Page 52 of Master of Himself

“Make me Charles Bingley again!” Charles shouted as he jumped a second time.

By this time, the fire was more smoke than flame. Undeterred, Darcy jumped. “Release me from this hell!”

Determined to jump again, Hurst took a running start and launched himself over the smoking pile of debris. “I am the master of fire!”

Charles laughed heartily as the flames sputtered and emitted a plume of smoke. “Some master you are, Henry. The rain has usurped you.”

Hurst merely shrugged off this comment. “Ah, well, that was fun while it lasted,” he said in the highest spirits. “What shall we try next?”

“I suppose we can try our luck in the lane,” Charles said without much conviction.

“I’m game for it.”

While Hurst might be primed for the next adventure, Darcy kept a level head. “Perhaps we should douse the remnants of the fire before we cause another disaster.”

“Yes, yes, quite right,” Hurst said, searching for a receptacle, with no success. Then scooping up water from the brook, he splashed a scant handful onto the fire.

Finding this method somewhat lacking, Darcy soaked his handkerchief in the brook and wrung it out over the smoking embers. Charles followed suit, and once they were satisfied that the last spark had been extinguished, they retrieved the lanterns and followed the path back to the house.

As they reached the driveway, the rain began in earnest, and Darcy wondered if the gods had been appeased and would finally put an end to his suffering tonight.

“Your coat smells of wood smoke, sir,” Henderson said as Darcy disrobed later that night.

“Does it? I hardly noticed.” Darcy hadn’t considered this possibility, but now realised that his remaining attire must also reek of smoke, despite being drenched by the rain.

“I suppose I can soak it in vinegar,” the valet said, then gazing downward, frowned at the state of Darcy’s boots.

Admittedly, his boots had been in worse shape before, but still… “You’re a champion, Mr Henderson.”

From the valet’s forlorn expression, Darcy supposed that he took no pleasure from this compliment.

Chapter 18

Friday 22 November

Charles awoke to the soothing sound of rain on the roof. Hallelujah! The rain hadn’t stopped overnight as he had feared. He and Darcy still had a chance to reverse the intolerable course of events. Although he usually abhorred inclement weather, today he welcomed it as a harbinger of good fortune.

He hadn’t felt more energised since the day he had moved into Netherfield as master of the house. He bounded out of bed with renewed vigour, convinced that success was finally within reach.

Last night’s failure already forgotten, he rang for Hobbs, perfectly ready to adorn himself in the dreariest attire without complaint.

He emerged from his chamber with an extra spring in his step and tapped on Darcy’s door. “Are you ready…friend?” he inquired, conscious of the valet’s watchful eye. “Good morning, Mr Henderson.”

“Good morning, Mr Darcy. I’ll just finish brushing Mr Bingley’s coat, and he’ll be ready to join you.”

“An excellent choice,” he said, admiring the cut of his green coat with contrasting collar and lapels. Darcy, of course, appeared rather less enthused.

“Indeed, sir. Mr Bingley always dresses in the first stare of fashion,” Henderson said with a final swipe across Darcy’s back.

“You’re in rare form today,” Darcy said as they descended the stairs.

“It’s still raining,” he said in an enthusiastic whisper. “Just what we’ve been waiting for.”

“I’ll admit that it does bode well,” Darcy said with the merest hint of optimism. “I hope our patience will be rewarded.”

When he entered the breakfast parlour, Caroline observed his good mood. “What has you in such high spirits on this dreary day, Mr Darcy?”

He paused at the sideboard while he considered how best to answer. “I slept soundly last night, thanks to the rain. It reminds me of home.”