Page 51 of Fortuitous Encounters

“Probably. Now, Flora has described your problem. Do you trust her to have relayed the gist of it.”

“Of course,” he said, which again set Flora to smiling brightly.

“I can help, and I will be happy to do so if you can trust a stranger, though I warn you—you may not care for my methods.”

That was the moment of truth, and the young lady seemed just a bit impertinent but honest enough. Darcy routinely had to decide who to trust, and he doubted she could do him much damage anyway. Ladies had to worry about their reputations scrupulously, but men had more leeway, and he was unlikely to get in any trouble the first night in the county—or at least, she was unlikely to do any more damage than he would do himself without help.

“I place myself in your hands with gratitude, madam.”

She laughed gaily. “You may wish to take the gratitude under advisement until you see what I am about.”

“I await your machinations with anticipation,” he said, enjoying the whole escapade far more than he expected.

In fact, he ruefully thought, even if things with the indomitable Miss Flora did not work out, he could just turn around, walk back to Netherfield and enjoy a perfect evening with Miss Bingley at the assembly and him in his chambers. He could not lose!

Elizabeth leaned down to whisper to Flora, who once again took off like a shot, back toward the outer door and whispered to a boy, who turned and disappeared just as quickly.

“Mr Darcy, can you tie your own cravat… and by that, I mean tie it sufficient that you will not be accosted by anyone but your valet, who will no doubt frown ferociously.”

“I am not entirely helpless,” he replied with a smile.

“Good,” she said emphatically, then ran over to snatch a stool from the wall that people used to change shoes and dragged it over beside the man.

“Go to it, Flora,” she said with a grin.

With a great laugh, Flora jumped onto the stool, and boldly reached up to remove the cravat, after carefully removing the pin and handing it to Elizabeth. Then she balled it up a bit, put it on the stool and jumped up and down, then handed it back to him with a laugh.

By then he had gotten himself under good regulation and reflected that he had been warned so it would be a poor time to start carping. He could always walk back to Netherfield if things got out of hand, and he would still beat the Bingleys.

Elizabeth said, “Mr Darcy, we will ensure you are not disturbed, so I should like you to go into the cloakroom, remove your jacket and waistcoat, pull your breeches down a bit, reach down and touch your toes five times, maybe ball your coat up a bit, then replace the clothing and your cravat.”

Darcy stopped just short of gasping, and found himself for the first time in years, just enjoying a prank well played. Most of his experience of pranks had been of the cloying kind people used against rich men they wanted some advantage over, nasty pranks by people who thought he had somehow done them wrong, and close to lethal pranks from his former childhood friend, Mr Wickham (or occasionally his cousin).

Miss Bennet was enjoying some good fun, and he thought he may as well go along. At the very least, her disguise might send his arch nemesis at Netherfield into a fit, which seemed worthwhile.

“Is there a mirror?” he asked, surprised that was the only objection he had to the scheme.

“No, but if you stuff it up too badly, Flora can help.”

He chuckled for the first time in an unwed woman’s presence in quite some time, then turned and headed into the cloakroom.

Five minutes later, he returned to universal acclaim from his three conspirators, and another boy who stood nervously with a box of some sort.

Elizabeth laughed gaily. “Now for the coup de grâce!”

She nodded to the boy, and he nonchalantly threw a handful of mud on his dancing pumps, then jumped down to pull a brush out of a bootblack kit, and performed yet one more sin against his valet’s sensibilities.

Mrs Redgrave laughed, “You will clean every speck of that dirt from my floor, Simon.”

“Yes’m” he replied, not the least bit repentant.

Lizzy and Flora stood back to examine their handiwork, then spoke in hushed tones for a moment.

Mrs Redgrave opined, “It is almost right, but not quite.”

“I know!” Flora yelled at least twice as loud as required, then ran over, jumped up on the stool, then reached up and tousled his hair until it was a right mess, then half-way combed it more or less back to what he assumed was a sloppy variant of how it started.

“Flora, you are a genius,” Lizzy happily replied, then turned to the gentleman. “Are you ready for battle, Mr Darcy?”