefully removed his great coat, draping it on the peg by the door, being cautious not to shake the droplets waiting to form a puddle on the lady’s floor. His cravat was soaked, as was his hair. Without his valet, Parker, his jacket and boots would be impossible to remove. At least the buckskin of his trousers kept his legs mostly dry. He had used his fingers to comb through his curls, hoping they would not stand on end. Richard’s hair was cropped close enough to his head that he merely rubbed it with a towel.
“Well, Richard. Welcome back to jolly England.”
“You do mean damp and dreary England, do you not? I do understand that we need the rain. But this much at one time?”
“I cannot imagine Spain and Portugal having equally poor conditions.”
The colonel nodded. “Well, now that we have canvassed the weather like good British gentlemen should, perhaps my flask will warm our insides more than the tea the ladies will provide.”
Darcy grinned. “Like you officers, I have my flask. The question is, which do you prefer, Madeira in yours or French brandy in mine?”
With a camaraderie born from years of close friendship, each man drank from his own before Darcy let the ladies know they were presentable.
Miss Elizabeth followed the old woman into the room. She was lovely…Miss Elizabeth, not their hostess. He watched as her eyes shot from his to Richard’s and lingered there longer than made Darcy comfortable. She smiled at his cousin, a dimple appearing at her cheek, her eyes alight with pleasure. How like Miss Elizabeth to welcome a stranger.
