Page 12 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
“They could ride,” Mr Darcy replied evenly.
“Not along this path,” Mr Bingley protested. “The low-hanging branches would rip the bonnets off their heads.”
Which reminded Elizabeth that she needed to notify Mr Hill that the path was long-due for some trimming. It had lain mostly unused for years, but that would change if Mr Bingley leased Netherfield. Uncle Henry employed a capable steward, and his side of the border was always well maintained.
It was sweet of Mr Bingley to believe her father ever surveyed his land, but Mr Bennet rarely stirred from his beloved books, and he had a steward to address these sorts of matters. Mr Hill could be prevailed upon when needed, but he was not the kind of man who made an effort if it were not strictly necessary.
Mr Bingley laughed. “I knew you would see my way of thinking. The last one in the water is a cowardly nincompoop!”
Elizabeth heard the gentle thumps of two pairs of boots landing on the path, then the rustling of clothing before the sound of fabric being ripped startled her nearly off balance. She closed her eyes as laughter rang out in the air. Mr Bingley had an amusing high-pitched laugh, whilst Mr Darcy’s low rumbles reverberated through her soul.
She fought valiantly to quash her curiosity; it was highly improper to look yet impossible to resist. Slowly, she allowed her eyelids to flutter open.
Water splashed as the gentlemen ran into the water. They would be disappointed when they discovered it was only about knee-deep on a fully grown man, which would do nothing to relieve her current torture.
She should keep her eyes closed, but those organs did not obey her. Instead, they were fixed on two strong and brawny legs splashing water as they ran. Reverently, she let her eyes travel upwards to watch the muscles of his buttocks play under his skin. Above, a narrow waist broadened into a sturdy set of shoulders.
An onslaught of unfamiliar sensations played havoc in her mind and caused her breath to quicken. She was no more capable of forming a coherent thought than she was of taking flight towards the sky.
The gentlemen were at the opposite end before they realised that the pond was very shallow indeed. Mr Bingley laughed, but her eyes were not fixed on him, they were attached to the other gentleman’s behind. Mr Darcy flung himself into the water. Then he rose, grinned at his friend, and called the victory. Mr Bingley protested because he had set the first foot in the water, whilst Mr Darcy claimed the glory for being the first to get his hair wet. A friendly squabble ensued that was never concluded before they turned and walked back towards her hiding place.
Elizabeth would have been sent plunging towards the ground by the gentlest breeze, yet she continued to stare through the leaves, unabashed. The gentleman never glanced in her direction, and for that she was grateful. His head remained bent to avoid stepping on the stones and branches the Bennet and Lucas children had thrown into the pond over the years. She spared not a single glance at Mr Bingley. No, it was Mr Darcy’s strong, Greek-like figure that held her in rapt attention. It was a sight she would never forget, and if she were to be honest, one she would not mind revisiting.
The gentlemen disappeared underneath the verdure of the tree she was sitting in. They wrestled with their saddle bags, and it sounded as if they were drying off before dressing.
“You should not have ripped your shirt, especially since you lost in any case,” Mr Darcy snickered.
“Firstly, I won the race, and secondly, no one will be able to tell that my shirt is ripped beneath my coat and cravat.”
“Do you even know how to tie your own?”
“I am not completely without skills, Darcy, but no. Tying a cravat is not among my accomplishments.”
“Do you need help?”
“Yes,” Mr Bingley admitted dejectedly.
“I shall tie your cravat if you admit that I won the race.”
Mr Bingley groaned before he laughed. “One day I shall outwit you, even if it is the last thing I do.”
“It is easily done,” Mr Darcy allowed. “You are more proficient at currying the ladies’ favour and more agreeable in company. In both instances you are in every way superior to me.”
Elizabeth nearly swooned at Mr Darcy’s humility, though she heartily disagreed—he was perfectly capable of wooing a lady…
The gentlemen mounted their horses, and rhythmical thumps notified her that they were moving away. With a sigh of relief, Elizabeth climbed gingerly down from the tree, smoothed her threadbare skirt, and strolled happily back to Longbourn.
Chapter 5 Insult to Injury
Mrs Bennet
Longbourn, September
“We shall all need new dresses,” Mrs Bennet rejoiced.
Mr Bingley had let Netherfield. It was said he was a gentleman of fortune, and he was rumoured to be attending the monthly assembly in just a fortnight.
“How so? I can see no reason for such an extravagance before I have even received the rents due at Michaelmas,” Mr Bennet protested. “I am certain our daughters can outdo all our neighbours just as well at the next assembly as this one.”
