Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The two gentlemen exited Darcy's town house in silence. Darcy's carriage had been brought round, and Fitzwilliam stopped briefly to look at it.

"Something wrong with my carriage?" Darcy asked as they entered and settled themselves.

"Did you not tell me you had lately commissioned one new?"

"I did."

"An engagement present for Miss Bennet, was it?" Fitzwilliam regarded him with an impertinent grin and raised brows.

"A premature commission, but yes," Darcy replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat his face. He hoped the shadows within the carriage concealed it. He reached up to knock, signalling his men to begin driving.

Fitzwilliam shook his head. "If you had spent more time considering the proposal itself, and less time commissioning engagement gifts, we would not be having this conversation."

Darcy did not reply to that.

"I daresay it was an appropriate gift for her, though. From what you have said, I should imagine Miss Bennet does not have her own conveyance."

"The Bennets had one carriage that I ever saw. I know not if there were others."

"Then perhaps we ought to sweeten this wager a bit," Fitzwilliam suggested. "If you lose, the carriage is mine to give to her."

"And if you lose? What shall I have?"

"I do not intend to lose," Fitzwilliam replied loftily. "Like I always tell my men—if you go into battle imagining defeat, then you are sure to be defeated. The vision of victory must always be in mind."

Darcy clenched his jaw and looked out of the window. Fitzwilliam was behaving like a presumptuous idiot, but that hardly signified. An uncomfortable truth was beginning to take root within him: Fitzwilliam might win. Elizabeth liked his cousin, and she hated him. The advantage was his cousin's.

You wish me to keep victory at the forefront of my mind, and so I shall.

At their club, they found Bingley seated at a table full of younger gentlemen. His appearance—cravat wilted, hair tousled, eyes red-rimmed—led Darcy to believe that they had all been at the infamous game at Boodle's, likely all night.

He and Fitzwilliam took their seats and sat for a time, mostly in silence among the chatter. They were not gentlemen Darcy typically consorted with, nor did his cousin. They were a younger set, men whose money was new and for whom London life remained nothing but an endless round of parties. Nevertheless, uninterested as Darcy was in the discussion, he found his ears pricking up at several references to Bingley's ‘angel' and the general understanding that there would be, soon, one less man among their ranks.

When at last the others had excused themselves, Bingley offered a smile to his friend. "Darcy! Colonel! Have you heard about this nonsense they got up to at Boodle's?"

"A little." Fitzwilliam signalled to the servant to bring fresh drinks. "Forgive me, we did not intend to send your group scurrying off."

"No matter. We were ready to call it a day. The balls will likely be devoid of men tonight." Bingley chuckled. "Everyone is either too tired, or too determined to settle scores, to dance."

"Have they finished? What was the worst of it?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"When I left, Mr Stephen Fox was down nearly five thousand," Bingley reported. "I believe that was the worst of it, though there were so many side bets going on, one can only guess."

"People betting on other people's hands?" Darcy asked.

"Betting on others' hands, betting on how much would be lost or won, betting on how many times a man might relieve himself." Bingley laughed. "It was madness, utter madness."

"Sounds…deplorable," Darcy managed.

"All in good fun. How was Kent? You were both there, I think?"

"We were," Fitzwilliam answered. "Quite an agreeable visit, if I do say so."

"Nothing like the country when the weather gets warmer," Darcy added.

"That is true," Bingley owned. "But London is charming at this time of year as well."

"I understand your country place is rather nice," Fitzwilliam said. "Hertfordshire, is it not?"

"Oh, I only leased Netherfield Park," Bingley told him. "And as it happens, I have given it up."

"Given it up?" Darcy exclaimed. "Why did you do that?"

Bingley did not look at him as he explained, "An eligible purchase offer was made for it. The Suttons of Devon have purchased it for a second son, I believe."

"Hugh Sutton?" Fitzwilliam shot Darcy a look. "Good-looking fellow, well seated."

"He is a dandy," Darcy said with a reproving sniff. "I am shocked he found the place fashionable enough for him."

"A few hours on a horse gets him to Bond Street," Fitzwilliam replied. "It will do."

"I heard he is lately engaged," Bingley said. "No doubt he needed a place to take his bride."

That much was a relief at least. Darcy need not add Hugh Sutton to his list of competitors.

"It sounded like a rather agreeable county. We had intended to beg an invitation from you," Fitzwilliam said with his usual bonhomie.

"Would that I could offer one," Bingley exclaimed warmly. "As it stands, I shall only be there again…um, briefly."

As Bingley said so, he appeared to take great interest in the tankard he had only just emptied of ale. He picked it up and attempted to drink; then, finding it empty, he set it back on the table and stared into it for a few minutes before he suddenly said, "Well, Darcy, this might be the last time you speak to me."

Darcy exchanged a glance with his cousin. "Why would it be the last time I speak to you?"

Bingley crossed his arms over his chest. "I am getting married."

"Married?" Darcy exclaimed. His cousin began to proclaim his delight and well wishes. A fraction of a second too late— and not missing the look Bingley sent him—Darcy joined in the felicitations. "May I ask who the fortunate young lady is?"

Bingley sighed. He fidgeted and shifted, then sighed again. At length he said, "Hang it all. I know you will not approve, but as Shakespeare said, ‘To your own person be truth.' Or is it ‘Mine self be the truth?' ‘Speaketh mine own truth?' Whatever it is—you know I do not have a head for such things!"

He paused, and Darcy prodded gently, "The lady's name is…?"

"Jane Bennet." Bingley met his gaze squarely. "I am going to marry Miss Jane Bennet."

Darcy winced, not meaning to. He should have gone to Bingley and told him what he had learnt from Elizabeth—that Miss Bennet did love him. He had not considered it because he was too enmeshed in his own misery to even think of Bingley. ‘ Selfish disdain for the feelings of others ' echoed uncomfortably through his mind.

He recognised, suddenly, that his wince might have been perceived differently and so offered Bingley a smile, trying to seem placating. "I am happy for you, Bingley. Truly, I am."

His friend seemed to sag with relief. "Do not think that I easily disregarded the counsel you and my sisters so kindly offered. I could not, and I would not. But then I realised something I had not before considered."

"What was that?" Darcy asked.

"None of you—not you, not Caroline, not Louisa—could have known or comprehended any of my more private meetings with Miss Bennet, the conversations between the two of us, or the things of that nature. You believed her heart was not easily touched?—"

"I did, that is true, but I do recog?—"

"I think she merely had a lady's proper reserve—perhaps more than most, I shall grant you that." Bingley raised his empty tankard to his lips again, then set it down, signalling to the manservant to bring another. "Only I knew what had passed between us, the words that were said, the quiet looks…things which to me indicated that she did hold me dear. None of you knew anything of those."

"That is true," Fitzwilliam interjected, and Darcy gave him a black look.

"But you thought her indifferent to me, and I thought she loved me. The only way to know the truth of it, I reckoned, was to go and see her. So I went back to Hertfordshire. I needed to meet with Morris again about Netherfield, so it was not a wasted trip—only I arrived to find she was right here in London! Has been since after Christmas."

Bingley fixed his eyes on Darcy, his gaze level as he said, "But I think you knew that."

The manservant came then, bearing fresh tankards of ale. While he placed them on the table and gathered up the emptied ones, Bingley's gaze did not falter, and Darcy resisted the urge to squirm beneath his friend's cool blue stare.

The servant gone, he admitted, "I did know it, and I have nothing to say for it but that I pray you will one day forgive my unpardonable interference in the matter. It was badly done."

"It was," Bingley acknowledged. Then, with a dizzying shift towards geniality, he smiled broadly. "But I can offer my forgiveness if you will offer me your blessing."

Relieved, Darcy mirrored his smile. "You do not need my blessing, but if you want it, then of course you shall have it. I am happy for you, and wish you and the future Mrs Bingley every happiness."

Fitzwilliam offered his own good wishes, and both men shook Bingley's hand in turn. There were, then, some minutes spent in rhapsodising about Jane Bennet, the love affair between them, and the like.

"Knowing you are engaged to a daughter of the county, I am surprised you did not wish to purchase Netherfield yourself," Darcy said when it was done.

"Are you?" Bingley took a long draught of ale and quirked a brow. "Given your opinion of my future family, I should think it perfectly obvious why I want to give the place up. Even Lizzy has said that a lady might be settled too near her family."

Bingley laughed even as Darcy felt his heart leap at the mention of her. He bowed his head, conscious suddenly of Fitzwilliam's gaze upon him.

"But it was Jane who did not have a mind to settle there," his friend continued. "Who was I to argue?"

"Indeed," Fitzwilliam replied warmly. "Hardly seems a right way to begin. If the lady wishes to be gone from the neighbourhood, then I say be gone."

Darcy shot his cousin another look intended to be quelling, then said, "Bingley, I truly am very pleased for you. Pray do not doubt it for an instant. I do not have any ill feeling towards your future relations."

"Thank you."

"Where will you live, then? Much as I dislike to meddle in your affairs?—"

Bingley raised his brows, which Darcy acknowledged with a rueful grin.

"That is to say, meddle further in your affairs. I do know of a situation near Pemberley. Splendid land, lovely parks, although it must be said that the house itself is in woeful need of modernising. Unless Miss Bennet prefers the fashions of the Stuart era?"

Bingley laughed. "I should think not! Thank you. Perhaps I can persuade her to go and see the place."

"Do you plan for a long engagement?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"My wedding is scarcely a month from now," Bingley announced, naming a date in the middle of June.

"So soon?" Darcy asked.

"Soon? Being that I have loved her since the first day I saw her, these nuptials feel insufferably delayed."

"No, no, I only meant that…" Darcy shook his head. He was surprised, that was all. "I wish you well, Bingley."

"Well enough to…" Bingley stopped, shaking his head. "No. I cannot ask it of you."

"You can," said Fitzwilliam, eagerly inserting himself into the conversation. "You will do anything, will you not, Darcy?"

"Bingley, whatever you need done will be my greatest honour to do."

"Even if I ask you to stand up with me?" Bingley asked. "I know how much you disliked being there, and I hate to ask it of you."

"I should be honoured," Darcy repeated firmly. "Truly."

"The neighbourhood has planned a great many events," Bingley explained, his face turning a dull red. "It is not merely the breakfast, but of course you need not accept any invitations you do not like."

"What else could there be?" Darcy asked, causing Bingley to flush more deeply red.

"Whatever it is," Fitzwilliam hastened to intrude, "I am sure it will all be done in good taste."

"I shall be glad to partake in whatever festivities are planned," Darcy said.

Bingley's unease appeared to dissipate. "Mrs Bennet thought it a right thing that I should celebrate with a ball at Netherfield—as a compliment to my bride. I set Caroline to planning that."

"Mrs Bennet sounds very wise," Fitzwilliam offered.

Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I am sure the future Mrs Bingley will be pleased to have you fete her amid her family and friends."

"That is to be two days before the wedding itself. There will be an assembly, a dinner at Longbourn, as well as a party at Lucas Lodge…a card party at the Robinsons'—"

"I do not think I am acquainted with any Robinsons," Darcy said.

"You met Mr Robinson on several occasions last autumn. He is rather a quiet fellow, I suppose. He is married to Mr Bennet's cousin and lives at Gorham House. They have a son at Cambridge—I am sure he must have mentioned it to you."

Darcy opened his mouth, intending to speak, and then closed it again. Insisting that he did not know Mr Robinson could only emphasise the fact that he had not bothered to remember some of the principal families of the neighbourhood wherein he had stayed for two months.

Anunsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak…

Elizabeth's words leapt into his mind. How disagreeable, how above his company he had behaved! Was it any wonder she had disliked him so? To not even trouble himself to know her cousin?

Fitzwilliam was once again quick to insert himself, no doubt eager to show himself the more genial cousin. "I am sure it will be a pleasure to be acquainted—or, in Darcy's case, re-acquainted—with Mr Robinson and his family."

It was a strange thing to say for a man who was not, as yet, included in the invitation; indeed, a man who had no reasonable cause to be at Bingley's wedding. But as was his custom, Bingley betrayed no offence at the presumption. He grinned at Fitzwilliam and mentioned the multitudes of pretty girls he might come to know in Hertfordshire, urging him to come to Netherfield as soon as he could.

And just like that, the game was on.