4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Darcy received the express from Pemberley just after breakfast, while Miss Bingley was praising Derbyshire with all the enthusiasm of a person who had never voluntarily admired anything outside London unless it belonged to him.
She sat near the window of the sitting room at the inn, one gloved hand resting upon the arm of her chair, her orange silk arranged to best advantage despite the inconvenience of travel.
Bingley stood near the mantelpiece, reading aloud from a notice advertising a shop at some place they had already passed.
Hurst had taken possession of the largest chair and showed every sign of remaining there until forcibly removed.
Mrs. Hurst leafed through a novel without appearing to read it.
Georgiana sat apart with her work in her lap.
Darcy had already marked that. It was not unusual for his sister to be reserved in company.
He had long grown accustomed to seeing her shrink slightly when conversation became too lively or too pointed.
Yet that morning, her reticence had taken on a different character.
Her needle remained suspended above the fabric.
Whenever travel arrangements were mentioned, her attention drifted from Miss Bingley to him before dropping once more.
Georgiana’s companion ought to have occupied the chair beside her.
Mrs. Annesley had gone to Yorkshire to attend her daughter during her confinement with a first child, and although Georgiana had borne the separation with good humor, Darcy had begun to wonder whether he had underestimated the effect of her absence.
Left to Miss Bingley’s enthusiastic attentions, his sister seemed quieter with each passing day.
The servant delivered the letter on a small salver. Darcy broke the seal, read two lines, and felt his plans for the day disarrange themselves.
Mrs. Reynolds’s hand was unmistakable. There had been confusion with accounts relating to repairs on the west tenant cottages, and Mr. Harding, his steward, requested Darcy’s presence before certain agreements were finalized.
Nothing disastrous. Nothing that could not be put right.
But it required him at Pemberley sooner than expected.
Bingley regarded him with concern. “Bad news?”
“No.” Darcy folded the letter. “It is just estate business. I must ride ahead.”
Miss Bingley fixed her attention upon him. “Ride ahead?” Her tone suggested he had proposed abandoning them in a field.
Darcy placed the letter beside his plate and reached for his coffee. “There is a matter with my steward that requires attention. I shall go on today rather than tomorrow.”
“But surely it can wait until we all arrive,” she protested, setting down her own cup. “You cannot mean to leave us to continue without you.”
“I can hardly expect Harding to delay when the leases must be settled this week.”
Miss Bingley’s brows drew together in a manner that might have passed for concern had Darcy not known her so well. “But Mr. Darcy, you have just joined us. Poor Georgiana will miss your company exceedingly.”
Georgiana’s needle dropped through the fabric and remained there. Darcy glanced toward her. His sister did not speak. She did not even look at Miss Bingley. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her work, then released.
Miss Bingley continued before Darcy could answer. “Of course, I shall take especial care of her. You need have no concern on that score. Louisa and I shall make certain she is not fatigued by the road, and I shall keep her beside me in the carriage.”
Georgiana bent her head lower over her embroidery.
Darcy’s coffee cooled untouched.
Bingley, unaware of any tension, smiled amiably. “Capital. We shall follow tomorrow as planned, then. Darcy can settle whatever needs settling and receive us in proper state.”
“I have no intention of receiving anyone in state,” Darcy replied.
“That is precisely why you do it so well.”
Hurst grunted from his chair. “Estate business waits for no man. Better him than me.”
Mrs. Hurst murmured something indistinct over her book.
Miss Bingley leaned forward, her concern sharpened into something more active. “But will it not be agreeable for dear Georgiana to continue without you? She is so very young, and the road can be tiresome. She requires someone attentive.”
Darcy watched Georgiana’s fingers curl around the needle again. She did not raise her eyes. “Georgiana is quite capable of travel,” he said.
Miss Bingley laughed, though the sound grated. “Oh, to be sure, but capable is not the same as comfortable. She is such a delicate creature, and she has always preferred familiar guidance.”
Georgiana’s cheeks colored. It was slight.
Almost nothing. A faint wash beneath the skin, gone nearly as soon as it appeared.
Darcy saw it. For years, he had considered Miss Bingley’s attentions to his sister a harmless, if excessive, expression of regard.
Miss Bingley could be officious. She could flatter too much.
She could assume intimacy before it was granted. None of that was new.
But he had not examined Georgiana’s response to it with sufficient care. He had taken her lack of protest for agreement. That was a humbling realization.
Darcy continued to ignore his now-cold coffee and turned his attention to his sister. “Georgiana, would you prefer to remain with the party tomorrow or come ahead with me?”
Miss Bingley’s fan snapped open. “Dear Mr. Darcy, I fear she will say whatever she thinks will please you.”
Georgiana’s needle pricked her finger. She drew back with a small start.
Darcy’s hand flexed on the arm of his chair before he controlled it.
Miss Bingley half-rose. “My dear Georgiana, you have hurt yourself. Let me see.”
“It is nothing,” Georgiana murmured, tucking her hand into her lap.
“Nonsense. You are always too modest about your discomforts.” Miss Bingley crossed the room and reached for Georgiana’s hand. “Permit me—”
Georgiana drew her hand back so swiftly that Miss Bingley stopped.
That slight motion was seemingly noticed by the entire room. Bingley’s stare shifted from one lady to the other, confusion replacing good humor. Mrs. Hurst lowered her book. Even Hurst opened one eye.
Georgiana’s face had gone pale now.
Darcy rose. “You need not trouble yourself, Miss Bingley.”
Miss Bingley’s smile came back, a little too bright. “Of course. I was merely anxious for her.”
“Of course,” Darcy answered. He crossed to Georgiana and stopped at a respectful distance, not wishing to make her more conspicuous than she already felt. “Shall we walk after breakfast? The air may be better than this room.”
His sister stared at him, dumbfounded. Relief appeared so plainly in her face that he wondered how he had missed its absence before. “Yes, please,” she said.
Miss Bingley recovered first. “What a charming idea. Louisa and I shall join you.”
Darcy faced her again. “I meant to walk with my sister.” The words were civil. They were also final.
Miss Bingley shut her fan slowly.
Bingley cleared his throat and folded the printed notice with unnecessary care. “I daresay the rest of us may manage to be indolent for half an hour.”
Hurst shut his eye again. “I can manage longer.”
The matter ended there, though not comfortably.
Georgiana moved to put away her embroidery, her fingers less certain than usual. Darcy waited by the door while she gathered her shawl. Miss Bingley watched them both with a look of injured solicitude, like she had been denied the right to suffer on Georgiana’s behalf.
Darcy did not look back again as he escorted his sister from the room.
Outside, the morning air held the coolness of recent rain.
The inn garden was narrow and somewhat untidy, bordered by a low stone wall beyond which the road descended toward a small market square.
A gardener had neglected the beds near the path, and late summer flowers leaned over the edges, bright and ungoverned.
Georgiana walked beside him with her hands clasped before her.
For several minutes Darcy let the silence remain.
Carriage wheels rattled in the yard. Somewhere inside the inn, Bingley protested at something his sisters had said.
A groom led one of the horses past the gate, leather creaking, hooves striking damp stone.
Darcy slowed near the far end of the garden. “Georgiana.”
She stopped beside a straggling rosebush. “Yes?”
He was not a man accustomed to beginning conversations he did not know how to finish. With tenants, solicitors, servants, friends, even difficult relations, there were structures. Questions to ask. Instructions to give. Duties to perform.
His sister required something different.
He had failed at different things before.
“Would you rather not travel with Miss Bingley tomorrow?”
Georgiana ground her boot on the gravel path. “I do not wish to be troublesome.”
“That was not my question.”
She gathered the fringe of her shawl between her fingers and twisted it once before releasing it. “I know.”
Darcy waited.
A sparrow hopped along the wall and disappeared into the hedge.
Georgiana spoke at last, so low he had to lean nearer to catch the words. “I do not dislike Miss Bingley.”
“No one has asked you to dislike her.”
“She is kind in many ways.”
Darcy almost answered but stopped himself. Georgiana was arranging her words as carefully as she arranged music before playing for strangers. If he interrupted, she might retreat.
“She wishes to be kind,” Georgiana continued. “At least, I think she does. But she is always… certain.”
The word emerged with difficulty.
Darcy studied her profile. “Certain?”
“She is certain of what I ought to prefer. Where I should sit. Whom I should know. Whether I am tired. Whether I ought to play. Whether I ought not to play.” Georgiana’s fingers resumed stroking the shawl fringe. “If I am silent, she answers for me. If I answer, she improves it.”