Chapter Eleven

Darcy

1 st February 1812

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

“C ome on, just a little more,” Georgie muttered under his breath as he tried his best to get his freezing fingers to bend so he could tackle his task for the day—milking a cow. He’d managed a few squirts of milk but hoped to fill the bucket to prove to Mr Bennet that he wasn’t entirely useless when it came to farm work. Thus far, he’d managed to bungle every task he’d been given other than feeding the animals.

He’d persevered with each task but not without difficulty. Clearing out the stables took him much longer than any of the other workers, as the pitchfork would not co-operate when he attempted to clear out the muck. Pumping water from the well, tired his arms in an embarrassingly short period of time, and he would rather not think back to his misadventures with sowing the last of the winter crops. Whatever he had been in his former life, a farm worker was not it.

“Come now, Maisie,” he pleaded with the animal and blew onto his hands to warm them a little. However, Maisie the cow had other plans. She sidestepped suddenly, knocking over the bucket where Georgie had managed to collect a small amount of milk. The liquid splashed onto floor, soaking into the straw almost immediately.

“By Jove!” Georgie let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. His attempts to acclimate to farm life had been met with one failure after another, and now milking the cow seemed like an insurmountable task. He felt completely inept.

Just then, Mary Bennet appeared at the barn door, a book clutched in her hands.

“Georgie,” she called out. He turned to face her. Quickly, he glanced around to see if either of her sisters were there, so he’d know how to properly address her. Etiquette, for some reason, was a topic he appeared to know much about. Perhaps a hint at his former life? Had he been a footman at a rich man’s home perhaps? A butler, even?

“Miss Bennet,” he acknowledged after verifying her older sisters were not there and thus awarding her the title of Miss Bennet for the time being and straightening up. “Do you know anything about milking cows, perhaps?”

“Not from experience,” she admitted while surveying the chaos at his feet, “but I have watched the cows being milked before. It didn’t seem very difficult.”

Georgie scoffed. It truly hadn’t looked difficult when he watched Mr Cook, demonstrate it, but doing it himself, was quite another matter.

Georgie hesitated for a moment but then said, “Anything would help at this point.”

Mary stepped closer. “Well, whoever does it usually speaks quietly to the cows. Also, they do it slowly. I think the cows know when you don’t know what you are doing. Also, they do not like cold hands.”

Georgie nodded, taking in her words. He’d already thawed his hands earlier, but it was cold out with a stiff breeze that had left the air frigid. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up again, and approached the cow once more. He positioned the bucket and reached for the udder, attempting to follow Mary’s advice.

Mary watched intently, as if she were reading a most fascinating book.

“Alright, Maisie old girl. Why don’t you help me?” Georgie tried talking to the cow in soothing tones, but despite his best efforts, the milk was still not flowing as it should. The cow seemed more annoyed than calmed, shifting her weight and swishing her tail irritably. Determined not to give up, he bent forward and gave the teat another tug—only to find his face splashed with a stream of warm milk.

“Oh, perdition!” he bellowed and leaped up, and staggered backwards while Mary broke into giggles.

“It’s no use,” he muttered, wiping the milk off his face while the cow merrily sauntered away.

Mary bit her lips, but her cheeks twitched with amusement, although it seemed she’d seen quite enough as she took a few steps out of the barn. “It does take time, Georgie. Perhaps you just need more practice. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ll leave you to it.”

It was pointless. Georgie sat down on the hay, his back against the wooden wall and watched Mary as she left. She kicked a pebble along the path, swinging her arms in a carefree manner. As he observed her, an image flickered in his mind.

A young woman, blonde-haired and taller than Mary, appeared before him, mirroring Mary’s actions. She wore a vivid sky-blue dress with a bow in the back. A soft, melodic giggle filled the air, and a wave of familiarity washed over him.

“Who is this?” he whispered to himself, his heart pounding. Was this a flash from his former life?

Compelled by a sudden urgency, Georgie leapt up to go after the apparition. In his haste, his foot kicked the bucket, and the clattering sound startled the cow, causing her to moo loudly. The noise jolted him back to reality, and the image of the blonde-haired woman faded as quickly as it had appeared.

This had been his window to his past, a hint about who he was. And now it was gone! Was this woman the same one who owned the tidy dressing table he’d seen in his mind the day he first awoke? Was she his … wife? Sister? Georgie didn’t know. His stomach churned, and a wave of nausea overcame him. Stumbling out of the barn, he barely made it a few steps before doubling over and heaving. He staggered a few more feet and sank to the ground, leaning against the barn wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Why can’t I remember?” he muttered, tinged with desperation. The brief glimpse of the past had only deepened his frustration. His lack of memory was a constant, gnawing void that overshadowed every moment of his existence.

His limited skills and poor outlook on life added to his sense of inadequacy. Every task on the farm seemed beyond his capability, and he felt like a burden rather than a help. The days stretched out before him, bleak and unchanging, with no promise of improvement or enlightenment.

He buried his face in his hands, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He felt utterly lost, a man without a past, struggling to find his place in a world that made no sense. The image of the blonde-haired woman lingered at the edge of his mind, a haunting reminder of all he had lost.

For now, all he could do was sit there, shaken and frustrated, trying to piece together the fragments of a life he couldn’t remember.

As he stared at the ground, he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Elizabeth walking back to the house. Elizabeth noticed him and veered in his direction, her brow furrowing with concern.

“Are you ill?” she asked, worry painting each word.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m turning out to be an abject failure as a farmhand,” he admitted, not wanting to tell her about his strange experience moments ago. He didn’t know what it meant, who it was he’d seen—and somehow, he felt he needed to hold on to that image for himself.

Elizabeth chuckled softly. “Yes, my father implied as much. But you don’t need to work, Georgie. You are our guest. In fact, Mother has already said it is unseemly to have a guest work.”

Georgie shook his head, though grateful for the interruption. “I overheard Mrs Bennet complaining that having an extra mouth to feed is a hardship. I cannot simply sit idly by and be a burden on your family.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened, and she waved a hand dismissively. “You are not a burden, Georgie. My mother has a flair for dramatics, and while she may complain, she also enjoys the notoriety hosting the man without a memory brings.”

He looked into her eyes. “Is that what I am called in town?”

“Indeed. Or ‘the man without a past’, depending on whom you speak to. In any case, Mother has never been talked to or about as much as she is now. That alone is a gift. And I enjoy having you here. It is nice to have someone who likes to read as much as I, and not just romance novels like Mary. And now that Jane has gone to London to stay with our aunt and uncle, I shall have to come to you for riveting conversation.”

Georgie smiled weakly, feeling a flicker of hope that this meant seeing more of her. Jane Bennet had gone into London three days prior with Mrs Bennet, who had since returned. Jane was to spend time with Mrs Bennet’s brother and his family. “Thank you, Elizabeth. Your words mean a great deal to me.”

She smiled back, her eyes warm and encouraging. “Come, let’s go inside. It’s too cold out here and Maisie has already been milked this morning.”

His eyes grew wide. “She has?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Yes, I overheard Father and Mr Cook talking about it and how they were going to play a little joke on you. I didn’t agree with it, but…”

To his surprise, he let out a burst of laughter. “So I am not entirely useless at milking. Poor Maisie was just perturbed.”

“Yes, that is all. Come now,” she said and nodded her head towards the house.

As they stood up and walked towards the house together, Georgie felt a small measure of comfort. Elizabeth’s words had reassured him, but he still felt a deep desire to prove his worth and find his place. Somehow.