Chapter Text
Icicles hung from their roof, drifting back and forth in the wind. The recent snow fall had littered the farm with the beauty of sparkling fresh snow, casting an enchanting beauty that was too irresistible for the Bennets and the Gardiners.
Time was spent wisely outside, cousins on both sides throwing snowballs and plopping down to make snow angels. But for Elizabeth the occasional meandering in the woods brought fresh color to her cheeks and lips, casting a deep contrast to her expressive eyes. She had crept near the fence that separated Netherfield and her home, watching with longing at the lack of smoke coming from the chimney and the emptiness of the house. Mainly its occupants. This was a ritual almost daily, for the heartache that her sister endured and the shared gossip between neighbors that was just as hurtful as disappointed hopes.
It was earlier in the day and the chill had penetrated her cloak, goosebumps that erupted across her body and her hands shook with the cold. She had forgotten her mittens. It was an uncommonly cold morning and as she lifted herself to perch on the fence that separated the two estates, she was surprised to see a single rider approach on a black stallion. From the horse she immediately recognized the rider as Mr. Darcy, but she saw no evidence of the Bingleys or the Hursts.
Immediately, the gentleman turned to her direction to her very much displeasure. Yet, curiosity was always her kryptonite. So, she remained on the fence, resting her hand underneath her chin as she beheld him from underneath her eyelashes.
“Miss Elizabeth!” He swept his hat off in a bow and she could see the curls that coiled like a snake’s nest atop his head. Blue eyes the color of the winter sky peered curiously at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly in a frown. His odious and obvious disapproval that painted his countenance at her whereabouts.
“Mr. Darcy,” a smile curved her lips. She thought briefly of leaping from the fence and giving him a proper bow, but they were far from society and she had a sneaking suspicion that the man standing before her was the cause of Jane’s heartache. She remained on her seat, lightly swinging her feet back and forth as he swung himself down from his horse. He gently pulled his stallion by the reins towards her and it snorted in the usual way of displeasure.
The feeling was mutual.
The fence was high enough that most men would look up to her, but Mr. Darcy was tall enough that it gave her the unique advantage of staring at him in the eye. There was an awkward silence as they boldly stared at each other and she almost felt she could glimpse his soul through those blue eyes. It was a disdainful selfishness that bespoke of his upbringing.
He held out his gloved hand to her, “Would you allow me to assist you?”
Surprised, she unconsciously felt her hand slip into his. Her bare hands would have embarrassed her, but the warmth of his leather gloves combined with his strong, masculine hands caused a strong blush to paint her cheeks. She briefly remembered the dance they had shared and the animosity that curled in her belly, warm as fire. It was low, like a pit that burned like embers in a dying fire.
“I would expect that no weather would stop you from enjoying your morning walk,” he said with an odd expression. His lips twitched in amusement.
“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Darcy?” she cried.
To her great surprise and amusement, he tilted his head with a smile that showcased a rather nice set of teeth. The corners of his eyes winkled and she was surprised by the lack of seriousness.
“On the contrary, I rather admire your…dedication despite the weather. After all, you are a great walker.”
“Someone once told me that a truly accomplished woman must have an air and manner of walking to be truly considered such a woman,” was the quick retort. He pulled her slightly closer, frowning as he cupped his other hand around the one that was held in his grasp.
“You are freezing, Miss Elizabeth. Where are your mittens?”
The warmth of his hands and her lower belly were enough to sustain her home, she was sure. Partly mortification and anger at his gentlemanliness, she lowered her eyes and slipped her hand out from underneath his grasp.
His hands fell to his sides.
“I misplaced them and did not expect to wander so far from home this morning,” which was partially true but rather she knew that she would escape to her usual haunt with or without them.
“Allow me to escort you home,” he said in a grave voice. “You are much too cold to walk home, as great as a walker you are. It would be a pleasure to accompany you.”
Thinking of her aunt, her little cousins that littered the yard as they hurled snowballs, but most of all…Jane’s heartache and the opportunity for some answers caused her to thread her arm through his.
He chuckled.
“I meant ride.”
The horror on her face cannot be expressed through words. “Mr. Darcy, I do not ride!”
“You do not ride?” He repeated, sounding almost disappointed. “Not ever?”
“There was a slight excursion when I was young, but that will not be repeated.”
The incredulous expression almost made her laugh and she lightly covered her mouth delicately. He looked back at his stallion, which nickered as if the horse knew he was being discussed. “I assure you that Stetson is quite tame. I would trust my sister’s life with him, as he is a gentle giant.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy. I assure you that it is the furthest thing that I will ever do is ride another horse after such a disastrous first time,” this time she laughed outrightly. He leaned close to her, hovering and frowning and being oh so Darcy-like that she laughed again, pulling away from him.
“This is an opportunity to conquer a fear,” his eyes sparkled. “After all, I thought you were the bravest woman in Meryton.”
“Mr. Darcy, flattery will get you nowhere.”
This time he leaned closer and whispered softly, “What if I ride with you?”
Once again, the stirrings in the pit of her stomach came to life and she felt the deepening of her blush. She looked at him from underneath her eyelashes and something shifted in his expression, something that she could not quite pinpoint.
Suddenly, he was gently shucking off his coat and draping it over her. The immediate warmth and the smell of sandalwood made her toes curl in her boots. She did not protest, shocked to her core. The coat overwhelmed her petite form, a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes rather than a young woman accepting a coat from a gentleman. When he peeled off his gloves finger by finger, peering at her curiously did she exhale to protest. But he fitted them on her hands without a word and any thought turned to slush. They were ungodly warm.
This was extremely inappropriate. Any resistance was swallowed up by her throat closing and the fire that was building in her lower belly was brought more aflame. It caused a sensation elsewhere that she had scarcely ever felt, except alone and in the privacy of her own bedroom. Never in a presence of a man. She reminded herself of the disdain she felt, trying to quell the blue eyes and windswept hair.
Her knees quaked.
“Please, allow me?” Underdressed, he gestured to his horse.
“Mr. Darcy…”
“Miss Elizabeth,” and the smile deepened. “You would not allow me to return you home cold? The horse is much speedier and you’ll be quite safe with me.”
She turned to the horse and could scarcely imagine even climbing atop its back. Her eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You can hardly expect me to hoist myself on top of your horse, Mr. Darcy. It’s a large beast and as you can tell,” she moved closer to him, looking up at him. “I am not quite as large as you.”
“Is that a yes?”
She breathed to say no but felt two strong hands around her waist that swept her in the air. She gasped and looked down at him, shocked. She had never ridden side-saddle. He perched her at the front of the saddle before lifting himself behind her, keeping a respectable distance between them. Or as respectful as two people sharing a seat.
His hands were already reddening with the cold air and it painted his cheeks a lovely hue. She stared up at him, observing the deep-set frown lines and the stoic expression he wore. This obviously did not affect him the same way it brought heat to her. She was short enough that she barely came to his shoulders, so she spent a moment staring at his broad chest as his arms stretched around her to grasp the reins. She blushed, looking down at her lap.
There was a soft whistle and the horse jolted forward. She rocked backwards in shock, instinctively grasping onto him as the horse trotted. She glanced at him, but he kept his eyes forward.
Some moments passed of silence as she adjusted comfortably side-saddle, trying not to huff in annoyance. When she found herself slightly more situated, she stared at the bare hands that held the reins. The blue veins, the slight tint of redness from the cold, but rather the large span of his hand and remembered the slight pressure it gave on her lower back when they danced. She tried to concentrate on the loathing and heartache that Jane endured, but it was rather hard when she was surrounded by his scent, his concern for her comfort, and the steady rise of his chest as he breathed.
“Are you planning on staying long, Mr. Darcy?”
“I have business I needed to tidy up here and then, hopefully…I will be at Pemberley.” The cryptic response made her almost roll her eyes in annoyance. But he continued. “My sister hates town, but I do enjoy some of the entertainment that London affords.”
She tilted her head up and his eyes immediately met hers.
“Have you ever been to a theatre in London, Miss Elizabeth? The museums, the parks, as its entertainment isn’t just the balls and its amusements.”
“I have been to the theatre with my aunt and uncle, who are now visiting. I have not been given the opportunity to visit London to the extent I would like, as my father hates town as you know. I would enjoy going to Hyde Park, of course.” There was a brief pause as she boldly pressed forward with her words. “And Mr. Bingley, does he intend to return to Netherfield?”
This time his eyes darkened slightly. “Not that I am aware, as Bingley is his own man. He was generous enough to allow me to stay until my business has finished.”
“Jane intends to travel to London with my aunt and uncle when they return home. She seems very excited for a change in scenery.” Elizabeth said, trying to get a little more information from him about the Bingleys.
“She is fortunate to have relatives that care deeply for her future, as London will grant many distractions and entertainment that you’ll scarcely find in the country.” He observed.
“What is Pemberley like at the moment? Or do you usually spend the winter in London, as I am sure the north gets rather cold.” She asked, watching as his eyes flickered down at her and a thoughtful frown crept its way to the corners of his eyes.
“It is beautiful. My estate is set in such a way that a lake with a bountiful number of fish is frozen over, so there is this iridescent beauty when winter comes. The house sits upon a hill and every morning you can observe from the parlor the beauty of winter as it crystalizes the landscape. It is situated with a large wood area and when winter comes, one must be careful to be properly attired.” He smiled. “It is rather colder than Meryton.”
Feeling slightly chastised and teased at the same time, she frowned. Holding onto Jane’s sad face and the irritation that always captivated her instead of this stranger that tucked her away. “How is your sister? Does she enjoy Pemberley as much as you?”
“I like to believe that she loves the land as much as I do, but I have scarcely met someone who loves an estate as much as the master. Despite what Miss Bingley says, I doubt anyone could capture the amount of love that I have for Pemberley. My sister is rather prone to melancholy, and I fear that after the death of my father that Pemberley has become less of a home for her. I hope that soon she will find more comfort and love in it as I do after my business is completed here.”
They continued chatting as they neared the house, but in the back of Elizabeth’s mind she could not help but feel a mixture of desire and anger towards the gentleman. Anger for Jane’s situation and the involvement that he no doubt had in her misery. But desire in the scent and closeness that only a man could invoke in a single, virgin woman. There was an easiness that the short fifteen-minute ride between the two that had never existed before, even though she was itching to confront him about Bingley and his involvement. Mr. Darcy seemed content to talk about his home while scarcely receiving any input from her other than the occasional comment.
As they neared the house, he swept off the horse and reached for her. Once again, he lifted her from the waist and set her upon her feet. She looked up at him with Longbourn in the distance. She pulled off the gloves he had given her and gently handed them back to him. The coat was a little harder to let go, as his scent was covered in it and the chilly weather immediately crept into her bones as he dressed back into his attire.
“Would you like to come in, Mr. Darcy?”