But… at least it hadn’t been Caroline Bingley.
Miss Bennet was a country girl—no one would listen to her. She could say whatever she pleased, and society would barely blink. But if Miss Bingley had seen… I shuddered. I would have been the subject of gossip from here to London for the next decade.
Or she would use it to blackmail me into marriage. Quite frankly, I’d rather have the gossip.
Shaking all over, I pushed myself upright and took stock of my appearance in the mirror. My shirt was torn and smeared with mud, my breeches filthy, my hair drenched and sticking out in every direction as if I’d spent the morning wrestling with demons—which, frankly, didn’t feel far from the truth.
I didn’t waste another second. I stumbled over to my hair trunk, yanking it open with clumsy hands, and began stuffing clothes into it without rhyme or reason. I needed to leave.Now. London, Derbyshire, the Orient—anywherebut here. I couldn’t wait for a footman or explanations. I had to be gone before Ewan McLean appeared again or, worse before Caroline Bingley sniffed me out.
As I crammed the last of my shirts into the trunk, I heard a sharp knock at the door.
I screamed. Again.
My knees buckled, and I clutched the edge of the bed to stop myself from collapsing.No. Not again! I couldn’t take another confrontation with—
“Darcy?” came Bingley’s voice from the other side of the door. “Are you hurt?”
I exhaled in relief, nearly sinking to the floor. It wasn’t Ewan. It was Bingley. A real, living, breathing human being. I could handle this.
My heart was still racing, but at least I wasn’t about to face another ghost. Thank Heaven.
“Darcy?” came Bingley’s voice again, far more urgent now. “Are you—er—alive in there?”
I hauled myself to my feet, gripping the bedpost like it was the only thing keeping me upright. “Yes! Yes, I’m… here.”
The door creaked open, and Bingley stepped in, taking one look at me—mud-smeared breeches, shirt hanging out, hair as if I’d been struck by lightning—and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Good heavens, man,” he said, blinking. “What happened to you? You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of cows.”
I straightened up, but my legs were still shaking beneath me. “Cows? No. No cows,” I stammered, trying to smooth my shirt—though that was a futile effort. “I was… startled. That’s all.”
Bingley raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Startled? Darcy, I could’ve sworn I heard a scream. A rather… high-pitched one.”
“I donotscream,” I snapped, though I could hear how unconvincing I sounded. “I was… surprised, that’s all. Surprised.”
Bingley blinked again, his gaze flicking to the half-packed trunk behind me. “Surprised into packing your things without even waiting for a servant? Were you ‘startled’ by your shirts and cravats?”
“No,” I muttered, shoving a crumpled cravat into the trunk with far more force than necessary. “I simply thought it best to… return to London. Yes. Important matters. Cannot delay.”
“London?” Bingley’s frown deepened, and he stepped further into the room, hands on his hips. “Darcy, what’s this about? Youonly came back last night! The weather’s cleared up, and Hurst and I were planning to go shooting this morning.”
“Shooting?” I repeated, half dazed, as I glanced out the window. The sky, of course, was a perfect blue, and the trees shimmered in the sunlight like nothing strange had happened at all. “Yes, well, I’m sure you and Hurst will manage without me.”
Bingley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? You look…” He searched for the word. “You look like you’ve been running across the fallow fields already this morning.”
If only he knew. My head was pounding, my hands were trembling, and every part of me wanted to escape this house before Ewan popped up again to haunt me.
“It’s just… the matter of the estate,” I said weakly, stuffing a pair of boots into the trunk. “Can’t leave it unattended for too long. Must get back to Derbyshire.”
Bingley was not convinced. “You didn’t mention anything pressing before you left for London yesterday.”
I groaned inwardly. “Well, things change. Urgently. There’s business. Papers. People waiting.” I was rambling now, and Bingley’s concerned frown was only getting deeper.
“Darcy,” he said slowly, “it’s a beautiful day. The rain’s cleared, the countryside’s fresh, and Hurst and I were hoping for a bit of sport. I daresay some fresh air would do you good.”
Fresh air? Fresh air was what got me into this mess, tearing across the lawn like a madman while a young lady looked on, no doubt thinking I’d lost my mind, and probably scandalized by how much of me my clothing did not cover. The village wit, no less, with the sort of tongue that could scald my dignity a dozen different ways before noon.
I shuddered.
