The End of Equanimity
Darcy accepted the stack of letters from Godfrey and waited until he was alone before permitting himself a small groan.
He was tired and in no humour to attend to correspondence.
His mood soured further still when he espied one letter written with Bingley’s unmistakable hand.
He knew not that he had stomach enough to read what his friend had to say, but he could not ignore it.
Steeling himself, he opened the letter and began to read.
Netherfield
Darcy,
I cannot thank you enough for sending me back to Herts!
I have called at Longbourn and received a hearty warm welcome.
Miss Bennet is somewhat reserved still, but Miss Elizabeth was encouraging.
I have some chance with Miss Bennet, I believe, but I proceed with caution.
I am not She is as serene as ever, but I would be sure before I make any
Are you sure you will not come to Netherfield? I have been fishing with the other gentlemen. Caught nothing. Ding-dong of a head on me the next morning though. Sir William was You could, of course, bring Georgiana. If you come, bring your own rod. Lent my spare to Mr Bennet.
Any luck discovering an attorney to look over my cousin’s proposal?
Survey expected within the month—should like to know what to do with it.
It was interesting to Great news! The Hursts are expecting a child!
They come hither to avoid the London air.
Miss Elizabeth was just last evening extolling the benefits of country air, as it happens—hardly surprising to hear she enjoys it, given her fondness for walking.
She remains as engaging as ever. Her manner of speaking is delightfully unaffected.
She assures me her sister receives my attentions with pleasure, for which I am exceedingly grateful, for I might otherwise begin to think I had no hope.
Would that the one conversed as easily as the other!
Might have better luck next week. I have decided to put on a picnic for all and sundry.
Miss Bennet was anxious it might be too cold, but Miss Elizabeth thought it a fine idea—
“Damn!” Darcy snatched his hand away, not caring that the letter crumpled in his fist—he had read enough.
That it should be Bingley, not him, receiving Elizabeth’s warm welcome, and enjoying Elizabeth’s unaffected conversation, was simply too much to bear.
He wrenched open a desk drawer, threw in the letter, and slammed it closed again before surging from his chair and stalking to the window.
He leant heavily against the frame. Did Elizabeth know he had confessed his mistake to Bingley?
Did she think any better of him? He pressed his forehead against the cold glass.
“Do you know it has all been for you?”
His breath frosted the glass, obscuring his view of the world.
Of course she did not know. She thought him devoid of every proper feeling.
He straightened, adjusted his coat, and strode from the room.
He informed his man that he meant to go out and was duly provided with the appropriate attire.
Then he quitted the house and did not return for many hours.
Portman Square
18th May
Dear Cousin Fitzwilliam,
I beg you would speak with my brother. We were to go to Gunter’s this morning for ices, but he did not come for me as arranged.
He sent no note and no messenger. I waited for three hours, then went to Darcy House, only to be told he was from home.
I waited another hour there and was about to return home when I heard him in the hall, talking with Godfrey.
He had been injured! He had a ghastly cut to his cheek that bled freely and his face was bruised!
He would not look at me, and Mrs Annesley drew me back into the parlour before I could speak to him and warned me it would be impertinent to interfere, but I can no longer overlook his malaise, which has been of many months’ duration now.
Please come, for I know not what to do.
Georgiana
Tuesday 19 May 1812, Hertfordshire
“Oh! There are no officers! Why are there no officers?”
“Lydia! Lower your voice.” Elizabeth took her sister by the elbow and marched her away from the gathered company.
“But it would be much less dull if Wickham and Denny were here.”
“Colonel Forster’s regiment is engaged elsewhere today, Miss Lydia,” said Mr Bingley from behind them.
Elizabeth cringed at having been overheard.
Lydia felt no such contrition. “Oh, pooh! Are there games at least?”
Mr Bingley graciously directed her to where some of the other ladies were playing shuttlecock. Lydia sighed loudly but nonetheless trudged to join them, leaving Elizabeth to apologise for her impertinence.
“Think nothing of it,” Mr Bingley assured her. “It was a stretch of the truth in any case. I have no idea where Colonel Forster’s regiment is today. I did not invite them.” He leant closer and lowered his voice. “I did not wish to give Mr Wickham any occasion to importune you.”
“Why, that is most considerate of you but not necessary.”
“Pish posh!” He offered his arm, and they ambled back towards the picturesque array of beribboned tables and chairs where Jane waited. “Besides,” he went on, grinning, “I am more than tired of being shone down by a hundred red coats at every gathering.”
“Yes! A gentleman ought to be allowed the advantage at his own picnic,” Elizabeth agreed, drawing an undignified snort of laughter from him.
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet burst forth from the midst of a nearby huddle of matrons. “Mr Bingley did not invite us here so you could run on at him all afternoon.” Grabbing her elbow in much the same manner as Elizabeth had grabbed Lydia’s, she tugged her away. “Leave him alone to speak to Jane.”
With an apologetic grimace, Elizabeth excused herself from her host and went in search of the promised games. At the other side of a little folly, she was delighted to discover a quantity of targets had been set up for archery.
“Do you enjoy the sport, Miss Elizabeth?”
She turned. Mr Greyson had followed her from the seating area.
“Very much, though I cannot claim any skill, and I am quite sure those targets are at least twenty yards too far off for me.”
“That will never do!” he declared, marching to the nearest and hefting it a good deal nearer. “Will that suffice?”
“It most certainly will not!” Mr Bingley called, coming around the folly with Jane on his arm and a large grin on his face.
“I will stand for none of your nonsense, Greyson.” He walked to another of the targets and brought it level with Mr Greyson’s—and then another two feet forward.
Thereafter, the pair took turns shuffling their targets ever closer until they were directly in front of the ladies.
Elizabeth raised her arm and poked her target with a finger.
“Bulls-eye!” Mr Greyson shouted.
“Foul play!” Mr Bingley replied. “I insist on a proper tournament!”
Thus, the targets were returned to a distance agreeable to all, chairs were set out for the gathering spectators, and refreshments were provided for the ladies.
Mr Bingley paired with Jane, of course. Elizabeth supposed it was fitting Mr Greyson should remain with her since he had instigated the game, though she could not have said why the arrangement made her so uncomfortable.
It was not much of a contest, for neither sister played well. Elizabeth’s first three arrows all landed in the grass, much to everybody’s amusement. She laughed heartily when her next hit the target lengthways and bounced onto the ground. “Oh dear, I am even worse than I recall!”
“Allow me.” Mr Greyson stepped forward and placed a hand around the bow directly below hers, mumbling about how best to grip it.
Elizabeth remained very still, intensely aware of his nearness.
From the corner of her eye, she regarded his profile.
He was a touch taller than she and had straight, light brown hair and elegant features.
Indeed, he was not an unattractive man. Neither was he Mr Darcy, of whom her memory was vivid and in comparison to whom no man fared well.
She flushed hot to have caught herself comparing any man to Mr Darcy.
Mr Greyson further flustered her by turning his head towards the target, all but resting it on her shoulder.
Her fingers twitched, and the arrow loosed, shooting in a straight line to the bulls-eye—of Jane’s target.
Whilst everybody else delighted in the happy accident, Elizabeth stepped away from her companion and drained her glass of lemonade dry.
Jane’s next arrow flew so far off the mark it was lost in the shrubbery.
“Jane, that was terrible!” Kitty cried. “Even Lizzy does better than you!”
“Yes, so it would seem.” To Elizabeth’s great surprise and greater disappointment, Jane then handed Kitty her bow and added, “You had better play for me, for I cannot compete.”
Mr Bingley’s objection to her withdrawal coincided with Elizabeth’s own, but Jane would not be swayed.
Claiming fatigue, she begged everybody to play on without her and went to sit with Mrs Hurst at the end of the row of chairs.
Elizabeth thought she looked more piqued than fatigued but could not fathom why that should be—over a lost arrow!
Whatever was becoming of her sweet Jane?
Kitty called everybody to attention, impatient for her turn. Yet, with Jane now sitting down, Elizabeth found herself flanked by both Mr Greyson and Mr Bingley, both offering advice and both disturbing her equanimity with their closeness.
Mr Bennet chuckled as Elizabeth’s next arrow landed in the same bush as Jane’s.
The two gentlemen flanking her were evidently more hindrance than help, but then, had Mr Bingley spent more time watching his own partner rather than Mr Greyson’s, he might not have scared her away, and Elizabeth would not presently be thus encumbered.