The weather got worse, and by the time Darcy made his entrance at Netherfield Park, his only interest was in being shown to his room, as he was chilled to the bone. Despite dripping all over the tile in the foyer and his apparent discomfort, Caroline Bingley was attempting to engage him in conversation, and her sister, Louisa Hurst, whose voice resembled a newly hatched chick, was asking if he wanted her to order some tea.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hurst, but I would prefer to go straight to my room, so that I might change out of these wet clothes.” He looked down at his feet and an expanding puddle, and Louisa directed a servant to show Mr. Darcy to his room.

A short while later, Bingley came bounding in. Charles’s enthusiasm for life was usually infectious, but Darcy was so tired from the ride that all he could think of was his bed. “Darcy, we were expecting you hours ago. Were you waylaid by highwaymen?”

Darcy merely shook his head. “If you were hoping for a bedtime story about how I eluded capture by brigands, I am sorry to disappoint you, but perhaps your governess is in residence?”

“Ah, good old Darcy, always in fine form no matter what the circumstances.” As he watched his friend shed his wet garments, he explained that he had sent a servant to rummage through the house to look for clothes for him. “Unfortunately, Sir James Darlington was a rather rotund man and not a great tall fellow like you are, and you could not get into a pair of my breeches with a shoe horn. So let us hope that your carriage will be here early in the morning.” Bingley exited the room, but then poked his head back in. “Oh, by the way, there is an assembly in the village tomorrow evening.”

“Bingley! An assembly? We will speak of it in the morning,” the exhausted traveler answered.

“No need, Darcy, I have already accepted an invitation on your behalf,” and he quickly left the room.