These Three Remain fdg-3

by Pamela Aidan

  “The stuff of life,” Darcy commiserated lightly, but his companion was not deterred.

  “For instance,” Bingley continued, “I determined last year that I simply must have my own country house. My social obligations demand it. I had hoped to have that settled by now, but deuce take it, I cannot make up my mind. Only last week, I received an inquiry from the agent for Netherfield Hall asking if I intend to purchase it or not. Caroline is against it…”

  Netherfield! Darcy’s mind set to racing. He had forgotten about Netherfield, assuming that Bingley had terminated his lease months ago. Netherfield! And only three miles distant — Elizabeth!

  “Perhaps,” he delicately interrupted his friend’s musings, “another visit might help you to make your decision.”

  “You advise it?” Bingley drew back. “That was my own feeling, but…So, you do! Well!” He shook his head as if in wonder. “Would you, then, possibly consider —?”

  “Accompanying you?” Darcy finished for him, then wished he had bitten his tongue rather than betray his eagerness.

  Bingley did not appear to notice, for his next words were a rush of gratitude that spilled on into dates and plans until the carriage pulled up to the site of the club’s dinner. “This is so good of you, Darcy!” he exclaimed, descending to the curb.

  Good of you? Darcy thought to himself as he followed Bingley into the hotel, or was it merely selfish opportunism? Upon reflection, he decided that it was a mixture of both. He had interfered last autumn with such harmful results that, whether Jane Bennet received Bingley or not on this second foray into Hertfordshire, Darcy was forced to acknowledge he owed his friend a full account of his conspiracy to part them on the first. It would be uncomfortable and embarrassing — eventualities he richly deserved — but worse, it might very well cost him the friendship of this decent man. That, he owned with a deep pang, he would deserve as well.

  “You are arrived at last!” Bingley’s great smile and hearty clap on his shoulder attested to Darcy’s welcome one week later on the very doorstep of Netherfield Hall. “I thought I would be driven mad awaiting you these several days, but there is such a great deal to be done opening a house! Dawn to dusk!”

  “Really?” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “I had no notion!” he teased.

  Bingley laughed. “Come in, come in!” Darcy followed behind as his friend led him to the library. Their progress was slowed somewhat as Bingley confidently nodded directions to a servant here or answered a question from another one there until at last they were alone within their old haunt awaiting the arrival of a tray. Had it taken but two days as master of Netherfield to effect such a difference in attitude? From whence had come this ease? Darcy teased his friend. Coloring at his praise, Bingley quickly placed its origin in the warmth of his reception. A number of the county’s landowners had paid him visits within hours of his arrival, welcoming him back into the neighborhood and pressing upon him all manner of invitation. Then there were the servants, largely the same as those he’d had the previous year, who showed every indication that they were, indeed, glad to see him returned to Netherfield. “It is truly above everything,” Bingley concluded with obvious pleasure, “more than ever I expected!”

  Darcy smiled and murmured his agreement, pleased with his friend’s doubly good news. The neighborhood, it appeared, had not held the events of last year against Bingley but was, in fact, eager to renew its acquaintance. That the servants were glad for his return also boded well. Bingley’s increased confidence and ease in his role were undoubted testimony of their efforts to encourage him to stay. There remained but the question of Miss Bennet. Had he tried to see her?

  The ordered tray arrived, and after the servant closed the library door behind him, Darcy inquired whether his friend had paid any visits since his arrival. He had been far too busy to do any more than pay a call on Squire Justin, Bingley replied and shook his head, and that only because he had encountered his carriage on the road and been strongly importuned to follow him home for a welcoming cup. “But yesterday, I determined to remedy that.” He looked at Darcy, a mixture of anxiety and excitement in his eyes. “I intend to visit the Bennet family tomorrow.”

  “Indeed?” Darcy accepted Bingley’s statement with no show of his surprise, but his heart pounded in expectation.

  “I know that the company of the Bennets is not what you prefer,” Bingley continued, sitting back in the chair, “and the younger girls can be rather tiresome. I could put it off —”

  “My dear Bingley,” Darcy remonstrated with mock severity, “you are not to neglect your social obligations to as prominent a family as the Bennets on my account!”

  His friend laughed, then sobered only a little before asking, “You have no objection, then?”

  “None.” Darcy rose from his chair, the rapidity of his immersion into Elizabeth’s society exciting both a joy and a fear he was not certain he could disguise, and approached a window that looked out onto the fields and wood of the hall. “Shall we see how the land has fared in the year you have been absent?”

  Rather than send his card in announcement of their visit, Bingley decided over their evening port that they should give their prospective hosts the joy of it in person. Torn between an engulfing desire to see Elizabeth and an innate caution that his appearance might not give her or her family as much pleasure as Bingley predicted, Darcy could only nod approval to his friend’s plan before steering the conversation elsewhere. Yes, he had come to Netherfield with Bingley’s welfare as his prime motivation and, if he had made a terrible mistake in his assessment of Jane Bennet’s affections, rectifying his misdeed. The sooner he determined the yea or nay of the matter, the better — not only for Bingley but for his own conscience. But he had come, too, nurturing the hope of discovering what remained of the beginning he and Elizabeth had made at Pemberley. He had pondered how to achieve these ends during the greater part of his journey to Hertfordshire, but miraculously, the opportunity for seeing to both was set before him without effort on his part! Nevertheless, the speed at which his hopes and fears were distilling into irretrievable action was breathtaking, beyond anything he could have planned or, truth be told, even wished!

  Despite what he wished, there was no denying the material fact that tomorrow would bring him face-to-face with Elizabeth. How should they meet? How should they go on? It was certainly quite paradoxical, he wryly observed as he lay in bed that night, how an event for which one had longed could, upon the eve of its occurrence, so handily transform itself into a thing fraught with the most wrenching apprehension. An unquiet night followed, but when morning finally dawned, with it came the conviction that, in order to accomplish what he had come to do, it was not Elizabeth but Jane Bennet he must learn of and toward whom the greater part of his powers of discernment must bend.

  They rode slowly. When Darcy had met his friend at the mounting block, Bingley greeted him with his usual smiling exuberance and chatter, which had lasted until they met the road to Longbourn. Then, his conversation lagged. Now Bingley was almost silent, the gait of their horses reduced to no more than an amble. Darcy looked sideways at his friend, searching for some revival of his liveliness, but Bingley continued gripped by a pensive mood Darcy knew not how to brook.

  They had just turned in to the lane leading up to Longbourn when Bingley reined in his horse. “It is better to be certain of the truth of a matter, is it not?” he demanded of Darcy. “One should not go on without having resolved the past.”

  Darcy nodded slowly, his eyes trained on Bingley’s countenance. “That is usually the wisest policy.”

  Bingley nodded back. “Well then.” He turned and, setting his shoulders, nudged his mount forward. Following a moment later, Darcy observed the set of his friend’s shoulders with dismay and no little sting of guilt. If, as he suspected, Bingley had sunk into self-doubt and a wariness of his reception as they rode toward Longbourn, it could be laid entirely at Darcy’s door. He had exposed Bingley to the censure of the world f
or caprice and instability — that was how Elizabeth had put it. Thank heavens the “world” in the environs of Meryton seemed to have forgiven Charles the events of last year. Would those at Longbourn be as kind?

  Bingley’s doubt of his welcome must have been swept away as soon as he dismounted from his horse. The stable boy who ran up to them, the maidservant who opened the door to them, and the housekeeper who announced them — all did so with the infectious sort of enthusiasm that portended a unanimous welcome within. Darcy hoped that the pleasure at Bingley’s coming might spill over to include him in a general way and lessen the awkwardness his presence must provoke. The door to the Bennets’ parlor opened under the housekeeper’s hand, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce Longbourn’s hall. Darcy drew a breath against the sensation that time and space were careening wildly beyond his grasp.

  “Mr. Bingley! How delightful that you have called!” Mrs. Bennet’s ample form blocked the doorway. “We were just remarking, were we not, girls, how wonderful it would be if you were to call today; and here you are! Is it not marvelous?”

  “Ladies!” Bingley bowed immediately upon entering the parlor, Darcy following him. When they rose, Kitty was smiling at Bingley. She quickly curtsied at his bow, then returned to a pile of ribbons on the table. Mary dropped a perfunctory curtsy and walked away to resume her book at the far side of the room. Darcy and Bingley turned to the last two. Miss Bennet and Elizabeth stood together, the color in their faces rising ever so slightly as they offered their curtsies. The picture of grace and modesty Elizabeth presented sent Darcy’s heart thudding so loudly against his ribs that it hurt. He allowed himself the luxury of a few moments’ gaze, searching for a look, a smile that might indicate the state of her heart, but Elizabeth seemed distracted. He forced his eyes away and commanded his heart to be still.

  “Please, be seated,” Mrs. Bennet spoke again. “Mr. Bingley, you must sit here out of the sun.” She guided him to quite the most comfortable chair in the room. “There, is that not pleasant? And so convenient for conversing. Should you like some refreshment?” It was only after Bingley had murmured a denial that she finally turned to Darcy. “And Mr. Darcy.” She waved her hand vaguely about the room before seating herself close to her preferred guest.

  Free to see to himself, Darcy found a chair that was admirably situated for his purposes yet close enough to Elizabeth to allow some conversation without demanding it. He sank gratefully into its contours and waited a few ceremonious moments before leaning in Elizabeth’s direction with what he considered must be a safe topic. “May I inquire after your aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner? Are they well?”

  Elizabeth started and colored before informing him breathlessly that yes, her relatives were well and would desire her to thank him once again for his courtesies to them at Pemberley.

  “It was my pleasure,” he assured her, then looked away, puzzled that she should be disconcerted by a question so customary as to be trite. He looked down at the floor even as all his inclinations yearned to discover what she was thinking. Steeling himself against them, he turned back to Bingley only to be surprised by a question from Elizabeth in turn.

  “And Miss Darcy? Is she well?”

  “Thank you, she is very well,” he answered, “and sends her greeting with a wish that you might visit again someday.”

  “Oh, she is very kind.” She may have intended to say more, but he was not to know.

  “It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,” Mrs. Bennet declared, overriding all conversation. “I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true.” She looked at him slyly. “A great many changes have happened in the neighborhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers.” Bingley could offer no comment on this assertion, for she gave him no opportunity. “It was in The Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq., to Miss Lydia Bennet,’ without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything.” She leaned toward him, shaking her head pettishly. “It was my brother Gardiner’s drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?”

  While Bingley replied that he had and made his congratulations, Darcy could only sit, struggling that his astonishment should not show in any part of his person. He had anticipated a discreet mention of Lydia’s marriage in explanation of her absence, delivered, of course, with a painfully acquired circumspection of manner. But, no, there was to be none of that! A glance at Elizabeth showed her struggling with embarrassment at her mother’s words. She glanced at him briefly and then quickly returned to her needlework.

  “It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,” Mrs. Bennet continued with not the slightest indication of prudence, “but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken away from me.” They were gone to Newcastle, she informed them, where his new regiment would be for some time. “I suppose you have heard of his leaving the —— shire, and of his being gone into the Regulars. Thank Heaven, he has some friends, though, perhaps, not so many as he deserves.” Her eyes traveled past Bingley to scour Darcy’s stony face.

  Disbelief warring with indignation, Darcy stood and moved to a window as he labored to retain his self-possession under her condemning eye. As his gaze traveled over the last flowers of the season in Longbourn’s garden, it struck Darcy how extraordinary it was that this woman could be Elizabeth’s mother! Mrs. Bennet’s self-delusion was complete, her experience of the last weeks incapable of reforming her opinions or teaching her prudence. His pique cooled; its place was taken by a compassion for what Elizabeth and her sisters must always suffer because of their mother.

  “Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth’s tremulous voice recalled him, and he looked up at her profile. “Do you mean to make any stay in the country at present?”

  “I believe we shall stay a few weeks. The hunting season, you understand.” He looked at Miss Bennet during his reply and might have said more, but her mother pounced upon his words.

  “When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, I beg you will come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet’s manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.”

  “You are very kind, madam.” Bingley responded to her absurd speech with remarkable grace. He turned to the sisters. “But I do not anticipate being forever in the field. Is there anything, Miss Bennet, that will call all the countryside together?”

  Ah, here at last was what he had come to observe! As Bingley engaged Jane Bennet in conversation, Darcy considered them both. Bingley was flushed, his eyes cautiously hopeful as he carefully drew her out from her mother’s shadow. His feelings were unmistakable. Miss Bennet’s responses were, by contrast, measured but gracious. Bingley persisted. Her eyes warmed a little as he teased her on some point, then she laughed. A smile spread across Bingley’s face and his shoulders straightened, at which Miss Bennet blushed and looked down, but not before Darcy saw the shining eyes and gentle smile that accompanied it. A beginning that held promise, he decided and wondered how he ever could have imagined Jane Bennet scheming to trap his friend into a socially advantageous marriage.

  What, then, of Elizabeth? He looked at her quickly, then back to Bingley, his heart sinking. She was so quiet! Tension emanated from her in waves. Did she wish him gone, or did she wish him to speak? Should he allude to their time at Pemberley? Dare he attempt to continue as they had during her visit, before the arrival of the letter bearing news of Wickham’s treachery? He looked again out the window as conflicting explanations for her behavior racked his brain.

  A scraping of chairs alerted Darcy that their call was drawing to a close, and he rose to make
his good-byes, eager to put an end to both their suffering. But he and Bingley were not to make an immediate escape.

  “You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet accused playfully as they made their way to the door, “for when you went to Town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement. You must dine with us this very week, sir! Is Tuesday agreeable?”

  Bingley’s eyes flew to Darcy’s, a flush creeping above his neckcloth, before he turned to his hostess and stammered an apology. With a glance at Miss Bennet, whose color had also risen, he accepted the inelegant invitation on behalf of them both. “Mrs. Bennet.” He and Darcy bowed in farewell. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth…” Bingley continued taking leave of them all, Darcy repeating the compliment after him. Miss Bennet’s answering farewell to Darcy was all that was composed, and he was quite able to meet her eyes; but Elizabeth’s he feared to pursue for the relief he might see in them.

  They were to meet again, dine together at Longbourn, in two days’ time. He was glad for Bingley’s sake. “What do you think, Charles?” he asked when they reached the end of the lane and turned in to the road. “Would you say it went well?”

  “As well as can be expected after so lengthy an absence,” he replied thoughtfully, then launched suddenly into a veritable paean. “Is she not beautiful? As beautiful as I — No, more beautiful than I remember! Oh, Darcy, the way she smiled at me!”

  As they wended their way to their next morning call, Darcy listened with sympathy to all his friend’s expressions of renewed hope, but his own hopes he considered as gravely in doubt. If, as it appeared, he only caused Elizabeth pain or his presence confused her into silence, he would not give her cause for more by imposing himself upon her notice any more than necessary. He would place himself even more firmly at Bingley’s disposal and continue to observe Miss Bennet, his eyes this time attuned to the more subtle signs of affection which resided in that Bennet sister. As for Elizabeth, he decided as they rode to the squire’s, he would need a sign from her or he was for London as soon as possible.