Posted on Thursday, 13 December 2007

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the park: he was moving that way; and fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had turned away; but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it also, and, holding out a letter, which she instinctively took, said, with a look of haughty composure, "I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?" And then, with a slight bow, turned again into the plantation…

Elizabeth Bennet watched Mr. Darcy walk away with sufficient confusion. Though she was little inclined to concern herself with a man who had insulted her in a most heinous manner, her mutinous eyes remained glued to his retreating figure. He was the tallest man she had ever seen and his manner of walking was both self-assured and elegant. Elizabeth knew not why his quick strides fascinated her. She had spurned his offer of his hand in marriage with intense self-righteousness. She knew she could never regret that decision. He had been unbearable in his arrogance and he remained as proud this morning as he was the previous night.

Yet there was something about his presence that called to her, making it impossible to cease staring at him. When she had first seen Mr. Darcy at the Meryton assembly, she acknowledged him to be a handsome man with a fine figure, but that was only an incorrect first impression. Her disgust with his rudeness that evening had eradicated admiration of every sort.

Fitzwilliam Darcy headed towards his most esteemed aunt’s manor with a heavy heart. He had spent the entire night re-living his confrontation with the woman who he had long hoped and even expected to become his wife. After much deliberation, which was accompanied by a fierce struggle to prevent the shedding of tears, he had decided upon the most rational course of action.

He could not, in good conscience, allow the only woman he had ever loved to continue to think of him as an example of the worst of men. His world had been shattered and his heart shred into pieces, but he still had some pride left that he would not apologize for. Miss Elizabeth had been wrong to accuse him of cruelty to Wickham and her insinuations that he cold-heartedly separated her sister from his friend were not altogether correct either.

He needed her to know the truth, since she appeared to feel some fondness towards that insufferable cad. However, his incredible pain at her rejection made it impossible to speak to her for a prolonged period of time. He had, therefore, decided to write her a letter and delivered it to her in the morning. He hoped and believed that she would feel bound by a sense of honour to read its contents and to re-evaluate her perception of his character.

With the letter now in Miss Elizabeth’s hands, there was nothing more he could do but attempt to overcome his ardent love for her. He steeled himself against the desire to turn back and give her one last glance. He felt a sudden certainty that he would never see her again. The heartbreak brought out by this revelation was so great that Darcy paid heed to nothing else and lost his senses.

Frustrated with her ridiculous behaviour, Elizabeth forced her eyes away from Mr. Darcy and lowered her head towards his letter. Before she managed to break the seal, however, she spotted a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked back to where Mr. Darcy had been striding, and found nothing.

She knitted her brows and frowned, wondering how Mr. Darcy could have disappeared from her sight when her thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream. Concerned for the man’s wellbeing, Elizabeth sprinted to the plantation to see what had happened.

She gasped at the sight of Mr. Darcy lying in a puddle of mud, clutching his knee and heaving in pain. Though she did not like the man, she was not cruel enough to wish any ill upon him and seeing such a proud and robust young man injured sent a stabbing tingle to her heart.

“Mr. Darcy! Are you very hurt? Should I call for help?” she asked in a strained voice.

Humiliated beyond measure and suffering from his fall, Mr. Darcy struggled to speak. He tried to lift his shoulders, but the pain was too unbearable and he fell back down with a thud. He could not have paid a higher price for his distraction. That the love of his life would be the one to see him in such a state could only bring him more misery.

Elizabeth took pity on Mr. Darcy and sat down beside him, leaning over him so that she may better examine his face. He was flushed, but Elizabeth could not determine whether the redness of his cheeks came from the pain of his injury or from the embarrassment of injuring himself in her presence. His mouth opened as though he wished to talk, but no words came. Elizabeth leaned closer to him, tilting her ear towards his face in an encouraging gesture. He lifted his head towards hers and managed to answer her questions.

“Miss Bennet…I believe…I may have wounded my knee…I tripped over a tree root…and my knee fell hard…against the ground…please…call my valet…and my cousin…if you could please…find my cousin…and tell him…what has happened” he choked out the words and then fell back to the floor as though all of his energy had been spent.

Elizabeth froze. She understood that she needed to find help, but she hesitated to leave Mr. Darcy alone in his vulnerable state. Having been nursed back to health after she had fallen in a similar manner during one of her youthful escapades across the woods of Hertfordshire, she knew of certain measures she could take to bring him relief. She, therefore, decided against heeding Mr. Darcy’s words and placed him under her care instead.

“Mr. Darcy, I apologize, but I am afraid I cannot leave you unattended. Please, allow me to assist you. I have some experience with a situation such as this.”

Mr. Darcy stared at her in amazement. Her compassion touched his heart, giving him a much better sense of all that he had lost. He accepted her assistance with guilty pleasure, basking in the opportunity to be the sole object of his love’s attention.

Elizabeth knew she was being too forward and she would have been wise to have done what the gentleman had requested, but her conscience would not allow her to act otherwise. She could not help, but feel responsible for his suffering. He would not have fallen had he not walked towards the grove in the hope of finding her and delivering his mysterious letter.

Remembering that the man before her was in a great deal of pain, Elizabeth brushed her thoughts aside and began to tend to her patient. She took her shawl off of her shoulders and gently grabbed Mr. Darcy’s knee. The gentleman gasped and his eyes widened in surprise, but Elizabeth paid no heed to his reaction. Now was not the time to be missish.

She wrapped her shawl around Mr. Darcy’s knee as tightly as she could and then pressed her hands upon it with all of her strength, since she did not have a cold compress at hand. She noticed that Mr. Darcy’s breathing had grown steadier and his whimpers died down. She directed her eyes towards his face to see if there was still pain in his expression and was made breathless. The look of mingled yearning and humiliation he gave her struck her and she lowered her eyes before she began to feel anything akin to remorse.

Darcy watched her every movement as she took care of him. The feel of her delicate hands upon his knee, the look of genuine concern in her fine eyes, and the light but pleasant scent emanating from where she sat held him in awe. His embarrassment disappeared and his pain lasted only a little longer. He had never thought he could rejoice in being a clumsy oaf, but he now felt tremendous gratitude towards his wayward feet.

The two of them remained still for a considerable time, though Elizabeth could not determine the exact amount or whether it was in minutes or in hours. Mr. Darcy said nothing, but she could feel his eyes upon her all the while. She continued to tend to his injury by straightening his leg little by little and observing his reaction. The pain appeared to have died down, and Elizabeth felt it was time to leave Mr. Darcy to the care of someone more appropriate.

She offered him her hand, “Mr. Darcy, do you feel that you are quite well enough to stand up?”

Mr. Darcy retained his usual stony demeanor, but Elizabeth thought she saw a very slight hint of a blush in his cheeks.

“Yes I believe so,” he whispered and took her hand. She struggled to help him up. Though his figure was slender, his build was stronger than she had expected. Luckily, he had regained enough of his strength to hold his body up without causing Elizabeth’s hand much pain.

“I believe I can walk to Rosings on my own now, Miss Bennet. The pain has lessened considerably…I thank you for your assistance and pray, please forgive me for taxing your patience.”

“Mr. Darcy, are you certain you can walk well enough? I am not averse to accompanying you, if you need some assistance.”

Mr. Darcy smiled, though Elizabeth recognized a lingering sadness in his eyes.

“That will not be necessary, though I thank you for the offer. I feel I am much indebted to you, Miss Bennet,” he paused and looked at her with unfathomable intensity, “I would like you to know that I hold no ill will towards you and wish you well. May God bless you.”

Elizabeth felt her heart catch in her throat at the depth of his expression. She felt unequal to speaking and gave him a nod of her head as her goodbye. She watched his retreating figure yet again, but this time she felt increasing turmoil.

Mr. Darcy had been most gracious in accepting her assistance. For a man filled with so much excessive pride to allow the ministrations of the woman who had spurned him and to then thank her for it with profound gratitude and admiration in his eyes was nothing short of remarkable. She could not believe this was the same Mr. Darcy who had been so arrogant and inconsiderate throughout her acquaintance. She began to feel an urgency to read his letter. She opened it in haste and discovered, through the letter’s contents, that she had never truly known herself.

It came to pass that Elizabeth Bennet met Mr. Darcy once again while touring his exquisite estate with her aunt and uncle. There, her admiration of him awakened and she learned to see him as a man worthy of her esteem, while he grew to love her more than he could have ever imagined. He overcame his pride and asked her to marry him a second time. She was now prejudiced in his favour and accepted him with joy. They were fortunate enough to live a long, happy life together with their thoughtful son and their three beautiful, lively daughters.

The End