“If you are about to remark that every boy between here and Scotland names his large, unmannered hound Bandit, I would be forced to agree,” she said, swiping in annoyance at the strand of wet hair stuck to her cheek. I handed her a carriage rug and draped another over my lap as she spoke.
As if to purposely annoy me, the lady took the rug, and rather than making use of it herself, tucked it up around the dog at her feet.
“There, you worthless animal,” she said sternly. “Jane will give you a tremendous scold just as soon as you have warmed up in the kitchen.”
I looked askance at the source of the unpleasant odour in my coach. He was what could be loosely referred to as a hound but of such mixed parentage as to make him obscure in his features. Clearly, he was of a stupid disposition which rendered him delighted to be yelled at, thrilled to be chased with someone’s half-chewed slipper in his mouth, prone to running out in front of horses in pursuit of squirrels, cats, and blowing leaves, and otherwise being a blight on the entire canine species. She should have let him drown.
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy,” I said abruptly, in lieu of blurting out my opinion. “I am visiting Mr Bingley at Netherfield Park for some weeks.” I could not help the note of antipathy in my voice even as I attempted to be polite, but in my defence, I had every right to be annoyed to be in Hertfordshire.
“We had heard the estate might be leased,” the lady said disinterestedly as she looked out the window. “I am Elizabeth Bennet. My father’s estate is just there, if you would signal your coachman.”
This tepid reply was as much as I would get inresponse to my overture of civility because Bandit had recovered enough to stand.
And since he looked like he would shake himself dry, she commanded, “Sit down, you brute!” before looking up at me, her eyes awash with satisfaction. “I am afraid your coach will forevermore smell of wet dog,” she said, the implication being that I would have been better off letting her walk home.
I could not but agree.
The lady, apparently the daughter of a gentleman, had all the address and refinement of an angry matron who bullied schoolboys for a living. I could hardly say such a thing aloud, so I gave her a generous view of the back of my head by pretending interest in the passing hedges. Soon we rolled to a stop outside a manor house constructed in the Tudor style of aged, golden-coloured stone.
“You will forgive me if I do not call,” I said coldly. “I am not suitably presentable at the moment to meet your family.”
Miss Bennet—Elizabeth was it? No matter. The lady looked at me with both brows raised. “You will at least step out and explain to my father why I have been sitting alone in a closed coach with you, sir.”
I blushed to be told my duty as a gentleman, a sensation of abashed heat in my cheeks I had not felt since I was sixteen. As I followed her out into the stiffbreeze that turned my fingers to ice, I was met by a contingent of persons standing wide-eyed on the steps. A tall, slight, elderly gentleman stepped forward with a frown of perplexity on his face. Behind him stood an elegant blonde lady, and behind her, a small knot of persons I took to be servants. All eyes being upon me, I bowed, opened my mouth to speak, and was promptly interrupted.
“Your dog chased a squirrel down the riverbank and fell in, Jane. Would you believe it? It appears the idiot does not know how to swim,” Miss Elizabeth said crossly. “Bandit! Come here, you ignoramus. Get out of that coach this instant.”
The dog obeyed and gleefully shook himself as he had surely been longing to do for the last five minutes. All eyes, having swung momentarily to the dog, then went back to me.
“This is Mr Darcy, Papa. He—” She seemed to be biting back the urge to say something perfectly vile about my assistance, when her sister came forward.
“Mr Darcy,” she said with a curtsey, “I thank you very much for lending your aid to my sister. Will you not come in and have something hot to drink?”
“No, he will not,” Miss Elizabeth snapped. By this time, her lips were blue and she, too, was visibly shaking. “He is soaked to the skin and would rather be anywhere else than paying a call on us.” She offeredme a scant curtsey, which had all the deference of a shrug, and marched into the house.
I bowed, and said, “Mr Bennet.”
He bowed and replied, “Mr Darcy,” and with that, I was greatly relieved to be on my way from the place.
