Chapter 24
“You will be packed in time to leave on Friday, won’t you?” Darcy asked Georgiana and Mrs Annesley, putting his head around the door of the Netherfield Park music room at the end of a duet on the pianoforte. “I am most anxious to reach Pemberley.”
In truth, Darcy was growing more anxious by the hour. Miss Bingley had been trying enough on the night of the Meryton assembly, but in the few days that followed, she had become a positive menace.
Every time he turned a corner in the house, sat down to read in the library, or stepped out into the gardens for air, Caroline Bingley would be there, creeping up on him with her sly glances and over-bright smiles.
“Everything is in order,” Mrs Annesley assured him with her usual efficiency. “The maids have their instructions, and your carriage will be packed and ready to depart on Friday morning.”
“Good.”
“I shall be ready first thing on Friday, Brother, although I do wish we did not need to rush off so soon,” Georgiana sighed. “I should like to know Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth better, and there is so little time before we go.”
“I did say that their family would be welcome to visit Pemberley,” he excused himself, feeling the lameness of his words and knowing that he had not said nearly enough to Elizabeth to have any hope of a visit.
“It is too far away,” replied Georgiana mournfully, echoing his own thoughts. “They won’t come. I know it.”
As Mrs Annesley played the opening chords of another duet, his sister was drawn back to the music, and Darcy took his leave.
“How divinely your sister plays,” said Miss Bingley, appearing again in the corridor almost at the instant he left the music room and matching her fulsome praise by approaching him far too closely.
“Georgiana is such a credit to you, Mr Darcy. Let us listen awhile together out here together. Music is truly the food of love.”
Darcy looked at Miss Bingley askance. She wore a white silk dress more suited to evening than day in its cut and decoration, and a generous amount of scent for the hour as well.
“So Shakespeare said,” he returned cautiously, sidestepping Miss Bingley and wondering what was wrong with her.
“Not only Shakespeare,” Miss Bingley replied oddly, with her high-pitched and artificial little laugh. “Certain other gentlemen have said the same thing to certain ladies, have they not?”
What on earth was she talking about? Darcy could make neither head nor tail of Caroline Bingley’s cryptic utterances in the last few days and was not of a mind to try any harder.
“Do excuse me, your brother and I are going out to ride,” he told her and hurried away.
The sooner he was gone, the better.
∞∞∞
A long, hard ride before luncheon did little to ease Darcy’s spirits.
Bingley’s entire conversation now seemed to be of Jane Bennet and whether it would be appropriate for him to make an offer for her hand yet.
Would Mr and Mrs Bennet approve? Might Lord Grantchester take exception? What would the neighbours think?
“Why not ask these questions of the person they most concern?” Darcy eventually told his friend bluntly, having run out of patience by the time they came up the steps of Netherfield Park after their ride.
“I am sure the views of the lady and gentleman in question ought to matter more than the rest.”
“I say, Darcy, the matter is very delicate and I cannot just —”
Bingley cut short the rest of his answer upon seeing his sister in the hallway, in the act of folding a letter into her pocket at the sideboard.
She seemed to have had a flurry of letters recently, but though Miss Bingley had seemed almost to wish comment from him, Darcy had been careful not to be drawn in.
“There you both are,” Miss Bingley said brightly, an unusual glow in her cheeks and self-consciousness in her expression. “What a long ride you took today. I was starting to think we must have luncheon without you.”
How much of their conversation had she overheard?
Darcy grimaced to think of it. He doubted somehow that Caroline Bingley would approve of her own brother marrying any of the Bennet daughters, however amusing she might find it for Lord Grantchester to do so.
And poor Bingley was uncertain enough without suffering his sister’s sharp barbs and veiled strictures.
“Almost one o’clock,” remarked Bingley to his sister with a laugh, jogging up the stairs. “We lost track of time. Why don’t you ladies start without us, and Darcy and I will join you when we’re presentable.”
Walking up more slowly after Bingley, Darcy felt a hand catch at his sleeve and looked back at Caroline Bingley with almost threadbare politeness.
“I agree with you, Mr Darcy,” she said, apropos of nothing, before dropping her voice to a conspiratorial level.
“I too believe that the views of the lady and gentleman in question ought to matter more than anyone else’s.
If an offer is made…well, I shall talk to my brother and make my views known. ”
Darcy frowned and pulled back his arm, too confused to make any answer. Had Miss Bingley heard something of her brother’s plans and approved of his marrying Jane Bennet? It seemed unlikely, and he sensed a trap, although its shape was presently beyond him.
“I will see you at luncheon,” he said shortly, and strode briskly away from her.
∞∞∞
“What is troubling you, Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana asked gently.
Darcy turned around in surprise. For a moment, he did not know what to say. He had been standing at the window of the garden drawing room, gazing out beyond the gates and the path that led to Longbourn.
“Nothing. I am only…thinking,” he said belatedly.
They had both been reading when they settled in the drawing room after luncheon, although Darcy had not been able to give any attention to his book on Venetian history. Mrs Annesley was busy sorting out some questions of linen with the housekeeper, and Bingley was mooning about in the gardens.
Miss Bingley, thankfully, had removed herself to her room immediately after luncheon, telling Darcy in unnecessarily confidential tones that she had correspondence to deal with.
If she hoped he would ask her the nature of her correspondence, she was doomed to disappointment.
Still, she showed no irritation at his silence, only murmuring that still waters ran surprisingly deep.
If he had been alone, Darcy would have packed a saddlebag and jumped on his horse that very afternoon. His only regret in leaving Hertfordshire would be leaving Elizabeth Bennet, a pang that had become a distinct ache since he danced with her at the Meryton Assembly.
It was not only the pleasure of that one dance that fired Darcy’s longing for her company. It was Elizabeth’s intelligence, her understanding, and her care for Georgiana. Leaving her now would feel like leaving a piece of himself behind.
“You are brooding, not thinking,” Georgiana gently contradicted Darcy, coming to stand beside him and lay her head against his arm. “I know you, Fitzwilliam. There is something on your mind, and it has been there for some time. I wish you would tell me, even if you tell no one else.”
Darcy thought of all the things presently on his mind, from Caroline Bingley’s unwelcome pursuit and Charles Bingley’s passion for Jane Bennet, to George Wickham’s evil presence in the neighbourhood. He would not talk of these things to someone so young.
The heaviest burden, however, was something that should be simple, natural, and easily ordered, but had become impossibly tangled by everything else.
“I have been wishing that I knew what a certain lady thought of me,” he admitted to Georgiana at last. “I think that I have not always shown myself well in her eyes and…it bothers me, profoundly.”
His sister seemed unsurprised, her eyes only sympathetic and knowing as she followed his gaze through the window towards Longbourn.
Georgiana was no longer a child, and he supposed she could easily have guessed the object of his affections by now.
She did not ask him for a name because she did not need to.
“Have you asked this lady about her feelings?” his sister enquired, and Darcy shook his head. “Does she know how you think of her?”
“Her feelings were very much against me once. Now, it seems they are not, but to declare myself after everything seems such a presumption.”
“I think you must declare yourself, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana told him. “If she cares for you, all will be well, and if she does not, it is better to know. Be frank, as you always are, but kind and sensitive too, as I know you can be, but not everyone does.”
“I shall think on it,” he promised.
At the sound of the door handle then, they both halted and looked towards the door expectantly, but no one entered. Darcy guessed that someone had stepped into the room and then stepped out again while they were distracted.
“It was probably only a servant,” Georgiana dismissed the noise with a shrug, and then yawned. “I think I must go outside and find Mr Bingley, or I will fall asleep on the sofa. Do you want to come too?”
“I thank you, no,” Darcy told her. “I believe I must think on this a little more.”
Georgiana smiled gently at that and patted his shoulder. Then she turned and made her way out into the gardens.
Once Darcy was alone again, he looked back out towards Longbourn with greater resolve.
Georgiana was quite right. He must speak to Elizabeth before he left. Even if she did reject him completely, he must speak his heart and make a proper proposal of marriage. Courage and honesty demanded no less; Elizabeth deserved no less.
But even as he came to the decision, Darcy swallowed hard, knowing that her answer would make clear the likely path of the rest of his lie: full of love and promise on one side, or an uncertain wilderness on the other.