Page 30 of Master of Himself

“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.

Chapter 12

Saturday 16 November

Darcy frowned at his reflection in the looking glass. Having now abandoned his fruitless objections to Charles’s attire, he had allowed Henderson to dress him in a green double-breasted tailcoat, a yellow and white plaid waistcoat, pale-green striped pantaloons, and gleaming Hessian boots. While he would never have purchased such dandified attire himself, he admitted that they suited Charles to perfection.

After a light tap on the door, Charles entered without a trace of his usual sunny demeanour. His friend was attired in one of Darcy’s favourite combinations, the charcoal-grey coat with a grey herringbone waistcoat. Unfortunately, Charles appeared less than enthused with the neutral colours.

“Henderson chose well this morning,” he said, observing Darcy’s appearance. “I’m sure Miss Bennet will appreciate it, even if you don’t.”

“Take heart, Charles. Your meeting may have been brief last night, but you’ll see her at breakfast. I’ll arrange for her to sit beside you, and you can discuss all your good qualities,” he said, to which Charles offered a half-hearted grin. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for apologising to Elizabeth on my behalf.”

Charles dragged his hand through his hair. “What if Henry’s right, and we haven’t considered this properly? What are we missing?”

Unable to answer, Darcy shook his head.

“What if it’s not the weather gods, but some other spirit like faeries or sprites?”

“Because they don’t exist?”

Charles glared in annoyance. “Really, Darcy. I should think that our present situation proves there is evidence to the contrary.”