Chapter 13 #2
The housekeeper inclined her head respectfully. “Miss Bingley informed me this morning, sir, that the household is to prepare for departure tomorrow.”
Darcy stared at her. “Departure?”
“Yes, sir.”
He glanced at Fletcher, whose expression confirmed that this news was entirely new to him as well.
Darcy spoke calmly, though his surprise was evident. “Mr. Bingley left for London only yesterday. He did not mention any such arrangement.”
“No, sir,” Mrs. Nichols said carefully. “That is what I explained to Miss Bingley.”
Darcy was silent for a moment. “Mr. Bingley intends to return within a few days,” he said at last. “I see no reason why the house should be closed.”
Mrs. Nichols appeared neither surprised nor troubled. “I thought it likely that such a clarification might be necessary, sir.”
Darcy gave a short nod.
“Thank you, Mrs. Nichols. Did Miss Bingley give any reason for this?”
A shake of the head was his answer.
“Pray suspend any preparations until Mr. Bingley himself gives instructions.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fletcher looked faintly relieved.
Darcy turned away at once. “I will speak with Miss Bingley.”
He found Caroline in the side parlour, where she sat at the writing desk with an air of injured patience.
She rose the moment he entered. “Mr. Darcy! At last.”
“I understand,” he said evenly, “that you have instructed the household to prepare for departure.”
Caroline smiled faintly, as though the matter were perfectly simple. “Yes. As Charles has already returned to London, it seemed only sensible that we should follow him.”
Darcy regarded her steadily. “Charles did not mention such a plan to me.”
“He had no reason to trouble you with the particulars,” Caroline replied smoothly. “It is merely a practical arrangement.”
Darcy shook his head. “This does not make sense. Bingley has leased the estate for a year. The servants were engaged for that long.”
Caroline waved this aside. “A small inconvenience.”
“For whom?” Darcy asked quietly. He shook his head in disapproval.
The question was so direct that it caught her off guard for a moment, but Caroline recovered quickly. “My brother will certainly approve. Netherfield has already served its purpose.”
Darcy’s expression hardened slightly. “Hardly. He intends to return.”
Caroline blinked. “Mr. Darcy, we must keep him in London. He cannot come back here.”
Darcy’s brows drew slightly together. “And why not?”
Caroline gave a small, impatient laugh, as though the answer were perfectly obvious.
“Surely you see it as clearly as I do. This neighbourhood – this society – is hardly suited to Charles. He is easily pleased, easily attached, and quite incapable of judging what is best for him when he is encouraged.”
Darcy remained silent.
Caroline continued, her tone sharpening as she gained confidence. “That family has already contrived to fix his attention far more than is proper. Miss Bennet may be very pretty and very gentle, but you cannot seriously think such a connection advisable.”
Darcy’s expression remained composed, though the steadiness of his gaze grew colder. “My opinion on the subject,” he said quietly, “has not been requested.”
“But it ought to be!” Caroline cried. “You are his closest friend. If anyone has influence with Charles, it is you.”
Darcy did not immediately reply.
Caroline pressed on. “You must have observed it yourself – the eagerness with which that young lady received his attentions, the encouragement given by the whole family. Mrs. Bennet could scarcely speak of anything else all evening.”
Darcy’s voice remained calm. “I observed that Charles seemed happy.”
Caroline gave a quick, almost scornful smile. “Happy? He would be happy anywhere if someone admired him enough. That is precisely the difficulty. Charles is so easily persuaded that he cannot distinguish between real affection and very artful civility.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened slightly at that. “You believe Miss Bennet artful?”
Caroline hesitated only a fraction before answering. “I believe her family extremely eager to secure an advantageous match.”
Darcy regarded her for a moment in silence.
“And you suppose that removing him to London will remedy this?”
“Certainly,” Caroline said quickly. “Distance will do what reason cannot. Once he is surrounded again by proper society – by friends who truly wish his good – the matter will soon fade.”
Darcy’s tone cooled.
“You appear to have arranged all this without consulting him.”
Caroline lifted her chin.
“Someone must act where Charles cannot. He is too good-natured to defend himself.”
Darcy’s reply came slowly.
“From what danger, precisely?”
Caroline stared at him. “From a most imprudent marriage.”
Darcy studied her for another moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was very even.
“You are mistaken in one respect.”
Caroline felt an immediate flicker of unease. “In what respect?”
“In supposing that such decisions belong to you.”
The words were quiet, but unmistakable.
Colour rose in her cheeks. “I am his sister.”
“And he,” Darcy replied, “is not a child.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Caroline’s composure began to falter. She turned slightly away, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes as though suddenly overcome.
“I had only his happiness in mind,” she said faintly. “Surely that cannot be condemned.”
Darcy watched her without moving. “I do not condemn your concern.”
Encouraged, she continued more softly. “But you must see how unsuitable it would be – that family, their manners, their connections. Charles would regret it in time, and we who care for him would be blamed for doing nothing.” The handkerchief remained at her eyes.
Darcy’s expression did not change. “Your concern for your brother does you credit,” he said.
Caroline lowered the handkerchief slightly, hopeful.
“But it does not give you the authority to dismiss his household, dismiss his servants, and alter his plans without his knowledge.”
The hope vanished. Her voice hardened again. “You cannot seriously expect me to remain here while he throws himself away.”
Darcy’s reply was immediate. “You are perfectly free to go to London.”
Caroline stared. “And leave you here?”
“If you wish.”
She stared. “You would stay?”
“Yes.”
“For what possible purpose?”
“To wait for Charles.”
The words settled with quiet finality. Caroline’s hand tightened around the handkerchief. “You mean to oppose us.”
“I mean,” Darcy said calmly, “that this is his house.”
Silence followed. At last, he added, with composed indifference, “If you prefer London, Miss Bingley, you and Mrs. Hurst may certainly travel tomorrow. Mrs. Nichols will arrange the carriage.”
Caroline looked at him as though he had spoken a foreign language. “And you?”
“I shall remain here until my friend returns.” Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I imagine he will wish to hear how his household has been managed in his absence.”
With that, he turned toward the door.
Behind him, Caroline remained standing beside the writing desk, her carefully composed plans unravelling far more quickly than she had expected.
It was one of those arrangements which, being perfectly formed in intention, refused entirely to succeed in practice.
***
The message arrived shortly after dinner.
It was brought by a groom from London, the seal immediately recognised as Mr. Bingley’s hand. Darcy happened to be in the library when the servant delivered it. Darcy broke the seal.
The letter itself was brief and written in Bingley’s easy, hurried hand.
The business which had called him to town, it appeared, was proving less easily concluded than expected.
The gentleman with whom he must settle certain particulars and related financial arrangements had unexpectedly delayed the matter.
Bingley, therefore, feared he would not be able to return before the following Wednesday.
Darcy read the line twice. A full week.
The letter continued in the same cheerful tone, apologising for the inconvenience to the household and trusting that Netherfield would not collapse in his absence. At the end, almost as an afterthought, Bingley added a request.
Darcy, if he had the opportunity, was to inform Miss Bennet that his stay in London had been unavoidably extended.
Darcy folded the letter slowly.
The request was natural enough. Bingley had grown accustomed to speaking of the Bennets with an openness that made little distinction between friendship and family. Under ordinary circumstances, Darcy might have thought nothing of the errand.
Yet as he played with the folded letter, he became aware that his thoughts had already moved far beyond the message itself.
Six more days. The house would remain quiet. Caroline Bingley, having discovered that neither persuasion nor tears had altered his resolution, had withdrawn into a silence which was meant to convey injury but in practice produced only peace. Mrs. Hurst had followed her example.
Netherfield, for the moment, demanded very little of him.
Darcy stood by the window for some time, the letter still in his hand. He had, in truth, thought more than once how he might see Miss Elizabeth again since the evening of the ball.
Miss Elizabeth had settled in his thoughts with a persistence that surprised him.
At first, he had resisted it. Her image had returned to him uninvited – during the quiet of the morning, in the intervals of conversation, even in the midst of business with Mr. Harding.
He had found himself recalling some expression of her countenance, some lively turn of phrase, some moment of quiet attentiveness toward her sister.
Such recollections had at first provoked a certain irritation.
Darcy was not accustomed to his mind being occupied without his permission.
Yet the resistance had gradually faded.
Miss Elizabeth now occupied his thoughts with familiarity – no matter if he had intended it or not. To his own surprise, he no longer bristled at the intrusion. Indeed, he had begun to recall their earlier meetings with a curiosity that was almost… indulgent.
He remembered the quick intelligence of her eyes, the readiness with which she met any remark, the animation of her manner when amused. He remembered, too, the firmness with which she had opposed him when she thought him unjust – and the dignity with which she had done it.
There was nothing submissive in her character.
The reflection ought perhaps to have discouraged him. Instead, it returned to him again and again. He found himself wondering what she thought of him now. That question alone was enough to occupy his mind longer than it ought.
The smile she had given him at the end of the evening at Longbourn refused to be dismissed. It had not been mocking. Nor guarded. Nor even merely polite. It had been… unrestrained.
Darcy could not easily explain why the recollection of that brief expression disturbed him as it did. It suggested a change – slight perhaps, but unmistakable – and he found himself wondering what had produced it.
And then he recalled her confrontation with Mr. Wickham.
She had said it was for his sister; yet he could not entirely believe that had been her only motive.
Something in her opinion had shifted. The thought returned to him unbidden, stirring a curiosity that bordered – had he examined it closely – upon eagerness.
He wanted to know what she now thought of him.
More than that – though he did not yet admit it, even to himself – he wished to see her again.
Darcy stood very still by the window.
The explanation for his proposed visit remained perfectly reasonable. Bingley had entrusted him with a message, and it would be discourteous to delay its delivery.
Yet the truth was simpler than that. He wanted to see her.
And now, he possessed a reason. He would ride to Longbourn the following morning.
Darcy folded Bingley’s letter once more and placed it carefully upon the desk.
The decision, once made, settled his mind with surprising ease. It seemed, after all, a very natural errand.