Chapter XII
Pulvis Lodge lacked the grace of Pemberley or even the character of Netherfield.
Mrs. Bennet might rail about the dreadful attics, but Darcy noticed nothing remarkable about them.
The estate was quiet. Peaceful. Darcy had come to value peace—until the day it was broken, not with Mrs. Bennet’s loud exclamations or the youngest girls’ giggles, but with a knock at the door.
The moment Bingley entered the room on the housekeeper’s heels, Darcy knew which way this would go.
Bingley’s jaw appeared chiseled from stone, his lips set in a thin line.
Darcy supposed that his friend’s lack of response to the letter Darcy had sent, thanking him for the use of Netherfield and their intention to remove to Pulvis Lodge, should have warned him of Bingley’s state of mind.
Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his anger.
“So this is how you repay my generosity.”
It was almost a snarl, so far removed from the friend he knew it might as well be another man. Darcy, shocked as he was by Bingley’s behavior, found it necessary to gather himself, allowing Fitzwilliam to speak.
“Bingley. I have no notion of your meaning—you must be plain.”
“I have just come from Longbourn,” spat Bingley, his fists clenched tightly by his side.
“There, I learned a most surprising bit of news. Not only are you engaged to Miss Bennet, but Darcy—who disparaged Miss Elizabeth upon first acquaintance—is engaged to her. It is a betrayal beyond anything I ever expected of you.”
“What betrayal do you call it?”
“Did you not come to Netherfield, stay at my house, and pursue the woman I love?”
“If you will pardon me, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam, not giving an inch, “you had a strange way of showing Miss Bennet you loved her. Before you accuse me of stealing her, perhaps you should ask yourself why she has not been engaged to you these past months—why she was at liberty to accept me.”
“Because Darcy,” Bingley’s finger jutted toward him, “persuaded me against returning.”
“If you recall,” said Darcy, finally finding his voice, “I confined my comments to the extent of Miss Bennet’s esteem for you.”
“You are an amusing fellow, Darcy,” scoffed Bingley. “Not only do you lord your superiority over everyone, but you can see into the hearts of young ladies all but unknown to you.”
Darcy suppressed his anger, though it stirred hot in his breast. “Never did I claim any such knowledge,” said he, keeping his tone icy rather than furious. “I offered my opinion—that is all.”
Bingley started pacing. “All I can see is that I allowed Fitzwilliam to stay at Netherfield, and now he is engaged to the woman I had nearly begun to court. Then you, Darcy, came to Netherfield supposedly to deal with that friend of yours, yet you are still in the neighborhood months later, and you are engaged to Miss Elizabeth. How am I supposed to interpret this as anything other than a betrayal?”
“You may see it as you choose, Bingley,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Yet you must also bear the responsibility for your ruined hopes. If you had possessed the resolution to defy your sisters and trust your convictions, Miss Bennet would not have been at liberty to accept me.”
“But she loved me,” said Bingley, a hint of desperation in his face. “I am certain of it.”
“No, she did not.”
Bingley stopped his pacing and turned wide eyes on Fitzwilliam. Though it was clear he wanted to object, something stopped him—the truth of the situation might break him, but it was kinder that he know the truth rather than continue in delusion. It may also save their friendship.
“I have this from Miss Bennet herself,” continued Fitzwilliam, his tone almost gentle.
“Miss Bennet did not love you when you left Meryton, though she did not understand her sentiments until later. I cannot say what would have happened if you had come back, but I can tell you without disguise that she was not in love with you when you left in November.”
The devastation in Bingley’s features was enough to break Darcy’s heart.
“I apologize, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam, “for it is not my intention to cause you pain. You should understand this point. My engagement to Miss Bennet was not theft, but the natural result of my interest in her and her returning affection for me.”
“I should have come back,” Bingley breathed, unable to fathom what he was hearing. “But you should have told me, Darcy, and you should not have acted to convince me away from Hertfordshire and Miss Bennet. I can never forgive you for that.”
With those words, Bingley departed, leaving the ruin of their friendship behind as he left. Other than Fitzwilliam, Bingley had been his closest friend for many years—losing him felt like ripping his heart from his chest.
“It appears you have your answer, Darcy.”
Nodding, Darcy sat heavily on the sofa. “I had hoped he would rebound as he always does, but it appears his blame is too great to overcome.”
Fitzwilliam snorted—it sounded like disdain. “If you will forgive me, Bingley has only himself to blame. He is a good man, but he allows that sister of his far too much influence in his life.”
“Well do I know it.”
“IT WAS PATHETIC,” SAID Elizabeth later that day when the gentlemen visited. “Mr. Bingley arrived with hope and dreams and departed a broken man.” She paused, considering, and then added: “I have never seen a face so pale as when he learned the truth of Jane’s engagement.”
William—for so she thought of him now that their engagement was official—nodded, appearing pained. “Bingley has so often fallen in and out of love that I expected as much.”
“I apologize for the sentiment,” said Elizabeth, “but everything has turned out for the best. Jane would have been happy with Mr. Bingley, yet his lack of fortitude and his wandering eye would not have made it long-lasting.”
With a shake of his head, William said: “Bingley does not have a wandering eye; he does have a tendency to admire, but I cannot say he would not have been completely faithful to your sister.”
“Perhaps you are correct, but it remains a concern.” Elizabeth paused and put a hand over his in comfort. “The other concern is valid. Miss Bingley is of such a forceful disposition that I have no trouble believing she would have ruled them.”
William sighed and nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. My friendship and loyalty to Bingley have perhaps blinded me a little, but I cannot help but suppose my actions have resulted in his unhappiness and ended our friendship.”
Elizabeth shook her head, feeling no little exasperation.
The Mr. Darcy who had presented himself in those assembly rooms in October had given every appearance of pride and a haughty disdain for the feelings of others.
Now that Elizabeth knew him better, she acknowledged his tendency to far too much pride.
However, she knew that his true failing was his propensity to take too much on his shoulders.
That had been the source of his mismanagement of the Wickham situation, and even more with this business of Mr. Bingley and Jane.
“William,” said Elizabeth, her stern tone drawing his attention, “though I know your cousin has told you on multiple occasions, I shall reiterate: what happened with Mr. Bingley was not your fault.”
Though he tried to protest, Elizabeth would not allow it.
“You gave your opinion, and Mr. Bingley acted on it. That advice may have proceeded from a faulty understanding of Jane, and it may even have been a desire to avoid me.”
Elizabeth offered a playful grin, which prompted a tentative smile.
“But you did not do it with malicious intent. And even more important, Mr. Bingley chose to stay away from Hertfordshire. He is his own man—he could have returned at any time of his choosing, yet he elected to stay away. Acknowledge your failings if you must, but please do not lose sight of the culpability of others.”
“That is why I love you so dearly,” said William, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “You see clearly where I sometimes see only obscurity, and you do not hesitate to inform me when I am being ridiculous.”
“You are not ridiculous, William,” replied Elizabeth. “Sometimes it is easier for others to see what is near to our hearts. I have little history with Mr. Bingley, while yours encompasses years of friendship. That allows me a certain perspective you cannot see.”
“Then I shall try to put it in the past, Elizabeth. I hope you will be patient with me.”
“Always,” said Elizabeth, leaning into him.
It might not have been proper to be so close while engaged, but her family surrounding them said nothing. Elizabeth paid no attention to anyone else—William needed her, and she meant to bring him comfort in this difficult time.
“WELL, DARCY, ANTHONY, I see you have both been busy in Hertfordshire.”
“Good day to you too, Father,” said Fitzwilliam.
The earl did not acknowledge the jest. “You will get a good day from me when you explain yourselves. I had understood you went to Hertfordshire to recover, not to find some squire’s daughter you could not live without.
“Do not take offense,” said the earl, raising a hand before Fitzwilliam could retort. “As I have not made Miss Bennet’s acquaintance, I can say nothing against her, but it is the truth that she has not been raised in the society she must move in.
“And you, Darcy,” said the earl, turning to him, “I had less notion that you would find such a woman than Anthony, and he must marry with some attention to dowry—at least, that is what he has told us for years.”
“I understand,” said Darcy. “Perhaps we should dispense with my situation before you deal with your son.”
The earl eyed him and shook his head. “Now you will tell me that you are not beholden to me and will do what you wish, I suppose. There is no need to declare it, Darcy, for I am well aware of the reality of the situation. Please answer one question—when your future wife moves in society, will she uphold the family’s honor? ”