Page 17 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman

Netherfield

Caroline

Caroline lay very still in her bed, her ankle propped upon a cushion and wrapped in a strip of linen, though it needed neither.

The room was quiet, almost too quiet, and her head throbbed—not from the imaginary injury, but from the memory of Mr. Darcy's fall.

It was not the stumble itself that brought on the ache, but the way he had looked at Elizabeth Bennet afterward, as though she were anything more than a country girl with too many opinions and not enough sense.

She shifted onto her side, lips curling into the faintest smile.

She had not devised every detail of her scheme until she espied Mr. Darcy approaching the house, but the execution had proven most effective.

His decision to walk with Elizabeth came as little surprise.

Caroline had predicted the move with certainty, and she had been correct.

She did not care for the folly of fortune tellers as Mr. Darcy or her brother foolishly did, but if Mr. Darcy placed any faith in such nonsense, she had no compunction in turning it to her advantage. All she had needed was a way to turn his confidence into doubt.

Feigning a twisted ankle had been inspired, and her timing had been flawless.

She had caught his attention at the perfect moment, sending him tumbling in the most literal sense.

The bonnet had been an unplanned addition, but fate had smiled on her.

She had nearly choked with mirth when he stumbled.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t laugh aloud.

Let Mr. Darcy now puzzle over his fortune, she thought. Surely, this incident would jar loose any notion that Elizabeth Bennet brought him good luck. With such a blunder occurring while Elizabeth stood within arm’s reach, his mind must surely reconsider its illusions.

She sat up slowly and reached for the bottle of lavender water by her bedside, dabbing it at her temples and the inside of her wrists. The coolness steadied her.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and Jane Bennet entered. Caroline offered her most fragile expression, complete with a faint, grateful sigh.

"How is your ankle?" Jane asked, coming to her side.

"A little tender still," Caroline replied, brushing a hand across her brow. "But I shall manage. It looked frightful, did it not?"

Jane’s expression held concern. "It certainly startled us all. You fell so suddenly.”

“Maybe it was my shoes, or perhaps I stumbled. I can’t explain it.”

“I should stay with you,” Jane said softly. “Just as you stayed with me.”

Caroline managed a demure smile. "That is very kind of you, but you must not trouble yourself. I am sure Charles will call for Dr. Jones if the pain persists. I shall rest today, and by tomorrow, I daresay it will be quite fine."

Jane hesitated, clearly unsure whether to argue. Caroline offered another soft smile and leaned back into her pillows.

When Jane departed, the door shutting softly behind her, Caroline’s composed expression fell away, and her smile returned in full. This time, there was no need to hide it.

Mr. Darcy had stumbled right next to Elizabeth Bennet.

And more than that—he had hesitated. That was the crack Caroline needed.

A single fracture in the illusion that Elizabeth Bennet was his protector, his charm, his precious “right heart.” Now, he would think twice.

And perhaps next time he wished for a companion, he would remember that not all country misses bring good fortune.

And if Caroline Bingley had anything to say about it, the only woman Mr. Darcy would find at his side in the end would be the one who knew how to play the game. As far a she was concerned, Elizabeth Bennet had not even learned the rules.

***

Darcy

Darcy sat on the only chair in his chamber.

He had just cleaned up and changed his coat, but the turmoil in his mind was still raging.

The fall made no sense to him at all. It had been sudden, but something about it was off.

He had considered whether it was his misfortune coming for him again, but he had a hard time believing it.

Yes, it had occurred quickly, so quickly he had barely registered the motion before Miss Bingley had stumbled into him, her bonnet flying with theatrical precision into the air. He had tried to jump over her, but the bonnet caught his leg.

But what had she tripped over?

Darcy shut his eyes and recalled the moment. The path had been even. There were no loose stones, no divots, no roots. Miss Bingley had been wearing her usual morning slippers, the sort with flat soles she favoured for her walks. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing, to warrant a fall.

He remembered her face as she rose from the ground. There had been a gleam there, just for a second, before her lips parted in an expression of frailty. Not pain. Not surprise. Something else. Something calculated.

He could still hear Elizabeth’s voice, low with concern, asking if Miss Bingley was all right. And she had looked at him, her eyes steady and searching, her brow creased with worry. There had been no trace of amusement in her expression, only the gentle unease of a woman genuinely troubled.

That, more than anything, unsettled him.

Darcy rose from his chair and walked to the window, his hand resting on the sill. Below, the garden lay quiet beneath the pale afternoon sun. He tried to cast off the suspicion that gnawed at his thoughts, but it clung with sharp teeth. Something had been wrong.

He had won two games of whist with Elizabeth at his side. He had survived a collapsing bookshelf in her presence. His horse had calmed at the sound of her voice. Every misfortune that had touched him since his arrival in Hertfordshire had receded in her company.

And today, just when he believed he had grasped the meaning of the fortune teller’s words, misfortune had returned. It struck with cruel timing. Elizabeth had stood mere inches from him. The humiliation was swift, and it was complete.

Had he been wrong? Darcy narrowed his eyes. It could be a coincidence. But the look in Miss Bingley’s eyes before the fall returned to him, vivid and impossible to dismiss.

If this was all in his mind, if his conviction about Elizabeth was misplaced, there was one way left to know.

One final test.

And he intended to take it.

***

Bingley returned a little past three, and soon after, the Bennet sisters announced that it was time to depart.

Darcy felt a strange hollowness settle over him as a maid carried their modest trunk into the waiting carriage.

The bright liveliness that had filled the house over the past days seemed to dim with their impending absence.

The corridors already felt quieter, and the prospect of their absence lay heavy on his chest.

And so also, he feared, did the probability rise that his misfortune might return in full—unless, of course, he had been mistaken all along, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet had nothing whatsoever to do with the turn of his luck.

Bingley walked Jane to the carriage. He smiled and whispered something that made her blush delicately. Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Hurst also came out to bid them farewell, offering polite good wishes.

Only Caroline Bingley remained indoors, claiming a wish not to strain her leg further. She said her goodbyes when the Bennet sisters visited her chamber.

“It’s been a wonderful few days, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said warmly. “The house shall feel quite empty without you.”

Jane smiled with sweet composure. “You have all been most kind, Mr. Bingley. We are truly grateful for your care and hospitality.”

Darcy stepped closer to Elizabeth. “I regret that our conversation during the walk was so abruptly cut short,” he said. “Miss Bingley’s fall was most… unfortunate.”

“I hope she gets better soon,” Elizabeth replied, glancing briefly back at the house. “And I trust you were not hurt in the mishap?”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “Only my pride.”

As Bingley assisted Jane into the carriage, Darcy turned with Elizabeth toward the other side. Before she stepped up, he spoke again.

“I have just realised, Miss Elizabeth, that aside from our brief partnership at whist, we never played a game together.”

Elizabeth raised her brows. “We never did, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps one day, we shall find time to sit for a proper round of cards.”

Darcy dipped a hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a coin. “How about a quick match of heads or tails?”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “An odd choice, but I accept.”

“Heads,” Darcy called as he flipped the coin. It landed as he predicted.

He called tails next and flipped again. Another correct call.

Then he called tails on the third try, and once more, it landed just as he had said.

Darcy allowed himself a breath of quiet triumph. Three perfect calls. It was absurd. It was improbable. Yet with her beside him, it had happened.

He glanced at Elizabeth, eyes bright with something more than amusement. This was no ordinary string of luck. Not with what he had been experiencing in recent times.

He smiled—wide, boyish, utterly delighted. He tucked the coin away again. “Forgive the frivolity. I just felt the need to try before you left.”

“No need to apologise, sir. It was quite charming,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes alight with amusement.

Darcy reached for her hand and helped her into the carriage. “It has been a pleasure having you here, Miss Bennet. Perhaps I will call at Longbourn soon. I should very much like to meet the gentleman who raised a daughter to love books and behave with such warmth.”

Elizabeth chuckled as she settled beside her sister. “He would be honoured to receive you, Mr. Darcy.”

The door shut. The coachman flicked the reins, and the carriage began to roll down the drive.

Darcy stood still, watching until the figures of the Bennet sisters disappeared around the bend. He had tested his theory. Three times he called, and three times he was right. There was no doubt now—he was lucky around Elizabeth Bennet.

She was the right heart.

But as the wheels of the carriage carried her further away, Darcy’s chest tightened.

Luck or not, he was in love with her.

Only one problem remained. He had yet to tell her so.

***

Elizabeth

Elizabeth settled into the corner of the carriage, drawing her shawl tighter as the wheels began to turn. The crisp wind tugged at the corners of her bonnet, but her thoughts were far from the chill. Jane turned to her with a knowing smile.

“What was Mr. Darcy saying to you at the carriage?” she asked, her voice low with curiosity.

Elizabeth laughed softly, her cheeks still tinged with warmth. “A game of heads and tails.”

Jane raised a brow. “How very odd.”

“He called it three times,” Elizabeth said, her voice laced with amusement. “And each time, he guessed right.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “That is quite fortunate.”

“Exactly,” Elizabeth replied with a playful smile.

“I said it before, you are his lucky charm,” Jane said in a mock whisper, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she leaned closer.

At that, Elizabeth could not help but giggle, her face growing warm again as she looked out the window.

As the road stretched ahead and Longbourn drew nearer, Elizabeth drifted into quiet thought. She had not taken Jane’s teasing seriously that night they won the game of whist. She had laughed it off then, as sisters often do with fond exaggeration. But now… now it lingered.

His asking for the game—right before her departure—had been strange. Not inappropriate, no, but certainly unexpected. Unprecedented. And yet, it had felt oddly intimate, like a shared secret passed in plain sight.

Her gaze wandered across the landscape. The fields, golden with the remnants of harvest, seemed brighter than before. She felt light, happy in a way she hadn’t anticipated when she had first come to Netherfield.

He had said he might call at Longbourn. To see her father. Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to rein in the rising swell of emotion. She stopped herself before the thought went too far—before she dared to imagine what he could possibly wish to say to Mr. Bennet.

But she had an idea. And it made her stomach flutter in the most delightful manner.