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“I can only try.”

“Thank you, Charlotte, then do so. I recommend emphasizing the inconvenience to Lady Catherine in your letter. If you are successful, it will at least allow us some time to adjust to our new station in life.”

Despite retiring after three in the morning following the conclusion of the ball, Darcy had risen early at Netherfield, as was his custom, and gone riding. His only concession to his prior accident was to keep away from the long grass north of the stables where he had come to grief—it was clearly rabbit territory—and regardless of Bingley’s assurance that the hole had been filled, he did not trust Cromwell to refrain from further excavations in search of sport. The miscreant trotted along happily beside Darcy’s horse, his tongue lolling, happy as a pig in mud to be out roaming the countryside with his master.

Heedless of his canine companion, Darcy’s mind was very much preoccupied with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Beyond a few silly infatuations in his youth, he could not remember ever being so powerfully attracted to a lady. Clearly, it was not just her looks. While she was comely enough, he knew many other more beautiful women… well, perhaps a handful. No, he was quite sure it was her tart tongue that had him stoked. He still had not bested her, and it irked him to return to London defeated.

Darcy had been planning to depart that morning as soon as he could politely take leave of his hosts, although Bingley had begged him to delay his departure. Charles had collared him in the upstairs hallway before they had retired in the wee hours of the morning. His friend had used all his cajolery to request his company on a visit to Longbourn after breakfast. At the time, Darcy had prevaricated, intending to give Charles a firm ‘no’ over breakfast, citing business in London. But after dreaming of Miss Elizabeth during the four hours his head had lain on the pillow and waking stiff as a ramrod in consequence, Darcy was warming to the idea of a parting visit to the Bennets. Coming to a decision, he turned his horse back towards the stables.

After his valet divested him of his riding gear, Darcy sought out the breakfast table. He was surprised to find not only Charles but his younger sister, Caroline, awake. Of the Hursts, there was no sign. It was clear by the animated tones he had heard before walking through the door and the sudden silence thereafter that he had interrupted an argument.

“Good morning, Mr Darcy!” said Caroline with a false smile on her face; “I see you are up and about betimes as always. It is the early bird that gets the worm!”

“Indeed, Miss Bingley,” Darcy replied, taking the implied flattery with a grain of salt before deciding to rally her; “but I fully expected you to be getting your beauty sleep.”

Caroline completely failed to appreciate the ambiguity underlying this statement.

Simpering back at him, she poured him a cup of tea before swiftly turning her attention back to her brother.

“Charles, I do not think it is a good idea to go off to Longbourn this morning. The Bennets will wish to rest after the ball.”

“Certainly, it would not do to disturb them before noon, Caroline. But I do not think a visit in the early afternoon would be unwelcome.”

“Charles, you have kept your man of business waiting for a week now on the pretext of the ball. Are you going to let all of Father’s hard work go to waste with your sloth?”

“Caroline, there is plenty of time to visit the Bennets and be off to London in the afternoon. It is only twenty miles to the city.”

Then, turning to his friend for support, Charles essayed: “Darcy, can I count on your company for Longbourn?”

Darcy was about to reply that Charles might rely on him when he noticed a footman had appeared at his elbow with a salver.

“A letter for you, Mr Darcy,” said the footman.

Darcy picked up the missive. The footman withdrew the tray and bowed as he stepped away from the table.

Darcy frowned. He did not recognize the writing of the direction but fancied it might be that of his sister’s new companion, Mrs Annesley. He certainly hoped not. Darcy was not sure his nerves could cope with another Ramsgate incident—he had saved his little sister from a lifetime of misery and shame by the merest whisker. If the letter bore news of another attempted elopement by that scoundrel Wickham, he intended to shoot the cad!

Breaking the seal, Darcy was soon apprised that the correspondent was Mrs Bennet. On reading her letter, he was gripped by a towering rage he was unable to satisfactorily explain to himself. Struggling to control his emotions, his face went from red to white.

“Not bad news I hope?” asked Charles anxiously.

“Bingley, I need to go,” Darcy said stiffly. Then with an attempt at joviality he essayed: “After a fairly carefree existence up till now, I have managed to have two accidents in the space of two weeks here at Netherfield. If I stay any longer, I may die.”

“Of course, Darcy,” said Bingley, wondering what on earth the communication had contained. “I would happily accompany you, but I really do wish to visit Longbourn before I leave for the metropolis. I do not suppose you could defer your departure until I have returned?”

“I am sorry, Bingley,” said Darcy, putting the letter down on his empty plate and getting up from his chair.

Summoning a footman, he whispered an instruction for his valet that he wished to depart as soon as possible.

Now, truly alarmed that he had offended his friend somehow, Bingley got up to intervene.

“Come, Darcy. What is the matter? You cannot go off without breakfast. Sit down again and have some ham and eggs!”

Darcy was about to reply that he did not feel hungry when an ejaculation from Caroline made both the gentlemen turn towards the table and stare at her.

“Ha!” she declared emphatically, holding Darcy’s letter in her hand; “what did I tell you? This is what you get for consorting with the relatives of London traders and country attorneys! Now they are trying to impose on poor Mr Darcy!”

For his part, Darcy was now doubly enraged that Miss Bingley had had the impropriety to read his letter.