Chapter 8
“I think it a cursed shame,” Charles Bingley said in distinctly heated tones, as he strode with Darcy through the woodland near Netherfield Park. “It is beyond me how he could do it. Beyond me!”
While Darcy’s legs were longer, today Bingley easily kept pace, driven by the force of his present feelings.
Darcy had hoped that taking his friend out of the house and covering a few miles of countryside might burn out some of the indignation that Bingley had been expressing since yesterday afternoon’s garden party.
Unfortunately, it appeared that the fresh air had only fanned the flames of emotion higher.
“Then it seems we shall be a shooting party of only three tomorrow without Grantchester and Keeble,” Darcy observed factually, trying not to be drawn into the same conversation yet again.
“Less fuss and more birds for our guns, even if Hurst does require an extra attendant to keep his barrel pointing in the right direction.”
“I do not care about the shooting party,” Bingley declared almost angrily. “I am talking about Grantchester abandoning his fiancée and returning to London so easily and with so indefinite a plan of return.”
“I should hardly call Miss Bennet ‘abandoned’,” Darcy demurred, thinking darkly that it would be better for everyone if she were.
“Well, I should. If I were ever betrothed to a young lady like Miss Jane Bennet, I should want to be by her side every single day that I could manage. I would not be hurrying back to London to gad about at balls and suppers while my bride-to-be languishes in the countryside.”
“Is she languishing?” Darcy queried in a tone of detached politeness, still hoping to discourage this line of thinking with well-mannered disinterest. “Her naturally shy manner makes that hard to determine, I would have thought.”
Bingley, however, was not really listening and ploughed straight ahead, as though Darcy had not spoken.
“And I certainly could not wait a whole year for the wedding,” his friend insisted stoutly.
“That is beyond my comprehension when there are no obstacles to the marriage. What on earth can Grantchester be thinking?”
“If you cannot discern that for yourself, then it is not my place to tell you,” Darcy replied with deliberate vagueness.
He toyed with the idea of suggesting that perhaps Miss Bingley or Mrs Hurst might better enlighten their brother on what Lord Grantchester might be thinking, but stopped himself.
It was becoming clear to Darcy that Bingley’s interest in Miss Bennet was something more than a passing fancy and perhaps closer to full-blown infatuation.
If Bingley’s spirit was riled too highly on Miss Bennet’s behalf, the result could be unpredictable and unpleasant for all concerned. For now, it was better to soothe and distract him.
“You and Lord Grantchester are very different men, in your situations, your upbringing and your personalities,” Darcy said. “Perhaps you would do best to set your mind on other things and not dwell on Grantchester’s business.”
“You mean that he is descended from an old and noble family, I suppose, and so accustomed to having everything his own way that he cannot see his good fortune in marrying such an angel? I dare say he cannot help it, but it galls me, Darcy. It really does.”
“I know it does,” Darcy said, trying to balance understanding and sternness.
“Still, everything in this matter is beyond either your understanding or your influence, and likely mine too in many respects. Let us not continue to work ourselves up like two old spinsters with a slight piece of village gossip.”
Finally, Bingley sighed and nodded his agreement.
They soon emerged from the woodland and took a path back across a broad meadow.
If Bingley could not throw off his melancholy mood, Darcy was increasingly inclined to suggest removing back to London.
Remaining in Miss Bennet’s vicinity could only make his friend’s situation more painful.
“I know you are right, Darcy,” Bingley conceded then. “Yet every time I think of Miss Bennet being so abandoned, it goads me back into this temper…”
“Let us talk of other things,” Darcy interrupted, leading the conversation away. “How are the gun dogs?”
“Yes, I went to the kennels yesterday evening and I…Ah, look over there, Darcy. Isn’t that her sister? Should we go over to her, do you think?”
Darcy had to suppress a groan as he followed Bingley’s line of sight and saw the sprightly figure of Elizabeth Bennet moving along a parallel path towards the woodland some small distance from them.
A chestnut curl had escaped from her coiffure and danced free in the wind, unrestrained by the bonnet presently hanging down her back, and she walked with natural energy and grace that matched the day’s pleasant but breezy weather.
Of all the women in the neighbourhood, why must they encounter Elizabeth Bennet at this moment?
Not only did it make it impossible to shift Bingley’s attention from Jane Bennet, but it brought back to Darcy all kinds of complicated feelings from their contretemps at the garden party.
Unwanted interest, vexation, and a peculiar admiration warred within him all over again.
“Yes, it is Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy made himself say through gritted teeth. “She looks to be in a hurry, and we ought not to delay her.”
Catching sight of them, Elizabeth Bennet inclined her head politely but showed every sign of continuing on her way.
Did Darcy catch a flash of displeasure in her expression as she looked to him after Bingley, or did he only imagine that?
From the further speeding of her brisk step, he certainly had a sense that she did not wish for an encounter any more than Darcy did.
“But should we not offer some assistance?” Bingley objected. “There is a higher stile on that path than on ours…Oh…”
As the two men watched, she made short work of this minor obstacle, tripping lightly up one side and jumping down the other without hesitation or difficulty.
“I do not think that Miss Elizabeth Bennet requires our assistance,” Darcy remarked, exhaling deeply as he watched her back moving into the shadow of the trees. “Neither here nor elsewhere.”
Independent, capable, and determined, her gait matched her personality as well as the weather, he reflected to himself. Elizabeth Bennet would never be slowed down by, nor give way to small stumbling blocks set in her way, nor perhaps even larger ones.
They walked on for a few moments in thoughtful silence, Darcy hoping that Bingley’s mind would shift to some new topic, and that his own blood would calm again from the rushing sensation that Elizabeth Bennet’s appearance seemed to have caused. How could the mere sight of her irk him so much?
“Did you wish to avoid Miss Elizabeth because of her offence at your attitude to her sister’s marriage?” Bingley suddenly interrogated him with an expression of unusual sternness.
“I did not,” Darcy returned circumspectly, telling half of the truth and withholding half. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet may be offended, or not, as she wills.”
Darcy had indeed wished to avoid Elizabeth Bennet, but not exactly for the reasons Bingley believed.
Although his friend was under no illusions about the soured relations between the Bennet family and Darcy, Bingley would likely not be aware of Darcy’s most recent clash with Elizabeth Bennet at the garden party.
Only Keeble had witnessed that latest crossing of swords.
Still, it was not even this argument, nor Miss Elizabeth’s undoubted sense of offence against him, that created Darcy’s aversion to a new meeting.
It was his own response to her presence.
It was his inability to command his temper, his words, or the beating of his heart whenever she looked into his eyes and challenged him.
Such a loss of self-control was intolerable.
“You might have taken this opportunity to offer an apology,” Bingley continued to lecture him. “In fact, you might have done so before now, Darcy. If two people are happy together, what right do the rest of us have to mar their joy?”
Darcy made a sound of exasperation. How could he respond rationally to such na?ve reprimands?
“Bingley, any offence I have given to Miss Elizabeth Bennet was unintended. It also cannot be helped. I shall not apologise to her or anyone else for the honesty of my reaction on learning of Lord Grantchester’s marriage.”
“You are utterly pigheaded,” Bingley condemned him. “You admit you intend no offence, but also that offence has been taken, and yet you will not apologise. It makes no sense to me.”
“It would be wrong to dissimulate on matters of principle, regardless of how misguided others might be in their views,” Darcy muttered, not wishing to be drawn further, and then shaking his head.
“Now, enough, Bingley. You will end by calling me self-righteous, and I will end by calling you foolish. I don’t think either of us would gain from continuing this line of conversation. ”
At last, under the warmth of a golden sun, Charles Bingley’s usual cheerful smile emerged again, and he laughed.
“You have concluded our conversation already, Darcy, most accurately, it appears to me. There is no longer any need to continue. It remains only for me to apologise for offering you any insult.”
At this pointed concession, Darcy had to laugh too. “I am sorry too, Bingley, for insulting you by implication. Let us go back to Netherfield and check on the gun dogs. It will be time for tea soon enough.”
Bingley consulted his pocket watch. “Yes, Louisa and Caroline ought to be back from Meryton before too long. Best not keep the ladies waiting.”
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