CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Since Mr. Hurst declined the invitation, as had been expected, Bingley and Darcy set out to meet Mr. Gardiner, accompanied by two other gentlemen who had travelled with them, just before noon the following day. The men spent several hours that afternoon in the act of fishing for trout, and quite successfully so. It seemed that Mr. Gardiner had a knack for the activity, though they all caught half a dozen or so from Darcy’s stream. The conversation was gentlemanly and cheerful, though it may not have been particularly plentiful, which suited each member of the party. As the afternoon neared three o’clock, Mr. Hurst graciously accepted Mr. Darcy’s invitation to take the carriage back to Lambton—along with the other two gentlemen when they were finished—as his wife and niece had called on Georgiana and Mr. Bingley’s sisters. After instructing the servants about the tackle, the two friends were left then to meander back to the house.
“It is a wonder, Darcy, that we have not been in each other’s company as to converse in months,” Bingley began.
“I do agree, between the demands of our business and the injury you took in Hull, it has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of your company.”
Bingley sighed through his nose as they strolled through the park. “You must, then, inform me as to the occurrence at Rosings which has had you dejected and aloof all this time, although I must admit, seeing you in such high spirits here at Pemberley these last two days has assuaged much of my concern.”
“I once more offer my apologies for my alienation from you these past months,” said Darcy, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. “I do believe that I am much recovered from my downtrodden state, or at least recovered enough to converse about my feelings.”
Bingley looked over at him with concern. “Are, or rather, were you in love with Miss Anne de Bourgh?”
Darcy’s head spun toward his friend with a glare so baffled as to be nearly comical. “Miss Anne de Bourgh—my cousin ?”
“Well, yes,” answered Bingley, completely perplexed by the astonishment in Darcy’s tone.
“I do apologize indeed, my friend,” chuckled Darcy. “It appears I have kept you rather in the dark more than I imagined. Please believe me that it was inadvertent.” Bingley nodded his reply. “Being that you have not suspected my true feelings, this will come as a rather great surprise, then: Miss Elizabeth Bennet was visiting her cousin Mr. Collins and his wife at Rosings at the same time which I visited my aunt.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Bingley gasped.
“Yes, and for quite some months leading up to that encounter I had found myself enraptured by her, or perhaps, tortured would be a better description of my state of being. Despite every objection with which I attempted to curtail my feelings, they would not be repressed. I tell you truthfully that from the time we left Meryton I struggled, in vain, to convince myself that it was nothing more than a passing fancy. Yes, as the weeks and even months, dragged along, I found that I could not even conceive the thought of being wed to any other. It had been for quite some time my arrangement with Colonel Fitzwilliam to visit Lady Catherine in the spring, but when I learned that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was near Rosings, I hastened our plans and we left immediately. I deluded myself that spending those afternoons in her presence would confirm to me the absurdity of my feelings, but despite all my efforts at diversion and what I perceived to be rationality, her charm, her wit, and yes, her beauty had left an indelible mark upon me that nothing but her consent to be my wife could soothe. One afternoon I took the liberty of walking down to the parsonage where I proposed to her—”
“You proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” Bingley cried.
“And she quite summarily rejected me.”
Bingley’s motor functions temporarily departed him as he stood, mouth gaping, next to the man who had cautioned him time and again about the folly of forming designs upon a Bennet sister. Suddenly, Bingley shoved his friend’s shoulder with the words, “You proposed to her?”
“And I botched it horribly,” replied Darcy, tidying his coat. “Are you angry at me for allowing my feelings to get the better of my judgement?”
“You daft, daft man,” Bingley retorted. “I would wager a thousand pounds that you insulted her.”
“Indeed, I did, though in my defence—”
“In your defence?” muttered Bingley. “There is no defence for the fixed state of vanity in which you at times operate, Darcy.”
“Then you rejoice in my suffering?” Darcy answered solemnly.
“Of course not,” his friend replied as they began to walk toward the house once more. “It is only that I despair at your blindness to it. I wish you could have been open with me about your feelings.”
“I regret not having spoken with you candidly—that, too, was motivated by pride.”
They strolled along in silence until Bingley began to laugh under his breath.
“I would wager another thousand pounds that you told her you liked her against your will.”
“I did indeed say something to that effect, and how ashamed I am to think of it now,” exclaimed Darcy. “And would you hear what she told me? That my vain declarations only spared her any concern she might have had if I had acted, ‘ in a more gentlemanlike manner .’”
Bingley glanced up at him, both eyebrows raised. “I bet that one has kicked your backside all these months.”
“Verily, it has.”
“And so, it should. I hope you have at the very least, endeavoured to learn from it.”
“I have acquired a decade’s worth of wisdom these last three months, thank you,” Darcy answered as they neared the door.
“I also hope that your suffering has at least become easier to bear.”
“In some ways yes, it has, but my heart is still very much attached.”
“I have observed your cordiality with her and her relations since yesterday, and I would venture a guess that you desire to win her heart still.”
Darcy looked at him gently and earnestly: “I desire her to see that I have changed—that her opinion of me cut me to the quick and has caused me to become a better man than I was. But most of all, I desire her happiness above my own.”
The right side of Bingley’s mouth curled into a smile. “And that is, perhaps, the second-best outcome that might have been achieved?”
Darcy nodded and opened the door. “Will you come up with me? The ladies have called from the village.”
“I thank you, but no,” replied Bingley. “I hardly slept at all last night out of the nervous excitement of it all. Please give my apologies and assurance that I anticipate seeing Miss Elizabeth Bennet tomorrow evening, but I believe I am in great need of a few hours of repose.”
“What sort of excitement?” Darcy asked playfully.
“You cannot be so obtuse as to not comprehend my feelings,” declared Bingley.
“Your own feelings toward Miss Jane Bennet?”
“Naturally.”
“I have perceived them.”
“And you do not blame me?”
“I would only caution you as before, Bingley—your business must be at an end before you might even consider marriage. Any design on matrimony, in light of your current circumstances, would be madness —surely you must know this.”
“What if she marries before I am through?”
“Then you will mourn in private, and in public wish her the best for her health and happiness, and then remember that there are many other eligible young ladies you might take as a bride.”
“But I do not want any others.”
“Then complete the mission with which you have been divinely tasked and see what reward awaits you.”
Bingley managed a reluctant smile. Darcy responded by clasping his shoulder reassuringly. With that, they entered the grand house through the courtyard—the master toward his rooms to change and the guest toward his room to repose. Maddeningly, it was a struggle for Bingley to sleep, even as enervated as he by that time was. However, when he was finally in the grip of rest, he slumbered unmoved until it was nearly time for dinner.