5. Five

Five

D arcy stared at the papers on his desk the next morning, but his focus drifted in a way he had not felt in years. That woman… the one who teased him and talked to him as if he were any other man…

Elizabeth Bennet.

She was a singular woman, that much was clear, though he knew precious little else. Her uncle was a man of trade, which explained why she had never been paraded about in any of the Society balls Bingley had dragged him to. But her father, he had gathered, was a gentleman of some modest property. In some ways, Elizabeth Bennet was much like himself, a person whose connections straddled the worlds of trade and gentility.

Yet, for all this overlap, she was entirely unlike anyone he had ever met.

Her wit, her unpolished honesty, her unshakable poise even when she was teasing him—it was… well, he was not entirely sure what it was. She had made it plain that while her aunt had orchestrated the evening—likely with an eye to benefiting her , Elizabeth Bennet was a lady perfectly capable of voicing her reservations over such ploys.

That alone had turned the whole manipulation into something he could not quite resent.

The door to his study swung open with a bang, and Darcy did not even need to look up to identify Bingley, strolling in with a bounce in his step and a whistle on his lips. He slapped a document down on the desk on top of the page Darcy was already trying to read.

“Here,” Bingley declared. “My solution to your exile here in Town.”

Darcy glanced at the document, lifting a brow. “And what, exactly, am I looking at?”

“A holiday for both of us, if I have any say in it,” Bingley replied, folding his arms and grinning. “It is a lease. For a property in Hertfordshire.”

Darcy picked up the document, glancing over the lines. “You have leased an estate?”

“Not entirely leased. Not yet. That paper is the offer. All you have to do is lend your hearty agreement, and I shall secure it.”

“And why would you need my agreement? You have money of your own, do you not?”

“Because—” Bingley stepped forward to tap his finger on the page— “as I have said before, it avails me nothing at all to try to do something for my own pleasure without gagging and hamstringing you first. You will find some urgent business that entangles me here before I’ve even set foot in the carriage. I drag you along with me, or I do not go.”

Darcy frowned and scanned the paper, cocking an eye at Bingley every few seconds. “Why a lease? It is like throwing money out with the rubbish bin. You could certainly afford to purchase.”

“Oh,” Bingley said with a dismissive wave. “I can buy property any day of the week. But what I cannot readily do is find something so happily situated. This estate is not offered for sale, only a lease, but it is close enough that we can reach it in less than a day’s ride, and far enough from Town to afford us a true escape. It has fine grounds, the agent reports excellent shooting—although we missed most of that for the season—scenic views, and even a pleasant lake. If I cannot to drag you all the way to Pemberley, then, at the very least, I will get you out of London.”

Darcy smirked, setting down the paper. “And you think I will go quietly.”

“Not at all.” Bingley’s grin widened. “I am prepared to drag you by your cravat if it comes to that.”

“I am half a head taller and at least a stone heavier than you are,” Darcy murmured, scanning the lease details. “Good luck in your attempt, though.”

“Then I will write to the War Office and have Fitzwilliam sent over here at once with his sword and pistols to force you into the carriage.”

Darcy frowned and pushed the lease paperwork back into Bingley’s hands. “Now is not an opportune time to leave London.”

“Oh, no. I will not hear that excuse. There has never been a more opportune time! Your sister is staying with Lady Matlock and requires absolutely nothing from you until next year when she prepares to come out. Your estate—you know, the one you never visit—has already put up the season’s harvest and is slipping peacefully into hibernation for the winter. We are not expecting anything but routine business for the next month at least, and for whatever does arise, we can be reached by express in just a few hours.”

Darcy blinked and released a slow exhale. He had fancied, at least for a few moments there, that he might… well, perhaps he might call again on Mr. Gardiner. Just to see that those port wine and olive oil imports had straightened out. He swallowed and was just reaching to examine the lease document again when Bingley plucked them up from the desk and rolled them up.

“You owe me, Darcy,” he said, tapping those rolled papers on his shoulder where that old scar was.

Darcy sighed. It was pointless to argue once Bingley decided to play his trump card. “Very well. A week. I will go for a week.”

“A month, and not a day less.”

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.”

T he carriage rocked them side 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?”

Elizabeth snorted, glancing at Jane, who had turned her attention resolutely to her tea.

“Jane Bennet,” Elizabeth hissed, “do you have anything to do with this charming little coincidence?”

“Coincidence?” Jane asked, her tone all guileless and pure, though her cheeks had taken on a decidedly pink hue. “Whatever do you mean?”

Elizabeth scowled and chucked her thumb toward the glass as the gentlemen drew closer to the inn door. “Do not play innocent with me.”

Jane lowered her cup and, clearing her throat, pinched absently at her cheeks and smoothed the way her skirt laid over her knees. “Why, Lizzy, what a preposterous accusation. How could I possibly have known Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were traveling today, or have any notion that they might stop here?”

“Indeed. So, this ‘loose spoke’ that I cannot see, and their sudden whim to take tea precisely when our carriage faltered… They are pure happenstance, then?”

Jane took another sip of tea, her gaze fixed firmly on the cup. “I am as mystified as you are, Lizzy.”

“Mystified!” Elizabeth said with a soft laugh. “Then you must have no objections if I… ah, check the air outside?”

“Lizzy,” Jane protested, her voice a low whisper, “we cannot simply… approach them!”

“Oh, can we not?” Elizabeth countered. “We have been introduced, and this is a public place. Surely, we may take the air in company. And besides…” She glanced pointedly toward the men as they made for the door of the inn. “It seems they intend to come to us.”

Darcy was looking impatient, his brow furrowed and his gaze fixed on the ground as he muttered something to Bingley. But Bingley, grinning widely, opened the door and guided Darcy inside with the air of a man entirely too pleased with himself.

As they entered, Bingley’s gaze landed on Jane, and his entire expression brightened. “Why, Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! What a surprise to see you both here.”

“A surprise indeed,” Elizabeth mumbled, glancing at Jane, who had turned an even brighter shade of pink.

Darcy’s brows rose, the barest flicker of surprise in his dark eyes. “Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.” He glanced sharply at Bingley, then back at the ladies, and his tone held a touch of disbelief. “I had not expected to encounter familiar faces here.”

Elizabeth met his gaze with the faintest hint of challenge. “Nor did we, Mr. Darcy. Though it seems fate has taken a rather lively hand in our travels today. That—” she gestured toward the window, looking outside– “is our carriage, and, as you can see, it has been beset by some woeful trouble.”

Mr. Darcy slanted his head to the side to afford him a view through the window. “Indeed,” he replied, his gaze flickering between her and the driver, who was now intently inspecting the carriage wheel with more scrutiny than seemed entirely necessary. He folded his arms, casting a skeptical look toward Bingley, who was rather pointedly avoiding his eye. “I trust your journey has otherwise been without incident?”

“Oh, entirely smooth,” Elizabeth replied, her tone dry, “until this unexpected mishap. James assures us it is merely a matter of prudence to prevent a loose spoke from causing any… disruption.”

“Prudence, indeed,” Darcy murmured, a faintly amused glint in his eye as he observed the driver’s exaggerated inspection. “One would not wish to overlook a matter of such importance.”

Elizabeth allowed a slow smile. “Quite so. And yet, how fortunate that we find ourselves so unexpectedly… well-accompanied.”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth twitching. “It does seem that chance has conspired most efficiently.” He shot Bingley a sidelong glance.

There seemed little else to do—the gentlemen ordered refreshments, and moments later, a round table near the fireplace was prepared for them all. Darcy and Bingley took seats on either side of the ladies, a configuration that felt both perfectly casual and slightly strategic to Elizabeth. She settled herself between the gentlemen, amused at the coincidence—or the seeming coincidence, rather—and the hint of curiosity she noted on Darcy’s face.

He turned to her with a polite, if slightly quizzical, expression. “I must say, Miss Elizabeth, I was unaware that you and your sister intended to travel. No one made any mention of it to me last evening. Are you returning to your family home?”

“Yes,” she replied. “To Longbourn, near the town of Meryton, in Hertfordshire.”

There was a quick, sharp glance between Darcy and Bingley that did not escape Elizabeth’s notice. Darcy’s expression tightened, and Bingley chuckled, the sound somewhere between sheepish and triumphant.

“A fine coincidence, indeed!” Bingley declared, looking far too pleased with himself.

Elizabeth tilted her head, puzzled. “A coincidence? I believe you have caught me at a disadvantage, Mr. Bingley. What, exactly, is this coincidence?”

Darcy gave Bingley a look that seemed to convey some unspoken reprimand, but he answered Elizabeth, all the same. “We are traveling to inspect a property that my friend intends to lease—an estate called Netherfield, which, I am given to understand, is also in Hertfordshire.”

Elizabeth’s expression brightened. “Why, Netherfield is only three miles from Longbourn!” She glanced at Jane, who was biting her lip and looking down at her lap. “Then… it must be true that the baronet is leaving, after all. Jane…?”

Jane helplessly shook her head. “Charlotte mentioned something in passing in her last letter, but I know no more than you do.”

Bingley and Darcy exchanged confused looks, and Bingley leaned forward, intrigued. “Baronet, Miss Elizabeth? Do you mean to say Netherfield is currently owned by one?”

“Yes, for some years now. And you say it is for lease?” Elizabeth asked.

“Indeed, I have the documents in the strongbox of my carriage.” Bingley spared Jane a quick glance, and Elizabeth had the distinct impression that the gentleman was holding his breath. “I—well, a dashed fine coincidence, that,” he said. “The papers came to me only this morning. Tell me, what is this you were saying about a baronet?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then hesitated. “It is not our place to say,” she replied carefully. “We would not wish to put such a good man in a poor light or assume anything about his affairs.”

Darcy inclined his head slightly. “Quite understandable, Miss Elizabeth. I respect discretion in such matters.” He paused before adding, “It seems, however, that the ‘coincidences’ are multiplying.”

She offered a tight smile and slid her gaze toward Jane, but her sister was already saying something to Mr. Bingley. “It certainly does. I hope, sir that you do not think either of us manipulated—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “I have been in company with Bingley for too long to suspect you. ” He followed this with a faint arch of his brow in Jane’s direction and lowered his voice to a soft murmur as he leaned closer. “Your sister, however, does bear some scrutiny.”

“Sir, I—”

“Never mind that. Tell me, how large of a town is Meryton? What is the town like in the winter?”

Elizabeth’s chest eased at Darcy’s strategic change of topic. “Oh, it is delightful! There is a small lake just outside of town that freezes over every winter, and the whole village gathers there to skate. The local children have already started counting the days. We have dances in the assembly hall every month, and the best merchants travel from London to set up stalls in the square in December. On Christmas Eve, there is a great bonfire, and nearly everyone comes with food and mulled wine to share, singing all the carols they can remember.”

Darcy listened, glancing at Bingley, who was visibly charmed by Elizabeth’s descriptions. Darcy cleared his throat, inclining his head in Elizabeth’s direction. “It sounds, indeed, like a rather charming way to pass Christmas—in the country.”

For some reason, Mr. Bingley’s face reddened, but he grinned widely. “I could not agree more, Darcy.”