Darcy nodded. He would write the estate’s steward, inquire as to the carriages’ state of repair, and give orders to have them made ready. Even if Bennet did not require the loan, it would not go amiss to be prepared. Unfortunately, there were no carriages at the London house.
He almost chuckled at how little he recognised himself.Several carriages.How easily it rolled off his tongue. He had already felt himself a reasonably wealthy man before this inheritance. Between his father’s bequest, his uncle’s assistance, and his own savings, he had nearly five hundred pounds a year, a handsome sum for a bachelor. But his great-uncle had made him wealthy beyond reason.
Darcy had felt both exhilarated and wasteful in London, but this was different. It was a very great pleasure having the means to assist a friend with more than sympathetic words and a glass of port.
“Pull!” Two teams of men pulled their ropes at the same time as they lifted the carriage from the ground.
“Pull!” he heard again, and then once more, before Fitzwilliam’s voice broke in.
“Watch it!” his cousin cried.
Darcy’s head shot up, and he took in the scene in an instant.
One rope was obstructed at the pulley. As the right side of the carriage continued to be lifted, the left remained where it was.
The team on the right had pulled their side up too high. The weight shift came as a surprise, and the men struggled not to lose their grip.
Below the carriage were two older men who had been pushing from the rear, shoving the coach towards the back of the cart. They did not see the rope begin to slip.
When they realised the coach was tipping back at them, it was too late.
The world slowed. Darcy could smell the fear of the older men as they tried to scramble back, hear the grunts of the men frantically attempting to hold the rope, spy the mass of wood and glass tipping back from the cart.
There was a time for precise calculations. This was not it.
Darcy leapt forward, bent his knees, and placed a shoulder under the lower end of the carriage. One hand lay flat on the side of the box, and the other he slapped against the driver’s boot. With all his strength, Darcy straightened his knees and pushed forward.
Every muscle in his body tensed. He heard Bennet shout and Fitzwilliam respond. He might have shouted something inarticulate—he could hear a roar in his ears but not make out any words.
The coach lurched forward, and not a second later, the men on the rope lost their hold entirely.
With a groan, the coach fell onto the bed of the wagon.
The sudden loss of the coach’s weight sent Darcy staggering to the side. He could not keep his feet and wound up sprawled out flat on his back in the grime of the road.
So much for his dignity.
“Darcy!” Fitzwilliam shouted. He must have been helping to pull the coach forward, Darcy thought dumbly, but he could not have done it alone. He heard Bingley’s voice from the other side of the cart. Ah. That made sense.
He lay still for a moment, collecting himself, his injured hand burning like fire. After a few seconds, he knew that otherwise, he was well.
Every man not actively securing the coach to the cart was staring at him as though they had seen a ghoul.
“I am not hurt,” he assured them as he sat up, which seemed to break the trance.
Fitzwilliam stared at him.Throughhim, truth be told. His cousin’s breaths came hard until he finally turned away and, with both hands, rubbed the back of his head as though it was Aladdin’s lamp.
“Damnation, Darcy!” Bennet cried. “What were you thinking? You might have been crushed!”
Darcy did not respond. They all knew the two men pushing the coach from the rear were not strong enough to do what Darcy had done, nor were they quick enough to have cleared the falling coach.
It took a moment, but then Darcy’s anger rose as he clambered to his feet. “Promise me,” he said flatly, “that you will take one of Pemberley’s carriages, Bennet.” His deep voice boomed over all the other noise as he pointed accusingly at the remains of the carriage. “That damned thing is cursed.”
The damaged wheel chose that moment to break entirely away from the axle and tumble to the ground. Darcy lifted his eyebrows, entirely vindicated.
Bennet closed his eyes, but Darcy was not swayed. Soon enough, Bennet opened his eyes and held out his hand. Darcy took it with his uninjured hand and Bennet hauled him to his feet.
“I would appreciate the loan,” Bennet agreed. “Until I can have Jensen build me a new one.”