Chapter Eight
Darcy attempted to gather his wits as Bingley pumped his hand eagerly, babbling about how he and his sisters had just arrived in Hertfordshire earlier that week. “How do you come to be here?” his friend asked again with a wide grin. Naturally, Bingley would never suspect anything untoward.
Damnation! It all made sense now. The new neighbor from the north of the country with five thousand a year…Darcy might have made the connection if he had been listening more attentively.
There was a long pause as Darcy considered a plausible response to Bingley’s question. “They fished me from the River Lea” would only create more questions.
“Mr. Dee…arcy has been our guest at Longbourn for the past fortnight,” Mr. Bennet said when Darcy failed to answer. His tone was warm and amiable, but the look he gave Darcy was poisonous.
“I had not the least idea you were here!” Bingley exclaimed. “I thought you were back at Pemberley!”
“Pemberley?” Elizabeth said faintly.
Oh no….
“Darcy’s estate in Derbyshire,” Bingley said enthusiastically. “Largest estate in Derbyshire and a fine manor house. The work of many generations. Surely you know about Pemberley?”
“Oh…I did not realize his holdings were so…extensive…” Elizabeth murmured.
“Of course not! Darcy here is all modesty.”
“That is not the word I would use,” Elizabeth said faintly.
Darcy had spent a fortnight carefully constructing a house of cards, and now Bingley was knocking everything down without even realizing it. Darcy had not allowed himself to believe his delicate edifice of lies could come tumbling down so easily—or so spectacularly. He had been quite wrong.
Darcy had expected he would disappear forever from the Bennets’ lives, and they would never be the wiser. But here was Bingley, who had no idea that Darcy worked for the Agency or that he might have any need for discretion.
Now Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Jane, and Elizabeth regarded him with varying degrees of shock and betrayal on their faces.
No, strike that. Mrs. Bennet appeared delighted.
Mr. Bennet’s face was red with anger. Jane was bewildered.
And Elizabeth…he could barely stand to behold the pain so naked on her face.
Darcy desperately longed to take her into a quiet corner and explain the whole situation. But he was absolutely forbidden to reveal that he worked for the Agency, and without that explanation nothing else would be believable. Nor would she be likely to calmly listen to an explanation.
Would Elizabeth guess there was more to the story than just a series of lies? Or would she believe he had concealed his identity for nefarious reasons of his own? Or worse, because he was a town dandy toying with the Bennets?
Mrs. Bennet appeared not to care about the truth, only the money. “What a good joke, Mr. Darcy! Not telling us all of that!”
“How odd,” Bingley said. “Darcy is not usually one for jests.”
Miss Bingley glided up to them. As usual, Bingley’s sister was dressed in the latest fashions and held her head high—the better to display her superiority.
Oh joy. Her presence is all that the scene needs for a proper French farce.
“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, standing far closer than was polite.
“How unexpected! Did you come just to surprise us?”
“Uh…no…I was visiting the Bennet family at Longbourn.”
Her gaze raked over the Bennets. “I did not know you had any acquaintance in this part of the country.”
Darcy did not know how to respond to that.
The family had been telling people that Mr. Bennet was an acquaintance of Darcy’s father, but that would provoke incredulous questions from people who actually knew Darcy’s family.
“I did not know you had taken a place in Hertfordshire,” he said to Bingley, quickly redirecting the discussion.
“Yes, it was all rather last minute,” Bingley said. “I visited the place and liked it immediately, so we settled on an agreement that day.”
Bingley’s sister gave him a fake smile. “I thought you wrote to Mr. Darcy to invite him to Netherfield.”
“I did,” Bingley explained. “But I sent the letter to Pemberley. It must still be chasing you about the country.”
“Yes.” Goodness knew where Darcy’s post was now.
“Now that you are here, you simply must come to stay at Netherfield!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “It is ever so comfortable.” She regarded the Bennets with a sneer that suggested what she thought of the probable comforts of their home.
Mrs. Bennet drew herself up. “Mr. Darcy is our guest.”
Miss Bingley took advantage of her greater height to look down at the other woman. “He is one of my brother’s oldest friends, and we have not enjoyed his company in ages.”
Darcy was beginning to feel like the rope in a tug of war.
Mrs. Bennet looked to Elizabeth and her husband for assistance, but neither would meet her eye.
Miss Bingley applied directly to Darcy. “Charles is in desperate need of your advice about the drains, and the stable is in a dreadful state. I am certain you will know what to do.”
“Yes,” Bingley agreed. “I was saying to Louisa just this morning, ‘I wish Darcy could be here. He would be just the person to help.’ Say you will come!”
Darcy’s head spun at the speed with which events were moving.
Bennet’s scowl suggested he was eager to rid himself of Darcy, and Mrs. Bennet apparently had exhausted her supply of arguments.
Elizabeth studiously avoided Darcy’s gaze.
No doubt the whole family would prefer to see the back of a man who had lied to them for a fortnight. “Very well.”
Bingley clapped his hands. “Excellent.”
The orchestra was playing the opening bars of the first set of dances. “Ah, but we cannot neglect the dancing,” Bingley said. “Miss Bennet has already agreed to be my partner for the first set.” He smiled at Jane, and she returned a shy grin.
Somehow Miss Bingley had gained possession of Darcy’s arm. “It has been too long since we last saw you!” she drawled, eyeing him expectantly. Yes, she was hinting for an invitation to dance.
“Oh, but—” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, whose lips were pursed, her expression unreadable.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “you have just been reunited with your friends. By all means you should dance with them.” Her words were amiable, and no doubt sounded sincere to others. But Darcy could hear a hard edge.
“Nobody dances like you, Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley trilled, consolidating her hold on his arm.
No, he would not renege on his promise. “But—” He turned toward Elizabeth to tell her that, but she was gone. How had she escaped so quickly?
Damnation! He could not run about the ballroom seeking her. It would be unseemly, and the director would not thank him for drawing attention to himself. Darcy reluctantly allowed Miss Bingley to tug him onto the dance floor.
***
Elizabeth watched Miss Bingley dance with Mr. Dee—Mr. Darcy—without allowing bitterness to encroach on her thoughts.
She had known that the man she had fished from the river was hiding things.
And yet she had fooled herself into thinking he had not actually lied to her.
She had believed somehow that he really was Mr. Dee the wool merchant despite all the inconsistencies in his stories.
But he had been evasive about so many things—as had his cousin Richard, if that was his real name. She was a fool to believe anything Mr. Darcy had told her, and now she was suffering the consequences.
She would never have guessed he was quite that rich, however. The largest estate in Derbyshire! Well, he was far beyond Elizabeth’s touch.
As soon as the dancing commenced, Elizabeth’s mother went about ferreting out information.
Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Bingley’s other sister, confided that Mr. Darcy was worth ten thousand a year.
This had sent her mother into a frenzy of excitement, strategizing how she might connive to have him invite Lydia or Jane to dance.
Elizabeth had entered the ballroom on Mr. Darcy’s arm, but she was accustomed to her mother overlooking her.
And today it was definitely for the best. She did not need her mother insisting that their erstwhile guest invite her to dance.
Elizabeth was not more inclined to dance with him after learning of his wealth. She had caught glimpses of reserve and disdain in Mr. Darcy’s conduct. Now she understood its source; he must have experienced Longbourn as very provincial.
Surely any glimmers of affection she had glimpsed were products of her imagination or wishful thinking. No doubt any tenderness that he exhibited was the result of gratitude for saving his life.
She had cautioned herself against falling in love with him, and yet she had done so just the same.
What a terrible moment to realize it. She had fallen for a man who was so far beyond her reach that she would not have even met him if he had not fallen in the river.
She had allowed herself to dream about a future with him despite knowing it was a bad idea.
Tears blurred her vision, and she hastened to the ladies’ retiring room, which was fortunately deserted this early in the ball.
Bad enough that she experienced these emotions for Mr. Darcy; it was unthinkable that anyone else should witness them.
Elizabeth positioned herself on a settee and took a few deep breaths, dabbing her eyes.
Her plan had been to wait until Mr. Darcy was free to dance, but now that struck her as a supremely bad idea.
Even if she could survive the dance without tears, she would feel like she was eating the crumbs from Miss Bingley’s plate.
Any pleasure to be had in dancing would be leavened by humiliation.
And then Mr. Darcy and his friends would be witnesses to her lack of partners for the rest of the ball.