Chapter Forty-Four
Netherfield Park
When the Bingleys and the Darcys returned to Netherfield Park, it was necessary that everyone gather in the drawing room to discuss the events of that afternoon.
The Hursts joined them. They were then, of necessity, made privy to the events of Ramsgate and were gratifyingly horrified at Mr. Collins’ rudeness.
“You poor child!” Mrs. Hurst said, gathering Georgiana into her arms. Georgiana was startled, but soon relaxed into the hold, finding comfort there.
“And Miss Bingley was amazing,” Mr. Darcy said, smiling at that young lady. “She slapped Mr. Collins right across the face!”
“Caroline, I confess that I was never more astonished in my life!” Mr. Bingley said. “I applaud you, of course, but I must ask – what on earth possessed you?”
Miss Bingley, rather shamefacedly, admitted that she so deeply regretted her cruelty to Miss Darcy that she could not countenance anyone else doing the same. “I could not bear it,” she said. “Poor Miss Darcy! After everything she has been through, for that – that – toad of a man to speak so!”
“What an odd coincidence that the Bennet’s cousin is your own aunt’s rector,” Mrs. Hurst marveled.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “She collects such toadies; I suppose I should not be surprised that he is in her sphere.”
“Is it all that bad, though?” Mrs. Hurst asked. “Surely the piece in the newspaper was a nine days’ wonder and nothing else.”
Mr. Darcy sighed. “I stopped in London on my way here.”
“And?” Mr. Bingley prompted him.
“There could be no doubt that I was a social pariah,” he admitted. “My aunt keeps me informed as to the mood in London, and apparently our name is still besmirched. If I ever get my hands on Wickham…”
“I do not doubt that the Colonel feels much the same,” Mr. Bingley said.
“Ha! Wickham should pray that it is I who find him, not the Colonel,” Mr. Darcy replied, darkly.