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FITZWILLIAM pulled his scarf higher, struggling to shield his face while squinting to see through the ever-thickening snow. It had been a pleasant enough early winter day when he had started out from the inn this morning, with Netherfield his destination. Had he realized it would be like this, he would have sent on notice that he was not coming, or at the very least, he would have taken a carriage. Since it was just him traveling alone, with Georgiana back at Pemberley, he had disdained the use of the carriage, finding the horse much faster.
That was only under normal circumstances, however. With the bloody snowfall that had begun two hours ago and continued to drop from the sky, he wished for the comfort and protection of a carriage.
The snow had not yet gotten heavy enough that he couldn’t see the road ahead of him, and he knew he was on the right path. He would arrive at Netherfield within the hour, as long as the snow didn’t further thicken.
Though he could still see the road in front of him, visibility wasn’t absolute, so he nearly ran his horse directly into the accident on the road before him. He tugged hard on Goliath’s reins, and the horse reared back, standing on his rear feet for a moment before righting his balance and slamming down onto all four hooves. That jolted Fitzwilliam, but he clung to the saddle and the reins, managing to keep his seat.
Once the horse was stable, and he was able to step down, Fitzwilliam took the reins and moved closer, needing to see what was happening at the accident scene, yet not wanting Goliath to spook and run away. That could be a death sentence with the current weather.
It didn’t take long to appraise the situation. The coach had overturned, and though the cause of the accident wasn’t clear, the axle and harness had broken, and the horses that had surely pulled the it were no longer at the scene.
He took a moment to tie Goliath’s reins to the upturned wheel of the carriage before moving around to the other side of the accident. As he feared, the lump he had seen was not just snow. He brushed it off enough to reveal a young man, who had surely been the driver. He wore the livery of Longbourn.
Fitzwilliam tried shaking his shoulder, but he was not at all surprised to find no pulse when he touched the young man’s throat. He had likely died at impact, judging from the unnatural position of his neck.
Knowing it unlikely that the driver would have been taking an empty carriage anywhere, and suspecting the destination had been Netherfield, like Fitzwilliam’s own, he braced himself to move to the interior of the carriage. It was on its roof, and a quick look revealed no one inside, but he still opened the door to ensure it was abandoned.
He winced at the blood on the snow and the seat, and his heart sank when he saw a light-blue reticule on the roof, which now served as the floor. He couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he thought he had seen Miss Elizabeth wear that reticule around her wrist more than once.
The snow had obscured most of her tracks, but there was a trail of blood leading off into the distance. She had wandered away from the road, and being injured, he suspected it might be a head injury due to her going away from safety. She must have been confused, because she surely knew this terrain well.
He saw no evidence that anyone besides Elizabeth was out here, and she would not have required a chaperone to travel the three miles via carriage from Longbourn to Netherfield. His options were limited. He could go to Netherfield and rouse a search party, but any trace of Elizabeth’s path might be lost by then. He could look for her, but that posed its own risks, including not finding her and getting lost himself.
As much as he had tried to banish his affection for her, he had been unsuccessful. It was anathema to consider riding to Netherfield and losing what might be his only opportunity to find and save her. It wasn’t the best choice, but he was starved for options, so he used the upturned wheel and the left stirrup to get back on Goliath.
The horse resisted for a moment, perhaps understanding deviating from the road in these conditions was a bad idea. With a firm hand and a sharp whistle, though Fitzwilliam was almost surprised the horse could hear it over the piercing wind, he directed Goliath toward the path of Lizzy’s blood.
He still clung to the hope that it was not Elizabeth. Not that he wished ill for any of her sisters either, but it would be far more tolerable to find Miss Kitty or Miss Mary was the one wandering in a snowstorm. He would do his utmost to rescue them as well, but it would not hurt his heart so grievously to consider either one of them facing the conditions instead of his Elizabeth.
Not that she was his Elizabeth, per se. The last time he had visited, shortly after Bingley’s proposal, she had been in London with her aunt and uncle. By the time he had a pretext to call in on the Gardiners, she’d been back at Longbourn. After that, he had made no further attempt to see her, interpreting her unavailability as a lack of interest in seeing him.
He might have helped resolve the situation with Lydia and Wickham, and he had confessed his role in keeping his friend from Miss Jane, but that had clearly not been enough to change Elizabeth’s views toward him or soften her impression. She had certainly not embraced any kind of love for him, as he had hoped she might. That had been the driving force behind his actions all along, though he had known it was a fool’s hope he carried even as he did so.
His affection for her remained unchanged despite his efforts to eradicate it. He loved Elizabeth as much as he did yesterday, which was more than he had loved her last week, and even more than the month before. No matter what he did, he could not purge Miss Elizabeth from his thoughts or his heart.
He had to keep Goliath’s pace slow, needing to be able to see the blood drops in the snow. After a short time, they faded, which gave him hope that her injury wasn’t too serious, but it also meant he was going on blindly. Since she had been roughly walking straight ahead, he continued with that path, certain he picked up an occasional footprint here and there.
The snow was getting thicker, and he cursed the weather conditions that had come upon them so suddenly. It must have contributed to the carriage accident that had claimed the life of the young driver and potentially carried the risk of claiming one of the Bennet girls.
Goliath was resisting, and Fitzwilliam understood why. The snow was deeper here, making it harder for the horse to take each step, but he pushed the mount ahead. He was not cruel, but he was firm with the animal, keeping Goliath focused on their task.
Up ahead, he saw a shape in the snow. It wasn’t the first one he had seen, and thus far, it had turned out to be vegetation or a rock formation, but this seemed different. His heart leapt with excitement as he got closer, more and more convinced it was a person-sized shape in the snow.
When he was close enough to investigate, he slipped off the saddle and hurried forward. It was certainly a woman, though he could not see her identity just yet. He reached her a half-second later, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Elizabeth?”
She turned her head at his touch, but he couldn’t be certain she had heard his words. His heart sank when he realized it was Elizabeth. There was blood smeared across her forehead and streaking down her temple into her hair. She had lost her bonnet, and she must be freezing. From what he could tell in the dimming light, she wore a brocade velvet coat over a dress, and that couldn’t provide much protection.
Immediately, he shrugged off his own greatcoat and slipped it around her, guiding her arms into the sleeves before buttoning it as snuggly as he could. She practically drowned in it, with the lapels creeping halfway over her face, but it should keep her warmer.
Fitzwilliam shivered at the increased chill as he walked around to face her fully. “Are you injured, Miss Bennet?” Of course she was, but he was hoping she would answer. He was trying to gage the level of her remaining sense after a blow to the head.
She blinked, and after a minute, her gaze seemed to focus on him. Her lips parted softly, and she gave him a dreamy smile. “Mr. Darcy.”
Was he imagining the softness in her tone, and perhaps a hint of longing? Surely, he was just projecting his own wishes onto her speech. “Yes, Miss Bennet.” He put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. It wasn’t entirely proper, but it was too cold to worry about propriety. She did not resist, which worried him greatly. “How injured are you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“My head hurts. I believe I was thrown from the carriage. I woke in the snow and knew I had to find my way home or to Netherfield.” There was still a slightly disconnected essence in her tone, but she seemed more alert than she had even seconds ago. That was confirmed when she abruptly pulled back from him. “Mr. Darcy, it is not seemly to stand so close.”
His lips twitched. “Nor is it seemly to freeze to death.” He looked down as he retrieved his handkerchief, using it to gently wipe the bloody gash on her forehead before trying to remove as much of the sticky blood from her temple and hair as possible. It had started to congeal, which indicated it was no longer bleeding.
That was certainly a relief, and she seemed alert enough that he didn’t have to worry about having her immediately see the apothecary, had that been an option. “We need to get out of the weather. We are much closer to Netherfield than your home, Miss Elizabeth. I suggest we venture there.”
She nodded and then winced, as though the movement caused her great pain. She didn’t protest when Fitzwilliam put his arm around her waist and guided her toward Goliath. In fact, she snuggled closer. Perhaps her need for warmth had overcome her need to maintain decorum. It had certainly done so for him.
When they reached Goliath, he was able to lift her up high enough for her to grasp onto the saddle horn, but she couldn’t seem to drag herself up. “Forgive me.”
“For what?” She let out a startled shriek a second later.
He’d put his hands on her buttocks and lifted her up, giving her enough momentum so she could settle onto the saddle astride, in a most unladylike fashion. She didn’t protest though.
He climbed up behind her a moment later, putting his arms around her and urging her to lean back against him. She did so after a second’s hesitation, and he leaned forward to try to provide as much of a windbreak for her as possible.
His top priority was getting her to safety, but he couldn’t help a moment of male appreciation at her soft body against his. Even with myriad layers of clothing between them, he could still sense her pleasing feminine roundness, and his pants tightened uncomfortably. It was all he could do not to reach between them and undo the buttons of the fall so he would have a little more room to accommodate his growing erection. Knowing that would only bring attention to it, along with exposing him to more snow and coldness, kept his hands from doing just that.
He grasped Goliath’s reins and directed the horse to turn around. “We shall have you in front of a warm fire soon enough, Miss Bennet.”
She snuggled against him, and her voice was barely audible above the wind. “I prefer Miss Elizabeth.”
He took it as a sign of her softening toward him, and the foolish hope he’d nurtured unwillingly threatened to kindle into an inferno instead of the banked blaze it had been even ten minutes ago.
Now was not the time to focus on such matters. Instead, he had to find Netherfield before the snow got too thick.