September Storm Relay Story Part 6

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Read part 5 here. Now, on with the show!

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“Mr. Knightley and the other gentlemen have requested some clothes, sir. Might you have anything that would suit?” asked Jones, Mr. Bennet’s valet.

“I have just the thing,” replied Mr. Bennet, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Jones stifled his laughter and fetched the required nightshirts and banyans and hastened to deliver them to their unexpected guests.

***

Richard had been sleeping less than an hour when he felt it–something warm wrapped around his waist. He relaxed into the heat for a minute, feeling soothed and oddly comfortable. He began to drift off when he felt breath on his neck. He sighed and let his head sink into the pillow. The body behind him shifted. He ignored it, wanting to continue sleeping.

He roused when he heard a voice say something he couldn’t quite make out.

He opened his eyes in the dark room, his thoughts fuzzy and slow. How much brandy had he drunk after dinner? The voice spoke again, more clearly this time. He heard the name Jane.

Jane? Who was Jane? And more importantly, who was calling her?

The voice spoke again and Richard looked around, but he could barely make out the door in the moonlight. Was someone there? And who was the warm woman in the bed with him? Damn but he couldn’t remember.

Richard froze when he heard the voice again. A masculine voice. Careful not to move an inch, he turned his head and looked at the body curled against his back. He was met with an abundance of curly blond hair and he relaxed for a moment.

Then the figure moved and the hair fell back to reveal the face of Charles Bingley, perfectly lit in a shaft of blue moonlight.

Richard scrambled out of bed so quickly he tangled his legs in the coverlet and fell to the floor in a heap of blankets and curses.

“Bingley!”

Bingley sat up in bed, bleary-eyed and confused. “Yes?”

“What are you thinking, man?”

“Thinking of what? Where are you?” He looked around in bewilderment but saw no sign of the good colonel.

“I’m down here, you fool.”

Bingley huffed but made no protest. He was entirely too tired to bother with silly insults. “Surely you would be more comfortable on the bed?”

RIchard rolled his eyes and rose from the floor, carefully unwrapping his legs. “I thought I would, but your roaming hands make me think otherwise.”

Bingley’s mouth dropped open. “Roaming hands!”

“Do you hold close everyone who shares a bed with you, or only those whom you particularly like?”

Bingley gasped in indignation, spluttering, “I do no such thing! How can you…, how dare you, why…”

Richard tied Mr. Bennet’s banyan tightly over his borrowed nightshirt and straightened his shoulders.

“I believe I will spend the night in the library. Good night, Mr. Bingley.”

Richard stormed out of the room as quietly as possible while Bingley sat in the bed staring after him, red with embarrassment.

***

Lydia turned over restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. Her sister Kitty was a kicker, and no matter where she lay, she could not escape Kitty’s flailing limbs. Why did they have to share a bed, anyway? She was not a tiny child. She was a grown girl, already the tallest of her sisters, and she had become quite accustomed to her own chamber.

But Mr. Bingley and Col. Fitzwilliam were sleeping there now, and she was forced to share with her kicking sister. It was monstrous unfair. She would sleep so much better with her own pillow. She had hidden it in the closet when she was told Bingley would be sleeping in her bed. If she left it, it would be covered in gold fuzz with all the hair he possessed. She knew he was a favorite of Jane’s, but really, a man could have too much hair.

Of course, she could sneak in and retrieve it. She had hidden a key in the pocket of her dressing gown. She could be ever so quiet. Jane and Elizabeth never woke when she snuck into their rooms. And really, was it sneaking if it was her own chamber?

Decided, she tiptoed out of Kitty’s room and down the hall to her own. She was about to slide the key into the lock when she heard voices. She flattened herself against the wall beside the door, hidden in shadows, before Col. Fitzwilliam marched out of the room, wearing Father’s ridiculous chartreuse banyan, the one Mother had given him for his birthday three years ago.

She covered her mouth with her hand and waited for him to descend the stairs. Curiosity getting the better of her, she began to follow him.

“Where are you going?”

She leapt nearly a foot into the air. “Lady Catherine! Where did you come from?”

The great lady narrowed her eyes. “That is no concern of yours. Are you not sleeping with your sister?”

“I was sleeping with Kitty, but I believe I will go… somewhere else now.” Lydia was very proud of how quickly she thought of her answer.

Lady Catherine looked thoughtful. Young Catherine Bennet seemed like a quiet sort of girl. Surely she would not bring down the house with her snoring as the lowly Miss Bates was doing. And Miss Catherine was a slight thing. She would take up hardly any room at all. Yes, an infinitely preferable solution.

“Which room is yours?” she asked imperiously.

Lydia pointed to her own bedroom. “There, my lady.”

Lady Catherine graced her with a nod and Lydia scampered away before she was asked any more questions. Col. Fitzwilliam might be all the way to the stables by now!

Pleased with her plan, Lady Catherine opened the door to Lydia’s room, glad to find it warm and comfortable enough, though nothing to the chambers at Rosings.

Miss Catherine’s blond hair barely peeked out beneath the coverlet, conveniently on the far side of the bed, leaving plenty of room for Lady Catherine to slide in beside her.

The bed was soft and pleasantly warm where Miss Lydia must have just left it. Feeling terribly pleased with herself, Lady Catherine closed her eyes and finally fell asleep.

The next scene from Nicole Clarkston is close (and hilarious!). Donate here!