Chapter Two #2
That was not what Darcy had expected them to say. Even for Miss Bingley it felt rather extreme. “Without your brother’s permission?”
“We are certain that once Charles arrives in town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again,” Miss Bingley said.
There was some sort of tangled logic in that. They meant to follow Bingley and convince him there was nothing at Netherfield to return for, and if the house was closed, it would be difficult for him to return in any case.
Darcy’s conscience smote him. “I truly believe we should await your brother’s word on whether he wishes it. He has only just taken the lease, and it will do him no good among his neighbours to remove himself without properly taking his leave. Particularly the day after his own ball.”
“I cannot regret anyone we shall leave here Mr. Darcy.” Miss Bingley eyed him suspiciously. “Do you?”
What a ridiculous question. “No,” he said gruffly. “I do not advise this, Miss Bingley, but I am only a guest here. If you determine to shut up the house, then I must return to town as well. My sister was expecting me in a few weeks at any rate.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Hurst said with a smile. “Excellent.”
Darcy returned his attention to his meal. Perhaps the distance would help him as well as Bingley. At the very least, he would not be required to spend the rest of the week in the company of Bingley’s scheming sisters.
Netherfield was in chaos. Well-organized chaos, but even so, it was too much for Darcy to bear.
Instead of answering a letter from Pemberley’s steward as he had planned, Darcy decided to put it off until he arrived in London.
Though it was nearly three and would be dark in an hour, he left his valet to pack up his things and went for a ride.
If the weather held, it would be too cold to ride outside the carriage all the way to London tomorrow, so this might be his last opportunity for some time.
As he guided his horse out into the meadows for a bracing run, he wondered how Bingley had fared, riding out so early in the cold. It must have been an uncomfortable trip, but by now he would be settled in his rooms at The Albany next to a roaring fire with some convivial company.
Without thinking, he guided his mount into Meryton and in the general direction of Longbourn.
Though he had never visited the house, the pathways were clear.
He might have considered making Bingley’s farewells for him, but he could not predict his friend’s reaction.
Bingley might return despite everything his sisters could do, and if so, a farewell might be seen as presumptuous.
No, better to allow Bingley to handle his own affairs.
Once in London, Bingley would surely ask for his advice, and if so, he would offer it.
Darcy would have liked to take his leave of Miss Elizabeth.
She was pretty and witty, a woman who not only could challenge him but was willing to do so .
. . He shook himself. It was rare enough a combination of traits to be intriguing to a man such as himself, that was all.
Certainly, there were women better situated who also possessed those attributes.
Miss Elizabeth had shown him what he wanted in a lady, and he would always be grateful to her for that, but her position in life was not suitable for a man of his rank.
Though he might be persuaded to forgo the rank or financial difficulties were it not for the vulgar behaviour of her family.
No, wishing for something that could not be would only hurt them both. He had no reason to call, not really, and it would be better not to tempt himself too far.
This sort of indecision was entirely out of character for him, and it provoked him greatly. His horse skittered to one side, then another, tired of standing still, yet there they remained, facing the road to Longbourn without any intention of taking it.
Just as he had ordered himself for the third time to turn away and return to Netherfield, a figure appeared where the Longbourn path emptied out into Meryton.
It was a woman, bundled in a red wool cloak, a scarf wound around her neck and up nearly to her ears, and a fur-trimmed hood pulled over the whole.
She was driving a small pony cart that had probably been rather smart a generation ago.
He did not recognize her, exactly. It was simply that he could think of no other gentlewoman who would be out an hour from dark on such a chilly day, and on her own at that.
He touched the brim of his hat as she drew near.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet tipped her face up and pulled her scarf down to speak. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, sounding quite relieved, “you have saved me a journey. Thank goodness. I was beginning to think Miss Bingley had not received my note.”
He could not tell her what had become of her missive, but he would not prevaricate, either. “I am afraid I do not understand, Miss Bennet.”
She huffed with exasperation. “Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy.”
Was she somehow aware of what was happening at Netherfield? He supposed word might have travelled through the servants, but so quickly? “I do not know what you mean . . .”
Her expression was incredulous. “I sent a note to Miss Bingley hours ago, explaining that Mr. Bingley was thrown from his horse this morning and was taken to Longbourn to recover.”
Darcy was shocked and alarmed. “How . . .? Is he well?”
Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “It was all in the note. I must assume Miss Bingley did not bother to open it?”
He started to answer but stopped. What could he say?
She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Your friend is resting comfortably, and though his injuries are not trifling, he is in no danger. I trust you will relay this information to Miss Bingley.” Without awaiting his response, she yanked the scarf up to cover her face once more and turned her pony cart towards home.
“May I see him, madam?” he asked stiffly.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Mmph,” she said from behind the scarf.
He shook his head at her, not understanding, and she motioned with her head for him to follow her. It appeared that the decision had been made for him. He was going to Longbourn after all.