Chapter 17 #2
I must apologise to Miss Bennet.
He left it where it was for his cousin to read and took a few unsteady steps to pull the bell for Morby.
“Do not be ridiculous,” Fitzwilliam said behind him. “You are in no state to go anywhere. Get back into bed.”
Darcy ignored him and walked to the dresser to splash water on his face.
“I comprehend that you feel responsible, but another day will make little difference. Go tomorrow, or the next day—whenever you have regained strength enough to walk across a room without stumbling into things.”
“He is right, Brother,” Georgiana added. “You really are not well enough to go.”
They were right, of course, but Darcy did not mean to choose this moment to disappoint Elizabeth by failing to get his way, and when Morby arrived into the room, he pointed at himself and mouthed, “Dress me.”
To his consternation, and for the first time in the man’s employ, Morby looked first to someone else for corroboration of his instructions, his alarm evident.
“See, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam said. “You are convincing no one with this behaviour that you are in your right mind. Stand down, Morby. The stubborn ox is going nowhere.”
Darcy reviled the weakness in his knees that prevented him walking to the closet himself to pull out some clothes.
He drew several deep breaths and was rallying himself to give a convincing show of strength when there came another knock at the door, and the answer to a good number of his problems bounded into the room.
“Upon my life, Darcy, you look awful! What the devil are you doing out of bed?”
“Bingley, thank God! I need your help.”
“Are you sure you are well enough to be sitting up? I am certain you could still manage to write me notes if you were propped up in bed.”
I have been lying down for the better part of a fortnight. Humour me.
Darcy had got rid of his sister and cousin only on the promise of returning to his bed to rest, but he had several pressing matters to attend to before he did that.
Despite them having appraised Bingley of all the details of his ordeal and rescue before they left, he had a fair amount yet to relay to his friend.
Sitting up would make the task far easier, thus he had settled himself at his small breakfast table.
“Very well.” Bingley gave up hovering over him and slid into the opposite seat.
Darcy indicated with the pen for him to move the chair nearer. “So you can read what I write.”
“What?”
Darcy refrained from allowing his lips to move with the oath he said to himself. These things had all been elementary to Elizabeth. Why could nobody else fathom them without detailed instruction?
It will save me turning the paper towards you each time I want you to read what I have written. Should save a good hour of our lives.
With pantomime exaggeration, he turned the paper and pushed it across the table for Bingley to read.
“Ah, right you are.” His friend obligingly shuffled his chair around the table. That much closer, he was distracted with peering at Darcy’s bandages. “You cannot have been kicked with full force, can you? It would have killed you.”
“It nearly did.” He did not even wait to see whether Bingley had comprehended and switched immediately to writing instead.
But yes, it can only have been a glancing blow. Fortunately for me.
“Indeed. I am very sorry for you, Darcy. It is a ghastly thing to have happened. We were all frightfully worried about you when we heard. Caroline has been beside herself.”
Darcy dipped his head to conceal a smile at the recollection of his many conversations with Elizabeth about that lady. His injury prevented him from dipping very far, however, and he was caught out.
“Now look here,” Bingley said, laughing, “my sister might be overly effusive in her praise, but she has a very genuine affection for you. And your house.”
His muttered addendum made Darcy laugh outright—which came out as more of a crackling wheeze that startled Bingley out of all humour.
“Good God, what is the matter? Shall I fetch somebody?”
Darcy held up a hand to allay his friend’s fears and could not help but think that if this slight rasp was cause for such alarm, it was an exceedingly good job he had not been in Bingley’s care earlier in the week, when he had sounded as though he was leaking air from every inch of his windpipe.
He pointed with the pen at the paper. “Shall we begin?”
Bingley nodded, and so he began.
I have two things to tell you, and a favour to ask of you. I will keep this very simple. The first is that I am in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Reading this once apparently did not suffice, and after his first perusal, Bingley swooped down until his nose almost touched the page to read it a second time. Then he reared up again and turned to stare at Darcy incredulously. “In love? With Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy indicated the page with a glance.
“Oh yes,” Bingley said, leaning back out of the way of the paper and ink, though not without continuing to send astonished glances in Darcy’s direction.
I formed an attachment at Netherfield but was fool enough to think I should—and could—overcome it. My affections have grown beyond all wish to repress them during our time together this week.
“I see,” Bingley said stiffly.
Her feelings for me are far less certain, however.
“Are they, indeed? What a coincidence.”
Darcy could easily discern his friend was not happy, and rightly so, but he could only explain one thing at a time. He would get to the part Bingley would like better after this.
I have not behaved as well as I ought to have over the course of our acquaintance. More to the point, since returning to London, my family have treated her infamously. My wishes aside, I would at least have her know that I am sorry.
“Very noble, I am sure.”
The favour I would ask of you is this: will you call on her, today if possible, and deliver that apology for me? I cannot countenance a delay of another four-and-twenty hours or more.
Bingley pursed his lips and frowned at the question on the page. “You wish me to call on the Bennets’ relations?”
I should be very grateful for it, yes.
“Darcy, we have been friends for a long time, and I hope you know there is little I would not do for you. But you must know this is an unreasonable request. After you encouraged me to forsake Miss Bennet, I—” He stopped, because Darcy had held up the pen to gain his attention.
When Bingley met his eye, Darcy gave him a rueful grin, and when he lowered the pen back to the page, Bingley’s eyes followed it thither.
The second thing I wish to tell you—which I probably ought to have told you first—is this: Miss Elizabeth informs me that my assessment of her sister's feelings was incorrect. She assures me that Miss Jane Bennet was, and still is, very much in love with you.
Bingley shoved his chair backwards and sprang to his feet, startling Darcy to such an extent that he jarred his wound painfully.
“Are you certain? Did she—Gads, are you quite well?”
Darcy pried his eyes open and, after a few deep, steadying breaths, unwrapped his fingers from about his throbbing neck. “I have survived worse.”
Bingley sat back down, his face screwed up with incomprehension. “What was that?”
Darcy sighed resignedly and retrieved the pen.
I am well enough. And I am heartily sorry for having misadvised you.
It was very wrong of me to presume to know Miss Bennet's heart better than you.
Since there is good reason to believe that she would be receptive to your renewed attentions, however, I am hopeful that whilst officious, my interference may prove not to be ruinous.
Bingley read the note, leant back in his chair with his hands in his pockets, and puffed out his cheeks.
“I accept your apology. Other than your partiality for Miss Elizabeth, I comprehended all your other reasoning at the time, which makes me appreciate this present disclosure all the more, for you have evidently rethought more than one part of it.”
Darcy could not pretend this revelation did not surprise him, and he admonished himself for underestimating his friend’s perceptiveness.
If it is any consolation, I have been thoroughly upbraided by Miss Elizabeth.
“Have you, indeed?” Bingley replied with evident amusement. “I should like to have seen that.”
Darcy smiled faintly but refrained from replying. He had received a great many reproofs from Elizabeth—and would gladly endure a good number more, if she would only condescend to see him long enough to deliver them.
“What a day this is turning out to be,” Bingley said, more amiably than Darcy deserved.
“First you, then Miss Bennet—what am I to have returned to me next, the ten pounds I lost to Clarkson last Saturday?” His pleasure was impossible to mistake.
Darcy tried in vain not to envy him the promise of such a felicitous outcome.
I understand Miss Bennet is also at her uncle's house. You would see her there, were you to call with my message for her sister.
Bingley required no further persuasion. With his assurances that he would pass on Darcy’s regrets to Elizabeth, as well as his promise to call as soon as he was able, he left, fair skipping out of the house in his eagerness to reignite his courtship with Miss Jane Bennet.
Darcy was left to wallow in shame for not having recognised the misery in which he had involved his friend when he separated him from her in the first place.
It was just deserts, he supposed, that he should suffer such misery himself, as he waited with very little hope, to discover what Elizabeth’s response would be.