Chapter 13
Thirteen
THE BEST LAID PLANS
Darcy knew that there was only one reasonable course of action. After all, the facts were indisputable.
There was a woman he wanted urgently. She was not a woman who could help Georgiana’s acceptance and future.
She would not contribute to his fortune, influence, or estate.
What was more, a load of trouble came with her.
In short, she was not the woman for him, and yet the temptation to return to Fox Hollow was nearly unbearable.
After breakfast the next day, he avoided his horse and attended to his correspondence.
It occupied him until the late afternoon.
He walked out in the shrubberies with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, trying to find interest in their conversation.
Unfortunately, it seemed a preoccupation with various dress trims was the composition of most of it.
A half an hour of listening, and his impatience and annoyance reached a near fever-pitch.
“Havers,” he said to his man, once returned to the house, “I shall be departing for London shortly. Now. Immediately. You may follow with the carriage and my trunks on the morrow.”
The only indication of surprise was a slight lift to Havers’s brow. “Yes, sir. I believe you were to dine with the officers this evening. Would you like me to inform your dining companions that you will be unable to join them?”
It irritated Darcy that he had forgotten the appointment. Nevertheless, he was determined. He needed room, solitude, and time to clear his head, to forget unacceptable lust and foolish desire. “Yes. I shall inform Bingley that I have business to conduct.”
“Business that you have only just remembered, and which requires you to leave, on your horse and at once, necessitating travel in darkness and thus, some danger to you and your mount. I imagine it will be a subject of concern, curiosity, and conjecture for Mr Bingley,” the valet said drily.
This is the problem with having servants who have known one since one was in leading strings.
Havers had been his father’s man before becoming Darcy’s.
He was organised, meticulous, and discerning, but also very unlikely to remain silent when he had something to say.
Unfortunately, in this he was also correct.
Bingley would not only badger him about his reasoning, but would wonder when he might expect his return.
He needed a better excuse for disappearing so suddenly—and for a good, long while—from his commitment to aid the man in his leased estate’s business.
Also, he had neglected to say anything to Colonel Forster—who was hosting tonight’s dinner—upon the subject of George Wickham.
His initial response had been to ignore the man, but with Elizabeth so vulnerable…
the possibilities were sickening. He would never forgive himself if she came to harm from her association with the lieutenant.
He had not, as yet this week, received a letter from Georgiana; she was a diligent correspondent, and he could expect one any time. When she did, he would manufacture an excuse of her needs—not completely dishonest, for she always had unmet needs—and make a more reasoned removal from Netherfield.
“Never mind it for now,” he said tersely. “We shall stay. Nevertheless, we shall be departing Netherfield soon. In the next day or two, I believe.”
“Very good, sir,” Havers replied, with a benign but annoying satisfaction.
Thus, Darcy spent the remainder of the afternoon flipping through the pages of a book without absorbing any of the words between its covers until it was time, at last, to leave for the Forsters’ home.
Once there, at least he found occupation in searching for opportunity to gain the colonel’s attention privately, and subsequently explaining enough of Wickham’s history with Darcy to warrant Forster’s chagrin and extract a promise to look for an excuse to rid himself of the man.
He was confident that once Forster paid attention, he would find plenty of reasons to chivvy the man along.
Darcy could feel satisfaction about this much, at least, as time well spent.
The rest of the evening was quite pleasant, as Forster was an interesting man, and reminded him of an older version of his own cousin Fitzwilliam. It had been good for him; London would be better, but the distraction had helped.
It was quite late when they at last turned up the drive to Netherfield.
Bingley sat dozing on the seat opposite, the rain drumming on the carriage roof in a soothing rhythm that nearly lulled him as well.
Suddenly he noticed that the house was lit up to a far greater degree than he had expected.
He strained to make out the landscape beyond the carriage window, and spotted a strange chaise sitting at the base of the front portico steps.
A late-night visitor of some importance, perhaps?
They had barely stepped down from the carriage when footmen opened the double-doors, and a man in heavy coat, top hat, and umbrella exited; Louisa Hurst stood in the doorway, the light behind her shadowing her features.
“Oh, Charles, I am so glad you are home,” she cried upon seeing them, sounding upset. “Miss Bennet has fainted during her visit! We have called for Mr Jones!”
“Miss Bennet?” Bingley questioned, sounding frantic now, practically pouncing on the departing apothecary. “Jones, how does she fare?”
“’Tis a fever, and while none are pleasant, it is not the worst I have seen,” the man replied soberly, his face half-hidden by the umbrella.
“There is not much to be done, beyond rest and watchfulness, but I have given her laudanum, to mitigate her distress. I shall be by in the morning to look in upon her.”
It was not long until they had the whole of it from Mrs Hurst. “We invited Miss Bennet for dinner,” she said.
“She arrived here via horseback! Imagine, choosing to ride, what with the weather being so uncertain! Unhappily, she was already half the way to Netherfield when the clouds opened. She was positively soaked through! Of course, we seated her in the chair nearest the fire, but that dining room is so draughty, and she did not say a word of her discomfort. After dinner, she stood from the table and whoosh! Down she went. That was when I realised she was positively burning with fever. We put her to bed and naturally we sent for Mr Jones immediately.” Bingley was in a regular lather, to think of his beloved under his own roof and suffering, and Mrs Hurst had to reassure him constantly of the comfort of her sickbed and the nursing skills of the maid sitting beside it.
Darcy had noticed what she omitted from her tale—obviously, neither she nor her sister had noticed that their guest was suffering until she fainted dead away; also, they had waited until he and Bingley were out of the house to make the invitation in the first place.
Plainly, they had decided not to encourage Bingley’s romance.
Out of sheer recalcitrance, he was tempted to do the opposite.
If he did, and if Bingley grew more serious to the point of marriage, he would always have this little connexion to Elizabeth.
He would be able to counsel Bingley regarding the handling of Henry Philips, protect her and Edward in that way, even hear regular reports of her life, how she did.
Hear when she marries, when she has children by another man. Jealousy, thick and viscous ran through his veins as he thought it, and his soul rebelled. He could not stand by and watch while another took her. Impossible!
As he made his way up the stairs to his own rooms, however, reason thankfully reasserted itself.
Surely I will not always feel this way. Or even for long.
It is this limited country society that makes a female of her beauty and charms stand out.
Soon, however, he would return to London and do a more thorough job of searching for someone appropriate.
It was only now, while his blood heated whenever he thought of her, that he was so fraught at the very idea.
Besides, Bingley was off limits to others, as long as he hoped to promote a match with Georgiana.
It was simply not the right timing, with his distress over the young lady’s illness.
That overabundance of feeling meant nothing—Bingley fell in love with a new maiden every other week, it seemed; he was nowhere near ready for marriage.
It was not until he was settled in upon his mattresses, staring at the shadows in the overhead canopy caused by the firelight’s gleam, that another notion altogether occurred to him.
Elizabeth had spoken very well of her sister, as though they were close.
She would not know of Miss Bennet’s illness until someone from Longbourn told her of it.
Had not it been a fever that took her father and two of her sisters?
Chances were good that she would feel distraught, perhaps even panic at hearing this news.
Even if she could leave Edward long enough for a visit, she had no carriage and it was doubtful that Philips would lend her one; she could not possibly walk for miles through mud and muck to reach Netherfield.
No, the least he could do was to bring her a report from Mr Jones as to her sister’s condition. It would be a kindness; doing so was something a man of honour would consider unexceptional. Practically a duty.