Chapter Five
THERE HAD TO be some way to get Elizabeth alone without going back to her bedchamber at night, Mr. Darcy thought.
He was very tired after riding all the way out and back in one day, but he was also fueled by a sort of excitement to share what he’d found with Elizabeth.
He should like to speculate with her over what all of it meant.
He thought of her face, screwed up in thought, of the way her eyes lit up when she had an idea, and he was warmed by that.
It was foolish, of course, and he scolded himself for it.
He did not know why it was so difficult for him to swear this woman off. There were a number of reasons why he must stop feeling anything amorous towards her, chief amongst them that she belonged to his cousin.
No, perhaps the chief reason was because she didn’t desire him. She never had. She had refused him, denied his advances, and she was, in fact, in love with Richard.
If he were to continue to make love to her when she did not welcome him, it put him on the same level as Wickham, plying himself on women who were not willing.
I shall stop, he assured himself for the eighteen-thousandth time.
The afternoon was progressing much the way the morning had, he understood, only everyone was much drunker than they had been.
He sprawled out in a chair next to others who were sprawled out due to too much merriment, and when he heard some of them saying that a long nap before dinner might be in order, he thought that perhaps he’d like that himself.
But there was Elizabeth to speak to and his sister… where was his sister?
He had spoken to her after arriving, had taken refreshment, and then had set about scheming how to get Elizabeth alone. He was a wretched man who didn’t deserve guardianship over his sister, in the end. He was entirely ignoring her.
But he caught sight of her, sitting with a man he first thought was Mr. Houseman, but then realized was not.
That man was the Duke of Neithern, Elizabeth’s possible half-brother.
Well, this was interesting. The duke and his sister seemed to be quite engaged in some animated conversation.
Georgiana was laughing quite a lot, and the duke didn’t seem to be taking his eyes from her.
“Mr. Darcy, here you are!” It was Caroline Bingley. She had a glass of wine—no, it was some kind of wine punch, he thought. She was stretching out her words in a way that made her sound a bit drunk. Dash everything.
“Miss Bingley,” he said to her.
She sat herself down in a chair next to him. “I have the loveliest bit of gossip, I must say.”
“Gossip?” God, he did not care about this.
“Elizabeth Bennet is married,” said Caroline.
“Secretly married to Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She wrinkled up her nose.
“Wait a moment, she told me, I think, that you are already aware of this. Anyway, that’s quite good, because I’m not supposed to tell anyone.
” She giggled, making a motion at her mouth to turn a key and miming throwing it away.
“Have you told anyone else of this?” said Mr. Darcy.
“No, of course not,” said Caroline, in a way that let Mr. Darcy know she had told positively everyone.
“And Miss Bennet trusted you with this?” he said, quite confused, for was Elizabeth so foolish to think that Caroline would keep a secret?
“She volunteered it, yes,” said Caroline. “I think she and I might be making great strides towards true friendship, in fact. I like her ever so much more now that she cannot marry anybody.”
Mr. Darcy scoffed. She truly was drunk.
Caroline gave him a smile. “So, Mr. Darcy, have you come here looking for a wife?”
“Indeed not,” he said, sighing. “I’ve obviously come for Miss Darcy. My sister will be coming out in society in the spring, and I wish her to feel comfortable and to be well-acquainted before then.”
“Ah, yes,” said Caroline. “However, I did have some reason to believe you thought that Charles might marry Miss Darcy. You said things, months ago, that seemed to indicate such a thing.”
“Perhaps,” he had to admit. He’d considered the idea.
Typically, he would never have Georgiana marry someone in trade.
It made little sense. She had a decent dowry and she could marry into a titled and respectable family, secure the Darcys into the ancient web of the country’s peerage.
But after the scandal with Wickham, Darcy had begun to consider other options.
Now, he realized he’d given little thought to his sister’s happiness in that scheme, however, and he was a little ashamed of himself.
“But not anymore?” said Caroline, giggling. “You went to such trouble to separate Charles and that Bingley girl, after all. What changed?”
“Oh, that wasn’t because I wished him to marry Georgiana!” he exclaimed, looking at her.
She raised her eyebrows. “No?” She leaned closer. “Other things changed as well. What was it that changed between us, sir?”
He drew back. “Us?”
“We have been close,” she said. “I thought we had similar ideas about it all. You and me, Charles and Miss Darcy. It would have been tidy, and you and I, we seem to be similar in many ways.”
He coughed, uncomfortable. “Miss Bingley, I think the drink has loosened your tongue.”
She laughed, and the laugh was stretched out in much the way her speech was. “Oh, yes, quite, Mr. Darcy. I shall wake up tomorrow in agonies over all of this, I think, but I also… I need to know. You are always and forever sending me strange and conflicting messages—”
“I don’t think I’m sending you any messages,” he said.
“When we were staying at Netherfield, you and I talked often, but as soon as those Bennet girls arrived, you ignored me—”
“No,” he said. “That’s not at all the way it was.”
“I was good enough for you, until they were around, and then you snubbed me,” she said, and she didn’t sound upset about it, just matter-of-fact. She even laughed and took a long drink of punch.
“I don’t think I snubbed you, Miss Bingley,” he said quietly.
But he was ashamed to admit that there was some truth in what she said, only in the sense that when one has very little company to choose from, one takes the least objectionable, and when one has a varied array of company to choose from, one might choose differently.
He didn’t mean to snub her, not truly, but perhaps it may have seemed that way to her.
Certainly, he had found her more interesting, on occasion, than the dullness of the conversational skills of Mr. Hurst, and she was sharper than her sister was.
Sometimes, he may even have preferred her to Bingley himself, for Bingley could be frustratingly difficult to pin down, leaping from subject to subject and coming up with wild ideas seemingly out of nowhere.
“Perhaps I… gave you reasons to think I… perhaps I see why you accuse me of it, however. I am sorry. Really and truly. It was not my intention to hurt you.”
“Oh, please.” She glared at him. “I am not damaged, sir.”
He could not win here, could he? She was determined to take everything out of his mouth as an insult.
“You never thought it, though?”
“Never thought what?”
“Never thought you would marry me?” And her voice broke on the word marry.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Listen, it seems to me that we are having a very odd conversation that is being fueled by drink. By your own admission, you will regret this conversation in the future, so might we—”
“So, then you did think it at one point?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“Oh, Christ, Miss Bingley, you have led me to this, and forced this from my lips, and I swear to you, I never meant to make you think—”
“I needed to know, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “Thank you for being plain.” She took another drink of her punch, meeting his gaze for so long that it became uncomfortable.
He flitted his gaze away, sighing heavily.
“Well, then,” she said, getting to her feet. She was unsteady. “I shall seek—”
“Miss Bingley, perhaps you should sit down and pour out that drink. Perhaps you should have some strong tea, in fact.”
She scoffed, waving him away, even as she stumbled a bit as she walked off. “Don’t be foolish, Mr. Darcy.”
He sighed, getting to his feet and going after her. She seemed to be very drunk, and he would be remiss if he let her go wandering off in this fashion. He should find her brother, really, have him escort her off to her bedchamber for a nap, since everyone was having one.
But then he saw that Elizabeth was walking directly towards Caroline, and he approached just as he could hear her speaking to the other woman gently, “You look a bit unsteady on your feet there, Miss Bingley.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Caroline.
“Well, I wonder if you might wish to retire to a chair somewhere at least.”
“I have to go and find a husband,” Caroline told her, gulping at her drink.
“It is what is expected of me, after all, and I have wasted a great deal of time on someone who has never been interested in me at all.” She turned, noticing him.
“Oh, look, there he is.” She threw back her head and laughed.
He cleared his throat. “I have heard others saying the favored activity of the afternoon is a nap.”
“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth. “Just so. I have heard the same. Everyone is napping. You mustn’t miss out on the nap, Miss Bingley, don’t you agree?”
“I think,” he said, “if you weren’t to nap, others in the company might get the wrong idea.”
“We are both, even now, heading back to the house,” said Elizabeth. “You must walk with us, yes?”
Caroline looked around. “A nap?”
“Many people have already gone inside,” said Mr. Darcy, and it wasn’t a lie.
Caroline sighed heavily. “All right, I suppose, if everyone is napping, then I shall, too.”
“Come along,” said Elizabeth, supporting the other woman.
Mr. Darcy came along the other side of Caroline.
The three of them headed up to the house together.
IT WAS OPPRESSIVELY warm inside the house, even with all the windows open.