12. A First Hint
A First Hint
Darcy sat alone in Rosings’s breakfast room.
His aunt and cousin never appeared before noon, preferring to remain abed with trays of tarts and tonics.
Their absence made his and Fitzwilliam’s mornings more productive and pleasurable.
Certainly, Fitzwilliam was animated, even more so since discovering the sparkling company of a particular lady at the parsonage.
In the half-year since they had met, Darcy still could not make head or tail of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
She was the most puzzling woman of his acquaintance—merry and unaffected one moment, cool and distant the next.
Her changeable manner had intrigued and frustrated him since their first meeting.
Her eyes, her conversation, her ability to knock him out of his thoughts and merely listen and gain pleasure from the sound of her voice created an overpowering feeling within him.
Since learning of her presence in Kent, he had wrestled with anticipation and dread.
Much as he wished to see her, to revel in her teasing and lively conversation, he feared falling under her spell.
He had left Hertfordshire just in time, for on the night of the Netherfield ball, he had realised how much he admired her and how well they could fit together, regardless of her family’s lack of delicacy and fortune.
It was inexplicable, this attraction he felt for her.
She was very pretty, but beautiful women were common in the ton.
She had a singular beauty, it seemed, as if the essence of her—warmth, wit, grace, mischief—set her fair skin aglow, drawing him to her.
Absenting himself from Netherfield had but temporarily removed her from his thoughts. When not searching for her in crowds, she had filled his dreams. Seeing her here, months later, had secured her in his heart.
Her behaviour, however, vexed him. It was months since they had last met, and rather than appear glad to see him, all her charms were directed at his cousin. It was fortunate for Fitzwilliam that Darcy was not a man prone to jealousy.
And yet, much as he grieved Elizabeth’s playful aspect being directed away from him, he recognised that something in her seemed dimmed.
Hers was a curious nature, yet she showed no inclination to share news of her family nor any interest in the Bingleys.
Was it being under the roof of her bird-witted cousin, or had her tolerance for the imperious Lady Catherine run out?
Darcy set down his coffee cup, the sound echoing in the large, empty breakfast room.
Perhaps she is ill.
His concern for her health—in fact, his preoccupation with all things Elizabeth Bennet—was set aside when the post arrived.
Yesterday, he had received letters from his sister—she and her companion, Mrs Annesley, had arrived in town, and Georgiana’s Italian had improved enough that she no longer feared mortifying him should she ever travel to Rome—and his steward, reporting on the birth of a foal, the repair of the fencing around the estate’s southern acreage, and a fire in Lambton’s largest dress shop which had claimed half the muslin and lace in the village.
This morning’s salver held letters from friends.
Bingley had written, and there was a thick letter from John Hadley, whom he had known since his first day at Eton.
Anticipating that Hadley’s letter would provide greater amusement, deliberation, and enlightenment to savour, Darcy finished his eggs and opened Bingley’s thin missive.
His scrawl had fewer crosses and blots than usual.
…and in the most wonderful stroke of luck, I have met a lady. Miss Emily Wabshaw is not merely an angel, but a beauty of both the face and heart.
Once again, Bingley was in love or on his way to it.
That appeared to be his pressing news, perhaps the point for putting pen to paper.
Bingley ended his brief note with a mention of a house party in Sussex and a plea for Darcy to return to town and meet the lady and some of her pretty friends.
Scoffing, he folded the paper and took a sip of coffee.
Whether Bingley had met his true angel, at least there would be no more drunken nights bemoaning Miss Bennet.
He reached for Hadley’s letter, eager to read his news before Fitzwilliam arrived with his usual morning bluster.
In addition to an amusing story of the folly his neighbour was building and the brilliant, if half-drunk, painter he had commissioned for a portrait of himself and his wife, Hadley’s letter, oddly enough, spoke also of the ton and of Bingley himself.
The pup has been circling the young sister of Hugh Wabshaw.
You recall good old Wabbie’s propensity for cards?
He was the first man to throw Wickham from a game and the first to allow him another chance.
He is a steady one now, and if he can overlook Bingley’s preening sister and their roots in trade, it should do well for all.
I will add that Miss Bingley may have forgot you, for she was seen smiling too much at a man called Yorke, a baronet from Warwickshire.
Do not feel too relieved, for although he appears secure in his fortune, his hair is gone and his looks with it.
She may marry him but continue batting her eyes at you, my dashing friend.
I can read your thoughts: ‘Hadley has become an old gossip.’ It is an unwilling talent learnt through marriage. If you do not wish to emulate such a skill, marry a lady with no more than one sister—that is my advice to you.
Darcy threw back his head and laughed. Hadley, with his own two elder sisters as well as his wife’s three younger ones, was a man truly entrapped in the realm of tittle-tattle, balls, and lace. I can do without those, though I have no choice but to accept four sisters if I marry Elizabeth.
He shook his head, a little shocked by his own thoughts, and returned to the letter.
I am averse to most of what is shared between the ladies, but both my wife and my eldest sister have made mention of something I am compelled to share with you.
They refer to Bingley’s newest infatuation as a relief, for his attentions would no longer be directed towards Miss Darcy.
I have never given thought to such a match, nor would I think you had, but you know how ladies speculate on such things.
Frowning, Darcy slid the letter into his pocket. ‘A relief?’ For Bingley’s sore heart, perhaps. He may have failed to protect Georgiana from Wickham, but she had always been safe from the attentions of any of his friends.
After the debacle at Ramsgate, he would admit to an idle thought that a match with Bingley would protect Georgiana’s reputation.
But never had he spoken of it aloud. Based on Bingley’s indecision regarding Netherfield and his inability to command his sisters, Darcy knew he lacked the resolve and the steadfastness in character that dear Georgiana required.
Gossiping vultures. He despised everything about the ton.