“Come, I shall fetch some refreshments.” She led the way up the path and back through the front door into the cool and dim interior of the parsonage, Elizabeth following in her wake. “I have news from Meryton; my sister writes – oh, I almost forgot…”
Charlotte paused as they arrived at the door to the parlour and turned to face her friend as she reached into her pocket. “This came for you,” and she handed over the letter.
“For me?” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she took it and studied the direction; then, she smiled. “Why, it is from Serena!”
~o0o~
As the clock on the mantel struck the hour, Darcy entered the dining room with a determined stride and, much as anticipated, he found his cousin tucking into his meal.
“Thank the Lord for a comfortable seat. I swear I have slept on better ground than aunt’s furniture.”
Not wishing to be diverted from his purpose, Darcy did not reply but walked up to the place normally occupied by his sister and placed a note upon her setting.
“Forgive me, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam added. “My appetite got the better of me; I could await your joining me no longer.”
Darcy shook his head. “Far be it from me to deny your stomach the satisfaction is craves, Cousin. Besides, I must beg you to excuse me for an hour or so.”
The Colonel glanced at the note awaiting Georgiana and then eyed Darcy’s outdoor attire. “But you must eat, Darcy! You made no time for breakfast and now you are negating a further repast!”
“I have a pressing matter to attend to, but shall return directly. Do not disturb yourself, Fitzwilliam, I am in no danger of wasting away.”
Darcy ignored his cousin’s snort, and turned on his heel, but as he reached the threshold he paused as Fitzwilliam called, “Where are you headed, that it cannot be delayed? We are only just arrived this past hour.”
Darcy grasped the handle with purpose before saying over his shoulder, “I must speak with Bingley,” and without a further backward glance, he left the room.
Fitzwilliam stared at the space where Darcy had been for a few moments, then reached for his goblet of wine.
“Damn it, I am not half bad when I put my mind to it!” he mused; then, raising the glass in a self-congratulatory toast, he drained it.
Chapter Seventeen
Darcy’s determined pace slowed as he approached the Pulteney Hotel on Piccadilly. Inevitable though the encounter was, he did not relish the impending revelation he must make.
Further, the walk had been sufficient in length for Darcy to fully consider the consequences of Bingley’s potential connection with the Bennet family. If his friend were generous, nay rash enough, to one day forgive him his interference, Darcy would have to ensure he was unavailable to visit with him unless Bingley came to Town. To return to Hertfordshire and be repeatedly in Elizabeth’s society, knowing that he was nothing to her and never could be, would be intolerable. Yet upon reflection, his own pain and pleasure he found himself able to negate. How much of a trial would it be for her? Their uneasy truce during that last night at Rosings had been bitter-sweet, but he had not been impervious to her embarrassment and unease.
Pushing these thoughts aside, he climbed the steps that brought him to the hotel’s ornate portico and passed into the marbled interior, handing his hat and gloves to a porter as the manager hurried over, a welcoming smile on his face.
“Good day to you, Mr Darcy. Mr Bingley is presently dining. Would you care to join him?”
For a brief moment, Darcy cursed the resolution that had sent him on his mission at such an inconvenient time of the day. A public dining room would hardly be conducive to confession, which meant enduring no small amount of pleasantries before he could hold a private audience with Bingley. A fleeting temptation to say he would call again later, to postpone the inevitable, gripped him, but he shook it aside.
“Thank you, Winterburn. I believe that I shall.” He turned towards the dining room, waving the manager aside. “It is no trouble, I will seek him out.”
“But Mr Darcy, Sir, if you please? Mr Bingley is dining in his suite.”
The manager looked somewhat discomfited, and Darcy frowned. Though possessed of an impulsive streak on occasion, Bingley was generally a creature of habit. He always resided in the same hotel if Darcy could not host him; he always took the same suite of rooms, and he always, without fail, took his meals at his customary table in the dining room. It had been carefully chosen overlooking the street, for there was nothing Bingley enjoyed more than to watch the passers-by in Piccadilly, his face bright with interest, the occasional chuckle escaping him as something absurd would catch his eye.
“Is Mr Bingley entertaining guests?”
“No, Sir.”
“Has he made a habit of dining in isolation?”
Winterburn pursed his lips before responding. “He has yet to partake of a meal at his usual table during this stay, Sir.”
~o0o~
Elizabeth walked slowly into the centre of the parlour at Hunsford, studying the letter’s direction thoughtfully.
“I did not know Serena was in Lambton, for she was to pass the Eastertide at Sutton Coker.”
“Is that not the Harington estate?” Charlotte addressed her over her shoulder as she opened the window to let some fresh air in.
“Indeed, for I had it from Jane in one of her letters. Serena has long been a favourite of Mrs Harington and has spent a deal of time there over the years.” Elizabeth gave up her perusal of the envelope, which had ceded all possible intelligence and smiled at her friend. “Aunt Gardiner had the fortune to gain her half-sister within days of her closest friend yielding her own daughter, so they had a shared enthusiasm over both babes at the time.”
Charlotte walked over to her friend, a frown upon her brow. “A daughter? I thought the Haringtons had but three sons?”
“Aye, three sons that survive, that is. Their only daughter was taken by the scarlet fever when she was but two years old, along with a new-born son. I do not recall the tragedy, being so young myself at the time, but my aunt has told us of it. It perhaps accounts for Mrs Harington’s doting on Serena – I believe she soothes the ache of a daughter lost so prematurely.”
Lowering her gaze to the letter once more, Elizabeth bit her lip thoughtfully. “I am at a loss as to how Serena has discovered my direction in Kent.”
Charlotte patted Elizabeth on her arm. “Well, I am sure she will explain things to your satisfaction. I shall seek some refreshment for us and leave you in peace to enjoy your letter.”
Elizabeth gave Charlotte a grateful smile as she left the room, before returning her attention to the letter in her hand; then, realising that she would sooner satisfy her curiosity by taking Charlotte’s advice, she broke the seal and walked over to the open casement, settling herself upon the window seat to enjoy her friend’s news.
~o0o~
Having been admitted by Bingley’s manservant, Darcy preceded him along the hallway to the stylish drawing room, his presence as yet undetected by his friend.
Despite Caroline Bingley’s assertion that Bingley stayed in a comfortless hotel when in Town, nothing could be further from the truth. The Pulteney was extremely modern and luxurious, as Bingley’s regular suite of rooms attested. Little was she aware that her brother’s desire to reside in a hotel had much to do with the fact that Hurst’s house, whilst well situated in Grosvenor Street, was not overly spacious, causing Bingley far too little opportunity for distance from his sisters when in residence.
Bingley sat at a small, circular table, overspread with a heavy damask cloth and all the accoutrements that accompany a meal in a fine hotel. With his back to the window, he held his knife and fork listlessly in each hand, as if unsure of their purpose, and his meal remained untouched.
Darcy knew full well he had not left Bingley in good spirits when he had taken up residence at his hotel, leaving Darcy to prepare for his departure for Kent, yet at the time he had hardly given him credit for
the lowness of his mood, assuming Bingley would rally. Now he frowned as he observed the evidence to the contrary, acknowledging fully that the broken attachment had left after-effects that still had Bingley in their grip. Knowing now the pain of unrequited love in all its intensity, Darcy struggled to maintain his composure as he felt the weight of his previous actions collapse upon his shoulders. That he had willingly inflicted such pain upon his closest friend was indefensible.
Involuntarily, he cleared his throat, and Bingley looked up, the listless expression in his eyes fading in an instant, and with a wide smile he got to his feet, arms extended in greeting.
“Darcy! How splendid to see you. How fared your sojourn? Your aunt – she is in good health I trust? And your cousin, also?”
Darcy crossed the room to greet him and, at his invitation, joined him at the table. The waiter, who had been stood silently against the wall, stepped forward with a fresh glass and a hastily offered menu card, and whilst Darcy accepted the former, he waved away the latter, leaning forward to pour himself a helping of Bingley’s wine.
“You are not hungry?”
Darcy cast a quick glance at Bingley’s untouched plate. “In that it would appear I am not alone.”
Bingley fidgeted a little under his friend’s eye, and Darcy sighed. He shrank from the notion of discussing matters of the heart, yet his own culpability could not be denied, and too much time had been allowed to pass with his friend suffering unnecessarily. He was in the wrong, and he owed Bingley the truth and, distasteful though the process may be, it was a necessity.
“It truly is good to see you, Darcy. I must own that I am heartily sick of my own company and had begun to fear you might be detained in the country for the summer. So – what news from Kent? And shall I return to Mount Street with you directly?”
It was Darcy’s turn to shift uneasily in his chair. He doubted such an invitation would be taken up once he had made his confession, and conscious he must forestall Bingley before he order his bags be packed, Darcy spoke. “Would you dismiss the servants?”
Bingley looked surprised, but nodded. “As you wish.”
Within minutes the door closed behind the waiter and manservant, and Bingley turned to retake his place. “Is there some news you wish to impart? Good Lord, Darcy, you have not done it? You have not succumbed and made an offer of marriage after all this time?”
Darcy started, and hastily returned his wine glass to the table lest the tremor in his hand be detectable. “I - I beg your pardon?”
“Your cousin. I know full well the pressure laid upon you and that it increases with every visit. But forgive me. I am impertinent.”
Darcy shook his head.
“Do not concern yourself, Bingley. You could not be impertinent if you tried. But no – no, I did not offer for my cousin. Yet there is a purpose behind my desire for privacy.”
He hesitated, realising with hindsight that in his determination to speak with his friend without further delay, he had taken no time to consider how he might begin such a discourse.
“There is something that I would tell you –” Darcy stopped, running a hand through his hair distractedly before readjusting his position on his chair. “I have not acted as a friend ought.”
“You have not?” Bingley looked startled, and Darcy bit his lip.
“Indeed.” He paused once more, tugging at his neck cloth as if it might somehow ease the constriction in his throat.
“Great heavens, man! Make haste, and tell me before I burst!”
Darcy released a pent up breath. “My apologies. I must tell you – you must know that I have served you ill, and in doing so I have caused both you and Miss Bennet uncalled-for unhappiness, and…”
“What!” Bingley sat bolt upright in his chair, his face awash with colour. “You have word of Miss Bennet? You have seen her?” He glanced quickly about, as if he expected the lady to emerge from behind the drapes, then turned his frantic gaze back upon his friend.
“No, I have not, I-”
“But she is here?”
“No. It was-”
“But then, how…” Bingley’s voice tailed away as he stared at Darcy in confusion.
Darcy turned his head to the side in impatience with himself, then pushed his chair back and stood up, walking over to the window. Unsurprisingly, Bingley was more interested in news of Miss Bennet than what Darcy might be wishing to own. But it must be done.
With determination, he turned back to face the room. “I had the pleasure of renewing an acquaintance during my stay in Kent – with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She – she led me to understand that I may have been in error with some advice I gave you,” he flexed the fingers of his right hand, “with regard to Miss Bennet. Bingley, I am so sorry, but it appears I was mistaken. She was not indifferent to you. She –”
Bingley stood up so rapidly, his chair toppled over. “What did you say?”
“I was wrong; completely and utterly wrong. Miss Bennet did return your affections. I am led to believe that she has suffered for my interference no less than you have.”
Bingley’s face paled, and his eyes clouded momentarily as if assailed by a distant memory, but then a slow smile touched his mouth, which grew into a wide grin.
Stepping forward, he grabbed Darcy’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you! Darcy, thank you for this.”
Darcy stared at him, his hand still being pumped up and down by a beaming Bingley.
“You are thanking me? Bingley, did you hear what I just said?”
“The sweetest words I have heard these many months, my friend,” and he clapped Darcy on the shoulder enthusiastically before turning back towards the table and refilling both their glasses with a flourish. “I cannot imagine how you might have come to discuss something so delicate but I am highly gratified that you did!”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. Perhaps by the time he had told Bingley all, his friend would see that Darcy had done him no favour. He accepted the wine from him, but before he could speak, Bingley began pacing to and fro, heedless of the glass in his hand.
“If you only knew, Darcy, what you have given me. After all this time – the despair, the sense of loss – you have given me hope. Can you imagine what it feels like to hear that your feelings might be reciprocated when you believed they were met with indifference? To know that you have been offered a second chance at a happiness you thought was surely lost for ever?”
The ache he bore within his breast sharpened momentarily, and Darcy turned to stare out of the window, clasping his glass with both hands in an attempt to still their agitation.
“Such hope you have brought me! The anguish of believing you have looked your last upon a loved one’s face; expending futile hours wondering where they are, how they are, what they might be feeling or thinking – yet now to be at liberty to seek her out, that all my speculation might be answered…”
Darcy bowed his head as Bingley’s voice continued to ebb and flow depending upon the direction of his pacing, but before his barely suppressed despair could surface once more he realised that Bingley had progressed from extolling his happiness at Darcy’s news to thinking aloud.
Turning his back upon the window, he faced the still pacing Bingley, keen to interrupt him and finally reveal the further depths of his interference, that his friend might know the full extent of Darcy’s failure as his friend.
“Bingley, wait…”
“I shall return to Netherfield directly.”
“Bingley, wait. There is more I…”
“I shall instruct Overton to pack my bags.”
“Bingley, I have not yet told…”
“I shall need to send word to Grosvenor Street – or perhaps I should not? They may attempt to delay my return, or prevent it altogether, for Caroline was not enamoured of the Hertfordshire air… Darcy?”
Bingley ceased his pacing and looked expectantly over at his friend, his countenance bright with anticipation. “What do you think?”
�
�I think you should be still; you are causing my eyes to cross.”
Bingley laughed. “Come, then, let us be seated,” and he crossed the room, his glass still dangling from his fingertips. “And then you can tell me what I should do.”
Darcy frowned as he walked back towards the table. “You are a glutton for punishment, Bingley. Would you wish for more poor counsel?” He resumed his place and reached for a piece of bread. The wine toyed with his empty stomach, and he had begun to feel quite light-headed.
“You have only steered me wrong once.” Bingley placed his glass down before righting his chair and taking his place once more.
Darcy eyed him solemnly. “I understand that you are in high spirits, and I cannot tell you how pleased I am to observe it. But please permit me to finish what I have come here to tell you.”
Bingley’s smile faded as he seemed to take in the seriousness of Darcy’s tone, yet the change in his demeanour could not be suppressed. Though his face assumed a more sombre expression, his eyes danced with a new light, and his unruly hair seemed to positively vibrate with his excitement as he nodded at his friend to continue.
“Miss Bennet may yet be in London.”
Bingley’s mouth dropped open a little before a smile once more graced his features. “Truly? How fortuitous! But wait… may yet be here?”
“Yes, you comprehend my meaning.”
“She has been in Town – and you know of it? Did Miss Elizabeth Bennet…?”
Darcy shook his head, and Bingley frowned, “So how…”
“I learned of her visit long before I departed into Kent, though I did not see her. In divulging the source of my information, Bingley, I regret that I must do a further disservice to your family – to your sister. Miss Bingley had been apprised of Miss Bennet’s visit to Town, allegedly by a letter from Miss Bennet herself. Your sisters did exchange a call.”
“They called upon each other?” A frown passed across Bingley’s countenance, and he slowly raised his glass to his lips as if unaware of his actions. A deep silence prevailed, and Darcy felt his insides twist with discomfort. Discussing such matters sat ill with him, and though he knew it to be his duty to reveal the truth to his friend, now that the depth of his transgression was revealed he waited anxiously for Bingley’s reaction, be it anger or disgust.
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