Chapter Ten #3
He hoped Bingley was not raising expectations he could not or did not intend to fulfill.
While Bingley was not one to single out a lady without the best of intentions, he was young still, and it was entirely possible he would change his mind when he seriously considered the financial ramifications of such a bride.
Gossip flowed both ways. The entire community knew the general value of his wealth and Bingley's, but the Netherfield party knew something of theirs as well.
Or the lack of it. Miss Bingley was good for something after all.
Most of the eligible young ladies in society here had dowries of at most two or three thousand pounds. The Miss Bennets had less still.
Georgiana would have scolded him for allowing money to stand in the way of romance.
She still dreamed of love despite her unfortunate encounter at Ramsgate, and he would not destroy her illusions.
As for himself, he had little hope of a love match.
After spending years searching, love was not something he expected to find.
Respect, admiration, compatibility, suitability--these were difficult enough.
He wished better for his sister but was resigned for himself.
He stood, thinking to change into riding clothes and head out to the stable when Hurst entered.
Short and becoming stout, Hurst was not a bad sort, just not a particularly forceful one.
Darcy was certain that his dedication to drink and recent obsession with food had coincided with Miss Bingley’s residence in his London home.
Having been under the same roof as Caroline Bingley for a fortnight, he was developing a great deal of sympathy for him.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” Hurst grinned, moving to the port and pouring himself a glass.
“Why is that?” Darcy asked politely.
“You have not heard the latest between the ladies,” Hurst chuckled, “and I cannot keep it to myself any longer.”
Perhaps his sympathy had been misplaced.
“I cannot imagine that Miss Bennet has said anything unkind,” Darcy demurred.
He knew full well who Hurst meant. He had been a reluctant audience for the man’s gleeful reports of Miss Elizabeth’s sharp wit since the woman’s first visit to Netherfield.
He was uncertain why Miss Bingley continued to extend the invitation to include Miss Elizabeth, nor why, having done so, she repeatedly baited her guest.
“Caroline was goading Miss Elizabeth about being too busy with her correspondence to attend them yesterday,” Hurst began. “She wondered what could possibly be so important that it could not be put off.”
Darcy grunted. He knew of many things that could not be put off, but Miss Bingley had a point, he supposed.
A young woman with few responsibilities would not be pressed for time in the same manner.
Not that Miss Elizabeth would be able to anticipate much pleasure at Netherfield.
It was clear to him, at least, that she was merely supporting her sister.
She did not expect to find friendship with either of Bingley’s sisters.
She was obviously an intelligent woman, for Caroline was adept at feigning friendship to gather information she could then barter in town.
Social currency, he believed she called it.
Miss Elizabeth not only knew the game, it sounded as though she was better at protecting her privacy than Miss Bingley was at attacking it.
“Indeed, Miss Bingley,” Hurst said in a curiously high-pitched voice that made Darcy cringe, “I have many responsibilities that must be attended.”
“Whatever could they be?” Hurst simpered in reply, playing his sister’s part.
“Enough, Hurst,” Darcy said harshly. “Tell me what you must but do not make a spectacle of yourself or the women.”
Hurst frowned. “Well, I suppose you are correct, Darcy. While Caroline richly deserves such treatment at my hands, Miss Elizabeth does not.” He took a drink and cleared his throat.
“Caroline, being who she is, insisted that Miss Elizabeth explain what her letters were about and to whom she was sending them.”
Darcy grimaced. Every moment spent at Netherfield must be a trial for Miss Elizabeth.
He felt the justice of her quick departure when faced with his appearance at the foot of Oakham Mount, and she had not been interested in his company since.
What kind of man had he become that a woman such as Elizabeth Bennet eschewed his presence?
“Indeed,” Hurst replied, breaking into Darcy’s self-censure.
“Miss Elizabeth sounded as though she was inordinately pleased by Caroline’s lack of decorum and replied, very kindly, mind you, ‘A great many issues and nearly as many people.’” He laughed and slapped his thigh.
“Caroline ought to know better by now, truly. She has not yet won an exchange of words with Miss Elizabeth.”
“How is it you are always able to hear the substance of these visits, Hurst?” Darcy asked suspiciously.
“Why, I stretch out on the settee by the fireplace,” Hurst replied, sucking his teeth. “I am always in the room well before the ladies are expected. It is not my fault that they never see me there.”
Darcy rubbed his temple with his thumb. I am playing the fool in a French farce. He nodded at Hurst. “Good day.”
Hurst lifted his wineglass. “Good day, Darcy!” he called, before lifting the glass to his lips.