Chapter 1 #2
Bingley rounded on her, the perfect image of concern and shock. “Was he to meet you here as well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked. “I am ashamed that the man I counted as a friend has been revealed as a seducer of women. You should return to the ballroom.”
Darcy’s hands had formed into fists. He was ready to strike Bingley for that insult. He swallowed and uncurled his fingers. That was precisely what Bingley would like—to force a scene and draw a crowd. He would not play the man’s game.
Miss Bingley began to weep, though she produced more noise than tears. “He asked me to marry him,” she claimed peevishly, then hiccoughed, “but he said nothing about a mistress.”
He watched Miss Elizabeth blink several times, surprise and offense writ clearly upon her features, and admired how quickly she rallied.
“I came, Mr. Bingley, to determine why Mr. Darcy felt it necessary to warn me against a man of our mutual acquaintance,” she declared coolly.
“This means that I witnessed the entire scene. Mr. Darcy made Miss Bingley no offer. Indeed, he had not been in the room long enough to do anything of the sort.”
She had vindicated him without identifying their mutual acquaintance. Not for the first time, Darcy appreciated both her delicacy and her intelligence. He was further relieved that he had not taken Bingley completely into his confidence where Wickham was concerned.
“I found the charge shocking, to say the least, and desired some privacy to discuss it,” she continued. “However, Mr. Bingley, I must point out that both doors were open until you closed them.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, a little alarmed to hear how hoarse he had become. He was unlikely to see her again and could not leave her in any doubt about Wickham’s intentions. Nor would he wish to leave her without saying the same about Bingley. “He is a liar.” It would serve for both men.
She turned at the sound of his words, met his gaze, and gave him a small nod. She understood; she was clever. His lips did tug upwards at that, but it was too great an effort to keep them there.
“I apologize, sir, for having disbelieved you at first. I did not fully comprehend your situation.” Her gaze slid to the side, to the Bingleys, then returned to his. “I believe I have a better understanding now.”
Despite Darcy’s misgivings about her involvement, he was grateful to have Miss Elizabeth take his side.
He was, however, too miserable to do more than respond to her contrite words with a bow.
She dipped a quick curtsy as he opened the door for her, and his eyes followed for a moment as she made her way down the hall to return to the ballroom.
Miss Elizabeth’s expression had been both gentle and compassionate, and he tucked the memory away.
His heart yearned for hers even though he knew she did not wish for his.
It was no matter. Her family, her low connections. He could never make her an offer.
He shut the door again and turned to face his hosts. After Miss Elizabeth’s departure, the room was silent except for Miss Bingley’s insincere weeping.
“Well, Darcy?” Bingley asked, evidently undeterred. “What do you intend to do?”
“I suppose, Bingley,” Darcy responded grimly, “the real question is what you intend to do.”
“We will arrange your marriage to my sister,” Bingley replied, as though it was the only possible outcome.
Darcy shook his head. He had danced this dance before.
“And if I decline?”
Bingley played the outraged brother. “You will meet me. Surely you do not want that sort of scandal, but as Caroline’s brother, I could do no less.”
Darcy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Bingley, it is illegal to duel, and I have made no secret of the fact that I will not break the law. We are both aware that this is the only reason you feel safe issuing such a challenge. Even should such an improbable thing come to pass, I am both a better shot and a better swordsman, and I should have my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as my second. You would stand no chance.”
Bingley appeared poised to argue, and Darcy felt his fatigue deepen.
“Furthermore,” he continued, not allowing Bingley to interrupt, “your family’s acceptance in the ton is largely dependent upon a connection to my own. You should now consider that connection severed.”
He heard Miss Bingley’s horrified gasp and pressed on.
“At no time and under no circumstances will I marry against my will.” He fought the tightness in his chest. “I have made this clear to you more than once, but it seems you were not listening. Had you ever really known me, you would understand that in this I am unmovable.” Had you ever truly been my friend.
“We shall see,” Bingley replied, but Darcy could hear the first fissure in the younger man’s assurance. “We will canvas the subject again in the morning.”
“No, Mr. Bingley,” Darcy said slowly. “We will not.” He could not look at Miss Bingley, but he addressed her.
“Miss Bingley, you should consider yourself fortunate. Had you been successful in this scheme, you would have been throwing yourself into the power of a man who now despises you.” He paused.
“My family has a small estate in Scotland.” He allowed the words to work their power.
“Scotland?” Miss Bingley asked timidly.
“In the north, near Cape Wrath,” he informed her. “They raise sheep.”
“You would never . . .” she breathed. She sounded terrified, the tremor in her voice quite pronounced.
Darcy released a heavy sigh. He lifted an eyebrow at Bingley. “Your brother is a betting man,” he told her as he looked directly at his false friend. “Ask him to explain the odds.”
He made his way back into the hall and took the stairs to his chamber. He was tired, but it appeared he would not sleep tonight. Slipworth was startled when he entered—Darcy knew he was not expected for several hours yet.
“We are off again,” he told his valet.
Slipworth’s expression did not alter. A midnight departure was rare for Darcy, but not unprecedented.
It was, however, the first time anyone had succeeded in herding him into a room with a woman who was unchaperoned.
Thankfully, Miss Elizabeth’s stubbornness had kept him from ever being alone with Miss Bingley.
“Shall I call for the carriage, sir?” Slipworth asked.
Darcy briefly considered bidding Miss Elizabeth a formal farewell, but he could not remain, and the ballroom was still crowded. For the same reason, he could not speak with Mr. Bennet before departing.
“No, you will take the carriage to London in the morning. I wish you to deliver a note to Longbourn. Help me change, then pack and get some sleep, if you can.” Darcy dashed off a brief note for Mr. Bennet.
Slipworth helped him change out of his evening attire, draping his jacket carefully over the back of a chair before assisting him with his riding clothes.
Darcy left noiselessly through the back of the house, avoiding the ball, and swung up into the saddle.
He would ride directly home to London. There was a full moon, and the morning was near enough that he would not need to bother with an inn.
As Darcy guided his horse down the sweep at the front of the house, he stopped to take a final look at Netherfield.
The windows of the ballroom were aglow with candlelight.
Framed in one was the young woman he could not banish from his thoughts.
He could not discern her features, but her dark curls and delicate gown were clearly visible as were the gloved fingers of one hand that rested lightly on the glass.
She lifted that hand in a half-wave, and he wished he could see her eyes one last time.
Darcy tipped his hat before he leaned forward and urged his horse into a gallop.
Lydia’s undisguised yawns grated on Elizabeth’s nerves.
Miss Bingley was staring at her with such venom that the hair on the back of her neck stood up, but she would not be cowed.
Mr. Bingley had his back to her but was conversing with Jane in a warm, modulated tone, low enough that she could not hear. What was he telling her?
When they arrived home, her mother and sisters streamed up the stairs to bed. Elizabeth watched them go and turned to her father.
“Papa,” she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. “Might I speak with you?”
He began to demur, but when his eyes met hers, he simply nodded and waved her into his study. “Now,” he said gaily, closing the door behind them, “what mysterious event has occurred that you cannot wait to inform me until tomorrow?” His brown eyes twinkled. “Are you to confess a secret engagement?”
Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes. “What I have to say involves Mr. Darcy,” she informed him pertly. “Do you still believe I am engaged in a clandestine romance?”
Her father chuckled. “Would you have preferred to be matched to poor Mr. Collins? Your mother probably had plans for one of you in that quarter.”
Mr. Collins, the heir presumptive to Longbourn, had passed of a sudden illness a few months before Mr. Bingley arrived at Netherfield. The search for the next heir was still ongoing.
“Are you suddenly so interested in making a match for me, Papa?” Elizabeth asked, impatient with his levity when she had such a serious matter weighing on her.
“I am not,” he promised her. “But watching you and your sister Jane this evening, I know it will not be long before some worthy gentlemen carry you both away. And then what shall I do?” He gazed at her fondly. “Now, to this business of yours, Lizzy. What have you to tell me?”