Chapters 7-9 By Consequence of Marriage

Wind stung Fitzwilliam Darcy’s face as Alexander’s hooves pounded into the softened road. Georgiana raced through his thoughts and he couldn’t remain cooped up any longer. At the last inn, Darcy released his prized stallion from his post position and prayed that speed would alleviate his troubled mind. With only three miles left to ride to Netherfield, he didn’t feel much risk in leaving his carriage to travel more slowly behind him.

The rush of galloping down an unfamiliar road coursed through his blood. Man and beast of a similar spirit, the twists and turns added to the thrill. A few times Darcy feared the mud would cause Alexander to slip. The flecks flying through the air were covering his riding boots and breeches, but the more dangerous the ride became, the more Darcy cared less and less for his well-being. Each quarter mile increased the pain in his heart as he struggled to accept he had delegated the search for Georgiana, not abandoned it.

“Hyah, hyah” Darcy shouted, urging Alexander to keep his speed as the road appeared to veer sharply to the right, promising himself after this one last turn he would slow down. As the horse took to the inside track to careen around to the outside coming out of the turn, halfway through something went terribly, terribly wrong. Darcy caught a flash of yellow fabric diving out of the way of his horse only to disappear in the late summer’s overgrowth on the side of the country lane.

“Whoa!” Darcy pulled on the reins as a natural response, but Alexander was so well trained, the animal already slowed. “Whoa.” They both were winded as Darcy turned his horse around and cantered back to where he last saw what he supposed was a woman. As he studied the greenery on the side of the road, he began to panic. He soon realized this municipality had dug deep trenches on either side of the lane to encourage runoff from heavy rains and the water had stimulated Mother Nature to produce a veritable blanket of lush plants and ferns.

“Hello? Are you hurt?” He waited a moment for a response. “Please. If you—if you can make a sound, I shall not hurt you. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Nearing where he thought the accident happened, Darcy dismounted Alexander and searched the thicket below with care. He didn’t detect any sign of movement as his horse shuddered from the sudden slow pace without a proper cool down.

“Easy there, easy there.” Darcy patted the animal’s nose in apology. Much as he always cared for his horses, he couldn’t sacrifice the welfare of a stranger he may have harmed, particularly not a woman, for an animal’s comfort.

“Hello? Where are you? I shall not hurt you, but I cannot ascertain your location in this thick overgrowth!” Desperation and adrenaline began to turn Darcy’s thoughts to annoyance. Just who was this woman walking on a public road, unaccompanied by an escort? Where was her father? Or brother? Here he was trudging through several inches of mud to rescue a woman who had no right even to be present for such an accident.

Darcy stopped walking Alexander and studied the ground beneath him. There were numerous tracks, from old carriage ruts to his horse’s hoof prints. If he squinted, he could almost make out a set of smaller boot prints near the same line he walked, and they continued down the road. Releasing his breath, he clicked to signal Alexander to walk with him as he searched the ground for signs of the smaller boot prints leading off the road. Foot by foot he walked as slowly as he could, now worried that the woman hadn’t made a sound nor any sign of getting up by her abilities. He glanced up one last time to reorient himself in the curve, feeling he was near to the point of the turn where he must have run into the girl, only to spy a smear of mud on the lane.

“You must be here somewhere!” he called out triumphantly. Seeing broken stalks on some of the marshy plants in the trench caused hope to bubble inside. He dropped the reins to Alexander and braved the slope one foot at a time lest he step on the poor injured soul.

“Good Lord!” Darcy spied the woman lying on a bed of rocks at the bottom of the gully. Because of the turn in the road and the thick overgrowth, no one would have seen her from the road. Quickly, Darcy raced down the trench, off balance as his boots struggled to navigate the jagged, uneven rocks. Without thinking, he scooped the woman up in his arms to carry her to the edge of the road. She didn’t stir as he lifted her, which wasn’t a good sign, but he noted at least she was breathing.

“Thank heaven I didn’t kill you, Miss…” he struggled for a word to call her and found her dress too fine for a servant so he assumed she must be a local gentleman’s daughter, “…Lady.”

Reaching the top of the gully, he cursed himself for not thinking to lay down his coat before he lifted her. He disliked laying her down on the ground, but he needed to check for injuries before he decided on the way to transport her to safety and find a doctor. He searched the ground around him to find the softest grassy area along the trench.

“Forgive me Miss; I shall lay you down as gently as I can.” Gingerly, Darcy lowered himself to his knees and placed his charge in the grass. Once more, he searched for any sign of another person; perhaps she had a maid that walked slower or a sister or brother nearby? Seeing no one, he took a deep breath and began inspecting her person.

The gash on her forehead was by far the most serious injury and likely the reason she remained unconscious. He tugged at his cravat to undo the fancy knot his man Simmons considered a personal triumph. It wasn’t perfectly clean after half a day’s travel, but it was the cleanest cloth he possessed as he rarely carried handkerchiefs. He held the makeshift bandage against the still bleeding wound and searched for any sign of broken bones. Her arms appeared unharmed, and he touched them for any reaction. Seeing none, he reached as far down on her legs as he could to preserve her privacy to jostle them, and as he moved her right leg, she began to moan. Immediately, he removed the bandage to see her face.

“Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?” Darcy urged, trying to elicit another response.

Despite her hair and face being soaked with blood and dirt, two beautiful brown eyes fluttered open, and her pale pink lips parted to say only one word before she returned to her unconscious state.

“John?”

Unable to reawaken her, Darcy resumed pressure on her head wound and prayed for help to find them. The sound of an approaching carriage roused him from his vigil. Relief surged through his chest as it was his own equipage coming down the lane.

His driver slowed and Simmons sprung out of the carriage itself before the wheels came to a complete stop.

“Mr. Darcy, are you all right, sir?” Without a word, Simmons motioned for the lad up with the driver to hop down and fetch Mr. Darcy’s horse wandering toward a tree some yards away.

“I’ve nearly killed a woman! She was on the road, and I swear I didn’t see her before she, before she . . .” Darcy motioned with his hands to the unconscious woman before him, his hands stained with her blood. A former comrade-in-arms of Colonel Fitzwilliam, Simmons had seen far worse on Europe’s battlefields. Without a word, he moved forward to lift the woman up only to have Mr. Darcy finally snap out of his shock and refuse to let anyone else carry her.

Simmons rushed forward to the carriage door and Darcy gently placed her on the seat in front of him. Simmons closed the door and leaned his arm out of the window to bang on the side, motioning for the driver to drive on. With a quick crack of reins, the carriage was off as fast as the driver could urge it to hasten to Netherfield, leaving behind a young man of thirteen to figure out a way to either mount Alexander or walk the animal the remaining three miles.