Page 16 of Master of Himself

Although Darcy would never have resorted to such conduct, neither would Charles have done so under normal circumstances. In their entire acquaintance, he had never witnessed his friend lose his temper, but he was glad that Charles had finally admitted that his sisters were insufferable.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said, collecting the cards strewn about the table. “Surely you must know that you have lost Darcy’s good opinion after that little performance.”

“Regardless of his outburst, I suspect Mr Darcy agreed with me,” Caroline said with a careless smirk.

Darcy stowed the cards into the box. “He’s too polite to disparage Miss Elizabeth. Believe me, he was disgusted by your pettiness.”

Caroline huffed in annoyance. “Don’t tell me the same thought didn’t cross your mind when she entered the room this morning.”

“Of course not. I don’t have your uncharitable nature.” In his eyes, Elizabeth’s mud-splattered skirts had done nothing to diminish her appeal. In all honesty, he had been captivated by her appearance. What’s more, although he had noticed her muddy skirts, Charles certainly hadn’t.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “How can you be so tiresome, Charles?”

Darcy turned his attention to the older sister. “Tell me, Louisa. Is that how you secured Henry? By being so mean-spirited?”

Hurst instantly took exception to this comment. “Louisa was the sole of discretion during our courtship.”

“Well then, you must have learned your manners elsewhere, for you couldn’t have done so at home,” Darcy said. Of course, this was pure conjecture on his part, since he had only known the family a twelvemonth.

Caroline and Louisa glared in defiance, but neither said a word to refute his claims.

Hurst finally broke the silence. “Perhaps we should have some music, Louisa.”

Mrs Hurst shot her husband an irritable scowl, but she opened the instrument and played a piece from memory.

Charles returned and secluded himself near the window with the newspaper. The ladies took turns singing and playing, then retired for the evening. After they had gone, Charles cast the newspaper aside. “I apologise for my sisters, Darcy. They had no cause to disparage Miss Elizabeth.”

“In the future, Darcy, I would thank you to refrain from rebuking my wife,” Hurst said in no uncertain terms.

Darcy had no reasonable excuse for his outburst. “I apologise, Henry. I should have exercised better control of my temper,” he said.

“What did he say to Louisa?” Charles inquired.

“Probably no more than I should’ve said myself, I suppose, but I should be the one to reproach her,” Hurst said then released a long, frustrated breath. “I agree that ladies don’t walk unaccompanied in town, but things must be different here in the country.”

Darcy agreed. “It is quite bold, and Miss Elizabeth is rather determined, but there is nothing lacking in her manners.”

Charles released a weary sigh. “I ought to have taken proper control of my sisters but as Louisa’s younger brother, and only three years older than Caroline, I’m not much of an authority figure to either of them.”

“I daresay you might be right.” Twelve years Georgiana’s senior, Darcy had had little trouble guiding her in the right direction. She had been a docile child, eager to please, and until the Ramsgate incident he’d had little cause to correct her. That memory cast him into gloom.

“Shall we drink your brandy tonight, Charles? We missed our nightcap last night, what with all the excitement,” Hurst said with a sly smile.

“Why not?” Charles said, rising. He opened a bottle on the sideboard and generously filled three snifters. After offering the glasses to Darcy and Hurst, he raised his own. “Let’s drink to the devil. May he take pity on us and reverse himself.”

“Hear! Hear!” Darcy replied in unison with Hurst.

After retiring to the master’s chambers, Darcy stared out at the waning moon. One full day had elapsed since he and Bingley had changed places. With no solution in sight, he wondered how long he would be required to continue this masquerade.

Why had it happened? What had caused the switch? To whom should he appeal to reverse it? Did one pray to the devil, or was there some other way of contacting the demon? Perhaps there was some spell or ritual he ought to enact to bring it about.

Bleary eyed, he closed the drapes and collapsed onto the bed. Drinking a full snifter of brandy might not have been conducive to solving the worst problem of his life, but it certainly had sparked his imagination. His mind didn’t normally dwell on demons or spells, but this might be precisely what he ought to do. Did he need to beat the devil at his own game? Had he become the devil himself?

“Mr Bingley?”

Jolted awake by the sound of Henderson’s irritating voice, Darcy groaned. “The devil himself.”

“Hmm. Shall we get you settled for the night?”