Chapter 13 #7
Georgiana rather thought that, if Mr Bingley troubled himself to rise earlier in the day, he would see more of his friend. Elizabeth was kinder in her response, gesturing for him to join them as she agreed that Darcy had many demands on his time.
“You are singularly forbearing not to demand more of it for yourself,” he replied, choosing the chair nearest to Elizabeth.
“Come, you of all people know he would never neglect his responsibilities on my account.”
“No, I do not suppose he would.”
“Besides, he is not absent as often as that implies or so very far away. It is not as though he is gone off to another country, never to return.”
Mr Bingley paled. “Darcy told you?”
“He did,” Elizabeth replied.
“Shall I call for another cup?” Georgiana said hastily, eager to remove herself from what suddenly promised to be a most awkward conversation. Her escape notwithstanding, the orangery was not so large that the distance to the door took her out of earshot.
“Are you angry?” she heard Mr Bingley enquire.
“No, I am not angry,” Elizabeth replied. “I am sad. I wish you did not feel you had to go.”
“Forgive me. The last thing I would wish is that my leaving should cause you any distress, yet I know not how much longer I can live in this ghastly suspension.”
“It distresses me to see you make a decision so evidently contrary to your happiness.”
“It will be inconceivably hard to leave, I grant you.”
“Then why do you not stay? At least until you are more certain of your feelings?” Elizabeth said gently.
Georgiana reached the door, but waited, curious what he would answer.
“I am in no doubt of my feelings, Lizzy, but I cannot countenance making you unhappy. I shall not go just yet. I shall stay a little longer.”
Satisfied, Georgiana opened the door and requested more provisions of the footman waiting without. She took her time walking back, vastly undesirous of obtruding onto aught delicate.
“I feel in part to blame,” Elizabeth was saying. “Had I not argued with her—”
“We were discontented long before that.”
“Aye, and had I not championed your suit with her so single-mindedly, regardless of the changes in her character or your regard, she might never have acted as she did, and you would never have suffered as you have.”
Through the plants lining the path, Georgiana could see that Elizabeth was measuring out more tea from the caddy and seemed oblivious to Mr Bingley’s drawing closer to her, seemingly captivated by her every word.
“Had I not taken so long in coming to know my own heart,” he replied, “neither of us would have suffered as we have.”
“Ah, good. You are still here.”
Georgiana jumped for a second time. “Brother!” she exclaimed, turning to see Darcy come through the door.
“Forgive me, I meant not to startle you.” He looked wholly unrepentant as he bowed to kiss Elizabeth’s fingers. “How have you all been amusing yourselves?”
“Merely talking, Darcy,” Mr Bingley said. He had abandoned his chair and was examining whatever plant it was that clung to the back wall.
“Lizzy has been persuading me to accept Henrietta’s invitation,” Georgiana said.
She chose to feign ignorance of Darcy’s baffled glance at Elizabeth, as well as her mouthing Miss Castleton to him in return, thinking it a rather sweet exchange.
“Her father has engaged a very fine dancing master in preparation for her coming out and allowed her to invite all her friends to partake in his instruction.”
“That is exceedingly generous of him.”
“It is a shame Lizzy will not be able to join me, though.”
“I shall be sorry to miss it, Georgiana, but there is little hope of my dancing elegantly enough at present to do justice to such a master.”
“What has your present inelegance to do with the matter?” Darcy enquired. “You were not heavy with child when you knocked Tobias onto the floor.”
“He is right, Georgiana. Hornscroft Hall is too full of ornament and finery to be safe from me. It is for the best that I do not go.”
Georgiana listened with but half an ear, her attention instead fixed upon Mr Bingley, who observed this exchange with a rapidly deepening frown. She could not blame him for his disquiet, for from his vantage, he could not have seen Elizabeth’s broad grin, only Darcy’s severe expression.
Such was always the way with her brother, she had learnt.
Whatever joke he made was made with impenetrable solemnity, so that it was impossible to tell whether he spoke in jest unless one knew him to be stating an opinion not his own.
It was an aspect of his character with which she had been wholly unfamiliar until Elizabeth came to Pemberley.
Though her new sister certainly did not treat him disrespectfully, she yet wielded a mysterious and unashamed sort of power over him, daring to tease him, and in return, provoking him to some decidedly surreptitious teasing of his own.
When presently the footman arrived, and they all convened at the table for refreshments, Mr Bingley appeared to be struggling to conceal his confusion.
Though it was a little ungenerous, Georgiana triumphed to see him suffering under the same misconceptions she once had, happy in the knowledge that she, at least, was no longer a bystander to her brother and sister’s repartee.
Sunday 21 February 1813, Derbyshire
Bingley threw aside his covers and scrabbled at the bed curtains in an attempt to find the join. They opened a yard to the left, courtesy of his man.
“Are you well, Mr Bingley?”
“No, I am not well!”
Indeed, he was exhausted, having been unable to sleep a wink for recurrent nightmares of succumbing to the temptation to kiss Elizabeth—and then being murdered on the spot by Darcy.
It was outside of enough! Could he expect his feelings ever to subside while he remained in such close proximity to her?
Could he expect Darcy would not truly run him through if he ever came so close to exposing his desires as he had yesterday in the orangery?
No, regardless of Elizabeth’s plea, he must leave this place and soon!
Snatching his dressing gown from Banbury’s grasp, he seated himself at the desk in the corner of the room and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Perhaps some breakfast would restore your humour, sir?”
Bingley answered distractedly that breakfast would be most welcome, and Banbury must have left to fetch it because, when he stopped to dip his pen, the man was no longer there.
By the time he returned with a tray, Bingley was done.
He handed him the three letters he had dashed off and sat down by the fire to eat.
“I cannot find my blasted address book anywhere, Banbury,” he said, slicing into a hunk of gammon. “Be a good fellow and see to it they are addressed properly, would you?”
“Certainly, sir,” Banbury answered. A moment later he added, “Mr Forsyth, sir?”
Bingley looked up to discover him peering dubiously at the uppermost letter. “Netherfield’s freeholder,” he explained around his mouthful.
Banbury bowed slightly, and though he said no more, he did raise both eyebrows.
It made Bingley nervous. The man knew far too much of his private affairs, which made him wonder what conclusions he was drawing.
He forced his mouthful down before he had properly chewed it and choked out, “Why I write to him is no concern of yours.”
“Indeed, I made no enquiry, sir.”
“You did—of a fashion. You are doing it again now. Your eyebrows are all up in the air.”
Banbury apologised and frowned.
“No, no, I do not require you to scowl. Leave your eyebrows where they were.” He sliced some more meat and added sullenly, “I am enquiring about purchasing it if you must know.”
“Indeed, there is no obligation for me to know, sir,” Banbury replied coolly as he shuffled the letter to the back of the pile and regarded the next no less disdainfully than the last. “The harbourmaster, sir?”
“Yes, the harbourmaster!”
“Which harbour, might I enquire, sir?”
Bingley threw down his knife and fork. “Blast it, Banbury, that is not your business, either!”
“Undoubtedly not, sir. Though if you were to make it so, it would be much more likely that I should address it correctly.”
“Right.” Breakfast had lost its appeal. He pushed the plate away.
“Send it to Liverpool, if you would.” He watched closely as Banbury flicked to the last letter in the pile, anticipating a raised eyebrow, a frown, a sneer, a twitch, some indication of disapprobation, yet the man was taking his own good time peering at the addressee. “My cousin, before you ask.”
“I would never be so impertinent, sir.” Banbury pursed his lips and slipped the letters into his pocket.
“Dash it all, man, I mean to settle in Nova Scotia, and that is all there is to it.” In truth, he had absolutely no desire to live out his days in a foreign country, yet trial and error had proved nowhere in England was far enough removed to keep him away from Elizabeth for long, thus abroad he must go.
Banbury inclined his head. “A shrewd decision, sir.”
“How so?”
“At such a great distance there is almost no possibility your troubles in Hertfordshire might follow you there.”
Bingley felt himself colour. “Just dress me for services, would you?” he muttered, hauling himself to his feet.
“Services are over, sir.”
“What?” Bingley whipped about to look at the clock. It was gone midday. “Upon my word, why did you not tell me the time when I sat down to write those letters?”
“I would never have presumed you could not tell it yourself, sir.”
Bingley narrowed his eyes at him. He swore Darcy never had this much trouble with his staff. “Very well, dress me as you see fit. Only get to it, that I may be left in peace.”
Banbury did as he was bid with mercifully little more impertinence and made to depart.
“Ah, Banbury, before you leave? I would have you take those letters to the receiving office in person. Entrust them to nobody else. Mrs Darcy is not to get wind of my plans. I shall not have her distressed.”