Chapter 22 #2
Their arrival brought a degree of animation to Darcy House that had been badly lacking of late.
Bingley entered with his usual warmth, all gladness and openness, expressing himself delighted to see Georgiana again and pleased beyond measure that Darcy had at last returned to town.
His good humour, never difficult to excite, seemed if anything increased by absence, and he spoke so readily of mutual acquaintances, recent amusements, and plans yet to be formed that even Darcy, who had little inclination for company, felt his mood lift a little.
Miss Bingley’s attentions were less welcome.
She paid court to Darcy from the first moment, as she had always done when she had any opportunity to distinguish herself to him, and though she preserved the ease of polished society in her manner, there was nothing in her conduct which could be mistaken for indifference.
She placed herself where she might address him often, listened for his answers with more solicitude than the subject required, and returned again and again to whatever might keep him longest engaged with her.
Darcy had rarely felt his patience so much tried.
“How glad you must be to be back in London at last!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “London society is everything. Now at last you may have culture, and conversation, and every good thing.”
“You are very good to be concerned,” Darcy told her, “but allow me to reassure you. I was very well entertained in Kent and suffered no lack of conversation.”
“I am all astonishment!” Miss Bingley said archly. “Indeed, how lovely for you, Mr Darcy. I am accustomed to thinking that there is nothing in Kent but hops.”
“Indeed, there are many fields of hops,” Darcy agreed gravely. “And the beauty of the countryside is only one of the pleasures to be found there.”
“But they do not supply much conversation.”
“They do not,” Darcy agreed simply. “For that, one must rely on one’s companions.”
The answer, simple as it was, was not lost on her. “Indeed? Then I must conclude you found society there more agreeable than I had imagined.”
“I did.”
Miss Bingley laughed lightly, but her eyes searched his face. “You grow mysterious. It is not a habit I expected you to acquire in the country.”
Bingley, who had approached in time to catch only the last exchange, said cheerfully, “Darcy mysterious? That is an accusation I should like to hear proved.”
“Your friend has discovered hidden pleasures in Kent and refuses to enlighten us.”
“I am glad of it,” said Bingley. “If Kent has pleased him, the place has more merit than I supposed. For my part, I always think well of any place where one has friends.”
At this, Darcy’s thoughts moved at once toward Hertfordshire.
With them, a vision of Elizabeth came so distinctly before his mind’s eye that for a moment the room, the conversation, and every other object lost some portion of their force.
He saw again the brightness of her eyes when she was amused, the quick intelligence that animated her face, the frankness with which she listened, the ease with which she spoke.
Nothing in the recollection was exaggerated, because nothing required it.
She had never needed art to make herself felt.
Her presence had distinguished itself without effort.
It was that very ease, that freedom from design, which made every attempt at studied attraction appear poor beside it.
Miss Bingley continued to speak, though he heard her only in fragments.
“There is a concert next week,” she was saying. “And the Westerlys are expected back. Lady Mary was lamenting only yesterday that she had not seen your sister in an age. There will be no want of agreeable engagements if you choose to remain.”
“I do not intend to remain long in town.”
“No?” Her surprise was immediate and carefully managed. “Surely you do not mean to retreat again so soon. You have had no chance to enjoy yourself.”
“We are to go to Pemberley.”
“Well, for a time, perhaps. But you will return.”
“I do not know that we shall.”
She regarded him with a look that was meant to be playful, though it did not succeed. “Surely you do not mean to retreat to the countryside forever.”
“Not forever,” Darcy said. “But I cannot say when we may return.”
Miss Bingley was silent a moment, then turned the subject with what she meant to be grace. “I shall not attempt to compete with Pemberley. No one can. But I should be very sorry if you abandoned London entirely to people less qualified to enjoy it.”
Darcy inclined his head, but gave no encouragement beyond the civility of the motion.
At supper, she renewed the attempt with greater perseverance.
She addressed him whenever the general conversation allowed, praised what he seemed most inclined to notice, contradicted him only where contradiction might prolong the exchange, and laughed more than was necessary at anything he said which admitted even the smallest pretence of wit.
None of it produced the effect she intended.
Her attentions, once flattering perhaps to vanity, now served only to remind him how wholly unlike Elizabeth she was.
Miss Bingley wished always to be agreeable and was seldom so.
Elizabeth had been so without ever appearing to consider whether she succeeded.