And yet her absence robbed him of any opportunity to confront her and correct the tale she had told. She remained closeted in her chamber, the injured princess in her tower, while he endured judgement from her loyal subjects below.
It was maddening. But Darcy had to admit that it was also brilliant.
He needed air. Darcy abandoned his table and made his way through the back passage to the stables, where at least he could be certain his own men would not subject him to gossip and conjecture.
The familiar smell of hay and horses greeted him as he pushed open the stable door. Anders and Johnson looked up from checking the horses’hooves, their expressions a mixture of relief and apprehension at his approach.
“Mr. Darcy, sir,” Anders said, straightening from his examination of the gelding’s hoof. “We were just checking that all is ready should the roads clear enough for travel.”
“Which we hope will be soon, sir,” Johnson added, his weathered face grave. “Very soon.”
Darcy moved to his horse’s side, running a hand along the animal’s neck. The familiar solidity provided some measure of comfort. “I take it you have heard the general opinion regarding this afternoon’s events.”
Anders gave a short, humourless laugh. “We have been treated to a full recitation of your supposed crimes. The stable boy would not muck out the stalls. Said he would not lift a finger for the man who made the princess cry.”
“She never wept.”
“The kitchen boy spat in the snow when Johnson went to fetch our dinner,” Anders continued. “Called us ‘lackeys of a brute.’” He shook his head. “We have served in your household these three years, sir, and never once heard a word against your character. We know there has been some mistake, but it does not make these people less angry.”
Johnson crossed his arms. “The ostler suggested we might wish to seek positions elsewhere, seeing as how we serve a master who delights in tormenting defenceless women. I informed him that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is the finest master in England and that I would hear no word against him.”
This defence was a balm to Darcy’s heart. “Thank you, Johnson.” At least there were two men here who would take his side.
“The ostler did not take it well, sir,” Anders said. “We may need to sleep out here with the horses tonight. The servants’ quarters and the kitchen have become . . . inhospitable.”
Darcy felt a fresh wave of fury at this intelligence. That his own men should suffer for his supposed transgressions was insupportable. “I am sorry you have been subjected to such treatment on my account.”
“Weare not sorry, sir,” Johnson said firmly. “We know you. These folk do not. They have seized upon rumour and made up a wild story. It is nonsense."
“Though you should be aware, sir,” Anders added, “that Mrs. Cooper told the stable boy that gentlemen who cannot control their tempers around ladies deserve whatever ill fortune befalls them. When he asked what she meant, she just smiled and said that Providence has ways of humbling the proud.”
“She has organised a conspiracy of inconvenience,” Darcy said darkly.
Johnson’s jaw clenched. “More than inconvenience, sir. One of the servants of that tradesman—the big one—suggested that if the snow keeps you here much longer, he and some of the other men might take it upon themselves to teach you proper respect. I told him that any man who laid hands on you would answer to me.”
“And me,” Anders added. “Which did not improve the general atmosphere.”
Darcy stared at Anders and Johnson, these loyal men who had defended him at some cost to themselves. He ought to have thought more of their safety when confronting Miss Bennet. But who could have foreseen such a consequence? “You should not have to fight my battles.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but we are not fighting your battles. We are stating facts.” Anders gestured toward the stable door. “The people here have decided you are a puffed-up swell. We know better. You are a good master, a fair man, and whatever occurred between you and the lady, we know you would not have acted without cause.”
Johnson nodded. “We will have everything ready for departure at first light, should the weather permit. The sooner we are away from here, the better for all concerned.”
“When you are finished, come seek me. I will not have you sleeping out of doors on such a night as this.”
Darcy left them to their work and returned to the inn. The common room had grown more crowded. Another stranded traveller was playing a fiddle, and several guests clapped along. For one hopeful moment, Darcy imagined the room might be too distracted by music to continue its outraged campaign.
Then the fiddler caught sight of him.
There was a deliberate pause. Then the man smiled at Darcy, as if they shared a private joke, and the music changed.
The tune was one Darcy knew. It was cheerful, harmless, and performed at every country fair he had ever attended. So when the man opened his mouth, Darcy was prepared for the usual nonsense about ribbons and ale.
Instead, he discovered a beat too late, that the melody had changed, but not the crowd’s intentions.
Behold my friends, the Lord of Frowns,
Who thinks a sneer will serve him best—