Page 17 of Master of Himself

Although he hadn’t called for the valet, Darcy knew he ought not to sleep in his evening attire, or Charles’s attire, to be more precise. He reluctantly rose and submitted to the man’s services. Thankfully, Henderson refrained from offering his opinion on all and sundry, and made quick work of the process. Once dressed in Bingley’s nightshirt, he retired and fell instantly to sleep.

Chapter 8

Thursday 14 November

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.