Seeking Hair of the Dog (Open!)

[Colonel Benjamin Devereaux]

Location: A mile from Netherfield Park's border.

Today was just not his day.

Oh, it had started out well enough. Well, he thought it had anyway, because Benjamin Devereaux was not a man to place stock in silly superstitions and fateful coincidences -- everything happened for a reason, and the things that didn't have a reason quite simply just happened. So when he'd kicked his foot against the bedpost at the inn this morning in the predawn darkness, he'd simply put it down to the latter. And if it was the former, it was just carelessness on his part -- should have lit a candle rather than stumble around in the dark, or been more aware of his surroundings, for was he not a soldier?

It hadn't been so bad, though. Even if his foot still throbbed to high hell within the confines of his boot. Nor had he really thought much about it when the inn cook had attempted accidental asphyxiation through the manner in which she'd cooked his breakfast; it was just a little too much pepper was all (okay, a lot), and how was the daft woman to know he'd end up inhaling it like tobacco smoke by accident? No, it hadn't been all of a bad da--

Who was he kidding. It had been a terrible day.

He blamed the militia, personally. They were the reason he'd been sent out here in the first place. Review the milita currently quartered in Hertfordshire had been his orders. Then you can take your leave for the month. Yessir, nosir, three bags full--stick your double standards up some place unpleasant along with your sabre, sir. It didn't get much better the higher you went either, to be honest. And though he had a great deal of respect for Forster, the Colonel Devereaux had no great love for the men who often made up the reserves. For that was exactly what they were, regardless of what the locals and the civilians might think. Reserves, and some of them not even that. Gamblers and fops and layabouts all in need of a good kick up the arse, generally good only if they had to stand there and look pretty on parade. Half of them hadn't even yet seen a real battlefield.

Yes, Ben blamed the milita for his current misfortune.

It could have been much worse though, he admited. At the present, anyway. For a start, he might have been lying in a ditch half-bleeding to death. Or thrown into a tree. As it was, his natural balance as a horseman had saved him from any such terrible fall when his mount had stumbled almost out from underneath him. He rather liked to think that it was Iago's own doing somewhat, too; his stallion was as cunning as his Shakespearean namesake, but so too was he faithfully clever. If someone had told him the horse had done his best to fall in a way that didn't hurt his rider, then Ben would believe them.

Of course, it didn't change the reality of their current predicament. Iago had thrown a shoe, unused as he was to the softer trail, and the subsequent shock of it had -- and Ben cringed with guilt -- left the horse undoubtably lame. Which explained Ben's current position. Crouched beside the stallion's near front leg even in the long overcoat of a gentleman (his regimentals were a dark, dull blood red in the dim lighting filtering through the trees), hat discarded beside him; it was clear in the way the man had Iago's hoof resting upon the pristine cloth over his knee, in the manner in which he gently stroked the hot, quivering and steel grey leg that he cared a great deal for the horse's well-being. Certainly he did not blame him for what had happened -- the only issue was...where to now? He'd never been to Hertfordshire before, and while he knew enough to know he was still a good few miles from Meryton, Ben had absolutely no bloody idea where exactly he was otherwise. He knew he was on a shady, quiet trail, and that North was that way, and that was it. Was there a Park nearby? A manor? A hovel? God, he'd take a band of gypsies if it meant getting Iago seen to and under shelter, not to mention himself. Especially considering--

The rumble of thunder in the distance was an ominous sign, and one that quite frankly seemed out to make Ben's day that much better. So much so that the Colonel groaned aloud, lowering gently Iago's hoof to the ground before straightening. Exactly what he needed -- a bloody summer country storm. Who knew how far away it was...though probably not far, knowing his luck and knowing Nature's workings. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"You're alright, lad. You'll live -- come along now."

The stallion was most certainly unhappy with his having to move, but move he did and faithfully so, allowing his master to lead him limping off the main trail and under the relative shelter of an ancient oak tree. The roots were just immense enough to at least afford the illusion of shelter; if they were going to rough it like they had on their last stint in France, then they might as well attempt to keep somewhat dry. Someone might come along if he was lucky, lead him to shelter close enough that it wouldn't tax Iago's already sore miens overtly...though the cynic in Ben wasn't counting his blessings. And thus, upon loosening Iago's girth and placing a spare blanket from his saddle bags over the stallion's sweating flanks to keep his kidneys from ailing him, the esteemed Colonel found himself against that old oak tree, sitting at his horse's hooves and leaning against the warmth of the steel grey legs and the lightly dappled belly like a stable boy, one hand absently stroking the equine knee closest to him while his head leant back against the girth, gaze varying between fluttering closed with resignation and eyeing apprehensively the clouds slowly rolling across the sky.

"It's you and me against the world once again, my honest Iago."

[Miss Felicity Cadwallader]

Felicity Cadwallader was not the sort of girl who was to be frightened out of taking her usual walk simply because a little rain threatened. As a young lady who loved all aspects of nature she would inform anyone heartily on the merits of a summer shower; the freshness that would rejuvenate the countryside thereafter was incomparable. In the city it merely washed off another layer of grime -- hours later in Bath it would have seemed as though it hadn’t rained at all. While the hustle and bustle of town had, she confessed, possessed its own allure, Flick couldn’t be truly happy within the confines of such a haughty society. Having grown up on the fringes of the military as her father’s regiment had shifted from one encampment to another -- to the Continent and then back again -- she had a deep appreciation for the simple routine that came part and parcel with the lifestyle.

A country living definitely ran through her veins. Any reservations she may have harboured regarding her new home in Hertfordshire had been immediately dispelled upon her first entering the gates of Haye Park. Had it been merely a grand house hunched on a scrap of land, it would not have impressed her so well as it had. The rolling lands had welcomed her as kin; the small house so unpretentiously nestled on the edge of the pretty woods that she had fallen immediately and irrevocably in love with the place. From that very instant she had deemed it as home, and though ‘home’ to her had always been the next command post she now knew the true delight in having it mean something tangible… something real. Her early morning walks had recommenced the very next day, and all of her cousin’s displeasure in her determination to maintain her routine could not shake the pleasure she felt in doing just that.

Having been generally adored by most everyone she had encountered in her short life meant that Felicity was entirely without those skills required to actively win someone over. She had assumed, on receiving a letter from Nicholas entreating her into his guardianship, that he must already love her as her parents had and that once they were together at Haye Park life would once again take on that rosy hue she so attributed to it. Having lost her parents so tragically assuredly had an effect on the girl -- she did not shine so brightly as she had used to, perhaps -- but she was optimistic that with his care and generosity of spirit it would not be long before she could once again be almost as happy as she had been before. When it had become readily apparent that this was not how things were to be -- that her imagined happiness in the care of her cousin would be given rather than hard-won -- Flick had decided she must make a battle plan.

She would, of course, be keeping to her morning walk. She saw no imminent danger from its occurrence, despite her cousin’s vehement protests of wandering gypsies and the like who were sure to be lurking about the hedgerows to take advantage of young women alone. Even a hard scolding from him had not enticed her to desist, and since she had continued and he’d not said a word about it she supposed that he had quite gotten over the shock that she was bound to continue, no matter what he had to say on the subject. On other grounds, however, she would be expected to give. Felicity had attempted, over the past few days, to temper her usual enthusiasm for life. Though he had not yet mentioned it to her, she rather thought Nicholas seemed grateful of the gesture. If she could ease him gradually into weathering her joie de vivre, she would consider it a might victory indeed.

The dawn was upon the landscape as she passed down the lane, ignoring the plaintive grumble of thunder overhead as though it were merely a passing worry. She had not thought to bring an umbrella, and as she was too far from shelter and would undoubtedly return to the Park wet through there was little comfort to be had in vexing herself over it -- and Nicholas was like to be put out enough for the both of them. Imagining his expression upon her return gave her cause for a smile and an indulgent giggle as she rounded the end of the lane and came out into open country. She typically only walked to the end of the lane, as it marked a reasonable distance for her. But today she was feeling a little more defiant, as a combination of her cousin’s concern for her and the rain threatening to land her in strife with him tempted her to disobey them both. She continued down the muddy road, ignoring the squelching of her shoes as she went. A brisk breeze sprung up to herald the bad weather that must naturally follow it, and she clutched her bonnet to her head with a bright laugh. It wasn’t until she had moved farther along the road towards Meryton that she noticed she was not alone on this particular morning.

The girl came to a rather abrupt halt when she noticed the horse -- the man took a little more observation to notice, beneath his steed -- and wondered whether she ought to keep going or enquire about the state of things. Felicity briefly wondered whether this was the very sort of ‘situation’ her cousin had been warning her about, and for a moment felt a fleeting sting of panic. Ought she run? She could not hope to get away from him, were he on horseback. Instead opting to simply stand and stare at him afforded her the luxury of noticing the high standard of his horse’s tack, and the cleanliness of the man himself. He was a gentleman, then, and Felicity had the utmost trust in all gentlemen. She knew not that some men were as like to be rogues as they were to be honourable.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted him, hoping that he would not be startled by her appearance. “Are you lost?”

[Colonel Benjamin Devereaux]

If there was any small luxury afforded to a soldier amidst the hell of his training, it was this: the ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time, at any hour, the moment the lowering of arms was sounded. And though dreading the oncoming clouds and their ominous he was, as concerned as he was by Iago's hot fetlock, Ben was doing almost exactly that before the voice startled him awake. He was already very tired, to be frank, and so often had he spent evenings out on the field huddled into Iago (or Dove, his other old mount and his first love) in some fashion that his body almost automatically shut itself down when he put it in such a position.

Startled wasn't perhaps quite the right word for his response to Felicity's voice; he was too practiced for that after so long keeping his ears to the ground, and he did not startled easily anyway. He certainly hadn't been expecting any sort of fortune after the day he'd had, though, even if a girl on her walk -- with this weather coming in? -- was only a small fortune indeed. But it was something and thus Ben opened his eyes, blinking in a manner both weary and surprised when he took her fair form in.

Dimly, it occured to him that a gentleman would stand and greet her politely, but the Colonel rather didn't see the point of kicking up such a fuss over so absurd a thing; she'd already seen him as he was. Thus, he sighed and stretched a long leg out gingerly, biting his cheek inwardly against any such retort that might otherwise be sharp or gruff. He would normally not have bothered, not because he was particularly mean, but because his primary experience lay with ladies of the Ton and their viper tongues, not country girls, though what experience he had had with them had proved to be surprisingly pleasant to even his usual rapier wit.

And again, he wasn't stupid enough to offend a potential saviour.

"I suppose I am after a fashion," he acknowledged, albeit a little dryly. Shifting so that he sat up more, he took a moment to stroke Iago's leg with gentle affection obvious even to the unknowing eye, reassuring the horse as he shifted uneasily, ears flickering with one part curiousity and two parts wariness at the new intrusion in surroundings that were, admittedly, becoming a little dark. Not something even a brave war horse enjoyed, though he settled, his foot shifting from it's half hearted attempt to paw to rest beside his master's form once more.

"I am actually headed for Meryton, dear lass." Ben gestured with a helpless hand in that general direction, indicating that he did at least know where he was headed. "However, my horse has thrown his shoe and come down lame."

In no small part thanks to this blasted sinkhole of a country road, he added irritably to himself, though he said aloud and with a faint, weary smile. "I've got no idea where I actually am currently, though. I don't wish to travel too far a distance to spare my horse, however, I would much prefer to find us both shelter. And a pen and paper perhaps; I must send a message to Colonel Forster. So..."

And now he stood up, taking a moment to brush at his breeches. "...if there is a Park...home...hovel...anything nearby, I'd be indebted to you if you led me there."

[Miss Felicity Cadwallader]

When he seemed reluctant to speak with her, in his way, Felicity began to feel sightly uneasy. She had never before now given credit to her cousin’s urging her not to go out unescorted into the countryside, and though she was loathe to think ill of anyone unless given considerable reason to do so, this fellow certainly did seem to be down on his luck. She approached him warily now, watching him shift but not stand to greet her as any gentleman would. She frowned slightly in concern beneath the straw hood of her bonnet, glancing at the poor horse once the explanation for their current state of being was offered. When he told her that he had been bound for Meryton, she felt duty bound as one of the very newest members of the neighbourhood to see him safely to his destination. But then, would he have to see her home again? Goodness – she could not concern herself with such considerations at such a moment!

But how was she to help him get his lame horse all the way to Meryton? She didn’t know how to fix the poor creature’s leg, and she certainly couldn’t help him carry it! His faint smile could not have happened along at a more fortuitous moment, or could his expression of just exactly what he required in terms of assistance, for poor Felicity hadn’t a clue! When he stood at last, she finally felt as though he was the kind of gentleman she had initially associated him with, and the mentioning of Colonel Forster only confirmed her suspicions on that score. The smile she offered him in return was broad and offered with a pureness of spirit that would have been laughable, were it not so raw.

“We are but three miles from Meryton, sir,” she told him, for his information, “But I do believe that there is an estate nearby -- Netherfield, sir -- do you know it?” Whether or not he did know it was beyond the point, for Felicity was not one to give up such a ready audience for her chatter without a fight. Without giving the poor fellow time to reply should he wish to, she continued on. “It was recently taken by a young man from London, Mr. Bingley. Have you met him? Oh, of course you have not, or else you should know that you were nigh upon his doorstep!” She grinned, pleased to be able to assist. “His two sisters are in residence with him, and what creatures they are! So delightfully fashionable, and disposed to being so gracious! The whole town is talking of it -- Meryton shows such greatness of community spirit, you know! -- that I am rather surprised you have not heard -- but then, are you only just arrived yourself, sir?”