Chapter 12 #3
“You know that I have been trying to give my friends a pleasant supper and an enjoyable evening’s entertainment,” said Darcy politely. “My guests must be the judges of whether or not I have succeeded.”
“Come, Mr Darcy. You need not pretend to me, you know. I am not Charles. You wished Lord Grantchester to know how well and easily he might… sing together with any of these ladies, rather than Jane Bennet, did you not?”
“Perhaps,” Darcy replied quietly, glancing across to where Bingley sat alone in an armchair, sunk entirely in his own thoughts and seemingly unaware either of the music or any conversation.
“I wonder that you take such trouble. Lord Grantchester is his own master, and Miss Jane Bennet will learn her own lessons soon enough, will she not?”
“It is a matter of principle,” Darcy responded stiffly, unwilling to enter further into such a personal discussion of his old friend with Caroline Bingley.
“You pity her? I suppose a gentleman might, but I doubt any lady of sense and taste could do so. After all, Miss Bennet is to be a countess with a fortune at her disposal, countless servants, several estates, and society at her feet.”
“I do not believe Miss Jane Bennet cares for any of those things,” Darcy answered shortly, “however important they might be to other ladies.”
“Well then, that would make her a fool who deserves whatever hand fate deals,” laughed Miss Bingley, with that hint of cruelty that Darcy particularly disliked in gossip. “I am sure she will learn to appreciate her good fortune in time.”
Giving a polite bow, Darcy walked away across the room to join his other guests.
∞∞∞
Carriages were called to the front door for eleven o’clock clock. Bingley and his sisters departed first, while Lord Keeble fixed his stock at the hallway mirror and Darcy sought to detain Lord Grantchester a little longer.
“One more brandy, John. You will still be home before midnight, and I can send Keeble ahead in my carriage if he does not wish to linger.”
“I need my beauty sleep, Darcy,” Grantchester declined with a smile as he put on his hat. “We are not as young as we once were, even if we have not degenerated to the level of Hurst.”
“Are you avoiding me, John?” Darcy asked bluntly. “I have been trying to speak to you since we all returned from Hertfordshire, and somehow I never quite can.”
“Nonsense, my dear fellow,” laughed his friend, clapping Darcy on the shoulder. “We have seen one another every other day, I’ll wager, or close to that.”
“But never in any situation that allows for private conversation,” Darcy pointed out.
“Your problem, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” said Lord Grantchester playfully, “is that you are far too sensitive. You must not feel yourself slighted only because I am so in demand during the Season.”
“John,” Darcy repeated his friend’s first name, minded to pursue his mission further despite Lord Grantchester’s determination to treat his concerns as a joke, but then Lord Keeble joined them and gave a loud yawn.
Lord Grantchester tutted and gestured to the butler to open the door once more.
“No, no, Darcy. No more brandy or chitchat for either of us,” he said firmly. “Look at poor Keeble, practically dead on his feet, and listen to my voice, worn out with singing. If you have any sense, you shall go straight to bed yourself. Now, goodnight.”
The failure of his evening was now complete, but there was simply nothing more to be done.
Darcy stood glumly beside the front door and raised his hand in farewell.
Keeble entered Lord Grantchester’s carriage first, and Grantchester himself was about to follow when he seemed to remember something and turned back to the house.
“Oh, Darcy, I almost forgot. Miss Bennet wrote yesterday to say that she and her sister will be coming to London again soon. Our little party will be two stronger out on the town. Won’t that be merry?”
As Lord Grantchester climbed into his carriage and waved farewell, Darcy stared after him, jaw clenched and heart pounding as though abruptly faced with some terrible adversary.
Merry? The situation was all so very far beyond a joke that such a word seemed utterly wrong. Why could no one else see the seriousness of this matter? Darcy knew he could not look Miss Bennet in the eye if he did not act soon. As for Miss Elizabeth Bennet…
The thought of seeing her again made Darcy’s heart pound even harder, even when he reminded himself that Lord Grantchester had not specified which sister Jane Bennet was bringing with her to London.
Everything within him said it would be Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy tried to tell himself that the emotion he was feeling was annoyance at the thought of another confrontation, but he was very much afraid that it better deserved the name of anticipation.
Taking a deep breath and reminding himself of his own advice to Bingley on the subject of self-control, Darcy turned his mind from Elizabeth Bennet to John Tellington once more.
He must tackle Lord Grantchester directly, and as soon as possible, even if he had to drag him physically into a private room and lock the door.