Chapter 12 #3
He faced off with Darcy, who charged into him, sending him crashing to the ground.
He groaned at the sharp pain in his hip, but he rose, determined to persevere.
They changed positions, this time with Charles knocking Darcy down.
The sight of his twin lying in the dirt wearing his favourite green coat and pinstripes gave him no satisfaction.
Nor did he suppose that Henderson would appreciate the extra work required to clean them.
He reached for his friend and hauled him to his feet. Now aching and still clad in dull shades of grey, he began to question the wisdom of their new plan.
Henry scratched his head. “Maybe we really do need the rain.”
“Rain would be ideal,” Darcy said, “but we must act, regardless of the weather.”
Henry nodded grimly. “It was a tempest that night—Oh! Like Shakespeare.”
“What do you know of Shakespeare?” Darcy inquired.
“I read the play…probably,” he said, gazing upwards in some confusion, then shrugged it off. “In any case, that was no simple rain storm. The gods were angry that night, like in a Shakespearean tragedy.”
Darcy regarded Henry with no small amount of suspicion. “Have you already partaken in the wine today, Henry?”
“I’m sober as a judge.”
“This time, I can’t say I disagree with you.” Although Charles was no expert on Shakespeare, this far-fetched idea seemed as likely as any others they had discussed.
Henry released a great yawn. “Well, I’m off to my chamber for a nap. Send Winters to wake me if you need me,” he said, then set off towards the house.
Charles watched Henry walk away, then turned his attention to the brook and observed the fallen leaves floating on the surface.
The current carried them away, with others following in their wake.
Was he now as powerless as those leaves?
Had some outside force conspired to change the course of his life?
“Shall we venture out to the lane and try our luck?”
It seemed to Charles that they had already wasted too much time.
They had devoted so much effort into keeping others from discovering their secret that they hadn’t given proper attention to the matter.
It might be a hopeless case, but he wouldn’t give up, nor would he sit idly by and allow anyone to control his destiny.
Somehow, with this new plan in place, he would get his life back.
Charles Bingley must be the master of his own fate. His father hadn’t spent years toiling in the mills for him to disappear. He must find his way, not just for himself, but also for his father’s legacy.
After multiple unsuccessful attempts to reverse the spell, Charles retired to his guest chamber.
All he and Darcy had managed to do was inflict pain on each other.
Certainly, there had to be a better solution; however, what that might be, he couldn’t imagine.
Despite their most recent failure, he wouldn’t lose hope.
If they were to succeed, they must persevere.
After dismissing Hobbs, he stared into the grate, contemplating the day.
His inability to make any sense of his situation.
His feeling of helplessness; his entire life out of his control.
His desperation to escape the house. The near disaster at the Blue Goose.
Darcy’s criticism of his treatment of the ladies in his past. His realisation that he hadn’t thought of Destiny even once since he had come to Netherfield.
His shame that Darcy had correctly guessed that there were other women that he had loved.
He remembered them all. When he’d lived in Blackburn, there had been Priscilla and Marianne. After moving to town last year, he had met Emma, Selina, and Augusta. More recently, he had pursued Melanie, Lady Ellen, and Destiny. Each one lovely in every respect.
He couldn’t precisely recall why any of those liaisons had ended. Perhaps it had merely been time to move on, or was it something else? Had he lost interest in them or had he found the next lady more intriguing?
Surely, no young man could help succumbing to feminine charms, especially when presented with so much beauty. Nor should anyone expect him to settle down at his age. After all, he had only reached his majority last year.
But if he tallied the number of ladies he had favoured, including Jane, he couldn’t deny that Darcy might have a valid point. Inconstancy was nothing to be proud of. Indeed, it was quite the opposite.
Could he leave Jane behind so easily? He would like to think not—but if he continued on this same path, he would prove Darcy right. How could he live with himself knowing he had cast aside a such a beautiful, gentle soul? Only the greatest beast in nature could contemplate anything so heartless.
But what was to be done? He was powerless to do anything until he had returned to his true form.
Pursuing Jane as the formidable Fitzwilliam Darcy would be scandalous and cruel.
His highest priority had to be solving his present affliction, and he had to devote every possible moment to that pursuit.
As he watched the flames flicker in the grate, he wondered how much longer the solution would evade him.