Chapter 31

Netherfield

Hertfordshire

Four O'clock in the Afternoon

The door swung open, and to Darcy's surprise, Charles Bingley stood within instead of a footman or butler.

"Darcy!" the younger man exclaimed. "I happened to see your carriage arrive! Come in, my friend, come in!"

Darcy could not help the flush of warmth that filled his chest at this cheerful greeting. He was well aware that he had served his friend poorly in warning him away from Jane Bennet. It was an unexpected, and undeserved, gift that Bingley was willing to forgive him for his unwarranted interference.

"Let us go to the library," Bingley continued. "I have been toiling over estate books in the study and am eager to rest from my labors. Not that they are so terribly bad, I know, but I do not enjoy such things."

Darcy obediently made his way into the library, which at least had shelves, upon which reposed a few books. Bingley, while intelligent enough, was not a great reader.

"So," the master of Netherfield remarked, pouring brandy for himself and his friend, "I hope that your arrival here means that Miss Lydia's situation has turned out satisfactorily?"

Darcy took the brandy with a nod of thanks, and at a gesture from his friend, took a seat as Bingley set fire to the carefully laid kindling and logs in the fireplace. Darcy was grateful, as it was surprisingly cool.

"I am nearly certain," he said once Bingley had also taken a chair, "that Miss Lydia is safely wed by now, but unfortunately I was required to return to London partway through the journey to Scotland. My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, intercepted us at Tuxford, and I needed to escort her back to Town to ensure she did not cause any trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"She had somehow gathered that I am in love with Elizabeth Bennet. She spent a great deal of money and time pursuing us so that she could make an ultimatum; if I did not return to Town and marry my cousin Anne, she would broadcast Lydia Bennet's shame as far and wide as possible with the express intention of ruining all of the Bennet ladies."

Bingley's eyes bugged out. "Would she ... surely she was bluffing? She could not be so heartless!"

"She was definitely not bluffing," Darcy replied drily. "My aunt is an arrogant, domineering woman who expects the world to bow to her whims, and will use any weapon available to force those in her sphere to do her will."

"What did you do?"

"I returned to London with her, while the rest of the Bennets' party proceeded toward Gretna Green, and then at a meeting with my uncle, the earl, announced that Elizabeth Bennet and I are engaged."

"Are you?" Bingley asked eagerly.

"I am," his friend replied, and found himself smiling so broadly that his face ached a little. He could not remember being so happy since ... well, ever. His earliest memories were of his mother, who was kind and loving, but sickly, and after the birth of Georgiana, Lady Anne had grown weaker and weaker until she passed away. George Darcy, while a devoted and godly father, had been overcome by the loss of his dear wife and, moreover, had been exceptionally busy overseeing the estate.

Darcy had, like most boys of his age, been sent off to boarding school at an early age. He had been an awkward boy and an awkward youth, and had attracted significant bullying due to his intelligence and his social clumsiness. He had learned to hide his emotions and then bury them. When his father had passed, he had been but three and twenty and had devoted almost every waking hour to the work of overseeing Pemberley and caring for his much younger sister.

He had, at some level, been lonely and unhappy for many years, and it had taken Elizabeth – beautiful, vibrant, glorious Elizabeth – to break the cracks of his outer shell. And soon they would be united in marriage. She would be his, and he would be hers, and he thanked the Lord again for bringing them together.

"I have never seen you looking so pleased with life," Bingley observed quietly.

Darcy grinned. "I do not think I have ever been this full of joy. But to finish this story, I accompanied Lady Catherine to the Earl of Matlock's house and informed them both that I was engaged to Elizabeth, and thus irrevocably committed to the marriage. The ensuing, contentious discussion was interrupted only a few minutes later when my cousin Anne entered the study unexpectedly, along with her new husband. She explained that she had taken the opportunity, while my aunt was haring off north after me, to marry the son of an estate owner near Rosings. She is now legally the mistress of Rosings as her father's will declared that she would inherit when she married."

Bingley, who had met Lady Catherine twice and not enjoyed the experience either time, guffawed heartily. "I daresay your aunt was not pleased?"

"She had a hysterical fit and collapsed. Anne, who has seemed feeble for as long as I have known her, managed the situation with brisk determination."

"May I say that I am very happy for you?"

"Thank you, Bingley. Now, I hope that you have equally good news regarding Miss Bennet?"

Bingley's cheerful expression faded away, and he shook his head. "I fear not. She was quite rightly enraged at my abandonment last autumn. Combined with Miss Lydia's escapades and the burden of managing Longbourn while Mr. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth have been gone, she is currently unwilling to enter an engagement."

Darcy's cheer gave way to a knife thrust of guilt in his heart. "I am so sorry, Bingley."

Bingley waved an impatient hand. "I have forgiven you, and you were never the one most at fault. I loved her, and it was my responsibility to pursue her. Moreover, it was not you who allowed my sisters to denigrate her and her family. I well remember Caroline's constant harping about the Bennets in my hearing, and I ignored it. No, this is my fault, and if I lose the lady I love because of my cowardice and weakness, I only reap what I deserve."

Darcy was quiet for a moment and then asked, "Would it help if I apologized for my interference?"

"No, what would help, if you are amenable to it, is to come with me to Longbourn tomorrow and inform Mrs. Bennet of your engagement to Miss Elizabeth. She has been harassing Miss Bennet unceasingly, as she is aware that I wish to marry her daughter, though Miss Bennet has refused me, for now at least. It makes Longbourn rather uncomfortable for everyone."

Darcy nodded briskly. "I think that would be entirely appropriate given the peculiar circumstances. Elizabeth loves me, and I love her, and while I prefer to keep my affairs private, I daresay the upcoming wedding will provide some beneficial gossip about the Bennets."

"You are entirely correct. It is rather too late to call today, but we see the Bennet family tomorrow morning."

"I would like that," Darcy said sincerely. Yes, Mrs. Bennet was vulgar and foolish and annoying, but she had birthed the lady whom Darcy adored, so he could manage a visit talking about … well, he would follow her lead and talk about whatever she wished to talk about. It was the least he could do for his friend and Elizabeth.

/

Miss Bingley's Sitting Room

Pemberley

The cut crystal glass of the vase glittered and shone in the sunshine like a diamond, the full heads of the yellow roses drooping gracefully over the sides like so many tiny suns. They were the last of the late summer roses, and Caroline's maid had arranged them pleasingly atop a delicate lace doily. The polished wood of the table glowed in the overflowing bright light, dark shadows etched sharply beneath the blooms in a pleasing patchwork of light and shade.

Caroline's pencil moved across her paper, her eyes flickering between her drawing and her subject. Her entire sitting room was sunny and bright, all done up in tones of peach and pale yellow, with gauzy white curtains and white ruffles on the cushions. She generally preferred darker bolder colors, but she could not deny that the general effect was charming.

The flowers were truly lovely and made pleasant enough subjects for a sketch. Caroline's preference and natural proficiency lay in landscapes, but the drawing master at her seminary had been strict; still lifes, portrayals of fruits and flowers, were far preferable for gentle ladies. So Caroline had mostly devoted her energy and attention to crafting the most beautiful depictions of vases of flowers and bowls of fruit, sublimating her own preferences.

Once again, Colonel Fitzwilliam's blunt ‘cocoon' comment rose to her mind. Days had passed since their conversation in the garden, and it remained fresh in her thoughts. The more she dwelt on it, the more she realized that he was correct; she did feel stifled and pressured. Their father had strongly encouraged Charles to purchase an estate, thus bringing the family up through the ranks to make them landed gentry. Their mother had sent Caroline and Louisa to the best seminary she could get them into, determined that her daughters would not be scorned by society as new money and cits.

Mrs. Bingley had died some six years ago, her frail body and indifferent health claimed by influenza. Before she had passed on, she had called Caroline to her.

"My dear daughter," she had murmured, reaching out a thin hand and smiling affectionately at her youngest. Caroline had crossed to take her mother's hand, tears starting in her eyes. Mrs. Bingley feebly petted the stronger fingers around her own.

"Do not weep, my dear. I am not in much pain. I wish to speak to you about your future, Caroline. You know your father and I have done our best to ensure you and your brother and sister will become members of high society. Louisa has done well enough, marrying Hurst; he has an estate, and thus she is a gentlewoman. But he is not of much import among his own class.

"You are handsome, well-dowered, and now well-accomplished. My dear, your fate rests entirely on your own shoulders. Charles will not take much initiative. It is on you to find yourself a husband; one who is wealthy, of high status, who will make you the lady you deserve to be, with excellent connection in society. My dear, I have faith in you – I believe you could even capture a baronet, if you exert yourself."

Caroline, struck to the heart, had promised, "I will, Mama. I will do all I can to advance our family."

Six months after Mrs. Bingley had been laid to rest in the churchyard, Caroline had first met Mr. Darcy. It had seemed Providential; she had promised her mother to advance their name and here was her brother's striking new friend, tall and handsome and grave and wealthy and well-connected. Caroline had picked up the pieces of her aching heart and put them back together in determination to pursue this earl's nephew. From that day forward, she had done all in her power to prove herself the perfect Mrs. Darcy and mistress of Pemberley. She had made herself agreeable to Mr. Darcy at every opportunity, concurring with all his opinions and showing off her many accomplishments. In short, she had done everything the mistresses at her finishing school had said would help her win a high a born husband.

It made her cheeks burn with humiliation and horror to remember Colonel Fitzwilliam's frank statement that Darcy found her attempts annoying. Caroline set aside her pencil to press her hand to her eyes, sucking in deep, uneven breaths. All this time … he was, of course, too polite to tell her that her flattery and boasting only deepened his dislike of her, but oh, how she wished he would have! Perhaps then she would not have wasted years of her life pursuing him!

Then again, she acknowledged fairly, she might have believed she could change his mind. Of all her siblings, Caroline was by far the strongest-willed and most stubborn. Had she learned any earlier, without years of evidence, that Mr. Darcy had no intentions of proposing, she might have steadfastly denied his indifference to her.

She was grateful for Colonel Fitzwilliam's forthright, honest speech. A small smile touched her lips as her thoughts turned towards him. There was no guesswork involved there, she thought, no need to watch and gather hints about what the military man might be thinking. His manners were as polished as befitted an earl's son, but a hard life on the Continent had left him with little patience for nonsense. She liked speaking with him and enjoyed their conversations – he was not as tall as Darcy, nor as handsome, but neither was he as reticent, and there was a warmth and a quickness to him that was absent in his taciturn cousin.

She would be pleased if he decided to marry her, and it was gratifying to imagine marrying the son of an earl, even a mere second son. His allowance and her dowry would be sufficient to purchase a small estate for them, and the colonel's good sense would ensure they lived comfortably. But perhaps he would not choose to marry, and she found that she did not entirely despise that idea either. She still had time enough to seek a compatible husband, one whom she could respect and even hold in affection.

For now, she would seek only a friendship with Colonel Fitzwilliam and give herself time to ponder what it was that she really wanted to do with her life.

Caroline picked up her pencil and regarded the sketch with irritation. She certainly did not like painting flowers!

With a huff, she ripped the paper in half and threw it into a nearby basket for waste. She would go down to the stone bridge and sketch it, and sketch the lake, and maybe paint a horse in a field or something like that. She was done with still lifes!