He turned to glare at his aunt, irritation sharpening every line of his face. “ButIam. We shall speak later, after I have ensured everyone’s safety.”
Her ladyship’s cane rapped sharply the floor. “I will not be contradicted! Darcy! You must—” She faltered, suddenly aware her other nephew was absent. “Where is he? Why is he not here?”
“He’s outside, ma’am,” a passing servant replied. “I saw him making his way towards the yard. I believe he’s helping the servants see the families off.”
“I cannot believe you sent those families away in this weather.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face flushed.
Lady Catherine stood tall, glaring at the colonel with a surly expression, unmoved by her nephew’s accusation.
“I must help him.” The colonel hurried towards the door with Miss de Bourgh trailing behind.
“Richard! Stop!” Miss de Bourgh seized his sleeve. “It is too dangerous!”
“Anne! Let him go,” bellowed Lady Catherine. “Darcy must be brought back to the house safe and sound.”
“So you would rather risk Richard’s life? He is your nephew too!”
The rain intensified, rendering the gardens all but invisible. A lightning strike landed too close to the house, turning everything white and shaking the latticed windows. A few panes shattered, letting gusts of wind sweep through the room. Several candles were extinguished, and gloom enveloped the space.
Everyone stood petrified, stunned by the flash of lightning and the rumbling echo that immediately followed. A sharp chill swept through the room. Soaked as she was, Elizabeth braced herself as cold air grazed her bare arms. Maria sobbed on her sister’s shoulder, while Mr.Collins had dropped to his knees, head tilted upward, eyes closed, and hands clasped in prayer. Near the door, Miss de Bourgh clung to the colonel’s arm, whether out of fear or to prevent him from leaving, Elizabeth could not tell.
With Mrs. Jenkinson’s help, Colonel Fitzwilliam finally extricated himself from Miss de Bourgh’s grasp and moved to secure the draperies around the broken window to keep out as much of the wind and rain as possible. The butler and a footman relit the candles, restoring a measure of order amid the chaos.
“Fitzwilliam! Leave that and go fetch Darcy!” Lady Catherine shouted, but the colonel ignored her command.
The downpour had subsided somewhat into an intense, copious drizzle, yet the wind remained fierce and unyielding, bending trees and branches, lashing against walls and windows. It was a mighty storm, the kind that grants no reprieve and leaves ruin in its wake.
Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to the safety of the families now embarking on the perilous journey back to their homes. Mr.Darcy remained in her mind, and despite the mounting indignation she had borne towards his conduct in regard to her sister, her compassionate nature was still concerned for his wellbeing.
Half an hour passed without any news of the gentleman. Lady Catherine persisted in her argument as the fruitless debate over whether the colonel should pursue him dragged on. Finally, Mr.Darcy emerged alongside a servant, both carrying a third person who appeared unconscious. The colonel and a footman rushed outside to assist them.
“What happened?” Colonel Fitzwilliam enquired as they laid the young man on the floor, his head bearing a large, profusely bleeding cut.
Mr.Darcy knelt beside him. “The horses were startled as we helped a family into their carriage. He was knocked off, and his head struck the footboard. It is a miracle the coach did not roll over him.”
“Jamie!” the butler interjected.
“Griffiths, do you know him?” the colonel asked.
“He is the farrier’s son, sir.” The man’s voice cracked. “He assists at the stables.”
“We cannot send for the apothecary in this weather.” The colonel was examining the wound. “The cut is deep, but I have seen men survive worse. Darcy, what of the families? Have they all set out? If any remain, we should offer them shelter until the storm passes.”
“By what right you extend invitations to strangers without my permission, Fitzwilliam?” Lady Catherine darted towards them. “Who appointed you steward of this house? And why is there a low-ranked servant in my ballroom?”
Mr. Darcy rose to his feet, fury flaring in his eyes. “How dare you send your tenants out into the storm to meet their demise! This boy would not be injured if the families had been offered shelter, as any decent landowner would have done. As mistress of this estate, it is your duty to protect those who live under your rule, not endanger them!”
“You dare question my authority?” her ladyship thundered. “I may not manage my estate with the same liberality as you do yours, but I do know how to run Rosings.” She pointed a dismissive finger at the injured lad. “Take him to the servant quarters. He is staining the carpet.”
Elizabeth’s whole body trembled —not only from the cold, but from the outrage that Lady Catherine’s cruelty stirred in her. The boy lay pale and unconscious, blood pooling beneath his head, and she worried about her carpet? She had never encountered such heartlessness.
A crash of thunder echoed throughout the room. United by shock and sorrow for the poor boy, the company fell into solemn silence as the butler and three footmen lifted him with care and carried him away. Mr. Collins followed at once, his concern plain upon his countenance. Maria wept quietly beside Charlotte; Miss de Bourgh had taken refuge in Mrs. Jenkinson’s arms. Drenched and muddy, Mr. Darcy stood before his aunt, fists clenched, eyes blazing with such ferocity that Elizabeth feared he might strike her.
“Make yourself presentable for dinner, Darcy,” Lady Catherine commanded. “We have important matters to discuss.”
He remained steadfast.
“Come now, Darcy.” The colonel patted him on the back. “’Tis a lost cause.”
