Chapter 21 The Life Buoy
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE LIFE BUOY
The feeling within him, watching her leave, could scarce be defined.
‘Heaven help me, I think I may be falling in love with you, much though I wish it otherwise’.
He had spoken those words to her the last time they met, the terrible time that they argued in the art gallery.
Now in the park? It fairly burst out of him.
A young lad bearing a shoe-shining box came up to him, asking if he would give him a coin or two to shine his boots. Darcy considered a moment, then said, “I will give you two coins, but I need you to do something for me.”
A moment later the boy was off, running after her with the intention of following her and seeing where she went. Darcy remained still, where he was, waiting for the boy’s return.
It provoked some measure of guilt within him to do this; it felt like a betrayal, like he was violating the terms of their agreement.
But he had known her, in a manner of speaking, for above six months now; it had been a month complete since they met at the Whitmore ball.
Casual enquiries—carefully designed to avoid undue interest in his interest—had yielded nothing.
Then again, it was difficult to ask about a dark-haired beauty with a lithesome figure with nothing else known about her.
But now she had at least given him one small clue. An elder sister, unmarried. Was that why she could not husband-hunt? A mother who was determined that the younger would not marry before the older?
Or did it mean that the L belonged to her first name? Lilly, he mused. Louisa, Lavinia, Letitia, Lenora, Laura. Somehow none of those seemed right.
The urchin returned, breathless. “She went in at number five.”
“Number five? You are certain?”
The boy almost visibly swelled with pride. “I knows all the numbers and five it were, sir.”
“Good lad.” Darcy gave him three coins instead of the two promised, and the boy ran off. Number five. Better known to him as Rosings House. He nearly groaned aloud.
He walked home very slowly, considering the implications of that.
Could she be the elusive Miss Elizabeth Bennet?
Particular friend—or so it had been put about—of Anne?
If so, then she surely did not know who he was, else she would think him the blackest soul ever to roam the earth.
Could it really be her? He had seen the girl he believed was Anne’s friend at the Whitmore ball a month ago and had concluded she was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Perhaps she had been a different friend, or someone the countess knew.
“You are deep in thought, Darcy.” He met Bingley at the entrance to his house, nearly colliding with him.
“I confess I was,” he said with a chuckle.
“I hope it is nothing too ponderous which occupies you?”
“Nothing at all. Merely reflecting on the whimsy of fate.”
“Oh-ho!” Bingley laughed. “Ponderous indeed! I hope I might tug you from such notions long enough to ask a favour of you?”
Darcy agreed and invited Bingley in to have some breakfast with him. “You are awake very early,” he observed.
“I have a great deal on my mind and just as much I would like to accomplish today,” Bingley informed him. “One cannot languish abed with so much in his head.”
“What can I do to be of assistance?” he enquired, nodding to the footman who served the two men their coffee.
“I have prevailed upon Caroline and Louisa to invite the Bennet ladies to call in Grosvenor Square,” Bingley informed him. “I should be most grateful if you were there as well.”
Darcy was grateful for the attentions of his footman which covered his startle from hearing the name Bennet. He had nearly forgotten them, the relations which came attached to Miss Elizabeth Bennet—if that was indeed who she was.
He did not have fond remembrances of them. Very neutrally, with hopes of a scheduling conflict, he enquired, “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I cannot think your sisters received such a directive with equanimity,” he said.
“They did not, but I must do something.” Bingley chuckled uncomfortably. “She—”
“Miss Bennet?”
Bingley nodded. “She…discouraged me from calling on her again.”
“Did she?” Darcy took a sip of coffee. “Her heart tends in a different direction than yours, I fear.”
Bingley shook his head so hard his curls bounced with it. “Not at all. She thinks she is not good enough for me and told me that. I must find some way to tell her I do not see it that way at all and insisted that Caroline invite her to call with her sisters and mother.”
A hard truth. Miss Bennet remained a gentleman’s daughter, it was true, but she came with heavy burdens attached to her. Did she speak the truth in discouraging his friend’s attentions? Or was she merely trying to gently discourage the hopes of a man whom she simply did not like?
There was but one way to know and that was to go to Grosvenor Square when the ladies called. At least, he thought, I can depend upon a nice cake to be served. The Hursts were never ones to be stinting with food.
With a sheepish grin, Bingley added, “If you are there, I may at least count on Caroline to be civil.”
In order to impress me with her hospitality. Darcy grimaced and asked when Bingley wished him there.
Darcy presented himself dutifully, if unenthusiastically, the next day. He had imagined arriving before Mrs Bennet and her daughters, but they were already present. He heard the matron’s voice ringing out as he approached the drawing room.
“—the one with ten thousand a year?”
Happily he was announced before anyone answered her. How he might like, sometime, to approach a party of persons unknown to him without an immediate conversation of his income!
It was the usual sort of call at Hurst’s home: Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst fawned over him while Hurst himself acted as if Darcy was beneath his notice.
It was almost amusing the way a man like Hurst, of decidedly more fashion than fortune, was nevertheless one of the haughtiest men of his acquaintance.
“Mr Darcy, pray, sit,” Miss Bingley cooed, patting the space on the small sofa where she was. He did not doubt that her positioning was intentional.
He quickly glanced over the room. There were two places for him: next to Miss Bingley or next to Mrs Bennet. He decided that the latter would be best as she, at least, could not form designs on him. She smiled kindly at him when he sat, and he gave her a stiff nod.
“What a charming situation you have found, Mr Bingley,” she said warmly while her gaze roamed about the room. “Grosvenor Square is so very well-placed, so well-situated with regards to everything of importance. Why, I told my brother, when he found us our home—”
“Forgive me, ma’am, but this is the home of my brother Hurst.” Bingley smiled, seeming apologetic for the fact. “It has been in his family for several generations, has it not, Hurst?”
Hurst startled and grunted. “What?”
“His great-grandfather purchased it,” said Mrs Hurst. “Over a hundred years ago, when it was still mostly wilderness.”
“He must have got a bargain,” said Mrs Bennet. “What did he pay for it? I am sure it is worth a great deal more now!”
Her words led to a brief, surprised silence until Miss Bingley said, frostily, “To be sure.”
Miss Bennet sat very still beside one of her sisters—Catherine, the one called Kitty, Darcy believed—and gave no apparent response to her mother’s vulgarity.
Miss Lydia Bennet was also examining the room with interest. “What a quantity of candles that chandelier must require! Do you light them all at once for parties?”
Miss Bingley gave Mrs Hurst an incredulous look, and Mrs Hurst said, simply, “Yes.”
“It looks just wonderful in here when they do,” said Bingley.
“We had candles aplenty when we were yet at Longbourn, but of course now we must conserve them,” Miss Lydia announced cheerfully.
“At least now that our sister has married and gone away, we have a few extra,” said Miss Catherine. “Mary was forever studying into the night, burning up the candles and the lamp oil with no regard to the rest of us!”
“And I am sure it was much to her benefit,” said Bingley with determined approbation.
Into this awkwardness, the Hursts’ housekeeper intruded. It was vastly relieving to see she had the tea cart which she presented to Mrs Hurst.
“May I offer you tea, Mrs Bennet?” Mrs Hurst asked.
“How kind. Yes, thank you. Quite generous with the sugar, if you would be so good.”
Darcy had waved off Miss Bingley’s domestic efforts in his own direction, and thus did she now help her sister pour, adding two heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the cup.
“Go ahead with another,” said Mrs Bennet. “And as much cream as the cup will allow.”
“Another area in which we must economise,” announced Miss Lydia, “is sugar. I declare I never knew how dear sugar would be!”
Bingley cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet, you must greatly miss Longbourn, but I hope living in town has afforded you some pleasant diversions?”
Miss Bennet opened her mouth, but her mother spoke ahead of her. “We walked along Bond Street yesterday. Such wonderful shops and everything so very fashionable!”
Mrs Hurst offered a slice of cake. “The shops are very fine, it is true.”
Mrs Bennet accepted the cake with evident pleasure. “Do you keep a French cook, Mrs Hurst? This looks delicious indeed.”
“Um.” Mrs Hurst looked over at her husband who was half asleep on the chaise longue. “I am not sure where Cook hails from.”
Miss Lydia took a bite of her own cake and made a sound of appreciation that would have been more appropriate to the privacy of her own home. Miss Bennet’s shoulders tensed slightly, though her expression remained serene.
Darcy sipped his tea and said nothing. Bingley, he observed, was giving pointed looks at Miss Bingley, and at length, Miss Bingley, with another sigh, said, “That is a lovely gown you are wearing, Miss Bennet. It suits you admirably.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Bennet. “I—”