Chapter 3 #3
In his own room, with the fire built high against the December cold and his valet dismissed, he stood for a long while at the window.
A long winter, his Uncle Matlock had said.
He dreaded it. Two hours of eating, thirty minutes of port, another thirty of music with a young woman who had been taught to be the sort of wife who would never trouble her husband.
The problem was that Darcy had found that he rather liked trouble. At least, he liked the particular variety of trouble that he had encountered in Hertfordshire.
The next day passed quietly. He breakfasted with his mother and Georgiana, then shut himself in his study and attacked his correspondence, answering letters, reviewing estate accounts, and settling tenant matters with such diligence that he almost succeeded in forgetting Miss Macomber and her alarming inability to profess an opinion.
Almost.
Unfortunately, his mind, once irritated, was apt to seek relief, and by ten, Darcy had caught himself imagining a woman who would answer a question directly and honestly the first time it was asked. By eleven she had acquired dark, intelligent eyes and several exceedingly pert opinions.
He was still at his desk at noon, attending to a matter of roof repairs for a few tenants, when Hewitt announced Bingley.
His friend came in with a hasty greeting and information. “Darcy, you will not believe it. Miss Bennet is in town.”
Darcy set down his pen. “In town?” he said.
“At her uncle’s in Gracechurch Street.” Bingley stood by the desk, moving from foot to foot in the way of a man too pleased to sit. “She has been for a week, perhaps more. Hurst told me.”
“Hurst?” Tobias Hurst rarely observed enough of the world to report upon it afterward.
“Yes, can you believe it? We were at breakfast, after Caroline had gone up to change for . . . something, I do not recall. His very words were, ‘I do not, as a rule, attend to callers, but Caroline had a card from that gel from Hertfordshire, and I rather think you ought to know.’”
“Hurst said that?”
“He had the card.” Bingley produced it from his coat and showed it to Darcy. “He said Caroline and Louisa would be obliged to return the call within the week, and he thought I should not like to be the last to know.”
“And your sisters did not mention the call?”
“Not to me.”
He had underestimated Hurst. Darcy himself had been too occupied avoiding Miss Bingley and staring at Miss Elizabeth to pay much attention to Miss Bennet’s feelings for his friend.
When Bingley remained in London, Darcy had concluded the attachment was not serious.
He had not really given it a great deal of thought, truth be told, for with his mother’s increased attempts to matchmake for him, he had problems of his own to manage.
“You mean to call?”
“Certainly.”
I should have gone before now if I could be sure she would be at home.”
“You are aware that calls before noon are—”
“Yes, yes.” Bingley waved the rule away. “Two o’clock, then. I should eat first. I stopped because I thought you might accompany me.”
To what purpose? Bingley did not need him, surely, and seeing Miss Elizabeth’s sister would only make everything worse. She must know about his missteps in Hertfordshire, for she was very close with Miss Elizabeth. No, Miss Bennet would certainly not wish to see him. “Bingley.”
“I know what you will say.”
“I do not think that you do.”
“You will say that the call is properly mine, and so it is, but Darcy, I cannot trust my own judgement in this.” He sat at last, leaning forward in the chair across the desk.
“Caroline has not stopped speaking of Cheapside since Miss Bennet’s stay at Netherfield—and I do not know what I think any longer.
If you find them respectable, I shall know.
That is all I am asking. It will take twenty minutes. ”
Darcy did not reply.
Bingley saw his expression. “You think it unreasonable,” he said.
Rather, Darcy was thinking that he ought not involve himself. He ought certainly not place himself voluntarily in the same room as Miss Bennet for fear of hearing about her sister. He ought not even encourage Bingley in an attachment he had not seemed willing to return to Netherfield to pursue.
Bingley was a good friend, though, and he had just hosted Darcy for six weeks, despite how difficult that visit had been.
Miss Bennet was far too gentle a creature to confront him regarding his past offenses. Miss Bennet would blush, perhaps, or grow slightly grave, but she would never deliberately make a man uncomfortable.
Bingley leaned forward hopefully. “Twenty minutes. That is all a call will require.”
Darcy exhaled once through his nose. “You are a determined man.”
“You will come?”
Against his better judgement. “Yes.”
Bingley was on his feet again, his hat already half on. “Well, put on your hat, man. My carriage is waiting for us outside.”
“You would not wish to appear too eager.”
“Very well. Shall we dine at the club first, then?”
Before Darcy could answer, Bingley was out the door. Darcy glanced at the letters on his desk and realised he was not making much progress. He sighed and followed after his friend.