Chapter Seventeen #3
There was no polite way around it. Bingley, distracted over his angel’s recovery now that his concern over Darcy’s behavior had been quelled, said nothing about hunting or riding or anything else that might have been of some use in extracting themselves.
Hurst was not inclined to walk at all, but then, he had not been asked.
Darcy caught Richard’s narrowed eyes across the table.
His cousin had been caught up in Darcy’s desire to be clever; he would be exacting payment at some point.
Darcy knew he ought to be concerned by that.
Richard was terribly proficient at such things.
But all he could think about was the courtship that lay before him.
He had forgotten how it felt to be so… hopeful.
Perhaps he had never felt this way at all.
No, he could not bring himself to regret any of it.
As they stood to accept their hostess’s invitation, Miss Bingley moved immediately to his side, making her preferences clear.
Mrs. Hurst followed with Richard. Darcy nodded to Miss Bingley, and, hands clasped firmly behind his back, walked beside her to the French doors that led to the garden, where they were met by the servants with the outwear.
He nodded his thanks and allowed the staff to help Miss Bingley with her long, fur-lined pelisse.
He did not miss her tiny pout but was unmoved.
He wondered instead whether Miss Elizabeth ever pouted and what her lips would look like if she did.
“I was pleased to hear that Miss Bennet fares better this morning,” he said by way of making some conversation as they walked.
“Indeed,” Miss Bingley agreed. “She is a lovely girl, but it will be a relief to have the house to ourselves again.”
Darcy nodded. He would find no relief in it, but he, too, was happy the Bennet women would leave Netherfield soon. He planned to accompany them to Longbourn when they departed.
He had originally intended to protect Miss Russell from being importuned by the countess during her first season, but all such noble intentions had been overthrown.
He could not allow Miss Elizabeth to reach the season’s first ball unattached to him.
The season would begin just after the holidays this year.
It would be in full swing by February, giving him very little time to court, betroth, and marry her.
He did not want any man in London to believe they had the slightest chance of swaying her from his side.
Rakes. They are all rakes. No, he was determined that Miss Russell would experience her first season as Mrs. Darcy. Engaged, at least. No, married.
From the gratified expression upon her face, Darcy saw that Miss Bingley assumed he had agreed with her.
Thus emboldened, she continued her coolly sympathetic evaluation of the Bennet family.
“It is a sad thing,” she told Darcy, “that her family should be in such circumstances as to require giving up one of their daughters to another family. Still, having no other children themselves, her Uncle and Aunt Phillips must have been pleased to take Miss Eliza.”
Darcy’s response sounded something like “Hmmm.” Apparently, it was enough encouragement for his walking companion.
“I was surprised to hear her count herself among her sisters as a gentleman’s daughter,” she continued, “for though her father is, nominally, the owner of Longbourn, her upbringing has certainly not prepared her for such a life. Her playing is rudimentary, her conversation rude and untutored. Even the drawing she did for me was hardly flattering. It did not resemble me at all.”
He pressed his lips together. He had not seen that picture, but he would certainly ask after it now. “Did you keep it?” he asked, trying to keep his countenance.
“No, of course not,” Miss Bingley said, her features pinched and sour. “I told her she should practice more.”
“Sound advice, Miss Bingley,” he told her, and was silent again.
They finished their walk after about thirty minutes, at which time Mrs. Hurst invited the men to have some tea in the drawing room, but both men begged off.
Darcy silently questioned why they would want tea when they had only just finished breakfast. The women accepted their excuses with gracious words and strained expressions.
“That is half an hour of my life I shall never recover,” Richard hissed at him as they made their way to Bingley’s study. “You owe me, Darcy.”
“Fine,” Darcy replied, distracted.
They entered the study, where Bingley was staring at a ledger but not writing in it, his gaze fixed on the view out the window. Richard groaned. “I am living in a house of mawkish boys.” He tipped his hat to them. “Billiards, Hurst?”
Hurst slowly sat up. “That would be a sweet relief, Fitzwilliam,” he grunted. “I am not sure how much more of these two I can take.”
As the two men went into the hall, Darcy sent a footman for his correspondence.
He really did have some work he could do.
Perhaps it would allow him to take his mind off Miss Elizabeth for a few hours.
When the letters arrived, and he found himself staring stupidly at them, no doubt with an expression matching Bingley’s, he began to imagine what it would be like to be married to Elizabeth Bennet.
Elizabeth Bennet Russell, he corrected himself, and then frowned.
Do not jump the mark again, Darcy, he warned himself.
Courtship first. Show her you are a man to be trusted.
A man who can care for her. A man who loves her.
It had taken him some weeks to know his own mind, but he knew it now.
He was determined that Miss Elizabeth would eventually agree to relinquish both her surnames for his. Mrs. Darcy.
She had shivered when he kissed her hand. A good beginning, he thought with satisfaction. An excellent beginning.
Jane Bennet was propped up in bed listening to her sister read.
She was smiling. Not a typical, serene, Jane Bennet smile.
This smile was sly. Elizabeth simply kept her eyes on the page and continued to read, hoping her refusal to meet her sister’s eyes would discourage her.
Alas, as determined as Mary was to be practical, Jane was equally as determined to be joyful.
At last, Elizabeth was forced to put her book down.
At least the maid is gone. “Jane,” she said with a sigh, “If you do not stop smiling at me, you will have nothing left for Mr. Bingley tonight.”
“Oh,” Jane replied clapping her hands together, “it is such a delicious thing, Lizzy. I am so happy!”
“I thought your throat was still troubling you,” Elizabeth remarked. “Perhaps you should spare it.”
“Oh, that was only first thing in the morning, Lizzy,” Jane admonished her.
She patted her blankets, encouraging Elizabeth to join her on the bed.
“I could not hear everything you were saying, of course, as I was rather farther away than Mary, but I did hear Mr. Darcy say that you had rejected his proposal. However, when you parted, it seemed to be on rather amiable terms…” Her blue eyes were wide and innocent.
“I would not pry, of course, but as Mary already knows, will you not confide in me?”
“She would not pry,” Elizabeth muttered. In a normal tone, she said, “Of course, you would not pry.” She tossed the book on the bedside table. “This is the worst-kept secret in all of British history. I suddenly understand Mary. Jane, you must get well so I can leave this house!”
Jane giggled. “I will do my best, Lizzy. For you.” She reached out to grasp her sister’s arm. “Now, truly, I must know. Do you and Mr. Darcy have an understanding?”
“He will ask Papa’s permission for a courtship when we return to Longbourn,” Elizabeth said. “At this point, I ought to write him, or he shall be the last person in Meryton to know.”
Jane wrinkled her perfect nose. “Mary is already home, dear,” she pointed out.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Mary promised. . .” she began, but her thought trailed off into silence. Mary had in fact not promised to keep the courtship offer itself private. She would never tell Mama, but Papa was another matter. Elizabeth hid her face in her hands. “This is a disaster.”
“Should Mr. Darcy not send a letter to His Grace and Aunt Russell?” Jane asked. “I know the duke is only your trustee, but he would wish be informed about any offers.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I know. My side of the marriage contract will take a good deal of time to prepare, and he may wish to meet with the solicitor. This all may be premature, though.”
“You had an offer of marriage, Lizzy, even if you did not accept it immediately,” Jane pointed out. “His intentions are very clear.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her waist. Marriage was a very serious business, and she did mean business.
Uncle Phillip had put a trust in place for her, one that transferred all legal control of her fortune to her upon her majority, but it would have to be reviewed and updated were she to marry.
“What if Mr. Darcy does not want a wife to keep money of her own?” she asked apprehensively.
“What if, once he discovers the extent of my involvement, he decides I must stop?” She flopped back on the bed, her head dropping next to Jane’s on the pillows.
“He strikes me as a rather traditional sort of man, like his father. What if all he really wants is a woman to run his homes? I could do that, I suppose, but I should be terribly…”
“Bored?” Jane finished for her. “Surely your quick wit and wide knowledge of the world is part of what attracted Mr. Darcy to you in the first place,” she said soothingly.
Elizabeth considered that. “We have not spoken enough for him to know how widely I read, though he has been skewered on the sharp end of my wit a few times,” she confessed, thinking of Marcus Aurelius. “Oddly, he seems to take pleasure in it.”
“Well, there then,” Jane said encouragingly. “Clearly he is not so very traditional. And he knows you are a Russell?”
“As of this morning, he does,” Elizabeth informed her.
“They were friends with his father, so he must know something of Uncle and Aunt Russell,” Jane reasoned. “In the end, Lizzy, if he objects to the way your trust is handled, he is not the man for you.” She smiled. “But I believe that you are worrying for nothing.”
Elizabeth stared up at the light blue canopy that covered the bed.
Jane can always make me feel better. It was true.
Why would he not want her to continue her investments when together they might increase the Darcy wealth and sustain both Pemberley and Weymouth House?
Her uncle had long warned her that an economic revolution was coming, and that landed gentry would find it difficult to live entirely from the gains of tenant farming.
They could do a great deal of good together, if he was the man she believed he was.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and recalled Mr. Darcy’s kiss upon her hand.
She hoped very much that he was that man.