Chapter 11 #3
He waved off her concerns. “She’s still young.”
“Younger sisters can be both a joy and a trial, can’t they?”
Darcy feigned shock. “How uncharitable, Miss Bennet, since you’re the eldest,” he said in a teasing tone.
She laughed softly. “I love all my sisters, Mr Bingley, but we’re all very different.”
“I suppose you must be the wisest.”
“If I were so wise, would I have ridden out in the rain?” she said with a pensive air.
This admission impressed him. “Why didn’t you return home?”
She released a weary sigh. “I wish I had, then I wouldn’t have put you and your sisters to so much trouble.”
Although she hadn’t answered his question, he couldn’t allow her assumption. “You shall always be welcome at Netherfield,” he said, certain that Charles would strongly refute her claim in the nicest possible terms.
He resolved to commit their conversation to memory, knowing Charles would want to hear every word uttered by his angel.
After the ladies had retired for the evening, Darcy recounted his conversation with Miss Bennet to Charles, who listened in rapt attention.
“She is extraordinary, is she not?” Charles said with a faraway gaze.
Darcy agreed, as did Hurst.
“And, if you’d like to pursue her, Charles, I suggest we go outdoors now and see what we can do,” Hurst said.
“I suppose we should consider every possibility, even though there’s no storm,” Charles said.
Hurst scratched his head. “I’ve been thinking – if you angered the weather gods, why should they be appeased by thunder? I should think they’d be in a better frame of mind when the sun shines.”
Charles groaned at this suggestion.
“You’re trying to make sense of a senseless situation, Henry,” Darcy said, irritated by the absurd direction of the conversation.
“Well, it makes just about as much sense as the rest of it, which is none at all,” Hurst said, then drained his glass and rose to ring for a servant. “There’s no use in dithering about. Let’s get our coats and set off.”
Darcy also requested three lanterns from the answering footman, and when they were ready, the three men left the house and trod down the driveway in search of an elusive solution.
“It’s downright balmy tonight,” Hurst said.
Agreeing that it was unseasonably warm, Darcy unbuttoned his greatcoat and stowed his gloves in the pockets. By the time they reached the gates, he was already overheated.
An owl hooted overhead, and something skittered across the lane.
“What was that?” Charles asked in heightened alarm.
“Just a mouse, or maybe a hedgehog,” Darcy said, soldiering on.
“A rat, more like,” Hurst said with a raucous laugh. “How far should we go?”
“I have no idea,” Charles said with a defeated air.
The lantern light reflected in the eyes of a small herd of deer, and they bounded away. A bird swooped down, captured something on the ground, and carried it off.
“I think we might be near the place,” Hurst said, pointing down the road. “We got stuck in the mud right after that bend in the lane.”
This seemed unlikely to Darcy. “Are you certain? It was pitch dark.”
Hurst shrugged. “I was as bosky as both of you, but I remember hanging onto the strap at that turn.”
“Well, then,” Darcy said, stopping and setting the lantern down. “Now what?”
“Charles would’ve been on this side, near the right rear wheel,” Hurst said, directing Charles to a spot in the lane, “with Darcy and me facing towards the gates.” He positioned the three lanterns in the centre of the lane, then shoved Charles from behind, sending him crashing into Darcy.
He and Charles remained standing.
“That’s your solution, Henry?” Charles said, now incredulous.
“What a paltry effort, Charles,” Hurst said in an accusing tone. “Put your heart into it.”
Struck with Charles’s full weight, Darcy careened into the dirt. He groaned from the impact, and the owl hooted overhead.
“Try again,” Hurst said. “Maybe a different spot.”
After hitting the ground for the fifth time, Darcy had had enough. His body ached, his coat and hands were covered with dirt, and he longed for his bed. Retrieving a lantern, he trudged up the lane, ready to put an end to this wretched night.
“Don’t be discouraged, lads. It was a valiant effort, even without the rain,” Hurst said, clapping Darcy on the back. “We’ll try again tomorrow night.”
Despite Hurst’s zeal, Darcy couldn’t share his optimism. Judging by Charles’s continued silence, he suspected his friend felt the same.
As they approached the gates, Hurst remained in the highest spirits. “Say, Darcy, weren’t you wearing a rain cloak that night?”
Darcy gaped in disbelief. “Are you saying we should wear the same clothes as that night?”
“I thought you wanted the same exact circumstances.”
Darcy wondered what his father might say of his only son’s fall from grace. Rolling in the dirt, in the middle of the night, in the wilds of Hertfordshire, stuck in another man’s body. Surely, George Darcy would be appalled, to say nothing of his grandsires.
This didn’t bode well for his future, or the future of Pemberley.
Darcy grumbled in vexation and an owl hooted overhead.