Chapter 4
The morning brought no relief. Darcy’s ring was still firmly planted on Charles’s hand.
Now what? he thought, rising from his bed.
Pulling the window drapes aside, he scowled at the sun peeking between grey clouds, as though mocking him.
Had the weather gods played a trick on him, sending torrential rain one day and fleeting sunshine the next?
Had they caused him to transform into Darcy?
The door creaked open, and his twin entered, wearing his blue banyan. “I’m glad you’re awake. What’s our plan?” Darcy inquired.
“I wish I knew. Perhaps we should go back to the same spot where my chaise got stuck,” Charles said, to which Darcy nodded.
“It’s worth a try, especially since I have no better suggestion. I’d rather not encounter your sisters in this state.”
“Lord, no.” Charles dearly loved Louisa and Caroline, but they could try any sane man’s patience. “I’ll meet you out at the stables in thirty minutes,” he said, checking the watch on the nightstand.
“Charles, please have a care with my grandfather’s watch. I’ve never been without it since my father gave it to me.”
Examining the finely etched cover, Charles knew the timepiece was an heirloom, just like his own. “You have my father’s watch.”
With a grim nod, Darcy left him alone.
Hoping to dress quickly, Charles rang for the valet. Mr Hobbs arrived, as cheerless as he had been the night before, with the shaving water and a cup of black coffee.
Good Lord. How can Darcy abide the stuff on an empty stomach?
“Will the green riding coat and buckskins suffice, sir?” Hobbs asked as he filled the basin.
Charles agreed but then hesitated, wondering if Darcy shaved himself or if the valet shaved him. He hadn’t thought to ask. Would he give himself away if he altered Darcy’s morning routine? Must he now take up drinking coffee during his morning ablutions?
While Charles washed his face, Hobbs arranged the supplies on the shaving stand and, thankfully, went off to the dressing room.
Charles lathered his face and made quick work of the razor, as usual.
Hobbs returned with the riding attire and silently helped him to dress, so unlike Henderson who usually offered amusing quips or news from the kitchen.
Since he’d made no remark about the shaving stand, Charles assumed he had guessed right on the matter.
When Hobbs handed him the cravat, he knew a moment’s panic. He was all thumbs when it came to tying knots and relied entirely on Henderson’s creative flair, especially with the waterfall and mail coach designs he preferred. Apparently, Darcy tied his own cravat.
“May I trouble you to tie it for me, Mr Hobbs? I fear I’m a trifle out of sorts today.”
“Perfectly understandable, sir,” Hobbs said without hesitation. He quickly wrapped the cravat around Charles’s neck and formed a simple knot that Darcy favoured. While it wasn’t Charles’s preference, he acknowledged that he must not draw attention to himself by altering Darcy’s usual appearance.
Once Charles was dressed, with Darcy’s watch safely bestowed in his pocket, Hobbs collected his night clothes. “Shall I call for your horse?” he inquired, almost as though he knew what Charles was thinking.
He didn’t, did he?
Already on edge, he hurried down the stairs, slipped out through the side door, and walked around to the back of the house. Thankfully, his sisters never ventured downstairs at this hour of the morning. He wasn’t prepared to deal with them in his altered state.
He waved to his stable master, old Anderson.
“We’ll have Bart ready in a trice, Mr Darcy.”
Dear Lord. He had forgotten that Darcy rode a huge black stallion. Would Bart accept him or would he perceive him as a stranger and throw him off?
When Darcy joined him on the driveway wearing his grey riding coat, Charles also recognised one of his old hats. “I forgot that I lost my good hat to the wind last night.”
Darcy tipped the hat. “Henderson noticed it was missing and dragged out this forsaken thing,” he said with a smirk, then glanced at Charles’s attire. “I see Hobbs has restored my boots. Yours are also in good form, but I suppose hats and boots are the least of our problems.”
Charles agreed as old Anderson and a groom emerged from the stable, leading their horses. Bart pranced and kicked as though ready to bolt.
Darcy must have sensed his apprehension. “Don’t worry about Bart. He may be large and powerful, but he is obedient. Just keep a firm hand on the reins.”
A minute later, Charles was seated on the beast, with Darcy on Shadow, Charles’s black gelding. They trotted down the driveway and through the gates. As Darcy had warned, Bart was eager to run, but responded well to his signals.
Although the lane was still mired in mud, the carriage tracks and footprints had long since been erased by the rain. “Where did we get stuck? I don’t see any evidence of it,” Charles said.
“Must we identify the exact location?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” The matter seemed hopeless to Charles. “What now, Darcy?”
Darcy recoiled. “Good God! Don’t call me Darcy. Everyone will think you’re mad—or rather, that I’m mad.”
“Right,” Charles said, acknowledging his disastrous slip. “But what if I am? What if I’ve gone stark raving mad?”
Darcy sadly shook his head. “We both have, my friend, but don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”
Charles had come to rely on Darcy’s expert advice this past twelvemonth, but today he suspected his friend had no more notion of how to solve this riddle than he did.
***
After an exhaustive but unsuccessful search for the location of last night’s debacle, Darcy rode back to the house with his doppelganger, the gloom of defeat hovering over his head.
“There’s nothing for it, my friend. Until we determine how to resolve this fiasco, we must assume each other’s identities,” Charles said with an air of resignation.
This shocking suggestion seemed unfathomable to Darcy.
Disguise of every sort was his abhorrence.
Should he be expected to conceal his existence, deny his father’s name, and submit to the degradation of being a tradesman’s son?
Every voice of reason had to oppose such a ruse.
His honour as a gentleman demanded no less.
Yet, what else could be done? He looked and sounded like Charles Bingley. To the rest of the world, he was Charles Bingley.
“We must find a solution—quickly,” Darcy said. “The alternative is insupportable.”
His twin nodded glumly. “Agreed.”
Since Charles likely had no more idea of what to do than he, they rode in silence to the stables and surrendered their mounts to a groom.
“Are you ready for this, my friend? You are now the master of Netherfield, and I am your guest,” Charles said as they approached the house.
Darcy wasn’t in the least ready. “I suppose we have no other choice,” he said, dreading the prospect nearly as much as entering an assembly hall filled with marriageable ladies and their ambitious mothers. At least there, he was still Darcy.
Once indoors, he inhaled a fortifying breath. He would need all his wits about him to deal with Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst.
“There you are, Charles,” Miss Bingley said as he and Charles entered the breakfast parlour. “Did you enjoy your ride?”
Darcy cast a warning glance at Henry Hurst, who grinned like a half-wit. “Not much,” he said as he selected his breakfast from the sideboard.
“Even if I had brought Pearl, I daresay I wouldn’t have ridden out today,” Miss Bingley said with a dismissive sniff.
Although irritated by her condescending tone, Darcy made no reply. Now considered the master of the house, he sat at the head of the table. Charles offered a quick nod to signal his approval, then sat in the only chair remaining beside Caroline.
If one advantage had come from this unfortunate turn of events, it would be his sudden freedom from Miss Bingley’s relentless attentions.
As mistress of the house, she had seated him beside her at every meal and peppered him with questions for the entire hour.
Perhaps now, Charles would acknowledge his failure to correct his sister’s forward behaviour.
“Did you hear that Jane Bennet is here?” Caroline inquired.
“Jane?” Charles said, his voice rising in curiosity.
Darcy had learned of the lady’s presence last night from Henderson, but Charles appeared shocked to learn that his latest flirt was in residence.
“Louisa and I invited her to dine with us, and she arrived on horseback, of all things,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disdain. “Can you imagine?”
“Needless to say, she was soaked to the skin,” Mrs Hurst quipped.
“How terrible,” Charles said. “Will she join us for breakfast before she returns home?”
Caroline shook her head. “Sadly not. She is quite unwell this morning.”
A worried crease formed on Charles’s brow. “What do you mean?”
“She has a cough and a sore throat,” she said, then released a perturbed huff. “I’ve sent John out to summon the apothecary and deliver a note to Longbourn.”
“But why—”
“Thank you, Caroline.” Before his friend said another word, Darcy interrupted, knowing Charles was worried about his favourite, but had apparently forgotten that he was supposed to be Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“I’m certain her family will appreciate your kindness.
” Of course, she had done nothing to earn that praise, but had merely done what was expected of the mistress of the house.
“Is your face bruised, Mr Darcy?” Caroline inquired, now studying Charles’s chin.
Charles rubbed his jaw where Darcy had struck him. “We ran into a bit of trouble last night.”
Henry Hurst made a choking noise and gulped down his coffee.
“It’s nothing,” Charles said, then tucked into his breakfast.
Darcy did the same, skimming the newspaper, as was Charles’s usual morning habit.
“I can’t imagine why Jane didn’t come by carriage,” Mrs Hurst said. “She must have known that rain was expected.”
“She probably doesn’t have a conveyance at her disposal,” Darcy said.
Caroline scoffed. “Nonsense, Charles. Mr Bennet has a coach.”
Louisa Hurst clicked her tongue. “She probably meant to stay the night but didn’t plan on getting sick in the bargain.”
Darcy was by no means devoted to the Bennet family, but the ladies’ mocking banter irritated him past all bearing. “Why must you be so suspicious?”
“Come now, Charles, she’s made no secret that she has designs on you,” Caroline said.
“She’s done no such thing,” Charles quickly retorted.
Alarmed by Charles’s un-Darcy-like outburst, Darcy covered for his friend. “Can’t a man enjoy his breakfast without being subjected to idle gossip,” he said, to which Caroline sneered.
Darcy passed the newspaper to Charles, as was their usual morning habit. “My thoughts exactly,” Charles said, accepting the paper and giving it his full attention.
Darcy directed his most withering glare at Bingley’s sisters, and they finally dropped the subject. They really were the most horrid creatures. Why had Charles never corrected them? Or Hurst, for that matter. He would never allow Georgiana to disparage others, especially at the breakfast table.
To his vast satisfaction, the only sounds in the parlour were the tapping of silverware, rattling of teacups, and the rustling of newspaper pages.
“What shall we do today, Louisa?”
“I imagine we’ll spend the day playing nursemaid, Caroline.”
Darcy exchanged annoyed glances with Charles. By this performance, he must surely acknowledge that his sisters were insufferable. They had invited a neighbour to dine with them, and when their guest had taken ill, their only thought was for their own inconvenience.
Was it now up to Darcy to denounce their behaviour?