Trapped in Scandal

Chapter Ten

Darcy

W ithout preamble, Darcy clasped his friend’s arm and began steering him towards the sanctuary of his study.

“Come. If we are quick, we may yet avoid my aunt,” Darcy murmured in a low tone, his stride brisk but measured.

Bingley snorted. “Indeed. A most noble endeavour. The last time I had the pleasure of her company she questioned me in great detail about my business endeavours. I felt rather as though I had been caught by the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I fear Aunt Catherine could have rivalled Torquemada in her ability to get to the truth of the matter,” Darcy quipped.

The two men moved with the appearance of perfect propriety through the hallway, their measured pace giving no indication of the unseemly haste that followed as they turned a corner and quickened to what could only be described as an undignified half-run. Reaching the study at last, Bingley shut the door firmly behind them, pausing to catch his breath with an amused grin just as they heard Lady Catherine’s voice calling for Darcy.

“Well, that was a rather narrow escape,” Bingley said. “How long is your dear aunt staying?”

Darcy sighed. “I do not know, although I must say three weeks has been a rather long time.”

“Well, you, your wife, and your sister are all welcome at Hartley House should you need refuge. Pray, where is Georgiana?” he asked, glancing about as though expecting her to emerge from behind one of Darcy’s perfectly ordered bookshelves.

“She is visiting a friend,” Darcy replied, sinking into the chair by his desk. “She required a reprieve from Lady Catherine.”

“A clever girl,” Bingley said with a chuckle as he took the seat opposite. “But then, intelligence does run in your family. So, what news have you? You and Elizabeth appear rather companionable, if what I saw when arriving is any indication. Have you resolved your differences?”

Darcy arched a brow but answered evenly, “We have agreed to be civil.”

Bingley barked a laugh. “My friend, only you and Elizabeth Bennet could be so thrilled by the prospect of civility!”

“Peace has its merits,” Darcy said with a faint smirk. “And for now, it suffices.”

“Well, then,” Bingley continued, his tone now conspiratorial, “have you addressed the unpleasant rumours? Or is that a subject forbidden between you?”

Darcy hesitated for the briefest moment before replying, “As it turns out, you were correct.”

Bingley gasped in mock astonishment. “Say that again? I must have misheard. Surely, you did not just admit that I—Charles Bingley—was right!”

“Do not grow insufferable, Bingley,” Darcy said with a dry look. “I would never commit such words to paper.”

The room rang with his friend’s laughter, his delight wholly unrestrained. “Oh, Darcy, you are a marvel. Jane insisted for months that you and Elizabeth were both innocent, and here you are proving her right at last.”

“And what proof did I offer?” Darcy asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Why, the way you carried on that night, of course. You confirmed what Jane had already deduced about Elizabeth’s alibi—and your own innocence.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “Yet I recall your enthusiasm in dragging me to the chapel in Meryton.”

Bingley grinned sheepishly. “Not dragging—merely encouraging. It was clear that it was what your family wanted. I told you I had a letter from your uncle, Lord Matlock, asking me to ensure you did the right thing.”

Darcy grunted, he knew his entire family had become involved in the venture to unite him and Elizabeth. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You are incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” Bingley admitted, “but at least now you and Elizabeth can begin to act like a proper married couple.”

Darcy stiffened. “You presume too much. I do not care for Elizabeth in that way.”

“Not yet,” Bingley said, his smile unfaltering. “But there must be some care, or you would not have asked my opinion on Christmas presents.”

“That was entirely your idea, if I might remind you. And the gift you suggested was hardly a triumph—”

“Faith, not all my advice can be taken for gold,” Bingley interrupted with a triumphant air, “And it seems you have decided to take matters into your own hands now. I could hardly miss her new brooch this morning. I know your taste in jewellery well enough to recognise your handiwork.”

Darcy’s composure slipped just enough to elicit a chuckle from Bingley. “It was. And it was well received.”

“Well then, there you are. You are already acting like a proper husband, putting thought into your gifts, rather than relying on someone apparently inept when it comes to gift giving,” Bingley chuckled. “All will be well in due course between you and Elizabeth. I daresay, you’d make a fine pair. Jane thinks so as well, and my dear wife is never wrong.”

“Your optimism may lead you to disappointment, my friend,” Darcy muttered.

“Time will tell,” Bingley said breezily. “And as it happens, I have the perfect opportunity for you to test my theory.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, pressing it into Darcy’s hand.

Darcy unfolded the paper with deliberate care, his expression darkening as he read the words inscribed. “A ball?”

“Indeed! Jane’s idea again,” Charles said, beaming. “It is time we ingratiated ourselves with the Hartley locals. You and Elizabeth will attend, of course. Though I am afraid the rest of the family—including the Wickhams, will be in attendance.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Wickham? It is bad enough I must call myself his brother-in-law, now I must rub shoulders with him?”

“You have seen the size of Hartley House. I daresay you can manage an evening at a ball there. You will certainly be able to keep out of his way. I suspect he will wish to stay out of your way too, old friend.”

Darcy sighed, already resigning himself to the inevitable. “Very well. We shall be there.”

Bingley’s grin widened as he launched into lighter topics, regaling Darcy with tales of local gossip and amusing anecdotes. For all his resistance, Darcy found himself appreciating the levity, though the thought of the ball lingered in the back of his mind.

Perhaps, he mused, his friend’s relentless optimism would lead to yet another folly—or to something entirely unexpected.