Sally O'Rourke - The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

Looking down past his own chest, Darcy caught a glimpse of Lord Nelson, his reins looped to a wooden post on the lurching farm wagon, following placidly along behind his prone master.

“I say we take him up to Chawton Great House,” said the deep voice of the man who had been examining Darcy’s watch. “We’re like to get a bigger reward up there, from the master.”

“Don’t be daft,” argued the second man. “The cottage is closer. And there’ll be no reward for the likes of us if the poor gent expires in the back of this here cart.”

Once more Darcy tried to lift his head, for the two men he could hear so calmly discussing his possible demise in the back of their wagon were somewhere beyond the range of his vision. And, once more, raising his head proved to be a serious mistake. Darcy was swept by a dizzying wave of nausea and he felt himself sliding inexorably back into the dreaded echoing tunnel of darkness.

When consciousness next arrived he was being carried on a board into a large stone house. The voice he heard this time was that of a cultured Englishwoman. Without attempting to raise his aching head Darcy opened his eyes and saw her standing off to one side, issuing stern orders to the two men.

“Take him upstairs to the first room. Careful! Mind the steps.”

She was slender and, he thought, somewhat pretty, though her fine features seemed drawn with worry. But he noticed that the two rough men, who seemed to be taking great pains to follow her instructions, were also handling him far more gently than they had earlier.

Before he could get a better look at the woman she disappeared from his field of view. Then the board was tilted at a sharp angle and Darcy was being carried up a flight of broad stairs. But he could still hear her on the floor below, giving orders to another woman.

“Maggie, send to the village for Mr. Hudson,” she said with just a touch of panic in her voice. “Say that he is most urgently required here.”

“Yes, Miss Jane!” The woman called Maggie must have responded quickly, because a hurried shuffling of feet and the slamming of a door almost immediately followed her reply.

Darcy was carried into a pleasant upstairs room and laid on a feather-soft bed that smelled faintly of roses. It was the dark-haired woman’s own bed, he guessed, remembering that her name was Jane. He idly wondered if her skin smelled of roses as well. A moment later her face moved into his field of view and he looked up into her luminous brown eyes.

From this vantage point he discovered that she was much prettier than he had previously thought, with a firm but sensuous mouth, regular features framed by beautiful dark brown hair that gleamed with highlights of sunshine from the open window.

But her best feature, he thought, was her large brown eyes, which sparkled in the light and seemed to contain infinite depths of intelligence and understanding.

Darcy smiled weakly at her and was rewarded with a lovely smile in return.

“I feel a bit foolish about all of this,” he said, finding his voice at last. Momentarily forgetting his earlier experiences with gravity, he attempted to boost himself up onto one elbow. The effect was immediate and severe, as a jagged spear of pain impacted like a Scud missile just above his right eyebrow.

“Please remain still,” she pleaded, placing a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder and pushing him onto the pillows. “I have sent for a doctor.”

Groaning, Darcy allowed his head to loll back, then turned it slightly to the side to gaze past her into the room. To his surprise, he saw the two shaggy men who had rescued him still standing beside the open doorway, woolen hats clutched nervously in their dirty hands.

“What happened?” he asked self-consciously. “I feel like I’ve just been slammed by an express train.”

The men at the door exchanged confused glances but said nothing. The dark-eyed woman, however, noticed the movement and turned to them. “Thank you,” she said, addressing them as if they were particularly good children. “You have both done very well. Now please go up to the manor house as fast as you can and summon my brother.”

Jane paused for a moment, then added with a smile, “And you may tell him I said you are to have a reward.”

Rather than being insulted at what seemed to Darcy to be her condescending tone, the two rough-and-dirty men both beamed and touched their foreheads respectfully. “Yes, Miss Jane. Thankee, miss,” they chorused, backing awkwardly out of the bedroom.

Darcy heard their clumping footsteps on the stair as Jane returned her attention to him.

“You were thrown from your horse,” she said in response to his earlier question. “Do you not remember that?”

All in a rush it came back to him. “Lord Nelson!” Darcy exclaimed. “Oh damn, how could I have been so stupid.”

“I beg your pardon! Did you say Lord Nelson?” Jane was regarding him very strangely now and he saw her drawing back from the bed in shock.

“My horse?” Darcy anxiously inquired. “Where is he?”

“The horse is uninjured,” she said uneasily, her bright brown eyes darting to the empty doorway. “Those men brought him here with you.”

“Thank God!” Darcy’s sense of relief was palpable as he considered all of the horrible things that could have happened to the extremely valuable animal as the result of his ill-advised sortie.

“Please try to rest now,” his attractive guardian urged, cautiously coming a little closer to the bed again. “The doctor will be here soon.”

Darcy’s eyes were darting nervously about the room, taking in for the first time the candlestick on the night stand by the bed, the antique furnishings everywhere and the woman’s high-waisted, floor-length gown that exaggerated the enticing swell of her breasts. “What is this place anyway?” he asked. “Some kind of historical theme park?”

The intelligent dark eyes followed his as he continued to scan the quaint furnishings of the bedroom, and again her expression was strange. “You are at Chawton Cottage,” Jane replied at length. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Could you possibly phone the people I’m staying with?” he asked. “They may be getting worried about me.”

“Fone?” She repeated the word with a puzzled look.

“Yes, the Cliftons,” Darcy said. “They’re leasing that gigantic old Edwardian brick pile a mile or so to the west of where I fell.”

Darcy smiled ruefully, thinking of the ribbing he was going to get when Faith and the others turned up in the Land Rover and discovered the mess he’d gotten himself into.

“My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy,” he told Jane, who continued to stand there staring at him. “Just ask the Cliftons to get over here with a horse trailer, and tell them I’m okay,” he requested.

“Okay?” She was still staring at him with that strange, slightly disbelieving look in her eyes. “I am very sorry,” she said slowly. “But I do not believe that I comprehend your precise meaning, Mr. Darcy.”

Convinced that for some reason of her own she didn’t want to make the telephone call for him, Darcy sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Oh please, do not try to move,” Jane pleaded, rushing forward with obvious alarm.

“I think I’m okay now,” Darcy said, trying to get his feet under him. “If you’ll just show me where your phone is, I’ll call the Cliftons myself…”

He got unsteadily to his feet, stood tottering beside the bed for a moment, then suddenly toppled to the floor like a bag of dropped cement.

Jane fell to her knees beside him. “Mr. Darcy!”

Like the tiny cherub before her, Darcy heard her cry of alarm echoing from a long way off. “Maggie,” she called, “come here! I need you.”