Page 8 of Better Luck Next Time (First Impressions #3)

Chapter Eight

T he coaching inn at Meryton was not ideal.

Darcy surveyed the bustling interior, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat, spilled ale, and the faintest trace of horse dung clinging to boots. The noise was nearly as bad—traders, farmers, and travelers alike packed the common room, their voices carrying over the clatter of tankards and heavy boots against the floorboards.

Elizabeth stood beside him, silent but watchful. For once, she was not arguing.

That, more than anything, put him on edge.

He turned sharply to the innkeeper. “A private dining room.”

The man gave a weary shake of his head. “All taken, sir. Had a large party pass through just this morning. We’re full up.”

Darcy bit back a curse. He turned to Elizabeth. “Well, that settles it. You can hardly come with me until I have… made certain arrangements. You will have to remain in the carriage.”

“I will not.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. “This is hardly a place for a lady of your station,” he hissed.

She lifted a brow. “That is precisely the point, is it not?”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, dropping his voice. “You are in danger, or have you already forgot the state of your home?”

She stiffened, but held his gaze. “I have not forgot.”

“Then you—”

“I have no intention of making trouble,” she cut in, voice deliberately even. “I will remain seated. I will eat. I will not draw attention.” Her jaw set. “I am sensible of the danger, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy almost laughed. That was the most blatant falsehood he had heard in weeks. She had no idea what it meant to be truly sensible.

But the alternative was leaving her unsupervised in the carriage while his driver loitered about with the other grooms. Hot. Thirsty. Hungry, and, more concerningly, growing more impatient by the second.

Darcy ground his teeth and turned back to the innkeeper. “A quiet corner, then. One with some privacy.”

The innkeeper hesitated, then gestured toward the far end of the room. “We have a space near the back. Bit more removed. There’s a curtain that can be drawn if you want.”

Darcy exhaled. It would have to do.

Elizabeth gave a small, satisfied nod before moving past him, making her way toward the seat before he could change his mind.

Darcy turned to the innkeeper and placed a few coins on the counter. “See that she eats,” he said quietly. “Something warm and filling. And give her a bit of ale, too, if she will drink it.” It might make her more… amenable to his plans.

The innkeeper pocketed the money without question.

Darcy glanced toward Elizabeth, who had already settled into her corner seat. She was watching the room but making no spectacle of herself, hands folded neatly on the table, chin lifted at a practiced, indifferent angle.

She looked… composed.

For once.

It was probably an act.

She met his eye casually, as if she were only lightly scanning the room, and he made a motion with his hand. She puckered her lips and pulled the curtain closed, but she looked away as she did so, as if to make certain he knew it was not his suggestion but her own decision that caused her to do so. Well, whatever it took.

Without another word, he turned toward the door.

He had a most unusual proposition to make at Longbourn.

T he ale smelled vile.

Elizabeth eyed the mug before her, nose wrinkling slightly as she lifted it for a tentative sniff. The scent was sharp and yeasty, nothing like the wine and cordials she was accustomed to.

She cast a glance toward the innkeeper, who had delivered it with an odd sort of grin, as if he knew something she did not.

Elizabeth huffed. Typical. Another one of Mr. Darcy’s little tricks, no doubt. She imagined him issuing his tight-lipped instructions before leaving, muttering something about keeping her docile.

As if she could be so easily managed.

She scoffed under her breath and took a sip, fully prepared to hate every drop.

She did not.

It was thicker than she expected—smoother, the flavor settling on her tongue in a way that was almost… pleasant.

She took another sip.

Then a longer one.

After two mugs, she was warm. A bit too warm, but not in a stuffy sort of way. Rather a muzzy, pleasant warmth that came from her belly.

She had stopped clutching her cloak around herself, had even—hesitantly, deliberately—tugged at the curtain, pulling it open slightly. She needed just a breath more of air, and what harm could it do? They were miles from London, along no path where anyone would be looking for her.

She exhaled slowly and settled back, fingers tracing the rim of her mug, eyes drifting toward the small window on the far side of the inn.

The leaded glass was streaked with dust, but she could just make out the view beyond—the narrow side street, the small garden beside the inn, the group of young ladies gathered there.

Elizabeth tilted her head, watching them.

There were four of them, all with the same noses and eyes, but there, the resemblances diverged.

Two were loud, talking over each other in a flurry of animated gestures and shared laughter. The third, a plain, solemn girl, kept attempting to steer the conversation back to something more serious, but the others paid her little mind.

The fourth, however—she was different.

She stood slightly apart, listening more than she spoke, her smile faint but genuine. She was not commanding the conversation, not competing for attention, but her presence was felt, nonetheless.

Elizabeth found herself leaning forward, studying them more intently. Their ease with one another was something unfamiliar, yet oddly compelling.

Something Elizabeth had never quite known for herself.

Before she realized it, she had risen from her seat and moved to another table, closer to the window.

Better view.

Better light.

And if she breathed very, very quietly, she could hear what they were saying.

She had not meant to order another ale, but when the innkeeper passed by, raising a brow toward her nearly empty mug, she had inclined her head without thinking.

And now—well.

The warmth in her limbs had spread, her head light but pleasantly so, her usual restlessness gentling into something looser, more languid. Her cloak had been discarded over the back of the chair. Her posture, normally poised and proper, as it had been schooled to be, was decidedly less rigid.

She should probably stop.

But the ale was quite good. And the girls outside were too interesting to ignore.

She had decided they must be sisters, and she had a fair guess at their ages. The quiet one, now she was the tallest, her features the most womanly—she was surely the oldest. Elizabeth fancied they were rather close to the same age. The one who liked to hear herself talk when no one else did, now that one might be about eighteen.

She could not be entirely certain about the remaining two. They might be twins, but one was decidedly taller than the other. They looked somewhere between fifteen and seventeen, both lively and silly. Ridiculous, really. And far too young to be out in public without a governess to keep them in check, since they clearly needed one.

But still… very entertaining.

The taller of the two younger ones, a round-cheeked girl with a ribbon slipping loose from her curls—clutched at the sleeve of the more serious one, shaking her head emphatically. “You did not say that to Mr. Hodge, Mary. Tell me you did not.”

“Mary” lifted her shoulders and sniffed primly. “I did. It was an illogical argument, and I would not let it stand.”

The dark-haired one groaned. “Mary, a man does not like to be told that his thoughts on the French war are ‘founded on a fundamental misunderstanding of economic principles.’”

“Well, they are.”

“You are ridiculous!” the younger one cried.

The quiet one—the one with the faint smile and keen eyes—laughed softly. “She is probably right, Kitty.”

Mary lifted her chin. “I am right.”

The first girl huffed. “You will never marry, you know.”

Mary did not look remotely concerned.

The dark-haired one grinned. “And if she does, her husband will spend his days crushed beneath the weight of his own poor arguments.”

The quiet one chuckled. “You are all dreadful.”

“But you love us anyway, Jane.”

Ah , so now Elizabeth knew the name of the girl who fascinated her the most. Jane sighed, smiling more fully now. “I do.”

Elizabeth blinked.

The exchange had been nothing. A silly, meaningless conversation between sisters. But something about it… unsettled her.

No, not unsettled.

Itched.

Like something out of reach, like a word on the tip of one’s tongue, a memory that almost surfaced but slipped away before it could be grasped.

She fingered the handle of her mug, watching as they moved down the street, their voices fading into the hum of village life.

Her feet shifted beneath the table.

She hesitated.

She was supposed to stay here. She had agreed—more or less. Darcy would have a fit if he found her wandering.

Then again, Darcy was not here. Might not be for another hour or two.

She stood.

Her cloak was still draped over the other chair, but she made no move to take it. The spring air outside would be better. Fresher.

She moved through the common room, head tilted just slightly downward, watching the odd shadows swirling around her as the floor seemed to sway and shift, until finally she reached the door.

Then, with the ease of someone who had never once been told no in her life, she slipped out into the street.

T he air in Hertfordshire was distinctly fresher than the thick, soot-laden streets of London. But Darcy did not have time to stop and appreciate it.

He rode to Longbourn with his mind still tangled in plans and contingencies, mentally fortifying himself for a conversation that could go any one of a hundred different directions. He had always found Mr. Bennet to be an intelligent, if maddening, conversationalist. Unlike most country gentlemen, Bennet had a sharp mind and a sharp tongue, and while he rarely left his estate, he was well-informed, well-read, and, above all, amused by nearly everything.

Including, most often, Darcy himself.

Darcy reined in his hired horse at the entrance to the modest but well-kept estate. He barely had time to dismount before a servant greeted him at the door, looking mildly surprised at the unannounced visitor. Darcy had called at Longbourn before, but never unexpectedly, and never alone.

The servant led him through the hall and into Bennet’s study, where the master of the house sat comfortably ensconced in his chair, surrounded by books and papers, a glass of brandy within easy reach.

Mr. Bennet looked up from his reading, his spectacles sliding ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose as he took in the sight before him. He blinked, then slowly closed his book with a measured deliberation, tapping the cover lightly with his fingers.

“Mr. Darcy,” he said at last, with all the enthusiasm of a man remarking on the arrival of a particularly unusual species of bird in his garden. “Well, well. What an… unexpected pleasure. I thought you had gone back to London suddenly.”

Darcy bowed briefly. “A simple matter, quickly resolved, sir.”

Bennet did not immediately offer him a seat. Instead, he simply sat there, his expression one of idle curiosity, as though determining whether Darcy’s presence was the result of some strange celestial accident.

After a long pause, he sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the chair opposite his own. “Well, do sit down, sir. You are making the room look unbalanced.”

Darcy took the offered seat, adjusting his coat as he did so. “Thank you.”

Bennet regarded him with his usual air of mild amusement. “I presume you are not here to check my King’s Gambit from our last match? If so, I warn you, I shall take it as a grievous insult to my honor.”

Darcy grunted a negative. It had been some time since their last game of chess, but clearly, Bennet had not forgot.

“I am afraid I am not here for chess, Mr. Bennet,” he said. “I have a rather curious proposition to put before you.”

Bennet leaned back, swirling his brandy. “Oh, how delightful. It is not every day a man receives a proposition from Fitzwilliam Darcy. Tell me, is it legal?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “That depends on who knows about it.”

Mr. Bennet’s grin widened.

Darcy took a slow breath. Patience.

“I require a place of safety for a young lady,” he said carefully. “A respectable household where she can remain undisturbed while certain matters are… sorted out.”

Bennet’s brows lifted. “A young lady? My dear fellow, if you have ruined someone, I am afraid my household is quite full. You must do the honorable thing and offer for her at once.”

Darcy gritted his teeth. “She is not my mistress.”

Bennet chuckled. “Ah. So she is someone else’s mistress, then. My dear sir, I am flattered, but I really must decline.”

Darcy’s hands clenched over his knees. “Mr. Bennet,” he said, voice perfectly level, “the lady in question is quite respectable, and in some… straits, not of her own making. She requires temporary lodging under an assumed name. I am prepared to compensate you for your trouble.”

Bennet tilted his head, considering. “I am to take in an unknown young woman, under a false identity, for an unspecified length of time, with only your vague assurances of decency and payment?”

“…Yes.”

Bennet took a sip of brandy. “Well. You are in luck, sir. My wife and daughters are in Meryton at present, so we shall have no one listening from the hall. Now, tell me—who is this mysterious young woman, and what kind of trouble does she bring to my door?”

Darcy hesitated. He could not tell Bennet the full truth.

He could not mention the Prince, the Home Office, or that this was a matter of national importance.

So he chose his words carefully.

“She is twenty as of last month,” he said slowly—a curse on his soul that he even knew that about her without having to be told. “She is of a good family and well-educated. She speaks multiple languages, claims to play chess as well as whist, and is—”

Bennet held up a hand. “My dear Darcy, I do not need her qualifications for a governess. I need to know if she is tolerable company.”

Darcy stopped short.

Tolerable company .

A question for which he had no ready answer.

“I—” He cleared his throat. “She is… independent-minded.”

Bennet looked delighted. “That is to say, impossible.”

Darcy scowled. “She is well-bred, if occasionally prone to—” He hesitated. “Vexation.”

Bennet grinned. “Ah. A young lady with opinions. You know, I have an entire household of those.”

“I had noticed.”

“Well…” Bennet mused, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. “I suppose my Jane could do with a companion. If the lady is amiable.”

Darcy hesitated. “I—”

He considered Lady Elizabeth Montclair’s quick temper, her stubbornness, her ability to argue in three languages.

And yet—he had seen flashes of warmth in her. More than he cared to recall at this moment. He had seen the way she worried for her maid, how she had taken note of Georgiana’s discomfort.

It was not amiability… exactly. But it was something.

“She will make do,” he said at last.

“And her name?”

Darcy swallowed. “I am afraid, sir, the only name I can give you by which you may call her is ‘Elizabeth.’”

“Elizabeth. Hmm.” Bennet shrugged. “Very well, then. I shall inform my household that we are expecting my uncle Daniel Bennet’s daughter for the summer.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “And is this Daniel Bennet a real person?”

“Oh, yes.” Bennet waved a hand airily. “A distant cousin, several times removed. His son might have been my heir, if he had one—alas, he did not. The last I heard, he was in America growing tobacco.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched. “And your wife is unaware of this fact?”

“She is unaware of many things, sir, and I prefer it that way.”

Darcy exhaled slowly. It would have to do.

He stood. “The lady is waiting for me in Meryton. I shall retrieve her at once.”

Bennet gave him a pleasant smile. “Do be careful. You look rather peevish today, and I do hate when people frighten my carriage horses.”

Darcy ignored him and left.

T he village of Meryton was a most charming place indeed.

Elizabeth swayed slightly as she took another handful of warm, salted nuts from the paper cone in her hands, nibbling thoughtfully as she peered into the window of a milliner’s shop. Inside, an array of modest but well-made bonnets sat prettily on display.

She rather liked bonnets.

Perhaps she should buy one.

She squinted down at the few remaining coins in her palm, trying to remember exactly how much money she had promised to the street vendor in exchange for the nuts.

Surely not all of it.

Ah, well. Darcy could sort it out.

At that precise moment, she heard her name—or at least, something suspiciously like it, spoken in a rather strangled, despairing tone.

She turned lazily.

Ah. There he was.

Darcy was cutting through the street toward her, his coat flaring slightly behind him, his expression tight, his jaw locked. He looked almost feverish with frustration, his entire frame tensed as though bracing for battle.

Elizabeth beamed. “Mr. Darcy!” she called out cheerfully, lifting a hand and waving at him. Then, in a spirit of generosity, she turned and waved at a few other passersby as well. “Capital afternoon!”

Darcy reached her far too quickly for her liking.

“Inside,” he bit out.

She blinked up at him. “Inside what?”

“The carriage.” He nodded toward a plain black coach waiting nearby.

Elizabeth huffed. “It is perfectly pleasant out here.” She tilted her head up toward the sky. “The air is delightful.”

“Inside!” he repeated, his voice rather strained.

She popped another nut into her mouth, watching him thoughtfully. “I rather hoped to speak to those young ladies I saw earlier,” she said lightly, peering up and down the street for the girls from before. To her dismay, they were nowhere to be seen. “I have been looking for them for… I think some while.”

“That is a pity. Inside. ”

Elizabeth turned to him with an exaggerated sigh. “Must you always be so serious?”

Darcy made an unintelligible sound and took her firmly by the elbow.

“I suppose you will want to know what I have spent,” she said breezily as he guided her rather more quickly than necessary toward the carriage.

His lips pressed into a tight grimace.

“I promised the street vendor you would be good for it,” she added. “I did not have enough… I think. He said something about charging it to my room at the inn?”

Darcy heaved a sigh that sounded like it came from his boots. “I will leave the money with the innkeeper,” he muttered.

“That is most obliging of you,” she said magnanimously.

Darcy hauled open the carriage door and turned back to her. “Inside.”

Elizabeth placed a hand on her hip. “You are truly dreadful company.”

“ Inside .”

“Oh, very well, very well.”

She lifted her foot to step up—miscalculated entirely—and nearly toppled forward.

With a muttered curse, Darcy caught her around the waist, hoisting her up into the carriage with all the ease of a man throwing a sack of grain over his shoulder.

Elizabeth gasped. “That was entirely… Oh, goodness. You are rather strong,” she declared, clutching at his lapel for balance.

Darcy gritted his teeth and tried to pry her off him.

Her fingers held fast.

The man was warm.

And rather solid.

Her cheek brushed against the crisp fabric of his coat, and she took a deep, soaking-in sort of breath, which—rather unfortunately—filled her senses with the faint scent of sandalwood and leather.

Not entirely unpleasant, which really was quite a pity. She did not quite think she ought to be regarding him as pleasant.

Darcy sounded as if he were choking.

Elizabeth blinked up at him. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, entirely serious. “You are gone quite red in the face. Do you have a fever?”

He all but launched her into the opposite seat and fell back against the cushions, rubbing a hand over his face in what she could only assume was silent prayer.

Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, you were blushing! Such a prude,” she teased, crossing her arms. “It is not as if I were showing you my ankles.”

Darcy made a strangled sound.

So naturally, she pulled up her skirts just enough to extend one foot, wiggling her ankle for his viewing pleasure. “See? They were quite covered.”

Darcy closed his eyes in sheer agony. “Lord above,” he whispered. “You are determined to ruin me.”

Elizabeth giggled, dropping her skirts back down. “You are no fun at all.”

“And you are intoxicated! What did you drink?”

“Only some of that lovely ale.”

His brows arched. He really looked rather funny when he did that. “I cannot believe you would even touch it. How much did you drink?”

She frowned. “Two… no, three… five?”

“ Five? ”

“Is that a lot?” She tapped her chin. “It was probably only four. You were gone for some while, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy dragged his hands down his face, clearly trying to collect himself. “Listen to me,” he said tightly, his voice taking on that bossy, tiresome quality she found so irritating. “You are about to be presented to a gentleman’s family. You are to live there as a ‘cousin’ who has come to visit for the summer. Do you under… Elizabeth, wake up.”

She shook her head and blinked, sniffing slightly. “I was not asleep.”

“You were. Your eyes were closed and you gave a sound rather suspiciously like a snore.”

She sucked in a breath and smiled brightly, but his face swam somewhat. “Well, I am awake now. Go on, then. A cousin?”

“Yes, you are to stay at a house called Longbourn. I will be three miles away, at my friend Bingley’s home of Netherfield. We are not… Elizabeth!” He snapped his fingers before her face.

“Will you stop acting as if I am falling asleep?” she huffed, swatting his hand away.

“First, you will have to stop falling asleep. Now, as I was saying, it will not be generally known that I have brought you, or that we are even acquainted, unless your little scene on the streets of Meryton gave you away. Only Mr. Bennet knows the circumstances, and he knows as little as I could get by with telling him. I am confident in his discretion. Yours, however…“ he frowned. “You do now comprehend the gravity of your circumstances, I assume?”

She sighed. “Yes, yes. I was quite a lot more upset some while ago. I suppose I shall be again. Do you think I will have a headache tomorrow, Mr. Darcy? I did the first time I sampled French wine.”

“I should think you did more than ‘sample’ it if you had a headache the next day. Look, we have not much longer before we are at Longbourn and you must make yourself presentable. I suppose there is nothing we can do about the reek of ale on your breath, but do try to look…” His face wrinkled. “Alert.”

She yawned, fanning her hand over her mouth, and then gave him a confident grin. “Wide awake, sir.”

How silly that he did not look in the least reassured. “And you must start learning the name Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “I am quite certain that is not my name.”

“It is now.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, her fingers idly tracing her cheek. “Elizabeth Bennet,” she said, testing the name on her tongue.

Darcy nodded sharply, as though relieved she had not already forgot.

She said it again, more slowly this time, listening to the way the syllables linked together.

El- i -za-beth Ben -net.

The rhythm was all wrong.

She tried again. “ E -liz-a-beth Ben- net . Are you sure the ‘t’ is pronounced? Perhaps it is silent, like the French. Or is it spelled with two ‘t’s?”

Then—unexpectedly—she laughed. It felt funny in her mouth, like wearing someone else’s shoes—a name that did not belong to her, that had never belonged to her.

“No. You are making too much of it. I only want you to remember it—Elizabeth Bennet. Now, say it without laughing,” he directed.

“E-lihza-beth Ben-net,” she repeated, tilting her head, letting the words roll from her lips as if saying them aloud might make them fit better.

Darcy sighed, running a hand over his face.

But she was not looking at his face.

She was watching his mouth. Why had she never noticed how firm his mouth was? The way it moved around the words, the shape of them pressed between his lips. “Say it again for me,” she begged, having some trouble not slurring her words. Watching him talk would be worth a little embarrassment.

He repeated it, slower this time, his voice deep and precise as he touched his pointer finger to his thumb. “Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth murmured it after him, barely paying attention to the name now.

His mouth was— well . The sort of mouth she and Charlotte used to giggle about behind their fans. She had never noticed before. Perhaps he would speak some more if she asked him to.

“Are you sure I cannot use the ‘Lady Elizabeth’ title?”

Darcy tilted his head back against the seat, exhaling sharply, looking as if he were seriously contemplating leaping from the moving carriage. Apparently, she was not going to be able to goad him into saying it again for her.

Elizabeth lifted her shoulders. “That is an awful lot of syllables for my head right now. Perhaps it would be easier if I went by Lizzy.”

Darcy visibly recoiled.

She laughed again. Oh, he was becoming delightfully predictable, this man. And predictable people could make for the most delicious entertainment.

The carriage took a turn, and Elizabeth saw a gate post pass the window. They must be approaching Longbourn.

Darcy straightened, taking one final, steadying breath before giving her a pleading look. “Please,” he said, voice tight with desperation, “for the love of all things decent, try to act with some dignity. Mr. Bennet shall perform the introductions and hasten you upstairs—hopefully before you make too much of fool of yourself, but you must try not to act inebriated when you meet the family.”

“I shall not disappoint, sir.” Elizabeth tilted her chin, adjusting her fichu with all the composure of a reigning queen, her fingers fumbling only slightly at the delicate fabric.

She barely noticed when Darcy groaned, leaning forward abruptly. Before she could blink, his hands were at her collar, cool fingers brushing against her throat as he tugged the fichu back into place.

Elizabeth froze.

His touch was quick, efficient—practiced, almost—as if he had straightened a thousand fichus before hers.

She doubted that.

Darcy, for his part, looked deeply put out, his mouth pressed into that same pained grimace as he sat back stiffly, eyes fixed firmly ahead, as though hoping he might somehow will himself out of this moment entirely. She could almost hear the internal calculations happening behind those dark eyes—the precise mathematics of his suffering.

“Fear not, my good sir.” She waved a hand airily. “After all,” she continued, with all the flippant confidence of someone who had never once needed to be competent, “I am the daughter of a marquess. I can handle a little country gentleman’s family.”

The carriage lurched to a stop. Elizabeth swayed slightly with the motion, the warmth of the ale still sloshing pleasantly in her stomach.

Darcy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

Then, very deliberately—very slowly—he dragged his hands down his face and let them fall limply to his lap.

Elizabeth thought she saw his lips move. She was fairly certain he had just mouthed the words “God help me.”