Idk Fuckin Stuff

"Miss Elizabeth, please, come this way!" Mr Darcy leaned in closer and shouted to be heard over the deafening sound of the torrential rain. Before she could have responded, whether in agreement or protest, his arm wrapped around her waist and he started pulling her towards the house. "Sir, ma'am, please follow us!"

They quickly made their way down a path she hadn’t noticed before, rounding the south-west side of the house. The hedges on both sides towered above them, blocking her view of the rest of the formal garden, not that she could see much as the drops kept rolling off her forehead and flooding her eyes.

They turned a corner. One moment, she was keeping pace with him, and in the next, her foot slid out from under her. But Mr Darcy, whose arm was still around her, tightened his grip, keeping her upright, and they kept on running without slowing down.

"Hold on! We're almost there! Look!"

The dark chestnut door, overhung by a great ivy, was just visible through the rain. Mr Darcy threw it open and pushed her inside. A minute later, it closed with a bang.

Pushing her dripping hair out of her eyes, hoping that somehow her bonnet at least protected the rest of her hair, Elizabeth saw that her uncle and aunt also found refuge inside. Her aunt was leaning heavily on her uncle’s arms, clearly exhausted.

"Mrs Reynolds," Mr Darcy said—with such an amount of respect that Elizabeth couldn’t help but look at him—as the housekeeper rushed towards them. “Could you find some blankets and help the ladies recover? And tell Lynton to bring blankets for—"

"Mr Gardiner, Sir," her uncle introduced himself.

"—for Mr Gardiner and myself as well. He will be in the Oak Room. And please, take the ladies to the Queen Catherine Room.”

"Of course, Sir."

Elizabeth raked her fingers through her dishevelled hair as she watched him talk to his housekeeper. The nerves that had gone away as they rushed towards the house were now fully in the foreground again.

She had once stood before him with the hem of her dress covered in mud and felt no trace of embarrassment or shame; her thoughts were solely on Jane. But there was nothing to distract her now, nothing that could make her feel better about the situation she was in. What must he think of her? Since their days at Rosings, since that day he gave her that letter, she hadn't seen him. Nor had she heard of him. And here she was, visiting his home, and looking like a cat that fell into a river. And the ground wouldn't even grant her the mercy of swallowing her, saving her from what was going to happen.

Stepping towards him, tensing up at every loud squeak her shoes made, she said, "Mr Darcy, I wish to apologise. If we had known that you were to arrive today, we would never have presumed to intrude—"

"It was my intention to arrive tomorrow with the rest of the party, but certain matters with my tenants required me to return today," Mr Darcy said with no apparent emotion.

"Oh."

Elizabeth not knowing what else to say, they lapsed into silence. Outside, the rain kept slashing against the windows.

"You are well, I hope. You have not been injured?" Mr Darcy asked.

"No," she said softly. After everything that happened between them, how could he still be concerned for her? "You caught me in time."

She waited for him to say anything else, anything to distract her from how uncomfortable she felt from being near him again. But he didn’t. He only kept looking at her with a mix of concern and astonishment, like he still couldn’t believe she was here. Elizabeth felt a chill running through her limbs that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Darcy," she said, and before he could have uttered another word, she gave him a quick curtsy and walked over to where her aunt and uncle were waiting.

"Let me help you, Aunt."

Taking hold of her aunt's arm, Elizabeth forced herself not to just break into a run and followed Mrs Reynolds down the hallway.

**

An hour later, dressed in a borrowed nightgown and a dressing gown that Mrs Reynolds said once belonged to Lady Anne, Mr Darcy’s late mother, Elizabeth stood at one of the windows in the Queen Catherine Room. She didn't know how she felt about wearing his mother's clothes. It felt like she had crossed a boundary that she, as a woman who rejected him, wasn't supposed to come close to, let alone cross. Elizabeth shook her head. The less time she considered the matter, the better she must surely feel.

But that only left her to consider the hard patter against the window, which so far showed no sign of stopping. Elizabeth sighed softly. Going back to Lambton at this time was unfortunately not an option; they would be completely soaked by the time they reached the inn, resulting at least in all three of them catching a cold or something worse. And then there was the matter of the roads. The drenching rain would have washed-out some of, if not all, the roads between Pemberley and Lambton, add to that the disastrous combination of mud and axles.

Furthermore there was something far more concerning to keep in mind. Turning away from the window, Elizabeth's eye met the dozing figure of her aunt. They had barely left her uncle and Mr Darcy behind when Elizabeth became aware of how much her aunt was leaning on her. And after some persuasion, she learned that while Mr Darcy was able to save her from falling, her dear aunt had slipped on the cobblestones and twisted her ankle. Her aunt could barely stand on that foot, let alone rush to the carriage. She needed to find her uncle and hope he'd figured out how they could leave this house behind as soon as possible.

Opening the door, Elizabeth nearly jumped into the air at the sight of Mr Darcy standing there with his hand raised, about to knock.

“Mr Darcy,” said Elizabeth, startled. A soft, sleepy hum of inquiry came from behind her, and Elizabeth quickly pushed Mr Darcy back as she closed the door behind her and tugged him towards the windows on the other side of the hallway. For a moment, they stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, and immediately let go of his hand and took a step backwards. Back to what polite society deemed appropriate, and away from this strange closeness that had engulfed them all day.

“Miss Elizabeth, Mrs Reynolds informed me about your aunt’s injury.” Elizabeth tried to speak, but Mr Darcy continued undeterred. “Please, know you and your family are welcome to stay here at Pemberley until your aunt has fully recovered.”

Elizabeth was already shaking her head. “We could not impose on you, nor on your party. I recall you said they will be arriving tomorrow, surely you do not want us to intrude, especially considering that my aunt and uncle live near Cheapside.” The words were spoken, before she could have thought of the wisdom of that particular revelation. But she could not forget how he once spoke of his displeasure to love a woman, that he loved her, when her family was in his eyes inferior.

She had no doubt that he and Miss Bingley had spoken in contempt of her beloved aunt and uncle, all because of where they lived. She watched him carefully, waiting for what? A twitch. A widening of the eyes. Anything that showed that this reminder of her family social standing had affected him.

If Mr Darcy was shocked by this, he hid his displeasure behind a facade of politeness. He even smiled at her. "I shall look forward to meeting them properly. And you have no need to worry about intruding, since all but one, you are already acquainted with the party.”

“I am?”

“It’s Mr Bingley, his sisters, and Mr Hurst. The one person you are not yet acquainted with is my sister, Georgiana."

A mix of emotions swirled within her. Astonishment that he was alright with her being in the same room as his friend when she knew Mr Darcy was instrumental in separating Mr Bingley from Jane. The disappointment in Mr Bingley’s character for staying away, and the hope that maybe she could figure out if her sister was still dear to him.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth was fairly sure she was blushing.

"Pardon me, Mr Darcy, what did you say?"

"I asked if tomorrow I may introduce my sister to you?"

Elizabeth swallowed. She had heard much about Miss Darcy. Mr Wickham described her as proud, but she could no longer trust his opinion, and Miss Bingley often talked about how accomplished she was and made no secret of her wish that her brother would marry her. Could she be similar to her aunt, or was she more like her cousin, Miss de Bourgh?

Elizabeth smiled and felt it bloom easier than she imagined. "I shall be delighted to make her acquaintance."