Page 51 of Master of Himself

“We may look forward to a call from the Bennet ladies in the next day or two.”

Caroline and Louisa exchanged steely glances, but when they made no remark, he continued.

“You should have come with us. We had the pleasure of meeting their guest, Mr Collins, who is Mr Bennet’s heir.”

Examining the cards, Caroline shook her head with false remorse. “The entail – such an unpleasant business.”

“True,” Louisa said in a grave tone. “And with five daughters yet unmarried, it puts Mrs Bennet in such a difficult position.”

Darcy doubted either lady cared one whit for Mrs Bennet’s difficulties.

“Perhaps the heir will marry one of them,” Caroline said with a hopeful mien.

Louisa naturally agreed. “That would be the best solution. After all, it’s quite unlikely they could do much better.”

Darcy rejected that notion. The idea of an intelligent woman like Elizabeth marrying that pompous fool was past all endurance. She would never agree to such an unequal match. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t marry whoever they choose,” he said, thinking especially of Elizabeth.

Caroline snickered. “You can’t be serious, Charles. They have no more than a thousand pounds each,” she said with an incredulous air, then turned to Charles. “I’m certain Mr Darcy agrees with me.”

“That’s the usual way of things,” Charles said, turning a card. “But there are exceptions.”

Caroline forfeited the hand. “Well, Jane is a rare beauty and may do well enough, but the younger girls want better manners. In my opinion, they were released from the schoolroom far too early.”

“My goodness, their conduct is most unbecoming,” Louisa said in a despairing tone.

Darcy couldn’t disagree on that point. Those girls had tested his patience on several occasions, including today’s dismal performance. But at least they hadn’t behaved as badly as the ridiculous parson.

That topic of conversation was thankfully put to an end by the arrival of a footman with the tea cart. The ladies served the tea with the graceful elegance befitting a London drawing room. Caroline’s devoted attention to Charles’s every preference reminded him of the overreaching clergyman’s servitude to his esteemed patroness.

Later that night, Darcy followed Charles and Hurst out to the brook. Thank the gods, the rain had finally returned. Granted, it was a light mist, but still, this was the most precipitation they’d seen in over a sennight.

“How does one appease the gods?” Charles inquired once they had positioned their lanterns around the bench.

“Bonfire,” Hurst said.

“There’s an idea,” Darcy said, rolling his eyes.

“I’d rather enjoy watching you build a fire in this weather, Henry,” Charles said. “We have no other amusements.”

Accepting this challenge, Hurst instantly set to work, gathering fallen branches, loose brush and leaves, and using the lantern flame to start the fire. Through no small effort, the fire sprang to life.

Invigorated by his success, Hurst jumped over the flames. “Excelsior!”

Charles quickly followed. “Long live the King!”

Darcy remained seated; he still had his dignity, after all, even though it dangled by a loose thread.

“Come on, Darcy,” Hurst said, wildly waving him forward. “What do you have to lose?”

Indeed, he had already lost everything. Why shouldn’t I? he thought. Nothing else had worked thus far, and unless he had attempted every foolhardy scheme imaginable, he couldn’t honestly claim that he had tried everything to reverse the spell.

He jumped over the fire. “In Veritate Victoria!”

“Was that Latin?” Hurst inquired.

Darcy confirmed this. “Victory is Truth; the Fitzwilliam family motto.”

Hurst raised up a cheer and clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit,” he said, then leapt over the already dwindling fire. “Rule, Britania!”