Chapter Sixteen
Later, Darcy could not recall how he had made it to Darcy House.
He refused a meal on a tray delivered to his bed chamber.
He retreated to his study with the vague idea that he might find some useful employment.
But once he was behind his desk, he only stared out of the window.
Georgiana visited, asking when she would see Elizabeth again.
Darcy choked out a barely coherent response, saying he did not know and was not feeling well. She had swiftly departed.
Then his eyes had alighted on a decanter of port. The details after that were foggy.
Darcy opened his eyes. His study was lit by a single lamp casting odd shadows on the walls, making the room resemble a cave. Why did I bother to wake? There is nothing here worth being conscious for.
“Darcy?” he heard a voice call from the doorway. Only then did he recall that Bingley had been invited for dinner. Naturally, his friend would go home when he noticed the study door was closed. The door is closed, is it not?
“Darcy?” Bingley was definitely closer.
Apparently not.
Bingley entered slowly, peering around the gloomy room. “Your butler said you were—" His eyes alighted on Darcy. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
Darcy glanced around. He was on the floor. “I am not sure,” he replied, looking at his desk chair. Perhaps I was worried I would fall from my chair?
Bingley noted the port beside Darcy. “Are you foxed?”
Darcy stared at the decanter. “No. Well, perhaps a little. Yes.”
“Well, that clears everything up,” Bingley said dryly and poured himself a glass of brandy from a decanter on the bookshelf. He sat in a chair—like a civilized man. “Has some evil befallen you?”
Darcy waved his hand. “No, no, nothing.” Then he considered again. “No. Perhaps it is something. Not evil, precisely. Bad…fortune. Misfortune….Great misfortune.” His tongue was thick in his mouth.
The idea of misfortune seemed to call for another drink.
Darcy fumbled for the decanter, nearly spilling it.
I really am foxed. What a disgusting display, even if Bingley is the only one to witness it.
“I apologize for my— pathetic shelf-—self-indulgence. I should not burden you with it. You should leave, and we will speak in the morning.” Darcy considered. “Or the afternoon.”
Bingley rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded Darcy. “Has something occurred?”
This struck Darcy as humorous. “Yes, many things have occurred. My cousin is married. I held a musicale. Cook is serving beef at dinner. And Elizabeth has departed for Hertfordshire.”
“And which of these things has you so agitated?” Bingley asked archly. “Were you in want of fish for dinner?”
Darcy had no taste for banter. “Elizabeth is gone!”
Perhaps Bingley would have some insight into the situation. He was also in love with a Bennet woman.
“Jane said they would return to Longbourn to prepare for the wedding.” Bingley could not help but beam when he mentioned her name. Curse him.
Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. Naturally, Bingley did not understand the significance of Elizabeth’s departure. He believed she was engaged to Darcy just as he was to Jane.
But the false engagement was too complicated to explain in Darcy’s current state, and honestly, it was embarrassing. “She wrote a note saying she intends to break off the engagement,” he said instead.
Bingley nearly spilled his glass of brandy. “Come again?”
Darcy stared down at his hands. Damned port makes me too frank. “Elizabeth intends to wait a suitable time and then beg off.”
Bingley’s mouth hung open. “But the way you danced at the Sudleys’ ball… You appear so easy with each other…It is plain that you are in love!”
This struck Darcy as humorous. After a few weeks of pretense, Bingley was convinced they were desperately in love. My acting skills cannot possibly be that impressive. Darcy’s harsh laugh startled his friend.
“Elizabeth seemed so happy in your presence,” Bingley insisted. “Jane remarked on it frequently.”
“She did?” Darcy longed to find Bingley’s words heartening. Perhaps Bingley and Jane noticed something that Darcy had overlooked.
“Yes. Jane confessed herself amazed at first because she thought it possible that Elizabeth might never marry. But she thought Elizabeth was radiantly happy with you.”
Radiant? Could he trust their judgment? Bingley did not know all that had passed between Darcy and Elizabeth. And he was an eternal romantic. Miss Bennet seemed much the same.
“I find that difficult to credit.” Darcy examined the crystal decanter.
“What did Elizabeth say to you? Does she really hold you in such low esteem?”
Darcy laughed without mirth. “Today…Today I went to Sterling House to pro— to see her. But I found that she had departed.”
“You did not know she was leaving?” The alarm in Bingley’s voice was not encouraging
Darcy shook his head. “I take it you did.”
“The decision was rather abrupt,” Bingley said in a guarded manner. “But Jane told me at the musicale.”
Perhaps if I visited yesterday, I could have forestalled this…Or if I had spoken to Elizabeth privately after the musicale…But if she had made up her mind, it might not have mattered.
“Did something occur between you?” Bingley asked. “Did you argue?”
“Not at all. I—” Darcy’s voice broke.
“Darcy?” Bingley sounded alarmed.
He hung his head. “I have been a fool.” Darcy noticed he was slurring some words.
Bingley leaned forward and patted Darcy’s shoulder awkwardly. “We all have at one time or another, my friend.”
“You do not understand the magnitude of my folly.” And Darcy could not truly explain it.
“Surely something might be done to improve the situation.”
“This helps.” Darcy hefted the decanter to his lips and drained the last dregs.
Bingley smiled faintly. “That strikes me as a temporary solution. You will probably feel worse in the morning.”
“Yes. But right now, I. Do. Not. Care.” Darcy thumped the decanter on the floor with each word.
“I will be fine in the morning.” He would have to be fine.
He was Darcy. It was his duty to be fine.
He had matters to attend to. Elizabeth was wrong about Darcy being ruled by duty. Duty made his life worthwhile.
But in the meantime, Bingley appeared willing to listen to Darcy’s complaints. Darcy was pleased to oblige. He glanced up at Bingley somewhat blearily. “You are a good friend, Bingley.”
Bingley’s eyebrows drew together. “Thank you…?” After a long silence, he said, “Do you want to talk about what is troubling you?”
“I daresay it is my fault.” Darcy covered his face with his hands, shutting out the world. “Perhaps I am not capable of love. I am too cold. Too controlled. You have taxed me with that upon occasion.”
“Darcy,” his friend spoke carefully. “I have never taxed you with a deficiency of love.”
Darcy took a minute to understand Bingley’s meaning, then he dropped his hands to stare at his friend. What could Bingley possibly mean?
“You are…discerning about those you choose to love,” Bingley said.
“I am honored to be among your friends. But when you love, you love deeply.” Darcy regarded his friend in blank amazement.
“Nobody could have raised Georgiana with more love than you have. And you have been a friend to me beyond compare.”
Darcy continued to watch Bingley. Did he honestly mean that?
“You believe yourself to be cold-hearted and bound by duty,” Bingley continued.
“But you really are not. If Miss Elizabeth is worthy of your love, she is a very fortunate person. I do not know what…difference of opinion you have had with her,” he said delicately.
“But surely you can travel to Longbourn and discuss it with her.”
Darcy sighed. “She has said she might prefer not to marry at all.”
“Jane mentioned she spoke that way upon occasion, but she would not have agreed to an engagement if she did not have tender feelings for you.”
Oh, Bingley, if you only knew….
If Bingley knew why Elizabeth agreed to the betrothal, he would understand that she never loved Darcy. Surely, she did not. If she harbored any romantic passion for him, she would not be so eager to remain alone.
“Perhaps she is unwilling to trust her feelings,” Bingley suggested. “Jane believes she is apprehensive about duplicating their parents’ marriage.”
Darcy slumped against the wall. “Then I have no chance. I cannot mend her parents.” My task is not simply to convince her to marry me but to convince her to marry at all, in opposition to long-held beliefs about herself. Impossible.
Bingley threw his hands up in the air and nearly leapt from his chair. “You cannot simply quit! She is the only woman you have ever loved. But you need to show her you love her. You need to woo her.”
Things must be dire if I have managed to frustrate Bingley.
“I cannot make her fall in love with me,” Darcy scoffed. “She either loves me, or she does not.” He shook his head but stopped when the room began to spin.
Bingley made an impatient noise as he refilled his brandy. “That is nonsense! I believe Elizabeth loves you. And I know the reason she left had nothing to do with a deficiency of love so much as a deficiency of trust.”
His words hung in the air.
Trust. Of course, she does not trust my love. I could not even declare it. Why would she trust it?
“If you go to Longbourn, perhaps you can convince her to trust you,” Bingley said.
It sounded so simple, but it would be difficult. “She is stubborn. I am not equal to changing her mind.”
Bingley shrugged. “Then I suppose you do not love her enough.”
“What?” Outrage caused Darcy to sit up straight.
“If you are violently in love with her, I would think you cannot imagine your life without her.”
That was true. Darcy could not. A future without her would be cold and bleak.
“If you experience deep passion for her,” Bingley continued, “you would be desperate to win her regard.”
Darcy had never been more desperate. Bingley was right. He needed to make another attempt. He would beg on his knees if necessary.