Darcy’s jaw shifted. “A fortnight.”
Bingley laughed. “Do you know, you always managed to catch me with that sort of bargaining before, but I shall not be moved this time. A month, or I will start canceling some of our contracts, so you truly have nothing to do for weeks on end in this great cavernous room here.”
“You would not dare.”
“A month, Darcy. Through Christmas and Boxing Day, at least. You could do with an escape from Town—admit it, you hate all the parties, anyway, so we shall enjoy a quiet Christmas in the country. And you had best go upstairs to dress now, because your valet already has your trunk packed, and my carriage is waiting outside.”
Darcy’s jaw dropped. “You… What the devil? You said you had not even signed the lease yet!”
“Come, come, you do not think I have worked alongside you for eight years and learned nothing, do you? I would not sign the lease without seeing the property first. Tick, tock, time to go, Darcy.”
Darcy gaped for a few seconds more. There seemed to be no getting round this. Bingley would have his way—at least, for today. Darcy had no intention of letting himself be stranded in Hertfordshire for all of December, but perhaps a few days… a week… might satisfy Bingley’s thirst for adventure and the outdoors.
“You will have to give me at least a quarter of an hour to change and another half hour to gather some paperw—”
“Tut, tut. Off with you, now. I will gather up these important documents for you to bore yourself over while you dress. The carriage leaves in a quarter of an hour, and you will be in it, Darcy.”
The carriage rocked themside to side over the icy road, and Elizabeth rubbed her hands together for warmth, stealing a glance at Jane. Her sister was peeking through the curtain covering the window, her cheeks flushed from the chill air seeping through the seams of the carriage.
The carriage slowed, and Elizabeth peered out the window to find herself looking upon the bustling courtyard of The Angel, their first stop to change horses. A weathered sign swung gently overhead, painted with a faded angel in flight, while stable hands dashed about, leading horses to and from the stalls with practiced haste. A few travelers lingered by the entrance, adjusting their cloaks and gloves as they chatted in low voices against the crisp December air, clouds of breath rising like smoke.
Elizabeth wrapped her shawl more tightly, preparing to sit through the stop as usual, assuming their driver would see to the horses without delay. But as soon as the carriage jostled to a halt, James surprised her by stepping down and coming to the window. He tapped on the glass, his hat tipped low against the wind.
Elizabeth lowered the window. “Yes, James?”
He cleared his throat, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, but it seems there’s a bit of a concern with the wheel. One of the spokes has worked loose, I’m afraid, and I’d not feel right setting off again without a blacksmith’s look at it. I’ll see if he’s available straight away.”
Elizabeth leaned forward, craning her neck to peer at the carriage wheel herself, but even with her best scrutiny, she saw nothing particularly amiss.
Elizabeth squinted, peering at the wheel in question. “A loose spoke, you say? I’m no expert, James, but it appears sound to me.”
“Aye,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not always visible, miss, but I’ve been at this work a fair bit, and I can tell you—it’ll need a blacksmith to see to it.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, but before she could speak, she caught the curious look that James cast at Jane. Her sister looked away at once, smoothing the cuffs of her gloves and gathering her reticule as if she had almost expected this.
“Very well, James,” Elizabeth replied, a spark of suspicion lighting her gaze. “If it must be done, it must be done. You may see to it. We will wait inside.”
“Much obliged, miss,” he said, and with a final tip of his hat, he strode off toward the blacksmith.
Elizabeth cast a knowing glance at Jane with no small degree of suspicion as they stepped out of the carriage and started for the inn’s door. “Our wheel, perfectly sound all the way from Gracechurch Street, now decides to endanger our lives? Dear Jane, do tell me if you have any notion as to why we have so suddenly developed carriage troubles.”
Jane blinked. “What an odd question, Lizzy. Are we not on our way to Longbourn, precisely as planned?”
“We are, yes. But I am suddenly possessed of the strangest suspicion that you and Aunt Gardiner might have had a quiet word with our good driver.”
Jane gave a light laugh, perfectly composed. “To what end? What, you think Aunt schemed for us to drive five miles from her warm home just to see us stranded at a coaching inn? Rubbish! James has always been quite dependable. And if he says there is trouble with the wheel, well, then I suppose there is.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Very well. Then, let us go inside and ‘suppose’ our way into a comfortable seat while the blacksmith attends to his ‘work.’ I believe I could do with a cup of tea.”
They made their way into the inn, where Elizabeth took a seat by the window, offering a prime view of the yard. Jane joined her, her manner so casual and pleasant that Elizabeth could hardly stand it. After they ordered tea and a light meal, Elizabeth turned her attention out the window, watching for any sign of actual work on the wheel. She was just contemplating the lack of activity when another carriage pulled up, and to her utter surprise, none other than Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy alighted from it.
Elizabeth felt a sudden jolt of panic. She could hear Mr. Darcy’s voice carrying through the glass pane, his tone clipped with mild annoyance. “Really, Bingley, this is unnecessary. The horses can be changed in a matter of moments. I do not see why we must retire here.”
Mr. Bingley only smiled back at his friend as he dusted off his coat. “A momentary repast, Darcy, is hardly a sin. You could do with a breath of air, you know.”
Mr. Darcy crossed his arms. “I am quite capable of breathing within a moving carriage.”
“Ah, but you miss the point, my friend.” Bingley turned, his hands on his hips. “’Tis not the destination, but the journey you must learn to appreciate. You wouldn’t deprive me of a moment of genuine country charm, would you?”
