Thunder, Mist, and Frost, page 1
part #1 of Nature's Fury and Delights Series
Thunder, Mist, and Frost
Nature's Fury and Delights
Leenie Brown
Leenie B Books
Halifax
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.
Cover design by Leenie B Books. Images sourced from DepositPhotos and PeriodImages.
Nature’s Fury and Delights: Thunder, Mist, and Frost © 2018 Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.
Contents
Dear Reader,
Thunder
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Morning Mist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Frosted Windowpanes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Before You Go
Her Father's Choice Excerpt
Acknowledgements
Other Leenie B Books
About the Author
Connect with Leenie
Dear Reader,
Welcome!
I am delighted to share the first three thirty-minute reads in my new Nature’s Fury and Delights Collection with you. These stories will always feature some element of nature and a sweet romance, but how those things get woven together and with which main characters will constantly be changing. I hope that these novelettes will give you as much pleasure in reading them as I had while creating them for you.
Thunder
When the distant rumble of thunder forces Darcy to seek shelter from the coming storm, he finds much more than a refuge.
Chapter 1
As thunder rumbled in the distance, Fitzwilliam Darcy brushed a droplet of rain from his cheek and knew he needed to find shelter soon. Those heavy grey clouds were not going to hold their contents much longer. Indeed, the raindrop he had dashed from his cheek was a sign that a deluge was imminent.
He turned his horse toward a small copse of trees beyond which he knew stood a cottage. It was a small structure — one that was seldom used for anything other than an escape to solitude under the guise of hunting. There he would find materials for a fire, blankets, and a few easily kept supplies waiting for him, but, most importantly, that cottage would provide for him a refuge from the coming storm.
By the time Darcy swung down from his horse and saw to the beast’s care, the few drops of rain that had alerted him to danger had increased, and he knew he would do well to enter the cottage without being thoroughly drenched. Pulling his hat down, he ducked his head and raced to the cottage door, where he flung the door wide and entered rapidly, removing his hat from his head and shaking the rain from it as he did.
“Oh!” a shocked voice greeted him as he entered.
Darcy stopped what he was doing and stared for a moment at the pretty source of the surprised greeting. “Who are you?” he asked as he pushed the door closed.
The petite lady before him pulled herself straight, increasing her height by a full half inch, and lifted her chin. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
As Darcy took a long, silent look at Elizabeth, she shifted under his scrutiny, but just barely. From where he stood, she appeared to be a charming woman in a determined, unwavering sort of fashion. Her eyes were the colour of a clear summer day, her hair tumbled down her back in waves the colour of a strong cup of coffee, and her figure? Ah, her figure! What gentlemen would not admire a figure such as hers? Even covered from neck to toe in a sturdy brown pelisse, he could see that it was slight and exceedingly pleasing.
“And pray tell, Miss Bennet, how came you to be in my cottage?”
The brow over her left eye arched. “How came you to be so wet, sir?”
Darcy chuckled at her impertinence. “We call it rain here in the north. What do you call it in the south?” He could tell by her accent that she was not from the area.
Her lips twitched. “We call it precipitation when we wish to sound scholarly, or rain when we do not.”
Clearly, she had a sharp wit and a sardonic sense of humour – two traits that Darcy found delightful. His mother had been similar when at home and not in company.
“Then, you are hiding from the rain as well?”
She gave a sharp nod of her head in reply and drew from behind her back a bonnet that looked as if it had been attacked by some angry maid with a broom.
“A branch,” she said in explanation. “I had hoped to duck in here, repair what I could of my hat and hair, and wait out the storm before continuing my walk.”
“Are you staying nearby?” Darcy removed his greatcoat and draped it over a chair next to the table upon which he had placed his hat.
“Have you a name?” she replied. “For I should like to know on whose property I am trespassing before I admit to more than my name. I should hate for my host to bear any reproach for my behaviour.”
To Darcy, she did not appear to be anxious regarding her situation in the least. There was no nervous shifting of her feet or faltering in her speech. She spoke boldly as one who had not a worry in the world. In fact, the dancing light in her eyes seemed to say she already knew to whom she was speaking.
“And if I refuse to answer?” Darcy motioned to one of the two chairs before the hearth as an invitation for her to be seated while he went about the task of lighting a fire.
“Then I shall tell you no more than my name. As it is, I only need a few moments to repair this hat, and then I will be on my way.” She perched on the edge of the chair to the right of the firebox and turned her attention to her bonnet.
Darcy sat back on his heels and stared at her incredulously. “You would venture out into that storm if I do not tell you my name? Did you not say you were going to wait out the storm in here?”
Her hands stilled, and she lifted puzzled eyes to him. “I entered this cottage unmarried and with a respectable reputation. I intend to leave it in a similar state whether you tell me your name or not.” Her eyes and her hands returned to her work.
She was intent upon leaving? Did she lack sense? She had seemed intelligent up until now.
“You cannot go out into that storm. I cannot allow it.”
“You cannot allow it?” Her voice was full of indignation. “You are nobody to me save a stranger, whose name I do not even know, and I will leave if I choose.” She lifted her bonnet, tipped it one way and then another before resuming her repairs.
She was being foolish. Between the rain and the lightning mixed with the fog that often settled into this valley, she would be lost in moments after leaving the safety of this cottage.
“How well do you know the path?” He struck the flint against the steel over his tinderbox. Perhaps he could talk some sense into her – make her see reason and change her decision. No one would know she was here alone with him. To leave just to protect a reputation when leaving would put her life in danger was utter foolishness.
“I have walked it every day for the past six days.”
He bent and blew on the glowing tinder, encouraging the fire to leap up and catch the small bit of kindling he held in his hand.
“And how many of those times were in the rain and fog?” he asked as he put the burning kindling into the firebox. The dampness would be soon driven out of the air in the cottage once the flames grew strong enough to devour a small log. Then, he would boil some water and make tea.
“There was fog yesterday.” She lifted her hat once again for inspection.
Seeing her look of satisfaction, Darcy snatched the bonnet from her.
“My hat!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she grabbed for it.
Darcy placed it behind his back, so that she could not reach it. “The fog yesterday was light. Today, with this rain, it will be heavy. You will not be able to see more than a few feet in front of you, which will make it far too easy for you to get turned around and find yourself facing a rocky precipice instead of the path to the Foleys’ home.”
He smiled as her mouth dropped open. “You bear a resemblance to Mrs. Foley when you are displeased.”
“And have you seen my great aunt displeased very often, Mr. Darcy?” She folded her arm and glared at him.
He chuckled. Yes, he had seen that glare a few times in his life.
“More when I was younger and especially when my cousin was visiting, but it has been years. I do not feel the need to eat her apples any longer.” He crossed the room and placed Elizabeth’s bonnet near his hat on the table. “I should hate to see how angry she would be with me if she were to discover I allowed her niece to wander through a storm and fall to her death.” He shook his head. “The bonnet and you are both remaining.”
“And how angry do you think my aunt will be when she discovers I have spent an extended period of time in a cottage with a gentleman alone?”
He grabbed her wrist as she attempted to reach around him and retrieve her hat. The action drew her closer to him. Even at her full height she only came to his chin. “Do you still climb trees?”
Her look of anger faded from her eyes, and the scathing reproof he was certain she was about to unleash on him died on her lips.
“Do you,” he repeated, “still … climb trees?” Her nearness was causing his breath to quicken. He should let go of her wrist, but then she might snatch that bonnet and fly from the cottage.
“How do you know I used to climb trees?”
He shrugged and then, lifting her hand, turned it over to inspect her palm. “You have visited your aunt before, and you like apples.”
Her hands were not so soft as some young ladies’ hands were, but they were not so rough as those of his housekeeper or any of his maids. She must not toil with her hands. She must just thwart propriety. Her pelisse was made of good cloth, which also spoke to her status as higher than that of a tenant farmer’s daughter.
He peeked at her sheepishly. “I believe it was about three years ago when I watched someone, who very much resembled you, climb the apple tree near Mrs. Foley’s kitchen. I was returning home from this very cottage. My father was staying here for two more days, but my mother wished to have me home for a time before I returned to school. I had intended to stop at your aunt’s home and ask for an apple, but then I saw you.”
Her brows were furrowed. “You were going to ask for an apple? Not take one?”
He shook his head. “I had learned my lesson about that a few years earlier. My father was even less pleased than your aunt when he heard about it. To be fair, she had warned my cousin and me that she would tell him if she ever caught us again. She is a woman of her word.”
“As am I,” Elizabeth pulled her hand from his grip and attempted once again to snatch her hat.
Without thinking, Darcy wrapped his arms around her to keep her from reaching the bonnet, but then quickly released her and, taking up her bonnet, stood across the table from her. “Forgive me. I was not thinking about anything but your safety.”
Chapter 2
Darcy’s instinct may have been focused on keeping her here safe, warm, and dry within this cottage when he wrapped his arms around her, but now, as he stood across from her with a table between them, those same instincts were causing him to question his own safety.
It was not that she posed some sort of danger to him physically. He certainly did not feel threatened. He did not expect her to snatch up the poker from the fire and attack him with it. Nor did he expect her to throw herself at him and pummel him into unconsciousness. His person, his physical being, was not in danger of injury. However, from the jolt of pleasure he had received when he wrapped his arms around her, he knew that he was in grave danger of being tortured by his desires, and that thought was excessively unsettling.
He had been attracted to many ladies in his several seasons in town. He had even, at one time, imagined himself in love with Miss Scott, whose father owned an estate no more than ten miles from his father’s. Therefore, it was not as if he had never experienced the sensations of desire. He had, and yet until this moment, he had never feared those desires as he did now, for he had never felt such an immediate and nearly overwhelming longing as he had in that brief moment when he held Elizabeth in his arms.
Perhaps it would be best if they were not to remain here together and alone in this cottage. He turned her bonnet in his hands.
“The rain is too heavy,” he muttered. “It would not be safe to leave.”
But neither was staying here with her. His father was ill. It was likely that Darcy would soon come into his inheritance. He had a sister, a much younger sister, who would need him, and there were tenants and lands and staff who would be relying on him to be focused and able.
Just at that moment, nature punctuated his thoughts with a deep grumbling roll of thunder. Whether Elizabeth liked it or not and whether he found it safe or not to remain here with her, leaving was presently an ill-advised proposition. They would just have to make the best of it unless…
He turned toward the door and considered the option carefully before turning back to her. “I will leave. I will make sure the fire is enough to keep you warm and chase away the damp. We will have a cup of tea, and then I shall leave.”
Her look of shocked displeasure from a moment ago when he had kept her from recovering her hat slid into one of confusion. “But this is your cottage, sir. If anyone should leave, it should be me. I am the interloper. There is no need for you to suffer the discomfort of the weather.”
“No,” he said when she took a slight pause. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I allowed a lady to wander out into the storm, facing the ravages of the weather and the perils of an unfamiliar countryside? It is insupportable. You must remain here, and I will shelter with my horse. Then, when the rain has eased, I shall make my way home. I know this country far better than you. Even with a layer of fog as thick as porridge, I will be able to pick my way home unscathed.”
“But you will catch a chill!”
“And you would not?”
She folded her arms, a gesture at which she seemed to be quite proficient.
“I would not be sitting in the damp air for who knows how long before beginning my journey,” she retorted
He rounded the table and made his way towards her. “No,” he said, “you would be soaked through in minutes and wandering the hillside. That would be so much better.” He held her bonnet out to her. “This will not even keep one hair dry. If I allow you to leave this cottage, I will be party to your demise, and that is something I refuse to be.”
She took her bonnet from him and lifting her chin, said nothing. Instead, she returned to her seat near the fire, placed her hat on her lap, and began repairing her hair.
Darcy stalked to the fire and gave it a stir before adding a small log. “If you are thinking of not heeding my words and escaping before the tea is ready, you must know that I will follow you, and then we both will be in danger of catching a chill or worse.”
She glared at him, and an uneasy silence crept over the room as the fire snapped and crackled its way to life.
Darcy rose from nursing the fire and retrieved a kettle of water. It was the same kettle that his father always used upon first arriving at the cottage, and it was the kettle that Darcy would see filled with water before leaving, just as his father had always done and instructed him to do. There was nothing better than finding solitude in front of a fire with a cup of tea. That is what his father had always said and what Darcy had come to know as truth. However, today his solitude would not be as it normally was. Today, he would not sit silently before the hearth and watch the flames as he contemplated his future and that of his estate.
He stared at the kettle where it hung over the flames. His estate… He glanced at the beguiling and palpably displeased Elizabeth Bennet, who was nearly finished repairing her hair and looking very much as if she was preparing for a journey, and shook his head. She was stubborn!
“How often do you visit your aunt?” If he could engage her in some conversation, she might not flee from safety. He had an aunt who was stubborn to a fault and would not hesitate to jump headlong into some untenable situation just because she had determined to do so and could not be moved. Elizabeth seemed more intelligent than that. Therefore, he would attempt to sway her from her resolve.
She arched a brow at him, skepticism etched in her features as if she knew his plan.
“Not so often as I would like.”
“And how often would you wish to visit your aunt?” Darcy asked as he settled into a chair next to her.
She drew a breath and released it slowly while staring into the fire as her fingers toyed with the ribbon on her bonnet. The right corner of her mouth tipped up while a soft expression settled into her eyes. “Daily.” The word was spoken softly and followed by a small sigh. “But that is not possible.” She turned her eyes toward him and her lips curved into an unsatisfied smile. “Therefore, I shall have to satisfy myself with once every three years.” Her eyes returned to their observation of the fire. “The distance and cost are too great for it to happen more often.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Indeed, it is.” Her shoulders lifted and lowered in a shallow shrug. “However, when one has a mother with a love of shopping and four sisters who require care and clothing the same as she does, frequent trips for pleasure with no hope of marriage as the happy result of such an expenditure is simply insupportable.”
