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Elizabeth was under the water. Darcy knew she was, but he had yet to find her.
It was all his fault. He should have pulled the boat to shore the moment he saw the water rising. He should have stopped trying to guide them along the increasing rapids and instead grabbed ahold of an overhanging branch or something, anything but what he had done. What he had caused.
Damn Richard for talking him into this. Darcy should have known that something would go wrong, Richard’s schemes always did.
It seemed like such a benign idea at the time. Talking Aunt Catherine into letting Anne and Darcy take a boat out on the calm river not far from Rosings while Miss Elizabeth and Richard chaperoned them. Then switching boats, of course. As Darcy pushed the vessel away from the shore, Miss Elizabeth looking bemused, Anne and Richard simply stayed tied to the dock, bobbing gently.
It did not take long for Darcy and Elizabeth to start their typical debate, oars and direction forgotten in the heat of the moment. It was only after they realized their increased volume had nothing to do with passion and everything to do with the speed and volatility of the water around them that they became aware of their danger.
The typically placid water had risen sharply, and the ensuing cacophony arose from a number of branches and other debris being carried along by the unusually fast current.
Now quite alarmed, Darcy assured Miss Elizabeth that he could navigate them down the river to the dock they had intended. Miss Elizabeth protested, demanding that they gain the shore immediately and walk through the woods to the dock to meet their carriage. She proclaimed her willingness to suffer wet and dirty skirts if it meant removing themselves from the water posthaste.
Darcy could not agree, disliking her lack of confidence in his abilities. Since he had the oars and was the only one with sufficient strength to guide them, he won the day.
Miss Elizabeth sat back with a huff; her arms crossed. She pointedly looked away from him, her eyes scanning the water with increasing dismay.
It was this that betrayed him. Darcy’s focus on her expressions took his gaze away from his destination long enough that he could not avoid the fallen tree that suddenly appeared beneath the rapids.
The small boat struck the tree with a rending groan and shattered.
Before he went under the water, Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth’s sharp cry of alarm; then everything was garbled and murky.
He stopped floating almost immediately, the tree smashing against his ribs with force and expelling the meagre air in his lungs. Thankfully, he was not far from the surface and managed to use the bark to scramble up until his face emerged from the water. His boots and heavy suitcoat weighed him down and threatened to pull him under the tree.
Catching his breath for a moment, Darcy’s mind cleared and he looked around in stomach-sinking alarm.
Miss Elizabeth! Where was she?
He called out for her, his volume increasing as he heard no answer.
Pushing himself up the bark once more, he managed to gain some footing and half-stand half-crouch on the fallen tree trunk.
Darcy couldn’t see her. He saw remnants of their boat trapped behind him on tree limbs, and some floating away in front of him, taken by the water. But no Elizabeth.
Would she have gone over? Or been taken under? Or had she made the shore?
No, he saw no evidence of her on the shore, so she must be in the water. Under the water.
His throat clenched. It had already been so long. Even if… When he found her…
Darcy remembered how it felt, those few seconds under the water, unable to breathe, his clothes pulling him down.
Elizabeth’s dress would be even more cumbersome, he thought.
Under it was.
He dove into the water, letting the current take him under the tree, through the snarled branches and debris. He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly, looking for a sign of her.
There. There was a flash of pale blue, unnaturally bright in the murky brown water.
Darcy used the branches and trunk to pull himself towards that flash of color.
Grasping the center of the cloud of blue fabric and white petticoats, he yanked them free of the tangling tree limbs and swam desperately upwards.
Darcy emerged from the water with a huge inhale, his lungs strained and ribs protesting. He didn’t take a moment to rest however. Pushing aside the sodden garments, Darcy searched frantically for Elizabeth’s pale face. There.
Her head lolled limply back against the tree trunk, water cascading past her shoulders.
No. No, she couldn’t…
Darcy tried to move her into a better, safer, position, but it was a fruitless endeavor.
He must make it to shore, he determined. Wrapping his arm around Elizabeth’s chest, heedless of the impropriety, he inched his way down the trunk, dragging her with him.
At last, they reached the shore and Darcy hurriedly pulled her from the water, near collapsing next to her with exhaustion.
But he had no time to waste. She wasn’t breathing, her lips blue and her usually animated face oh so still.
He turned her on her side and pressed against her stomach and ribs, water pouring from her mouth and nose with every push.
Dimly Darcy heard his own voice pleading with Elizabeth to breathe.
The water ceased its flow from her mouth, and yet she lay still and cold in his arms.
It could not end this way. Not for them. Not for her. Not when he just come to realize how much he loved her.
Darcy turned Elizabeth onto her back, pushing the drying curls of dark hair off her cheek.
His hand rested there for a moment, then hovered over her lips; hoping for the warmth of her breath to caress his fingertips.
Nothing.
Darcy let out a sob, his head dropping to his chest and hands covering his face. The fullness of this tragedy rolled over him.
His hands fisted and he looked up, his jaw tight.
Bending down, Darcy pressed his lips to hers, breathing his breath into her. His hands splayed across her ribs, feeling her chest expand as he exhaled. Once. Again. Again.
He pulled back, taking deep breaths, his head swimming. Then he bent down and breathed into her once more.
Her ribs jerked under his hands and he pulled back just in time. With an explosive cough, Elizabeth rolled to her side and vomited profusely.
Darcy held back her hair, his hand rubbing her back in gentle circles.
At last, she took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at him.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Elizabeth.”