A Merry Darcy Christmas by Emma Dow

Author:Emma Dow [Dow, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-12-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10, The Shooting Party

December 23, 1812

The crack of a shotgun discharging shattered the cold winter air and Darcy saw a brightly colored pheasant tumble out of the steel gray sky. Then another loud report and another bird came spiraling down.

“Mark another for me,” cried out Mr. Pettigrew. “Have your money ready, Bingley.”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Bingley replied, and Darcy heard another report from the shotgun. “I’m not done yet!”

“You’re not shooting?” Lord Northover said.

“Nor are you,” Darcy answered.

“But I never do,” Northover replied, offering his flask.

Darcy shook his head. He needed to keep his wits about him.

“Something is troubling you,” said Northover. He was wrapped up in a large red tartan blanket, and sipping from a silver flask. “I just come on these things to get out of doors. But you, on the other hand, are an expert marksman and it is not like you to pass up such a fine opportunity for sport.”

“You are marksman enough to beat me at shooting, as I recall. Though not by much admittedly,” Darcy replied. Northover, for all his lethargy, had a knack for winning wagers and contests of all sorts. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you were to best me in a duel—even swords—though it might only be by a hair’s breadth.

“But I have other things on my mind than shooting today,” Darcy continued. “Something of far more consequence.” This was true. He had only agreed to come on the shooting party as it afforded him a chance to speak with McGinty. Darcy had made some efforts attract the man down on his own, but McGinty was as elusive as a ferret. He doubtless suspected that whatever it was Mr. Darcy wished to speak to him about was not something he would wish to entertain.

“Your mind works overtime,” Northover said. “Always has. I find any mental effort to be fatiguing. I prefer to leave that to others. “

“I am unable to leave this matter to others,” said Darcy. It was true that he ought to at least make a pretense of shooting, but he wasn’t in the mood to engage in any form of subterfuge. All he needed was a chance to get McGinty alone.

“Have a drink then,” Northover said. “Whenever the merest ghost of a worry crosses my mind, I always chase it off with a drink.”

Darcy relented and took a small swig from the flask. It was as cold as ice, so cold he could feel the metal of the flask through his leather gloves, but the brandy it held burned going down his throat.

“If you like, you can tell me what is on your mind,” Northover said, accepting his flask back. “It will be a distraction from all the damned noise.”

Darcy debated for a moment what he should tell his old friend about his problem. There was no harm in candor that he could see. “McGinty has a scheme to fence the common here at Rosings Park. I intend to prevail upon him not to go through with it.

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