Ten Days with Mr Darcy (on hold)

Chapter eleven - The Master of Netherfield

Jess shied away from his kiss, twisting her head to break the cringing contact with his lips. Before her brain could register the soft thud of footsteps on grass, his confining hands were torn away as suddenly as they'd appeared. She opened her eyes and looked around.

The counterfeit Fitzwilliam Darcy—leather patches and all—was now sprawled in the grass, quaking before the terrifying form of an angry Mr. Bingley.

They say that clothes maketh the man, and it was quite remarkable how the formal Regency costume—particularly his boots, Jessica thought—could turn a teddy-bear like Gareth, into a man who looked like he could happily commit murder.

Bingley held the tip of his cane up to the man's throat like a rapier, his soft green eyes now blazing with furious fire. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

The man's eyes grew wide, as his jaw flexed. "I...I..."

Although never once stepping out of his Regency mindset, Gareth was playing Bingley in a way Miss Austen had never shown in her book; as the true Master of Netherfield. "You, sir, are no gentleman, to be man-handling a lady in that disgusting fashion."

"But...I..."

"There are no words that would excuse such boorish behaviour. Apologise to Miss Bennet. Now."

"Yes, yes, of course." The parody of Mr. Darcy scrambled to his knees before turning in abject misery to abase himself in front of Jessica. "I am dreadfully sorry, Miss Bennet. I do not know what came over me."

"No harm has been done," she said in a calming tone, as much for Bingley's benefit as the man he now threatened.

"You are too generous," the fruitcake grovelled, as he stood, brushing at the soil and dust now clinging to his trousers. Jess thought it the least he deserved.

Gareth, however, was not so easily appeased. Although he'd withdrawn his cane, he still held the thin rod in an aggressive grip. "Now you've done that, I would recommend you leave my sight, quickly." His words were quiet, but no one hearing them could ignore his determination as the tip of his cane flicked towards the path. "And if I set eyes on you again I guarantee that we will be meeting tomorrow morning. Early tomorrow morning."

Straightening his thick glasses, the man who called himself Fitzwilliam Darcy made a jerky bow before scooting away between the shrubs.

Jess wanted to laugh―more from relief than seeing any humour in the situation―but one glance at Gareth's face was enough to douse her smile. "Thank you for coming to my assistance, Mr. Bingley."

He offered a bow. "You are more than welcome, Miss Bennet." He paused then, looking around to make sure there were no guests in sight before his shoulders sagged. "Seriously though, Jessica, did he hurt you?"

She rubbed her arms under the velvet spencer jacket. They were a little sore where the psycho fan had clamped his fingers, but she didn't want to make a fuss. "No, not really. A few bruises, maybe, but nothing serious. I never imagined he would grab me like that." Jess lifted a shaking hand, to brush back the wisps of hair that had fallen from beneath her bonnet.

"You've had a shock." Gareth's voice was almost back to its calm self, as he took her hand, resting it on his arm as though they were going for a stroll. "Let's find Mandy. She needs to know what just happened, and I don't like to think of you being on your own out here when there are people like that about."

"I'm okay, honestly. I'm amazed I managed to stay in character."

"It might have been better if you'd dropped the Regency act and told him to sod off."