Chapter Twelve #2
He drew a deep breath and lifted his dark gaze to hers. He had been holding himself rigidly, but now his posture relaxed. As much as his posture ever relaxed, of course. “My Christian name is Fitzwilliam,” he said gently. “Would you use it when we are alone?”
“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth ventured to say. “It is a bit unwieldly, but I will learn to love it. Just as I have learned to love you.”
He did not smile, but he reached for her hand, and she gave it to him. “Do not think that this is what awaits you when we wed, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said firmly. “The only good to come out of this mad demonstration is that my uncle will never dare even to broach the topic once he hears from me.”
“I should hope our betrothal will not cut you off from your family,” Elizabeth said.
Fitzwilliam laughed. “I am not an earl, dearest, but I am wealthy enough that no one but my aunt will cut me off, and that, I do not mind.”
“Amen,” Mr. Stanton said from the hall.
Between having Sunday dinner with the Bennets and Bingley’s inability to leave Longbourn without repeated expressions of gratitude to nearly everyone, it was already late when they arrived back at Netherfield.
The house felt strangely empty and quiet. Too quiet. Just as Darcy knew Pemberley would be without Elizabeth in it.
“I say, Darcy,” Bingley said with a sigh, “it feels rather lonely here.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said in jest.
Bingley scoffed. “You of all people know what I mean. I suppose I never understood how different it could be. My rooms at The Albany would feel a punishment now.”
Darcy stared down the hall. “Indeed.”
Mr. Cole took their outerwear and nodded at the salver. There was a single letter there. “An express has come for you, Mr. Bingley.”
“Ah. When did it arrive?”
“Oh, about three o’clock, sir.”
“Five days,” Bingley muttered as he lifted the sealed letter. “Darcy, would you mind?”
Darcy broke the seal, unfolded the single sheet of paper, and handed it back to his friend.
“Thank you.” Bingley was silent for a moment, reading. “The gall of her,” he said quietly. “Caroline is scolding me.”
“You must be joking.”
“I wish that I was.” He handed Darcy the letter.
It was a brief missive.
Charles,
Mr. Hurst went to The Albany to speak with you only to discover that you never arrived. Mr. Darcy has returned to town, and we all quite depend upon you here. We shall expect you Monday for dinner.
Caroline
Bingley sighed. “She knows I left Netherfield for London last Wednesday. Did it not even occur to her that I never arrived at The Albany because I was prevented?”
Darcy shook his head. “She assumes you changed your mind and returned to Hertfordshire before they could tell you they had come to town.”
“If that is the case, she knows I am angry and wishes to pretend she has done nothing to deserve it.”
Darcy frowned as he reread the note. “Bingley, there is something else I must say.”
“Of course, Darcy.”
“Your sister cannot know where I am, as I did not return with her, and Georgiana is with my aunt, so she did not have any news from that quarter either. I cannot like how free your sister has become with my name.”
“She will be put in her place, Darcy,” Bingley said thoughtfully. “For no one will believe her once you are wed. You must excuse me. I have a letter of my own to write.” He glanced up at Darcy and said ruefully, “Fortunately, I am right-handed.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “Which will hardly make a difference. Your hand is atrocious even when you are healthy.”
“Be careful, Darcy,” Bingley warned him, amusement lacing his words. “For I might be forced to challenge you to a game of one-armed billiards.”
Darcy chuckled. “Why not? It is no less absurd than this entire week has been.”
Bingley began to laugh, which no longer seemed to pain him. “Who could have guessed that an accident could bring about such profound changes?” He left to write his letter.
Darcy wandered into the breakfast room, recalling how beautiful Elizabeth had appeared there when she arrived to inquire after her sister, then stared out the window in the direction of Longbourn.
“Do be careful,” Elizabeth told Fitzwilliam as he paid an early call on Monday before leaving for town. She adjusted the scarf he was wearing. “The weather has turned very cold indeed. I think even the Thames may freeze over this year.”
“I will,” he said soberly, and then placed his hands over hers, stalling their movement. “I shall miss you.”
She smiled. “Then you must not stay away long.”
“About a week, I think, for the documents to be prepared and my sister to make ready to accompany me back.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Will you join your sister for the tour of Netherfield today?”
She nodded. “I intend to keep very busy this week.”
Fitzwilliam placed a light kiss on each of her hands and released them. “Good. The time will pass slowly, but it will pass.” He sighed. “I must go, dearest.”
Elizabeth bid him a final farewell and waved him off until the carriage trundled around a curve and was lost from sight.
“Bah,” Lydia said from behind her. “You did not even ask him to bring you something back! I should have asked for a new bonnet at the very least!”
Elizabeth whirled around to see her three younger sisters standing just inside the door.
“He has already given her the best gift.” Kitty sighed, her romantic sensibilities entirely engaged. “His love.”
Mary rolled her eyes comically.
“Love is very well and good,” Lydia declared, “but you cannot wear it.”
The Tuesday after Lady Catherine’s terrible scene in the chapel and one week to the day after the ball at Netherfield, Miss Bingley and the Hursts returned to Hertforshire.
Their arrival occurred while Mrs. Nicholls was leading Jane and Elizabeth on an extensive tour of the house, and therefore no one was available to meet them.
“You were not expected today,” Mr. Bingley told his sisters as they all met on the first-floor landing.
“I need not announce myself,” Miss Bingley replied tartly. “I am the mistress here.”
“Not anymore,” Mr. Bingley reminded her. “For you closed the house down. When it officially reopens, Mrs. Bingley will have that privilege.”
Miss Bingley’s countenance pinched tightly, as though she had eaten something very sour.
“Ladies, Hurst,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully but somehow also sternly, “I expect your congratulations, for Miss Bennet and I are to wed soon after the new year.”
Mrs. Hurst closed her eyes, and Mr. Hurst nodded. “Excellent choice,” he grumbled. “Is there any breakfast still?”
After a few more tepid but congratulatory remarks, the Hursts headed to their chambers, but Mr. Bingley held Miss Bingley back.
“Charles, I really must refresh myself,” she said peevishly.
“No, Caroline,” Mr. Bingley said. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, but what my sister really must do is offer you her apologies.”
It was nearly as uncomfortable a moment for Elizabeth as it must be for Miss Bingley. An apology one was compelled to make meant nothing, but she understood Mr. Bingley’s need to show his sister that there were consequences for her rudeness.
“I should like to point out, Caroline,” Mr. Bingley was saying, “that if your intention was to keep me in London and away from Jane’s company, you accomplished the opposite when you tossed Miss Elizabeth’s note into the fire without opening it.”
Jane blushed, and Miss Bingley frowned.
Her brother continued. “Because you did not bother to read Miss Elizabeth’s message, you did not know that I was at Longbourn.
Because you closed up this house, I was forced to remain at Longbourn.
And because I was forced to remain at Longbourn, I enjoyed enough time with Jane to determine, conclusively, that she is the woman I want to marry. Thankfully, she said yes.”
If Elizabeth was not mistaken, Miss Bingley’s indiscreet “Hmph” was not a sign of approbation.
“What have you to say for yourself, Caroline?” Mr. Bingley asked.
Miss Bingley sighed, but her nose tipped up in the air as she said, “I am very sorry, Charles.”
It was not an apology to either Bennet woman, and they all knew it. To his credit, Mr. Bingley did not say anything else. He simply stared at his sister.
“Very well,” Miss Bingley said when her brother’s glare became too much to bear. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. It was badly done on my part.”
It was still not really an apology, but it was perhaps the best they could hope for.
“I accept, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said.
Jane concurred. “Let us speak of it no more. Everything has happened as it should.”
Miss Bingley frowned. “Indeed.”