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"Then release the harness before it does." Elizabeth kept well away from the frightened animals and moved around the fallen vehicle. "Who is inside?"

"His lordship, miss. We cannot move the door."

Through a shattered window Elizabeth saw a gentleman pinned awkwardly against the side of the carriage. He had grey at his temples, a cut above one eyebrow, and a dark stain spreading across his sleeve. His eyes were open, but he appeared dazed.

"Can you hear me, sir?" she called.

"Regrettably," he answered. "I should prefer to hear that someone has righted the carriage."

The reply reassured her more than his colour did.

The footman, who had escaped with only a bruised shoulder, managed to wrench open the damaged door. With difficulty he and the groom helped the gentleman through the opening. He nearly collapsed when his right leg touched the ground, and they lowered him onto the grass.

Elizabeth knelt at a respectful distance. His coat sleeve was torn, revealing a deep cut along the inside of his forearm. Blood ran down his wrist and darkened the grass beneath it; when he shifted, a fresh rush followed. Her own breath caught, but she forced herself to look at the wound rather than the stain.

"There is clean linen in my basket," she said to the footman. "Please fetch it. The basket is just beyond the turn. And someone must go to Meryton for the surgeon."

"His lordship requires—" the groom began.

"A surgeon," Elizabeth repeated. "You may tell him that he is an earl or a bishop when he arrives, but first he must arrive."

The gentleman's mouth moved in what might have been a smile.

The footman ran for the basket, returning with the folded cloth Elizabeth had placed around the apples. She folded it thickly over the wound and pressed with both hands, keeping firm pressure even when the cloth reddened. She asked the gentleman to hold his other hand against the dressing when she needed to shift her knees, then pressed down again herself. She had once watched her father stop a sailor’s bleeding until help could come; the memory steadied her hands.

"I fear your gown will suffer," he observed.

"My gown has survived worse, sir. Lydia once attempted to dye it blue with crushed berries."

"An enterprising child."

"You are remarkably composed for a man who has just been thrown about in a carriage."

"I might make the same observation about you, young lady."

"I am not the one bleeding upon a roadside."

"No. You are the one giving orders as though you had been born to command an army."

Elizabeth glanced toward his leg, which lay at an uncomfortable angle. "I should like you not to move until the surgeon has examined you."

"And if I prefer to stand?"

"Then I shall be obliged to be very impolite and tell you it would be foolish."

This time the gentleman gave a distinct, if pained, laugh.

The driver was conscious and complaining bitterly of his shoulder. The footman attended him while the groom secured the horses, one of which had injured its foreleg. Elizabeth kept steady pressure on the gentleman’s wound. She dared not lift the linen to see whether it had stopped bleeding, and when his skin grew cold and he admitted to dizziness, she feared the loss had already been considerable. She encouraged him to remain still and spoke of ordinary things while they waited for help.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Elizabeth Bennet."

"Of Longbourn?"

"Yes, sir. Do you know my uncle?"

"Thomas Bennet? Not personally, though I know the name."