Chapter 3
THREE
The morning following the ball, Darcy prepared to leave Hertfordshire. He would share a carriage with Bingley, as they had previously agreed to do. What neither man had expected was that the Hursts and Miss Bingley would insist on going with them. Mrs Hurst made the announcement at breakfast.
“But why?” Bingley asked.
Miss Bingley made a noise that might have been a muffled scoff. “We have no interest in staying here longer. You know how little we think of the neighbourhood. It will be so much more diverting in town, where we might be with our friends. Mr Darcy, you agree, do you not?”
Darcy hastily raised his cup to his mouth to avoid giving an opinion.
Over the last weeks, he had found many of the ladies’ remarks, especially those about the Bennets, to border on mean-spirited, if not leaping across the line.
But he could not deny that he would be glad to leave Hertfordshire, primarily to put distance between himself and Miss Elizabeth.
That way, his attraction to her would soon be forgot.
“Do what you like,” Bingley said to his sisters. “I intend to return once my business is concluded.”
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley exchanged a look. Darcy was left with the impression that they would attempt to change their brother’s mind.
Between the ladies’ constant remarks on their gladness to ‘escape’ Hertfordshire and what they would do in London—principally shopping, it appeared—and Hurst’s never-ending snoring, the journey was long.
Darcy was thankful when it ended and he was safely within the peacefulness of his town house in Berkeley Square.
He passed the next several days spending time with his sister and his relations, especially his maternal cousins Viscount Bramwell and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who were also his closest friends. On the final day of November, Bingley called.
“Are you as glad to be here as Louisa and Caroline are?” he asked.
His voice had a certain tightness that suggested his sisters had been vexing him. “With Georgiana, my cousins, and other family in town, how do you suppose I shall answer?”
Bingley smiled and said, “Very true. They are all well?”
Darcy nodded.
Bingley continued. “I should send a card around to the colonel, see if he would like to arrange to meet, do something amusing. I am in need of diversion. You would not believe what my sisters and Hurst— But enough of that. I shall not try your patience with my complaints.”
“Write to Fitzwilliam,” he advised, pleased the two men were friends. “He mentioned hoping to have a chance to best you at fencing or boxing or whatever sport the two of you decide upon.”
Sitting forward in his chair, Bingley said hurriedly, “Tell me, Darcy, what is your opinion of Miss Bennet? My sisters have had far too much to say about her—Hurst, too—very little of it good. I had thought they liked her, but…”
Darcy regarded him for a moment, contemplating how to respond. “Am I correct that it is not so much the lady they dislike but your feelings for her?”
Bingley nodded. “Exactly. Miss Bennet is the gentlest, loveliest lady I have ever met. I enjoy her company. We…we share a similarity in taste. She makes me smile and even laughs at my poor attempts to tell jokes. For weeks, almost from the night we met, I have believed she would be the perfect wife for me. Yet, they tell me I must forget her, that it would be a grave mistake to continue my attentions to her.”
Again, Darcy did not speak immediately. Bingley waited, his expression eager and one knee bouncing impatiently. At length, Darcy said, “Are you certain she returns your feelings? You have not known her long. Hardly more than a month.”
His friend sat back and pulled at his lower lip, furrowing his brow.
“As to your question, yes, I am convinced she cares for me, just as I do her. We have not known one another long, but I did not intend to propose at once. Maybe not until Christmas, or New Year. But Louisa and Caroline say we must be in town for both. Amongst their many complaints and demands is that I give up Netherfield. When I refused, they attempted to make me promise not to return immediately, to take a week or fortnight apart from her and see if my feelings remain what they are.” He sighed.
Very likely, they expected he would soon meet another beautiful lady and become infatuated with her, Darcy thought. After all, Bingley had often fallen into and out of love—not that he believed his friend had actually been in love. If he had been, he would not have recovered so quickly.
“I shall be honest and tell you that I am not convinced Miss Bennet returns your sentiments,” Darcy said.
When Bingley made to speak, Darcy held up a hand to stop him and went on.
“But I was not part of your conversations with her. More importantly, before you proceed—if you decide to—you should insist upon knowing the truth about Miss Elizabeth.”
“Miss Elizabeth? You mean that nonsense about her being adopted? What does that matter?”
“She and Miss Bennet are very close. She knows nothing of her father, and I do not know if Mr Bennet does either. Was his sister even married to the man?”
“That was so long ago. Surely it is irrelevant! Miss Elizabeth is a charming—”
“It does matter,” Darcy interjected. He could not bear to listen to Bingley praise Miss Elizabeth—neither did he need the reminder of her many attributes.
“You must think rationally, Bingley. Mrs Bennet’s family is in trade, which is reason enough to ask yourself if Miss Bennet would be an appropriate choice of bride for you.
Beyond that, Mrs Bennet’s behaviour and that of her three youngest daughters is far from what it should be.
When you add Miss Elizabeth’s situation, it is… ” Slowly, he shook his head.
Bingley lowered his gaze and said, “I shall think about what you have said.”
“In the end, you must do what you think is best,” Darcy insisted.
He was displeased with the Hursts and Miss Bingley for distressing him.
While he had reservations about Bingley connecting himself to the Bennets, he suspected their motivations had more to do with Miss Bennet’s lack of fortune and high social position.
His friend nodded and, in a more cheerful tone, asked what his plans were for the next month or so. “It is December tomorrow. The Festive Season will soon be upon us.”
“I shall remain in town until my aunt’s Twelfth Night ball. Afterwards, Georgiana and I shall go to Pemberley for the winter. Very likely, we shall pass some time at Romsley Hall, as well. The earl and countess will be there, and I expect my cousins will go, too, at least for several weeks.”
Bingley chuckled. “Ah yes, Lady Romsley’s famous Twelfth Night ball.
Caroline and Louisa were talking about the new gowns they intend to purchase.
I told Caroline she should wait until your aunt issues the invitation.
I know she asked us last year, which was considerate, but it does not oblige her to continue doing so.
Hurst is her distant cousin removed a dozen times or whatever it is, which I do not think an adequate reason for including him.
We are merely his brother- and sister-in-law. ”
“And you are my friend,” Darcy said, placing a slight emphasis on ‘you’, wishing to convey that he thought of Bingley as a friend but did not necessarily view his sisters and brother the same way.
“As to why she invites Hurst, I believe it has something to do with her brother being at school with his father. I am glad I am not charged with deciding whom to invite or exclude from any event. Listening to my aunts discuss it, I believe it is more complicated than the contracts I must so often review.”
They shared a laugh, and Bingley departed.
Alone again, Darcy found his mind drifting to Hertfordshire and what he had said of Miss Elizabeth. He had not liked to contemplate her unfortunate situation, but he had never been one to shy away from reality.
“I had no choice,” he murmured. After all, he had been asked for his opinion.
Ladies and gentlemen in the ton could be intensely curious about new people and treat any fault—real or perceived—harshly.
Should Bingley marry Miss Bennet, someone could possibly uncover the truth about Miss Elizabeth’s parentage—whatever it was—and use it to damage the Bingleys.
For the same reason and because he had been drawn to her, it was unwise of him to maintain even an acquaintance with the lady.
He sank deeper into the leather wing chair and closed his eyes.
Immediately, he saw her image, her remarkable eyes fixed on him, silently attempting to communicate something, but he was unable to grasp it.
Perhaps, like him, she sensed a pull between them, a nascent bond that might have become substantial, had not circumstance made it so imprudent—a similarity of mind, despite how different they were in other respects, or how they would complement each other—she lively and easy in company, ready to seek amusement and take chances, and he, the more serious person, always keeping them safe and headed in the right direction.
Opening his eyes, he sat up and shook himself.
“I am being a fool. Indulging in day-dreams that have no basis in fact. If Bingley hardly knows Miss Bennet enough to say that he wants to marry her, I know Miss Elizabeth even less. Certainly not enough to hold such beliefs about…” About how right it was to call her the most handsome, most enchanting lady he had ever met, and one he very, very much wished he might have known better.