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Anders shook his head. “No, sir, but I was in the neighborhood for only a few days before you departed.”
Fitz laughed at that and poked Darcy with his elbow. “You were already thinking of making your escape.”
Darcy sighed. “Miss Bingley’s ability to speak without cessation left me determined not to be confined in a carriage with her again.” It was not Caroline Bingley he had hoped to escape. “I was glad to have Newton,” he said, referring to his thoroughbred. “Bingley is still building his stables.”
Anders lifted an eyebrow at that but did not speak. Darcy was being rather generous. Bingley had allowed other men to tell him which horses to buy. Some of those men had been honest, but not all.
“Sir,” Anders said slowly, “the coach was black with yellow wheels, no coat of arms and a bit battered. Likely a coach for hire.” He closed his eyes, and Darcy knew he was trying to recall more details. “And one door was open—when I walked over to speak to the driver, I saw that the handle had hit the side of the coach hard enough to remove a bit of the paint. I think one of the wheels had been cracked, though they refused my help.”
“Good,” Fitz said smugly, “we can seek out where they might have made the repair.”
“They were still rather close to Meryton, Colonel,” Anders informed him. “I would have returned the coach there for repairs."
“We shall have to send someone else, Fitz,” Darcy cautioned. “We cannot have the same men making repeated inquiries.”
Fitz nodded. “We also need to be seen out. Anders, would you make the carriage ready?”
The coachman turned to Darcy and waited for his orders. Darcy nodded. Anders touched the brim of his hat and set to work.
Fitz watched Anders go, and shook his head. “I will never understand how you inspire such loyalty in your servants yet manage to offend nearly every person in your own circle.”
“I treat each as they deserve,” Darcy said gruffly. “My staff is not afraid of honest work. Regrettably, I cannot say as much for many in our circles.” Fitz had no idea. His cousin’s men would follow him through fire. Darcy did not inspire that kind of devotion. It was his privilege to treat his staff fairly and with compassion, but they were still servants and he could not also be their friend—some would certainly seek advantage. Acquaintances he had. He was even friendly with some men at the club. But a good friend? A confidante? Fitz was the only one he had.
“Now,” Darcy said, facing his cousin. “I know I have been distracted. But how is it you did not think to ask Anders about the trip before now?”
Fitz was incredulous. “I am not a bloody Bow Street Runner, Darcy. How would I know to ask? We knew nothing of a stop on the road or Miss Bennet leaping out of a moving carriage. Anders and I assumed Miss Bennet was already in your boot before it left Netherfield. She said herself she was out walking near the estate.” He huffed. “Point out the enemy, and I will run him through. That is my profession—and may I remind you I am spending my leave keeping your arse out of the fire? You owe me at least a case of your best brandy for this—I know you still have some.” He crossed his arms over his chest and settled into an offended silence.
“Of course,” Darcy replied with a wave of his hand. Fitz was right. He had been of no help, caught up as he was with caring for Elizabeth, and she had not recalled leaping from a carriage before today. Fitz had been working on the information they had—working on his own because Darcy could not bear to be away from Elizabeth.
Darcy’s thoughts wandered back to his earlier conversation with her. She had called him her friend. Was it possible for men and women to be friends? Would it matter when she went away?
There was a snap next to his ear, and he flinched before scowling at Fitz.
“What are you doing?” he asked, drawing himself up.
Fitz lowered his hand. “Your distractions are why we are missing things. Keep your mind on our task, Darcy. I swear, I have never known you to drift away as you have since you returned from Hertfordshire.” He gave Darcy a wicked grin, irritation suddenly abandoned. “Angelo’s again?”
Normally, Darcy would take his cousin up on any challenge, but he was not inclined to exertion just now. Elizabeth’s fever had never climbed so high that he was truly afraid for her, but after three days with little change, he had been anxious. Thankfully, the illness had run its course and Elizabeth was much improved. Although he had slept well the previous night, it had not erased the consequences of three nights spent in a chair. Between his concern for Elizabeth’s health, the consequences of his behavior on her reputation, and his growing feelings for her, Darcy was wrung out. He hated to do it, but he had to admit his limits.
“Not today, Fitz,” he said tiredly. “Another time.”
That Fitz was shocked by his reply he had no doubt—his cousin started a little before narrowing his eyes and assessing him silently.
“The club, then?” he asked at last.
Relieved that Fitz had not demanded an explanation, Darcy nodded his head in assent.
Before they could find a place to sit, Darcy was approached by a few men. Dudley, he thought, and . . . he searched his mind for the name of the other. Mann, perhaps?
Dudley began the conversation with a hearty greeting before launching into his real purpose. “Darcy, is it true you have had a falling-out with Bingley?”
He nodded once. “It is.”
“How did you hear of it?” Fitz asked with all the appearance of surprise. Other than himself, no one could be less surprised than Fitz that Lady Matlock’s news had already made the rounds.
“It was all my wife could talk about at dinner the other night,” Dudley said with a good-natured laugh. “She insisted the two of you must have had words about Miss Bingley. I presume either she or her brother made you an offer and you declined?” he asked, clapping Darcy on the arm. “Make me my wife’s hero and give me something she can use.”
Despite their actions, Darcy had no desire to drag the Bingleys over the coals. Even more, he detested trading on his privacy to protect his reputation, but it was the truth, and it must be done. “Bingley did have hopes in that direction, but I could not encourage them.”
