15. Excessive Disappointments
Excessive Disappointments
The remainder of that day passed slowly.
The storm that blew in late in the afternoon came as a relief, winds roaring and rain pounding the roof, even as it confined the residents of Hunsford parsonage to one another’s company.
Maria shrank from Mr Collins as he forcefully opined that Elizabeth’s behaviour had upset Mr Darcy and caused his loss of temper.
Charlotte’s ease in managing her husband appeared to falter, as she too was likely contemplating her own failure to keep her oldest friend’s confidence.
Elizabeth escaped their company after dinner by voicing her eagerness to finish her book.
Cecilia sat unread, however, as she paced in her small room and examined the meaning of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assertions.
‘He has lately done a friend a good favour, advising him on an estate and separating him from an unsuitable lady.’
Elizabeth recalled how dispirited Jane had been when the Netherfield party left and how pleased she had been to ensure that her dearest sister would not be further hurt by Mr Bingley or his sisters.
How dare anyone refer to her as ‘unsuitable’!
There is no kinder, more deserving lady in the world than Jane.
It is Mr Bingley, chasing the skirts of housemaids and making them victims to his purse, who is unsuitable.
Elizabeth bit back a gasp. Perhaps Jane was not the ‘unsuitable lady’—perhaps Mr Darcy had had to separate Mr Bingley from his attachment to the red-haired maid.
Had Mr Bingley grown intent on marrying the maid or making her his mistress as he courted and married Jane, or another woman—even Miss Darcy?
She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of the silhouetted couple she had seen framed in Netherfield’s window as the sound of Mr Bingley’s soft voice returned to her.
‘It would be dreadful if anyone other than Darcy were to know of our arrangement.’
Could Mr Bingley be so ridiculously abhorrent? Had he made fanciful but futile promises to the maid, leading to Mr Darcy’s actions to separate them? For that, she would congratulate Mr Darcy, though his character was made more puzzling by it.
Fearing that creaking floorboards would bring an unwanted knock at her door, Elizabeth slid onto the bed, drawing her knees to her chest and tapping her stocking feet on the green-and-yellow counterpane as she considered Mr Darcy.
Although aloof and disinterested in those around him, he was a gentleman—master of an estate and guardian to his younger sister.
As difficult as it had been to envision Mr Bingley as a rogue, it was impossible to think of Mr Darcy cavorting in such a way or condoning his friend’s shameful conduct.
Could he be ignorant of it? She could not believe such an intelligent and dutiful man, who by all accounts adhered rigidly to his responsibilities, could excuse his friend’s proclivities.
No, despite what Mr Bingley had said, Mr Darcy must not know of his friend’s indiscretions—not if he was willing to marry his sister to him, as Miss Bingley had implied.
Even Mr Wickham had called him a good brother.
If Mr Darcy knew of Mr Bingley’s propensities, he would not promote such an alliance.
Mr Darcy once insulted me, but he has said nothing disdainful of Jane. At the assembly, he had referred to her as ‘the only handsome woman’ in attendance.
So why should he now disparage her as ‘unsuitable’ and claim to his cousin that it was he who had separated Jane from his friend when it could easily be proved untrue.
She had arranged for Jane to leave Longbourn.
She had requested the Gardiners assist her in seeking new acquaintances—suitors—for Jane.
And Jane was happy now with Mr Catesby, a good man who would not abuse servants and lacked sisters and any evidence of a poor character.
Elizabeth stood from her bed and went to the room’s narrow window, desperate to go outside and walk off her frustration despite the rain that continued to pour.
She had no corridors to pace nor larger rooms to flee to as she would at Longbourn when in such a fix.
After dropping back onto the bed, she began taking down her hair.
Another thought occurred to her as she reached for her hairbrush.
While her anger was best directed at Mr and Miss Bingley, Mr Darcy had no right to boast of his achievement.
But had he boasted—or had his garrulous cousin portrayed it in such a way knowing only that Mr Bingley had once again fallen in love but gone off to London?
Was the recognition the colonel gave to Mr Darcy for separating his friend from a lady merely the colonel’s gratification?
He alluded to her being safe from rivals for his cousin’s notice, for goodness’ sake.
Perhaps he enjoyed puffery about his cousin as much as he enjoyed portraying his own less favourable position in the world.
He, like Mr Wickham, was eager to share private information about Mr Darcy’s character and actions.
It was unusual, in her experience, to encounter men who portrayed themselves as lesser to one with whom they claimed a close relationship.
Mr Wickham claimed himself as the wounded party, victim of Mr Darcy’s conceit and jealousy.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, enjoyed bemoaning his own lack of fortune while laughing at and speaking of his cousin’s claims of officious interference.
What a bewildering group of grumblers, braggarts, rakes, and… whatever Mr Darcy may be!
Spying the graceful loops of Georgiana’s hand, Darcy reached quickly for the letter, pleased to finally receive news from her.
The post was always slow to arrive at Rosings—or perhaps the fault lay within the house itself.
He had long wondered whether letters were first inspected by Lady Catherine so she would be aware of those writing to him, Fitzwilliam, or any other visitor.
Anne was a poor correspondent, but he could not doubt that whatever letters she received, her mother reviewed them first. Sighing, Darcy inspected the seal, which remained secure, and felt reassured that his sister’s words remained private. He broke it and began reading.
...Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst called two days ago with Mr Bingley. The ladies are pleasant, but it is Mr Bingley’s presence that brings charm and ease to our conversations.
Thank goodness for Bingley, although Miss Bingley’s behaviour at Netherfield—her digs at Elizabeth and her behaviour to the servants—would not be forgot.
Yet glad as Darcy was that Georgiana was entertained and her discomfort with Miss Bingley softened by Bingley’s attendance, Darcy was puzzled that his friend was in town, idling away.
Did he not have an unseasonably early house party to go to in Wiltshire or some such place? And what of his latest angel?
I understand why Mr Bingley is your friend; he is very kind.
Yesterday, he took me and Miss Bingley to the park, where we walked along the Serpentine and enjoyed the spring’s early blooms. I do so love daffodils, which Miss Bingley says are her brother’s favourites.
She has invited me to call at their home and listen to a duet she has learnt to play with Mrs Hurst. Knowing of your friendship with Mr Bingley and his sisters, Mrs Annesley was certain you would approve of these outings.
With Lady Matlock occupied in Surrey with Cousin Amelia’s confinement, I have enjoyed the entertainments.
The earl and the countess doted on their only daughter.
With the viscount still gallivanting about, enjoying flirtations and routs, the couple was preoccupied with the impending arrival of their first grandchild.
It seemed the closer the birth came, the more fevered Lady Matlock became in speculating on brides for her sons and nephew.
As a result, Darcy had continued to set aside her recent correspondence.
Sighing, he turned back to Georgiana’s letter.
Mr Bingley has asked when you will return to town, as he wishes to talk to you of some matter of great importance.
Darcy groaned, suspecting Bingley wished to discuss his love-life. Was it Miss Wabshaw or a new golden-haired beauty? Perhaps his friend would refrain from acting rashly. Young, impetuous, and too influenced by his ambitious sisters—he wondered whether Bingley was in over his head.
Bingley tossed aside his jacket. He was frustrated with everything!
Clearly, Miss Wabshaw had set him aside, welcoming other callers and putting off his invitations to walk out.
It was spring, and the parks and gardens were bursting with pretty, fragrant blooms. He knew this because Caroline had had him out twice within the past week, driving her and Miss Darcy through Hyde Park, waving to friends and acquaintances and insisting he escort them to Gunter’s.
He had had enough of his sister’s company.
If she was not squawking about his mistakes and explaining exactly what he should be doing and who he should be meeting, she was urging him to have his lease-agent make final his decision to quit Netherfield.
Or pressing him to write to Darcy and tell him of the fun they were having with his sister and ensure they would be invited to Pemberley this summer.
‘Darcy will be pleased to know how much we enjoy Georgiana’s company and how much liveliness we bring to her—you, especially, Charles. ’
To his mind, Miss Darcy needed less of Caroline’s liveliness and more of the genteel companionship of a lady like Miss Bennet—
No! You must not think of her.
His enthusiasm for the diversions his sister planned for him, with her and a girl of sixteen years, was waning.
He needed the companionship of men! Town was empty of his friends—most were away visiting family.
Boodle’s was quiet, he knew few of those at Angelo’s, and with Darcy in Kent, he lacked the one man who could make introductions.
And now this! The house party he had been anticipating had been cancelled!
Yes, the health of Huntley’s mother took precedence to frivolity, but how he had looked forward to the sport and camaraderie such a gathering offered.
He was tired of his rooms at the Albany, but they had become his only refuge from his sisters.
How did Hurst stand living with them? Their company?
Well, he wanted more than to escape into brandy and naps. When, Bingley wondered, had he last felt the comfort and warmth of a happy household? When had he last been content?
He smiled, remembering the ease he had enjoyed in Hertfordshire, the companionship he had felt there.
The ache he had felt for months—regret lined with guilt—rose and turned his smile bittersweet.
Much as he recognised he had been stupid to remain in town and doubt his feelings all those months ago, an unquenchable flame for Miss Bennet still burned in his heart. He stood and strode across the room.
I will do as Caroline asks regarding Netherfield, but no man should close a house without taking a last look at the place to ensure he is making the right decision. I was happy there.
It would allow him an excuse to see his friends and properly farewell the neighbours, and of course, it would be rude not to call at Longbourn.