Chapter 8
Upon awakening, Darcy checked his finger for his ring…
still missing. The family heirloom, which he’d worn since his father’s passing, and his father had worn since his father’s passing, was now on Bingley’s finger.
Naturally, he hadn’t expected to find it, but it brought the gravity of his present situation to the forefront.
While he enjoyed the spacious accommodations of the master’s chamber at Netherfield, he missed his valet, his wardrobe, and indeed, his life.
Being master of a leased estate with essentially no responsibilities didn’t suit him.
Yet, hadn’t he come to the country to escape the stresses of his life?
His uncle’s pressures to select a wife and settle down, the stringent protocols that must be followed when mingling in polite society, his failure to protect Georgiana, his inability to console her when her heart had been broken, and his search for some elusive fulfilment he had yet to define.
He could scarcely imagine what that might be.
He already had everything a man might possibly hope for – an affectionate sister, a prosperous estate, well-placed relations, and friends in the highest circles.
Well…all of that had once been true but for some unknown reason, his life had been mysteriously altered.
In one sense, he ought to be glad to have been given a reprieve.
For the first time in years, no one demanded his time.
No eligible ladies or their mamas pursued him.
No family members paraded a bevy of perfectly attired and coiffed heiresses through his sitting parlour.
No invitations to the latest dreaded soirée arrived in the post. Nor had he the smallest need to invent some plausible excuse to avoid the lot of them.
He rose to pace the floor and gather his thoughts.
Besides his current difficulties, Miss Elizabeth presented another confounding dilemma, or rather his sudden captivation with a woman of no consequence.
Why would this country maiden occupy his mind so completely?
Even more baffling, he would now spend another day in her company and he found himself inexplicably looking forward to that prospect.
He’d never met a woman like her. Unlike the ladies in the first circles, she had no airs about her and cast no lures in his direction, nor for that matter, to his twin.
She undoubtedly knew of Darcy’s fortune, but made no effort to attach his affections.
She had even kept her distance, quite the opposite for a lady of marriageable age.
Upon further consideration, he doubted she would consider pursuing her own interests while her sister was suffering from such poor health.
However, even if he were to disregard her lack of eligibility, he was in no position to court any woman. In his current state, giving the appearance that Bingley was interested in Elizabeth would be disastrous. No, he must concentrate all his efforts on finding a way back to his true form.
He rang for the valet, and Henderson arrived with the shaving water and his relentless sunny disposition. “Good morning, Mr Bingley, and a fine morning it is,” he said, arranging the shaving stand.
Darcy grumbled at such cheerfulness at this hour of the morning. He preferred Hobbs’s solemnity. What’s more, Hobbs knew better than to enter his chamber without his favourite beverage.
“May I trouble you for a cup of black coffee?”
Henderson stared, as though amazed, then quickly recovered himself. “Right away, sir,” he said, then dashed off.
Darcy knew he ought not to have done it; Charles never drank coffee in the morning. But how could anyone face the day without it?
Henderson returned while Darcy was nearly finished with his shave.
“Cook has made your favourite apple tarts for breakfast, and is planning to roast a turkey for tonight’s supper.”
As Darcy donned a clean white shirt, he was relieved that Charles would have his favourite dishes served at his own table.
“You haven’t gone shooting in a few days,” Henderson said, handing him Charles’s fawn breeches. “Will you go out tomorrow morning?”
The sport was one of the reasons Darcy had come to Hertfordshire, but with more pressing matters at hand, he’d entirely forgotten about it. The larder must be short of reserves by now. “An excellent suggestion,” he said as he tied his cravat.
“Will the striped waistcoat do today?” Henderson inquired with a hopeful air.
Although red stripes were not Darcy’s style, he decided against refusing them a second time. At least they would be mostly hidden under the blue coat. Once again, he accepted the fobs and seals which Charles was never without.
“I found your hat in the brambles alongside the lane. It’s covered with mud, but I think I can set it to rights.”
“Thank you for going to the trouble, Henderson,” he said, silently admitting that the man was an excellent valet.
“It’s a bit worse for wear, but hopefully not past saving.”
At one time in his life, if Darcy had lost his best hat, he might have insisted on ordering a new one from his haberdasher, but this problem was beyond trivial now.
Through no fault of his own, he was caught in this strange oblivion, where he was neither Darcy nor Bingley.
If he didn’t figure out how to switch back to his true form, his entire existence would have no meaning.
He released a moan and dragged his hand through his hair at this dreaded fate.
“Do you need a headache powder, sir?”
“No, thank you,” he said, then dismissed the valet. Unfortunately, headache powder wouldn’t remedy his present ailment.
Once he was alone, Darcy stared at his ringless hand.
He had lost everything. His name, family, ancestry, home, and fortune – all had vanished in an instant.
Would he ever see Georgiana again and comfort her when she needed reassurance, or watch her grow into a woman?
Would Uncle Alexander recognise him in company or shun him as part of the nouveau riche which he deplored?
Would he ever return to Pemberley and stroll through those noble woods?
With so much uncertainty looming over him, a favourable outcome was impossible to fathom.
***
Too nervous to object to Darcy’s cheerless attire, Charles submitted to Mr Hobbs’s suggestions.
To maintain the ruse, he had to dress in Darcy’s style – black, charcoal grey, navy blue, or dark green.
If he were being honest, it was dashed depressing.
Even the simple knot in his cravats inspired no pride.
Darcy was a fine figure of a man, but his mode of dress was stodgy and dull.
He longed for his blue flowered waistcoat or the red stripes, and the fobs and seals adorning his breeches, but he dared not make any changes to Darcy’s attire.
His present situation already had too many questions for which he had no suitable replies.
To survive this fiasco, he must disguise himself as the stalwart Fitzwilliam Darcy.
His friend’s sudden favour of bright colours, florals, and stripes would bring unwanted attention.
In any event, he ought not trouble himself over that possibility. He doubted that Darcy even owned such fashionable attire.
When the valet presented him with the fresh cravat, Charles tied it into a simple knot. He’d had no opportunity to practice, so it would have to do. Hobbs made no objection, so he must have managed it well enough.
After leaving his room, he tapped on his former chamber door, peeked inside, and found Darcy pacing over the carpet. He stopped abruptly and frowned. “What have you done with my cravat?”
“It’s fine,” he said, to which Darcy frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t precisely the way Darcy tied it, but still… “Hobbs has already tied it for me twice. I couldn’t ask him again.”
“Just loosen it a bit, like this,” Darcy said, then made a small adjustment to his own cravat. Charles tugged on both sides of the knot. “Yes, that’s better.”
He released a sigh of relief. “We’re getting rather good at this, don’t you think? You’re even wearing stripes. No one suspects that anything is amiss.”
“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
***
Upon entering the breakfast parlour, Darcy was glad to see Elizabeth already seated, but despaired at the dark smudges under her eyes. “How is Miss Bennet?” he inquired as he sat beside her.
“She slept very ill last night.”
He suspected that Elizabeth had passed a difficult night tending to her sister. “If Mr Jones’s draught has offered no relief perhaps I ought to send for a physician.” It was the least he could do to help ease her burden.
“Thank you, but I’ve written to my mother and asked her to come see Jane and judge for herself how best to proceed.”
He agreed to this suggestion and hoped Mrs Bennet’s guidance would put Elizabeth’s mind at ease.
He had not long to wait. The lady arrived shortly after breakfast with two of her daughters, and Elizabeth escorted them upstairs to the sickroom. A few minutes later, Mr Jones returned as expected to check on his patient. Charles paced as they waited for word of Miss Bennet’s condition.
Thirty minutes later, the Bennet ladies entered the sitting parlour. Elizabeth’s grave expression gave him pause.
Mrs Bennet exchanged effusive civilities with Darcy and Bingley’s sisters but offered only the slightest nod to Charles. “I’m afraid Jane is too ill to be moved, Mr Bingley, and we must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”
Knowing Charles would extend the highest possible courtesy to her, Darcy answered as he would in his own house. “No, indeed, Mrs Bennet, you may put your mind at ease. My sisters will tend to your daughter’s every need.”
“Miss Bennet will receive every attention while she is with us,” Caroline said with cold civility.
After gushing with abundant appreciation for this perceived kindness, Mrs Bennet expounded on her daughter’s patience and sweetness, of which Darcy was certain Charles heartily agreed.
She then changed the subject. “I hope you will not think of quitting Netherfield, Mr Bingley, though you have such a short lease.”
Darcy exchanged quick glances with Charles. “Not at all. London is within an easy distance, and should a business or legal matter arise, I can be there in short order.”
The lady brightened at this. “I suppose you are accustomed to your own solicitor, otherwise I would recommend my brother-in-law, Mr Phillips, who keeps an office in the village.”
Under no circumstances would Darcy consider engaging a country solicitor, but he supposed Charles would offer a polite response to this unwelcome suggestion. “I’m glad to hear of it, but you’re correct. My solicitor in town is intimately acquainted with the details of my business affairs.”
Her smile never faltered. “Still, I hope you are enjoying country life.”
“I’m a great admirer of the country, ma’am,” he said, thinking fondly of Pemberley and the peaks of Derbyshire.
Miss Elizabeth smiled at this response and cast appreciative eyes at him. Yes, a man could get lost in those eyes.
Her sisters, however, wanted better manners. While their mother devoted all her attention to Darcy, supposing him to be Charles Bingley, the two younger daughters whispered and giggled without restraint. They only ceased their unruly antics when their mother swatted them with her fan.
“I suppose that gentleman prefers the amusements in town,” Mrs Bennet said, directing her comments to Charles, intending them for Darcy.
Darcy couldn’t imagine why the woman had a poor opinion of him, especially during an acquaintance of such short duration. But then recalling his conversation with Elizabeth last night, he thought better of it. She might have taken offence to his hasty remark about one of her daughters.
Charles, who must have been struck by Mrs Bennet’s harsh tone, paused before responding. “When I am in town, I never wish to leave, and the same is true for the country. They each have their amusements, and I can be equally happy in either.”
Mrs Bennet must have been satisfied with this response, or at least she took no offence and made no reply.
“That is an excellent way to describe it, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “While there are many delights to be found in town, there is nothing like the country for relaxing with one’s friends.”
“Friendships can be made anywhere, Miss Elizabeth, don’t you agree?” Charles added.
Mrs Bennet took immediate umbrage to this comment. “Of course, Lizzy never said they couldn’t. We’ve made several friends in London through my brother and sister-in-law. Even Sir William and Lady Lucas visit their eldest son in town from time to time,” she said in an irritable tone.
Blushing brightly, Miss Elizabeth averted her eyes to the carpet. Darcy imagined that her embarrassment must be as deep as Charles’s.
The ensuing silence was broken by one of the younger Bennet sisters. “Do you still plan to hold a ball here, Mr Bingley?” she inquired with a hopeful smile. “You did promise.”
“I don’t recall making any such promise,” Darcy said, perturbed by the girl’s insolence.
“Oh, but you did, and it would be the greatest shame in the world if you didn’t have a ball here, because Netherfield is so perfectly perfect.”
What in the world is she blathering about? He thanked the gods that Georgiana would never utter such inanities.
“Please don’t badger Mr Bingley, Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth said, directing a stern glance at her younger sibling.
“I’ll take it under consideration, but certainly not while your sister is unwell,” Darcy said, hoping this was how Bingley would respond to the girl’s impertinence. “At the moment, her complete recovery is of the highest priority.”
“Just so,” Mrs Bennet said, then rose and curtsied. “I am indebted to you for your hospitality, Mr Bingley. Once Jane has recovered, you are welcome to dine at Longbourn whenever you are free. Come along, girls, and don’t dawdle.”
Upon seeing the Bennet coach set off down the driveway, Darcy released a sigh of relief at having successfully carried himself off as Charles Bingley to the unsuspecting neighbours. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t be required to receive any other callers in his present state.