7. Sisters to Blame
Sisters to Blame
Darcy lifted his hand to conceal his yawn and conjured a cough to ensure he would give no insult to his friend. Bingley, who was tapping his mud-stained boot when he was not pacing, was inexpert at concealing agitation… and apparently needed a more attentive valet.
Feeling Miss Bingley’s gaze, Darcy turned to her, his eyebrows raised.
What more does she think I can do to raise her brother’s spirits?
He had parried more than his share of Bingley’s earnest questions and wistful regrets.
He could not be harsh with a man who thought himself wronged in love, but neither could he listen to another word of Bingley’s whingeing nor stand another evening out helping him forget Miss Bennet.
If he liked the girl so much, he needed to determine whether he loved her and if she returned his feelings, genuinely, and not simply to placate her mother and enjoy Bingley’s fortune.
“Charles,” she said with a loud huff, “do calm yourself. We have much to occupy ourselves with in town, in Scarborough, and at any house parties that may arise. Mr Darcy, please tell my brother that returning to Hertfordshire is a ridiculous notion. As we all observed, Miss Bennet showed him no real interest.”
Bingley recoiled as if she had struck him. He looked at Darcy as if he needed rescue from the depths of the Thames.
Miss Bingley’s smug self-satisfaction sickened Darcy.
Was that how he appeared in advising his friend?
Arrogantly all-knowing, with no thought given to the sentiments of those whose lives they managed?
A flash of something like anger surged within him.
He despised this, hurting Bingley, a soft-hearted man unable to take charge of his family and life, who allowed his younger sister to run rampant on his feelings and now, seemingly, control his future.
And he was set up as arbiter of the situation?
He was sick of the conversation and would likely regret what he was about to do, but so it was.
“Miss Bingley, would you excuse us while I speak to your brother?”
Her peevish frown at being left out of his anticipated set-down made Darcy’s decision easier.
“I beg your pardon, but I cannot spare another evening in company before leaving town and wish to speak as men do.” He forced a small smile. “I am certain you understand.”
After florid assurances that she did and requests that he would write to her brother of his future plans and those of ‘dear Georgiana’, the door closed behind her. Sighing, Darcy turned to Bingley, who had remained still during the delicate negotiation to rid the room of his sister.
The man looked miserable. His brow was creased when he said in a low, grave voice, “You think me a fool.”
Shaking his head, Darcy returned to his abandoned seat. “No more a fool than any man crossed in love.”
After brushing his fingers through his hair, somehow making it look even more deranged, Bingley threw himself into a chair so forcefully it slid back on the carpet. “Miss Bennet was more distant after her illness. Perhaps it changed her,” Bingley ventured.
“Perhaps it did.”
“Although she was as pleasant and gracious at the ball as she had been prior to her illness.”
“Which renders moot your earlier point.”
Bingley blinked at Darcy, clearly preparing a counterargument that he could debate with himself. “I know you and my sisters believe Miss Bennet felt no more than friendship for me, but I—”
Darcy stretched out his legs before crossing them and glancing at the clock. It was half past two. He should leave soon if he wished to stop at Fitch’s and collect the books he had ordered for Georgiana before meeting with his cousin.
“Bingley, what has happened to your quick decisions? If you care about Miss Bennet, go back to Hertfordshire. But you must leave Miss Bingley in town. Miss Bennet was the essence of patience, but she was uncommon in her willingness to tolerate your sister’s barbs and disdain.
Continuing to do so would have dampened her ardour, eventually.
You cannot allow such behaviour around any lady you wish to court. ”
“Of course, of course,” Bingley cried, seemingly surprised at the bluntness in Darcy’s advice. “Caroline is… Well, yes, perhaps Miss Bennet’s gentle character was injured? Unlike Miss Elizabeth, who seemed to enjoy sparring with Caroline”—he turned to look at Darcy—“and with you.”
Perhaps as much as I enjoyed sparring with her.
Darcy could admit that much to himself, if not to Bingley.
He could not deny that he had spent more than one evening wondering about Elizabeth Bennet and had been plagued by too many thoughts of the lady in the days since they had parted.
Their final conversation after the ball had left him dissatisfied, and he wondered why she had seemed out of spirits.
Of course, her family had been there, exhibiting themselves at their worst, but her countenance had seemed more than mere embarrassment or fatigue.
She had stood apart, her shoulders slumped and her dark eyes averted from the company in Netherfield’s entry hall.
He was glad he had gone to her and provoked conversation—and a small smile.
Her eyes had not sparkled with liveliness but still expressed the compelling force that drew him to her.
Fortunately, Bingley was engrossed with his own predicament and did not notice Darcy’s preoccupation.
“Caroline claims herself expert in understanding the ways women think, and yet she was less help than hindrance to both Miss Bennets.” Bingley looked thoughtful for a moment, squinting as though he were struggling to come to a decision. “Do you think I should return?”
“I think you should discount the feelings of others and follow your own heart.”
“I hate to think Caroline is correct and Miss Bennet felt nothing for me. I was sure she did. Something, though, was altered in how her sister perceived me. Miss Elizabeth appeared less warm in my company after their stay at Netherfield.” Bingley stilled, his head cocked to one side as he considered his epiphany.
Suddenly, he turned to Darcy. “Perhaps she determined her sister’s happiness was not to be found with me and has convinced Miss Bennet of it. ”
Devil take it, he cannot listen, blaming his own abandonment of a lady who seemed cool to his overtures on her sister?
“Miss Elizabeth hardly seems a villain, Bingley.”
Finally, his patience for equivocation at an end, Darcy rose from his chair.
“You have the next month in which to sort your thoughts, old man. I wish you safe travels and a joyous Christmastide. I shall see you in town come March and will expect you to dance with a pretty girl or two in the meanwhile.” He held out his hand.
“There are pretty girls in Scarborough as well, I assume.”
Bingley stood, shrugging. “Perhaps so. There are pretty girls everywhere.”
Smiling, Darcy clasped Bingley’s hand. “Write to me of the assemblies and parties you attend there. I cannot promise to make out half your words, but I shall be content to know you are making the effort to be content.”