"You are cold and distressed."
"I am neither distressed nor cold."
Her teeth chattered at precisely that moment.
Darcy raised an eyebrow.
Elizabeth looked away. "I am a little cold."
"A little."
"A moderate amount."
"You have been sitting in a broken carriage in the rain for half a day," said Darcy. "I believe a little ill humour may be excused."
She looked faintly surprised by this. "Then why can you not take me to my aunt's?"
"Because I very much doubt any of us shall reach London tonight."
Elizabeth's mouth opened as if she planned to argue the point. But before she could respond, Burke leaned forward.
"I think what my master means, miss, is that our chances of reaching London in this weather are somewhere between poor and not a snowball’s chance in hell."
Darcy nodded gravely. "The roads were already difficult before the storm worsened."
"If this weather has done what I suspect it has," Burke continued, peering out at the darkness beyond the window,"Ishould not care to place any wagers on the condition of the roads ahead."
Elizabeth stared at them both. "You think it is that bad?"
Another violent gust rattled the windows as though to prove his point and Burke gave a small nod. "Exactly so. What we need at present, miss, is to get you somewhere warm, dry, with something hot to eat."
Darcy nodded. He had intended to say precisely the same thing. The fact that Burke had managed to say it in a manner that did not immediately offend Miss Bennet was deeply vexing.
Elizabeth slipped into a fitful sleep, but the road grew worse as they continued. Twice the carriage slowed almost to a halt while the horses struggled through deep mud. Once Burke climbed out to help the coachman and Thomas lead them around a flooded hollow while Darcy remained inside with Elizabeth.
After what felt like an hour, though Darcy suspected it was more like fifteen minutes, the carriage stopped again. Burke opened the door and peered out.
Darcy leaned forward. "What is it?"
The coachman’s voice came back grim through the rain. "Bridge is out, sir."
Darcy swore under his breath and opened the door. He stepped down into mud that reached above his ankle and followedBurke and the coachman a short distance ahead. The bridge, if it could still be called such, had been half torn away by the swollen stream below. Water rushed over the remaining planks. No horse could cross it safely and no driver with sense would attempt it.
Burke stood with his hands on his hips. "Well. That’s inconvenient."
Darcy gave him a flat look. "Thank you."
"Always glad to assist, sir."
Burke remained standing at the edge of the ruined bridge, peering through the rain. After a moment he pointed into the darkness. "There."
Darcy followed the direction of his hand and, after a few seconds, caught sight of a faint yellow glow through the storm. It appeared and vanished behind the curtain of rain before emerging again.
"The Golden Goose," said the coachman. "There's a track just before the bridge. Easy enough to miss in weather like this."
Darcy glanced back towards the carriage. "Can we reach it?"
"Aye, sir. It'll be rough going, but we'll reach it quick enough."
