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“I doubt that.”
“You’re thinking how much more annoying drama you’ll have to put up with when you come to the pub. I have to apologize, that Bennet boy has stirred up a lot of it since he returned. So bold with his winks and opinions, isn’t he?”
“Bold, yes. But you’re quite wrong, I’m afraid,” Darcy said abruptly, as Bennet finally pushed off the wall toward home. “I was thinking something else entirely.”
Through sheets of morning rain, Bennet gazed across the farmland where he’d first seen the sleek black stallion and its uptight owner. The rain was thick, heavy. Getting Lyon on his way to the bus stop meant navigating which were the shallowest puddles to step into.
After Lyon had begrudgingly waved goodbye—the best he could hope for considering last night—his phone rang. “Hello?”
Caroline’s voice tittered down the line—far more enthusiastic than it had been the previous evening. “It got a little busy last night, but I’ve had a wee peek into my calendar and I can squeeze you in this morning, if you’d like to come by my place? We can have a tête-à-tête about your ideas, see if we can’t figure something out.”
Hood up against the rain, Bennet hurried over the slick bridge and puddled roads and wound his way to the Bingley farmhouse directly across from Silverfield. The two estates posed atop the hill, smugly facing off, each convinced they were grander, better, more comfortable.
Bennet fancied they accurately resembled their owners. One with elegant arches and pretty paintwork; the other all imposing stone walls and notable lack of color.
The steady rain turned into a downpour as Bennet hoofed up the last stretch. By the time he dinged the antique doorbell, he was saturated.
Caroline looked down her nose at him before reluctantly showing him into her sunroom.
“Strip off your wet clothes and lie them near the heater.”
She left, and he peeled out of heavy, dripping jeans, socks, shirt. His boxer-briefs were damp, but he left them on and donned the navy dressing gown Caroline returned with. “For now, until fitting clothes arrive. I’ve put on coffee in the dining room.”
Bennet followed her into a room filled with delicate, hand-painted china in glass-fronted cabinets. They sat at a table centered with a lacy doily and a vase of silk flowers.
Coffee puttered in the open kitchen behind them.
“So, Bennet.” Caroline eyed him thoroughly. “I’m ready to listen to your proposals, but first, tell me about yourself.”
Bennet set his phone on the table and began.
The doorbell chimed, a welcome interruption of Caroline’s narrow-eyed scrutiny.
“Hold that thought. That’ll be my neighbor with your change of clothes.” She adjusted the silk knot at her neck. Bennet snuck after her to the hallway, where she was reapplying red lipstick in a gilded mirror. She puffed her chin-length hair and opened the door.
Bennet had sufficient warning who would step into the foyer—Caroline’s behavior fairly screamed it—so he shouldn’t have felt the jump of surprise when Darcy strode in carrying a package. His short dash through the rain dripped off his oilskin onto the welcome mat.
He handed the package over, his gaze snagging on Bennet. He turned, as if to leave again, and hesitated. “That coffee smells delicious, Caroline.”
Her laugh tinkered. “Come in, have some. I was asking Bennet about himself. How I might help him.”
Less help him than help herself, Bennet feared, but he hoped either way it would benefit his cause.
Bennet ducked back into the dining room and pretended to investigate the china when they entered.
Darcy raised a knowing brow and said nothing as Caroline ushered him into a chair.
Bennet moved to the table to join them and his gown loosened, exposing a slither of his torso, underwear, most of one leg. Darcy’s gaze stuttered, as if he were trying to pull it away but met resistance. His jaw twitched and he finally forced his eyes elsewhere.
“I should dress,” Bennet said.
Caroline agreed heartily, the look she bestowed on Bennet belying her pleasant tone. She passed him the package.
Bennet took it and himself back to the sunroom. The clothes Darcy had brought were . . . well, he couldn’t be sure, but he assumed they belonged to his daughter. The jeans fit well, but the blouse . . . he wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Was it an attempt at thoughtfulness?
Or, no.
Probably what Darcy had in his size.
He slipped it on and glanced at his reflection in the hallway mirror. Not quite his style and too tight around his biceps, but the color, like a summer sky . . . it brought out the sparkly blue in his eyes.
He headed back to the dining room, halting in the hall at their voices.
“I’ve yet to see what’s so compelling about him,” Caroline said. “Other than how punctual he is. But walking in this weather? Really. You should have seen him, like a soaked mop with all that wet hair around his face.”
