by Head, Gail
He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to regain control of his chaotic thoughts. I can put this behind me; I know I can! All I need is a little more time, but I cannot stay in London and chance another near meeting, not yet. It would be the end of me! The only thing to do is leave. I am for Pemberley first thing in the morning!
Heartened at last by a fixed course of action, he reached over and flicked open the curtains once again, taking in a deep, cleansing breath. I shall go to Pemberley, and I shall conquer this – I shall!”
Harrison soon brought the grays to a stop in front of Burnham House and Darcy emerged from his carriage resolved to banish forever all thoughts of Elizabeth Bennet.
In the next moment, however, his newfound resolution was brutally crushed by the sight of Charles Bingley standing on his doorstep. It had been many weeks since their last meeting, but the span of time was instantly bridged by memories of Jane Bennet's downcast appearance and cruel treatment at the hands of Bingley's sisters. With thoughts of Jane Bennet, his tortured thoughts of Elizabeth reappeared. Would it never end? With a quiet, inner groan, he collected himself and stepped forward to greet his friend.
“Darcy! What luck! Jamison had just dashed my hopes by telling me you were out, and now here you are!”
“Indeed, Bingley. As you see. And to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I have not seen you since I went into Kent.”
“I have come to get your advice…on a personal matter, if I may. I must be away today and have need of some counsel before I go. Have you time for me?”
“Of course! We can do it now, if you wish. Join me for tea, and we can discuss what is on your mind.”
In short order, the two friends were settled comfortably in Darcy's study. Bingley busied himself with the assortment of sandwiches and cakes on the small table that stood between them as Darcy held only a cup of very strong coffee and observed his friend with quiet concern.
Bingley's melancholy that had first appeared upon his return from Hertfordshire nearly six months ago was showing a marked increase since their last meeting. Darcy could not overlook the empty smile on Bingley's face, nor could he dismiss the obvious absence of his friend's usually abundant affability. He had thought Bingley would recover soon enough from the encounter with Miss Jane Bennet, as had been the case with so many other young ladies before. Now witnessing Bingley's prolonged unhappy state, he acknowledged he could not have been more wrong.
Still a bit unnerved from his encounter at the bookseller's shop, Darcy drew a slow, steady breath. An uncomfortable heaviness was slowly growing in his chest. The day, not half over, was looking more dismal by the hour. He dearly hoped Bingley's “private matter” was not one of the heart. His friend's ill-concealed wretchedness was proof enough that he had caused more damage than he cared to admit, and he certainly did not wish to be drawn into that hazardous territory again.
Darcy had thought to do Bingley a great favor by saving him from an unequal affection, but Elizabeth's passionate discourse on that subject had altered his opinion. Her vehement words in Hunsford, bitterly condemning his assessment of her sister's reserved nature as cold and mercenary, was compelling evidence that Bingley had not been the only one made miserable by Darcy's interference. Elizabeth had declared her sister's feelings to be every bit as engaged as Bingley's; and who would know Jane Bennet's heart better than her own sister?
Darcy's mouth pressed into a thin line. In truth, Bingley's case was not one of unequal affection. Jane Bennet loved Charles; and therein lay the difference between Bingley's misery and his own. In his own case, Elizabeth's declaration of “so immovable a dislike” had made her feelings painfully clear. She had not the slightest affection for him.
The heaviness in Darcy's chest was becoming unbearable. Honor demanded that he confess his role in separating the two lovers; yet he resisted, knowing it could very well break the friendship he and Bingley shared. Charles was one of a very select group with whom Darcy could truly feel at ease and speak his mind, and he did not want to lose that.
Fighting down the urge to retreat from the obligation, Darcy steeled himself. It must be done. He would not keep his unhappy friend ignorant of the possible joy a return to Netherfield could bring.
“Darcy, have we not been together since the middle of March? You must tell me what you have been doing. What of your visit to Rosings Park - is your family in good health?”
“Yes, they are in good health. The visit this year was somewhat more difficult than I anticipated, but it is an obligation I bear willingly.”
“Ah, yes. I see. Your aunt continues her campaign for you to wed your cousin, then?” Bingley's voice held a hint of despair, for it was obvious any thoughts of marriage brought a painful reminder of his own misfortunes.
“The subject of marriage did arise once during my visit,” said Darcy uncomfortably, “but that is a stone better left unturned. Charles, I am at your disposal. Tell me what business this is that calls you from London so urgently, and I shall endeavor to give my best advice. When we have finished, if you will permit me, I have something I wish to discuss with you.”
“You have something you wish to discuss with me? I daresay, Darcy, you have my interest already!”
“Yes, I imagine I do; but it is for you to begin.”
“Very well, then. Do you recall my cousin, John Ashworth, from Scarborough? He is – was – the only child of my father's sister, Aunt Celia.”
“Yes, I recall you saying something about him after your last visit to the north. He was ill, was he not?”
“He was, for some time. The doctors did everything in their power, but were unable to affect a cure. The short of it is, he died last week.”
“I am sorry to hear that. May I offer my condolences?”
“Yes, of course. I thank you; however, we were not close. I saw him but once a year. Still, being the nearest relative he has, his wife, Mary, summoned me at his passing. I have been in Scarborough these past three weeks trying to sort out his affairs. I am finding the task somewhat overwhelming.”
“Is there trouble with the terms of his will?”
“No, not exactly. It is just that John's long illness left many things unattended at the factory. Mary managed to keep it going, but the receivables have not been called in. Her ready cash has been reduced to almost nothing and the creditors are at her door night and day. There is even talk of seizing the assets, so I must return as soon as possible to prevent it. Travelling back and forth to London to meet with my solicitor has been very inconvenient, to say the least; and I am in need of a competent attorney who is a good deal closer to Scarborough. I thought you might recommend a reputable firm in that part of the country that would suit my purpose.”
“I can recommend an excellent one. Pemberley has a long-standing association with Sneed and Bybee of York. They have served us well since my grandfather's time.”
Searching his desk for a moment, Darcy copied the directions and handed them to Bingley. His friend eagerly examined the sheet of paper before folding it and slipping it into his pocket with a pat to his chest.
“Thank you, Darcy. I am indebted to you. When my father died, I was too young to be of much use in settling his affairs, and I am completely bewildered with all the demands that seem to be flying at me. I will say I am glad to have a friend such as you; someone I can trust and on whom I can always depend, especially when it comes to this sort of thing! And now it would be my pleasure to return the favor. Tell me, what is it you wish to discuss with me?”
Darcy measured his friend, coming to the decision that the dreaded conversation should be postponed. He would not add to Bingley's worries just yet.
“From the experience of my own father's passing, I know that settling an estate can be very demanding. Given all you have to do and the urgency of your business, I would not think of burdening you further. It can wait for another day.”
“Nonsense! You have always given me good advice and encouraged me in all my endeavo
rs. What kind of friend would I be if I could not do the same for you?”
“Believe me, Charles, with all that you have in front of you, you do not need another thing to occupy your thoughts. It will keep until you have finished your business in the north.”
“Darcy, I won't have you refusing my help if I can give it. Tell me what is on your mind; and if I cannot oblige you at present, I will acknowledge it. Come now - I insist!”
Seeing Bingley would not be persuaded otherwise, Darcy took a deep breath, eyeing his friend with some trepidation, and then began.
At the end of the account, Bingley sat motionless, staring at Darcy in open disbelief. As expected, it was a wretched beginning. Darcy looked away in embarrassment and absently studied the stitching on his boots. There was no more to say. Now he could only wait.
After some moments, Bingley's disbelief expanded into a singular show of quiet fury. Refusing to look at Darcy, his cool words were filled with a bitter accusation.
“Do you mean to tell me…she had been in London above three months…and no one…not even you…said a word?”
Shame and remorse filled Darcy's heart. He had allowed himself to be blinded by his own foolish pride and callous prejudice. He had betrayed his principles and wounded his friend deeply.
“Yes, my friend, I mean just that. I deeply regret my interference. It was presumptuous of me and I apologize most sincerely. I know now I was mistaken in judging Miss Bennet's heart. I was wrong in believing it would not be easily touched.”
Steeped in resentment and the anguish of a festering wound laid bare, Bingley seemed not to hear Darcy's words. In another moment, though, their meaning finally penetrated his dazed senses and he narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“Mistaken? Did you say you were mistaken?” He leaned forward with guarded interest. “What makes you say that?”
“I, ah…” Clearing his throat, Darcy shifted slightly in his chair. “Her sister, Miss Elizabeth, was visiting the wife of Aunt Catherine's parson, Mrs. Collins, at the same time as my visit to Rosings. I was in her company on several occasions and she was very much of the opinion that Miss Jane Bennet did, in fact, hold you in high regard.”
Bingley's face brightened with a flash of hope that that lasted only a moment as doubt took its place. “Miss Elizabeth? Are you certain? Forgive my frankness, Darcy, but the two of you do not get on well at all. Why should she express such an opinion to you, of all people?”
“I am afraid I am not in a position to disclose the particulars as it involves a private matter; but you must believe me, Charles. There was an affection on Miss Bennet's side.”
Bingley eyed Darcy suspiciously.
“I do not believe you!” he muttered impassively. “It has not been above six months that you convinced me she felt nothing for me! And now, after months of a most miserable existence, you tell me you were mistaken? I am sorry, but I am not convinced.”
“I tell you, I could not have been more wrong when I said she had no particular regard for you. Six months ago, I did not fully comprehend her amiable temper, but I stand corrected.” He sighed at the memory of Elizabeth's eyes flashing their disapproval. “I assure you, Miss Elizabeth was quite clear in expressing her sister's disappointment regarding you.”
Try as he might, Darcy's assertions would not sway Bingley; and he knew it required the complete truth if Bingley was to be convinced of Jane Bennet's true affection. There was nothing left but for Darcy to confess everything, including his own reprehensible part in preventing the attachment.
Remorsefully, he recounted his involvement in Caroline's scheme to quit Netherfield and follow Bingley to London, leaving the Bennet family with the expectation that they would not return. He also confessed his knowledge of letters written and particulars of the barely-civil visits between Bingley's own sisters and Jane Bennet when she was in London. He could not, however, bring himself to disclose the exact source of his knowledge regarding Jane's feelings, which was, of course, his disastrous proposal to Elizabeth.
At the conclusion of his account, he looked anxiously to Bingley whose motionless figure crumpled with a devastating comprehension of the abuse his sweet Jane had suffered. A fresh wave of misery enveloped Bingley as he dropped his head into his hands, giving a low, mournful cry of despair that pierced Darcy to the very core.
Just as Darcy had feared, the revelation had shattered the steadfast faith and trust that marked their years of friendship. What had he done? Darcy drew several deep breaths, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, but the effort only increased his misery. With clenched jaw, he fought against the tears now welling in his eyes until they no longer threatened to expose him. Bingley's dreadful silence pressed heavily on him.
At last Bingley spoke in a tone that was barely audible, “What must she think of me? I am undone!” He then sank once again into the gloom of his own private despair.
Darcy waited for Bingley's wrath to descend with well-deserved condemnation, but nothing came. The grandfather clock near the window marked the silence as his tortured mind searched desperately for a means of repairing the damage he had done. A possible remedy finally materialized and he seized it. He was hesitant of the outcome, but it seemed to be his only hope of spanning the awful chasm that had opened up between the two of them. Anxiously, he broke the excruciating silence.
“Charles…may I offer a suggestion?”
Laced with bitterness, Bingley's voice came from behind his hands, “You may, and I may choose to ignore it, particularly given my success with your advice thus far.”
Darcy sighed quietly at Bingley's response. It was stiff and formal, but it gave him hope that he had not lost the friendship completely! Encouraged by his friend's faint attempt at civility, he leaned forward, eager to make amends and assist Charles in securing a happiness he himself had no hope of obtaining.
“You could start by returning to Netherfield,” Darcy began, then waited for a response. When there was only angry silence, he quickly finished laying out the entire plan for Bingley's consideration. “There are matters to attend to in giving up the place, and while you are there, you could make a few social calls. The society of your neighbors would afford an excellent opportunity to see if the lady's acquaintance may indeed be renewed. If you find it is too late – which I sincerely expect is not the case – then you simply close up the house and be gone. What do you say?”
Bingley lowered his hands to eye Darcy with bitter skepticism. “And you think that after what you have just told me of Jane's ill treatment these past months, I could dare to hope my return to Hertfordshire would be a welcomed event?!”
“Charles, I realize under the circumstances you may be somewhat reluctant; but would it not be better to undertake the matter directly and discover the lady's feelings for yourself? Should you endeavor to do so, I suspect you will find her regard to be quite the opposite of what you suppose.”
“I do not know, Darcy. It has been so long, and so much has happened. I fear I have lost my chance for happiness with Jane Bennet.”
“Then is there any more to lose by making the attempt? If you do not even try, consider this: Can you live with the endless misery of wondering what might have been had you acted differently?”
Too absorbed in considering the possibility of a second chance, Bingley failed to hear that very same misery manifested in Darcy's desolate tone.
With all his heart Darcy hoped his letter to Elizabeth had explained his family's connection to Wickham well enough to acquit himself of any offense in that quarter; and in particular, convince her that his own actions toward the man were justified.
His behavior in the matter of her sister and Bingley, however, could not be justified. Too late, he had come to realize the true nature of their affection for one another, and that knowledge made the arrogance and pride with which he had carried out and defended his actions all the more reprehensible. He had only himself to blame for his disappointment in love
, but Bingley and Jane Bennet could not be blamed for theirs. That responsibility rested squarely on his shoulders.
The two men now sat side by side, each lost in their own melancholy memories of a particular Bennet sister – one man filled with hope and longing, and the other with loss and despair. Neither one had ever imagined their brief journey into country society would be the means of changing their lives forever, but it had indeed.
Bounding from his chair, Bingley suddenly broke the spell with an enthusiastic thump to its arm as he rose.
“I will do it! I shall return to Netherfield and try my luck. You are right, Darcy; it would be better to know her heart for certain than to go through life always questioning what might have been.”
Darcy gazed happily at the enthusiastic expression beaming down at him. It was good to see his friend's heart finding its compass after months of aimless drifting. “I think you shall be pleasantly surprised,” he affirmed. “When shall you go?”
“I shall leave directly. Far too much time has passed already!”
“It is good to see my impulsive friend restored once more! Perhaps I can help by contacting Sneed and Bybee and get things started for you in Scarborough while you are at Netherfield.”
“Scarborough?!” Bingley cried, at once crestfallen. “Blast, I almost forgot! I cannot go to Hertfordshire! Cousin Mary is desperate and I have promised to return without delay. That is why I am leaving London this afternoon. Oh, what am I to do?!” He paced the floor, muttering to himself. “Even if I were able to settle everything in a week or two, there are still the arrangements for opening Netherfield…and the staff. Uh! I cannot afford to waste another minute and this will all take far too long!”
“Perhaps Caroline, or even Mrs. Hurst could be of some help?” Darcy offered.
“Caroline?! After what you have told me, she is the last person that would hurry my return to Netherfield! And you know Louisa – where Caroline leads, she follows.” The heel of Bingley's hand pressed tightly into his forehead. “This is impossible! If I am to have any luck with Jane, I must have as much opportunity as possible to be with her, speak with her – explain myself to her. The best chance of that is at Netherfield, but I obviously cannot extend an invitation without another woman in the house. It simply cannot be done. Like it or not, my sisters must come to Netherfield.”