CHAPTER THREE #2
The faint sound of servants’ steps passed in the corridor, followed by the low murmur of men’s voices somewhere below. The house was growing quieter as the hour deepened toward evening.
***
While The Upper Rooms filled with the soft stir of ladies settling into their chambers, the library on the ground floor lay hushed.
Darcy stood before the fire, one hand resting upon the mantel, his gaze fixed on the flames. A book lay open on the table behind him, entirely forgotten. The slow, steady tap of snow against the high windows filled the silence.
Bingley paced.
He crossed the carpet, turned, and crossed again, his usually buoyant step heavy, his countenance troubled.
“At least sit down,” Darcy said at last, without turning his head. “You will wear a path to the hearth.”
“I cannot sit down,” Bingley replied. “I have done nothing but sit for months, and it has accomplished nothing.”
Darcy's expression softened with the hint of a smile. "Then I must beg you to stand still, for the carpet's sake if not your own."
Bingley stopped before the fire, drawing a long, uneven breath. “You might have told me.”
Darcy turned slightly. “Told you what?”
“That they were here. That she was here. Good Lord, Darcy—you might have prepared me.”
“I had no notice myself,” Darcy replied evenly. “Mrs Reynolds came to say that the Bennets and the Gardiners were at the door. The snow was beginning to fall in earnest. I could hardly refuse them shelter.”
Bingley pressed a hand to his brow. “No—no, of course not. It was the only thing you could do. Only, to walk into the parlour and find Miss Bennet standing there—looking just as she did the day I left—” He broke off, half-laughing, half-despairing. “I am undone.”
Darcy’s tone softened. “You acquitted yourself perfectly well.”
Bingley gave him a look of disbelief. “I said three sentences, all of them foolish.”
“There are worse faults than foolish honesty.”
Bingley gave a weak laugh and then grew grave.
“I suppose you think me an utter coward. You told me months ago that you had been wrong in your opinion of Miss Bennet—that she did care for me. You even urged me to return to her. And I meant to, I swear I did. But every time I resolved to go, something—someone—persuaded me to wait. Caroline said I would only make myself ridiculous. Louisa said the neighbourhood would laugh. And I… I wished you to go with me.”
Darcy looked at him steadily. “You did not need me for that.”
“Perhaps not,” Bingley said quietly. “But I wanted you there—to face what I had lost, to steady my nerves, to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. And then the weeks went by, and it seemed impossible to return without looking absurd.”
Darcy’s expression softened further. “There is nothing absurd in loving a woman sincerely. You have only lost time, not hope.”
Before Bingley could answer, a knock came at the door.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered, his expression bright with amusement and a trace of snow upon his coat. “Ah! So here you are. I was told the library was empty, but instead I find the air heavy with masculine gloom. What melancholy counsel are you two holding?”
Darcy gave him a dry look. “You interrupt nothing of importance.”
“Indeed? I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet upon the staircase just now with her sisters—smiling like spring itself in the middle of winter—and then I come down here to find you scowling at the fire. The contrast was too striking to pass in silence.”
Fitzwilliam had not forgotten Darcy’s confession some months past—that his “friend’s imprudent attachment” had, in truth, been to Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire. Seeing both gentlemen in such disquiet now, he could not resist a smile.
Bingley coloured slightly, glancing away. Darcy’s brow darkened. “You presume too much, Fitzwilliam.”
The Colonel only laughed. “Come now, cousin. The house is alive with talk of our unexpected guests, and you are standing in the one room determined not to admit the obvious.”
Darcy’s tone cooled. “Which is?”
“That their arrival has unsettled you both more than any snowstorm could.”
“It is true enough in my case. I hardly knew what to say when I saw Miss Bennet again.” Bingley smiled faintly.
Fitzwilliam nodded with mock sympathy. “Ah, yes. I imagine speech would be difficult with one’s heart lodged firmly in one’s throat.”
Darcy shot him a warning glance, but the Colonel only shrugged. “Forgive me, I am merely rejoicing in the novelty. Pemberley has been much too dull these past days. A few unexpected visitors—particularly of the fair variety—are a blessing.”
Bingley gave a half-laugh. “A blessing, perhaps. Or a test.”
“Both,” Darcy said quietly.
The Colonel smiled. “Then let us call it Providence. At least this threatened storm has given you both an excuse to remain in excellent company. A man might endure many inconveniences for such compensation.”
Darcy’s expression did not change, though a faint line appeared between his brows.
Fitzwilliam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Peace, cousin. I mean no mischief. Only, when I see two gentlemen so entirely subdued by the arrival of a few ladies, I cannot help but remark upon it. It restores my faith in romance.”
Bingley coloured slightly but said nothing.
Fitzwilliam laughed under his breath. “Very well. I will leave you both to your meditations. If this snow holds, we may all be forced into civility before the week is out.”
“Civility is all I require,” Darcy said.
“Then I wish you the best of luck, cousin,” Fitzwilliam replied cheerfully. “For in this house, civility is an art much tested.”
With that, he left them, closing the door behind him.
For a few moments neither man spoke. The firelight cast long, uneven shadows across the carpet.
At last Bingley said quietly, “She looked well, did she not?”
“She did indeed.”
Bingley drew a deep breath. “Then I shall speak to her before the evening is out.”
“I think you should.”
The distant toll of the dressing bell echoed softly through the house.
“Come,” Darcy said. “We must prepare ourselves.”
They quitted the library together, each man bearing his own turmoil into the lengthening quiet of the snow-filled evening.
***
Above, Elizabeth Stood before the small mirror in her chamber, her hands stilling for a moment upon the ribbon of her gown. Jane sat by the fire, smoothing the folds of her own dress, her expression thoughtful yet serene.
The bell’s echo faded.
Elizabeth met her own gaze in the glass. There was more colour in her cheeks than usual, and a brightness in her eyes she could not quite account for.
“Dinner at Pemberley,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Jane said softly. “With Mr Darcy. And Mr Bingley.”
Elizabeth drew a breath that felt too shallow for her chest. “And all his friends and relations.”
Jane smiled. “Then we must be as calm and pleasant as we can, and leave the rest to Providence.”
Elizabeth turned from the mirror and took her sister’s hand. “Whatever happens,” she said, “we shall be together.”
Jane squeezed her fingers in answer.
Outside, the storm wrapped itself more closely around the house. The snow fell, soft and ceaseless, while candles were lit below and the servants made their quiet preparations for an evening that would alter more than one person’s peace of mind.