God, the morning was ridiculously sunny.
Squinting against the light, he pinned open the caravan doors and set out the crates of books. As quickly as he could manage, he stowed himself and the chalkboard in the shadows of the caravan. It felt like there was a band around his head, tightening slowly. He drank some water and—not thinking of anyone in particular, certainly not Charlie off doing who-knows-what with Olivia—he wrote an Austen quote on the chalkboard: Do anything rather than marry without affection.
He stared at his loopy handwriting and sank back on his haunches. Maybe he judged too quickly. Affection didn’t require love, after all . . .
Ass on a cushion, back pressed against a shelf of cooking books, Bennet opened his laptop and attempted some editing.
The brightness of the screen worsened the thumping in his head.
Thud-thud-thud.
“Hello? Bennet?” Caroline peered into the caravan and flagged for him.
It took enormous effort to shuffle over. Bennet shielded his eyes from the sunlight. “Is there a book I can help you locate?”
She rolled her eyes. “I have too many on my to-read list as it is.”
Bennet was momentarily hopeful. Was she here about Cubworthy’s Pride event? Caroline moved around the crates outside, trailing her fingers over the protruding spines. “I hear you’re dating Will Wickham?”
Bennet blinked. “And if I am?”
“Just thought I’d give you a heads up. He’s been saying negative things about Darcy. I want to assure you whatever you hear, it’s not true.”
Bennet rubbed his temples. “Could you be more specific? What things are untrue?”
“I—well, I don’t know exactly. I know that Will and Darcy had a run-in on my farm this morning.”
“They did?”
Caroline stopped moving and stared into space, frowning. “I honestly had no idea the farm manager had hired someone with ties to Darcy.”
“If he does the job he’s hired for, does it matter?”
“It does when there’s friction. Heavy words were traded. Something about Darcy not letting him see his best friend before she died. Such a horrible accusation.” She cracked open a hardback book with a frayed dustjacket. “Naturally half of town’s heard about it.”
“You’re so sure it’s not true?”
Her attention zeroed in on him. “How could it be? Darcy is a good man.”
“Good men sometimes do bad deeds.”
“Not Darcy. Never Darcy.”
“Such blind faith.”
She snapped the book shut. “Only trying to help.”
She dropped the book on the crate and strode off haughtily.
Unbelievable. Did she see nothing but an angel when she looked at Darcy? Had she fooled herself into thinking him infallible?
He retreated into the blessedly dark caravan, clamped a hand on his shoulder, and stretched his neck. The other side.
The tension would not let up.
Over the course of the morning, four villagers stopped by to borrow or return books and another woman tentatively asked whether anyone could join the pride event. After she left—less nervous than when she’d come—Bennet called his brother.
“It’s too bright out. Bit of a headache. Could you do me a favor and bring me a sandwich and some orange juice?”
Down the line, the fridge squealed open. “We don’t have juice, and I’m about to meet William for lunch. Can’t you get your Will to bring you something?
“He’s probably working. Also . . . uh, I don’t have his number.”
“Bro, when you dig a dude, that’s the first thing you ask for.”
Probably untrue, seeing neither of them had thought of it.
His head throbbed again. “Look, there’s a tenner under the Earl Grey tin . . .”
“Fine. But I’m keeping the change.”
Bennet sank back on his cushion, tipped his head back against the shelves and closed his eyes. His body, heavy, quickly drifted to sleep.
A knock.
Bennet peeled his eyes open and blinked away the fog. He expected Lyon, and his chest gave a startlingly electric jump when Darcy ducked inside the caravan. Huh? The last time Bennet had seen him was at the ball, their eyes catching across the room as Caroline waltzed him around like the finest prize.
Darcy had shaken his head as if to say, no, this could not be number three. Could not be his perfect date. And Bennet had smirked back at him . . .
Darcy was here?
Darcy was here carrying a boxed sandwich and a small juice? “No, no, no. Lyon did not pawn off my request to you.”
“I’m not sure I loved the emphasis on ‘you.’ I happened to be in line at the checkout when Lyon realized he’d forgotten his wallet. I offered to help him out.” Darcy set the sandwich and juice in the three-foot gap between them. “He was in a hurry and asked if I’d drop it to you.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry. This is out of your way.”
Bennet rubbed his temples. Darcy was making his head hurt more. He couldn’t properly process why he was making Bennet feel so off-balance. More than the headache, which was saying something.