Page 24 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“Or one simply falls asleep on one’s feet,” she said with a mischievous glint.
He laughed, surprised by the ease of it. “A useful talent at most society balls.”
Their shared laughter drew them into a new, unspoken familiarity. He hadn’t laughed so freely with anyone beyond Bingley or Georgiana in years.
***
Within the hour, they set out. The innkeeper’s wife sent them off with a basket of provisions. Darcy settled opposite Elizabeth but could not help watching how the morning sun lit her features. Despite fatigue and the strain of flight, she carried herself with calm grace.
Their conversation resumed easily.
“There’s a lovely path near my home,” she said. “It passes Netherfield Park. I’m using it as the setting in my current story.”
His head lifted. “Netherfield?”
“Yes. Do you know of it?”
“I’ve not visited, but my friend Bingley has recently rented the estate—with hopes of purchasing. Is it very near Longbourn?”
“Only three miles. How curious.”
“Indeed,” Darcy said, thoughtful. “Had we not met at the park, we might’ve been neighbours.”
“Neighbours? Did you mean to take up residence as well?”
He laughed. “No—but Bingley asked me to visit and advise him. He’s new to such matters.”
“How kind of you.” She smiled sincerely. “You’ll like Netherfield when you see it. It has a rather Gothic feeling to it. It reminds me of the setting in Udolpho.”
“Ah, yes. I am not one for gothic romances, but Mrs Radcliffe has a true gift for creating mood.”
“Udolpho is unmatched, I agree,” Elizabeth said. “Though The Italian has its merits.”
“You surprise me, Miss Bennet. I’d have thought you too pragmatic for tales of ghosts and secret passages.”
“Perhaps it’s because I’m thus that I enjoy imagining the opposite. But I favour stories where the seemingly supernatural has a rational cause.”
“As opposed to genuine ghosts?” he asked, amused.
“Exactly. Fiction may entertain, but real-life spectres try my patience.”
Her wit charmed him. Their conversation was the most invigorating he had enjoyed in years.
As the afternoon wore on, the carriage rocked steadily along the rutted road. Miss Bennet extracted a leather bottle ofsmall beer from the provision’s basket. She took a modest sip and lowered it to her lap.
“Would you care—” she got no further because a sudden jolt threw the carriage sideways, and her hand slipped. The bottle pitched forward, sloshing its contents across her skirt and onto the seat.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, holding the dripping bottle away from her lap.
“Are you hurt?” Darcy asked, already rising.
“No, just damp,” she said with a laugh, inspecting the spreading stain. “It seems my small beer has declared war on my gown and the seat.”
He reached behind him and retrieved a cloth from a side pocket. “Here, sit beside me while this dries,” he said and removed his coat from beside him.
She hesitated, then nodded and stood carefully as the carriage rocked again. He steadied her with a hand to her elbow as they swapped places.
“Thank you,” she murmured, dabbing at the cushion while settling beside him.
