A Fair Prospect

by Cassandra Grafton

  Bingley nodded briskly in acceptance of the manager’s greeting and then nodded once more towards the doorman, who leapt forward to swing open the doors.

  His eyes were bright with anticipation. Indeed, he could hardly comprehend the sense of purpose he now experienced, the exhilaration of feeling that his life had suddenly turned about. In fact, he was so elated, and thus distracted, that he walked straight into the gentleman who at that moment entered the lobby from outside.

  “I do beg your pardon.”

  “Not at all, Sir. My mistake, I assure you.”

  Bingley hesitated. There was something familiar about the voice, and he turned to look at the gentleman in question as he removed his hat, realising in an instant the connection.

  “Harington?”

  The other man turned to fully observe Bingley, whose features broke into a wide smile of recognition.

  “It is you! Well met. I do not believe I have seen you since Cambridge days. How fares it with you? And how does that elder brother of yours?”

  The man frowned momentarily as he studied the open countenance before him; then, recognition seemed to dawn. “Bingley! How are you, man? Good to see you!”

  Conscious that they were blocking the main entrance as the door once again swung open, both men moved aside, shadowed by Harington’s servant.

  “You have been to Gunters!” Bingley nodded in the direction of the patient retainer with his pile of packages wrapped in the well-known shop’s signature style, and Nicholas grinned.

  “Yes, indeed! A dear friend arrives from the country on the morrow, and I have been purchasing gifts for her and her family.”

  “Aha! A young lady, Harington? What is this?”

  His companion laughed and shook his head. “My lips are sealed! Have you time for a drink?” Harington gestured towards the gentleman’s bar adjacent to the lobby. “I should welcome the opportunity to regale you with my brother’s antics and hear all your news that I might pass it on!”

  “Sadly not.” Bingley pulled out his watch, which merely confirmed what he knew full well: he was late, and he had no desire to delay his opportunity to secure potential news of Miss Bennet. “I am afraid I must dash; a dinner engagement with family, you understand. But you are in residence here?”

  “Indeed. You may recall that my parents have always eschewed the tradition to maintain a house in Town.”

  “Then shall we break our fast together in the morning?”

  “An excellent notion. Ten o’clock?”

  Harington held out his hand, and Bingley shook it warmly.

  “I shall look forward to it. Until then,” and raising his hat, he took his leave, hurrying out of the door and down the steps to his waiting carriage.

  ~o0o~

  Thornton, having been alerted to his master’s return by a footman, hurried the servants to bring hot water for bathing and made haste to set out the necessaries for shaving. He had just requested the placing of a warming pan between the sheets on his master’s bed when the chamber door opened and Mr Darcy entered the room.

  “Good evening, Sir.”

  “I am running late, Thornton. I have no time for a shave, a bath must suffice.” Thornton struggled to mask his disapproval, but before he could respond his master continued, “I comprehend your thoughts entirely; yet as it is only my sister and my cousin who must tolerate such unkemptness, I am certain they will bear up under the strain.”

  “As you wish, Sir.” Thornton walked over to the chair where Mr Darcy had discarded his coat and retrieved it, draping it reverently over one arm before turning to observe that two boots had been summarily tossed onto the floor near the bed. Walking across the room, intent upon reclaiming them, Thornton barely had time to take two paces before a flash of white caught his eye and, just in time, his arm shot out, niftily catching his master’s discarded shirt and neck cloth as they sailed through the air towards him.

  “Well caught.”

  Thornton bowed his head in acknowledgement of this praise, and turned to collect the discarded footwear as Mr Darcy disappeared through the door to the dressing room. Depositing the clothing upon a chair and the boots nearby, Thornton selected a dressing robe from the hook behind the door and followed in his master’s wake, but as he reached the threshold he stopped, hovering just inside the bedroom, unsure whether to proceed.

  His master stood in front of the stand holding the still slightly damp coat, at which he stared fixedly. Thornton was about to speak to justify its present condition when the words froze upon his lips.

  Mr Darcy had reached a hand out, hesitantly; for a moment it rested, suspended in mid-air as if he was unsure of his purpose but then, to his surprise, he raised the other arm and rested both hands upon the shoulders of his coat, gripping it tightly.

  Concerned that his master was displeased, Thornton moved forward, placing the dressing robe he carried onto a nearby chair as he approached the offending item on its stand.

  “My apologies, Sir. I have attempted…” Thornton stopped; his master had started at the sound of his voice, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was unaware of his approach. “Forgive me, Sir.”

  Mr Darcy cleared his throat and stepped back from the stand, his gaze still fixed upon the somewhat worse for wear coat. “Do not concern yourself, Thornton.”

  “I shall be sending the coat for cleaning, Sir. I fear the lining…”

  Shaking his head decisively, his master turned away and began to unfasten his trousers. “There is no need. I do not intend to wear it again. Have it cleaned as best you can – if it remains fit for wear, permit it to be distributed to a good cause; if not, dispose of it.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  Though the sun had long set over the grounds of Hunsford parsonage, Elizabeth remained at the open window of her chamber. The sunny day had passed into a cloudless night, and a near full moon cast a shimmering glow over the garden walls.

  Shivering a little as the cooler temperature permeated the room, Elizabeth drew her shawl about her shoulders and inhaled deeply, enjoying the sensation of the evening air upon her face. Much as she had enjoyed seeing Charlotte again, she could not regret her imminent departure. She longed to be with Jane, to reassure herself of her sister’s present well-being, and casting one last lingering look over the grounds below, she pulled the casement window closed and dropped the latch into place.

  She turned around, her eyes drifting over the familiarity of her chamber: her trunk stood against the wall, its lid propped open awaiting any last-minute belongings, her travelling clothes were laid out upon a chair, and on the table sat her writing case, surrounded by its many contents.

  Walking over to the hearth, Elizabeth bent to drop a small log onto the fire which had begun to smoulder, causing it to stir and flare up. Satisfied that she had secured herself some further heat, she crossed over to the desk and began to put her pens, wax and seal into the relevant compartments of the case, before turning her attention to the pile of correspondence she had pulled out earlier with the intention of restoring it to some sort of order.

  Thoughtfully, she trailed a finger over the various pieces of folded parchment, most of which bore Jane’s elegant script, but then her finger slowed as it came to rest upon the last letter she had received at Hunsford – that of Serena. Elizabeth studied the neatly written direction before smiling to herself, familiar as she was with her friend’s desire for guidance of some sort. With so few close acquaintances, borne of her disinclination for society in general, Serena had chosen to look to her for support and recommendation whenever troubled, a role Elizabeth undertook willingly for love of her friend more than a particular talent in that quarter.

  Rousing herself, Elizabeth picked up a small bundle of letters in one hand, rummaging in one of the drawers of her case until she found what she sought: several thin pieces of ribbon. With the skill of long practice she soon had the packet neatly tied. She placed them in the case and turned her attention to the next pile and, cons
cious that they were all from Jane, she bit her lip thoughtfully as she fastened a bow to secure them.

  She would face a dilemma once she reached her aunt’s home: what should or could she reveal to Jane? It had never been in either of their natures to keep things from each other – and yet this touched upon such secrets. What of Wickham’s past? Further, it would surely do her sister no good to discover that Mr Bingley had been persuaded away from his interest in her, for Jane, with such tenderness of heart, would begin anew and suffer for all that he had endured also.

  She frowned. Jane’s correspondence had continued to hint at a lowness of spirit, even though she had attempted to imply she did not dwell on the past. The only indication of a return of her sister’s natural enjoyment of life had come with her last missive, and that seemed to be solely down to Nicholas’ visit.

  Elizabeth let out a rueful laugh. What with Jane’s unhappiness and Serena in need of counsel, Nicholas’ uncomplicated company would doubtless be the least complex of her upcoming visit.

  Bestirring herself, she dropped the bundle into her case and was about to select another piece of ribbon when the hand upon one of the remaining letters caught her eye, and she suddenly recalled that she had earlier thrust Mr Darcy’s letter in with all the others. Snatching it up, she turned around with it in her hand. What should she do? It was not likely that anyone would come across it, locked in the case, yet should she take the risk – or destroy it?

  Elizabeth glanced over towards the fire. There was ample flame to devour one letter, yet her feet remained firmly in place as she studied the lettering on the front once more. Was it possible that their paths might cross again in Town? She could not fail to recall Charlotte’s words from earlier. How would she feel to be in his company again, should such a situation occur? How would he feel?

  Engrossed as she was in her thoughts, she failed to hear footsteps approaching until a sudden knock came upon her door.

  “One moment.” Moving over to the bed, Elizabeth tucked the letter under her pillow, then crossed to open the door.

  “Charlotte! I thought you had retired for the night.” Elizabeth stood aside and beckoned her into the room, then frowned as she noted the bundle in her friend’s arms.

  “I thought I would return these to you. Maisie was about to bring them up, but I was happy to have another reason to speak with you before taking to my bed. I shall miss your company most sorely!”

  Elizabeth hugged her friend impulsively, and then released her to relieve her of the now dry garments, walking over to lay them upon the bed where she hastily turned her back on them.

  “That is kind of you.”

  “I am afraid they are both unfit for wear – come see, Lizzy.” Resignedly, Elizabeth turned back to face Charlotte, who had perched herself upon the edge of the bed to inspect the hem of the gown Elizabeth had worn on Sunday.

  “It has dried perfectly well, but I am afraid my staff has limited means, and we have been unable to remove all of the discolouring from dirt.”

  To be fair, in the dimness of the few candles that lit the room, it was not easy to tell what was staining and what was shadow but Elizabeth made a pretence of glancing at it.

  “It is of little import, Charlotte. I am sorry to have put the servants to so much trouble through my own fool-hardly behaviour of walking in such inclement weather. I am certain that my aunt will know of a place where the fabric can be cleaned satisfactorily, and if all else fails, the gown can be dyed to a darker hue.”

  “That is true, but I am not sure your coat will recover. Though it has dried adequately, the hem is yet much blemished and, being of such fine fabric, I fear it will not improve.”

  “Then I have no one but myself to blame. It is not as if my parents will find it unusual for me to have sullied an item of clothing beyond repair when rambling about the countryside. I am afraid it has been a lifetime’s tendency I find hard to alter!”

  Charlotte laughed, but her smile faded as she studied her friend.

  “I have been worried about you, Lizzy. Though you seem somewhat recovered today, your low spirits on Sunday were out of character, as was your desire for solitude in the subsequent four and twenty hours. I would not wish to return you to your family the worse for your sojourn in Kent.”

  “Dear Charlotte,” Elizabeth reached over and patted her friend’s arm. “Pray do not concern yourself on my behalf. I am quite well and perfectly robust! If my spirits were at all dampened temporarily, it was down to nothing more than the soaking I experienced the other day.”

  To Elizabeth’s relief, Charlotte smiled and got to her feet. “Well then, I shall leave you now and look forward to sharing an early meal with you in the morning.”

  Wishing each other a good night’s rest, Elizabeth shut the door upon her friend before walking back over to the bed. She refolded the dress and quickly crossed to the trunk, placing it on top of the other clothes within before retrieving her coat and holding it up to the light to inspect the damage. Its condition did indeed appear somewhat poor and was likely not salvageable. It crossed Elizabeth’s mind briefly that this might present some difficulty in Town, but then she shrugged her shoulders, and folding it rather haphazardly she placed it in the trunk with the gown and dropped the lid on the sight of them.

  Fortunately, the weather for the morrow bade fair, and she would be journeying in a covered carriage. She would trouble herself about the need for a coat when the necessity arose, and with that thought, she applied herself to her preparations for bed.

  ~o0o~

  It had grown late by the time Georgiana finally consented to retire for the night, and Darcy watched his sister reach the top of the first flight of stairs and turn to give him a small wave before she disappeared out of sight.

  Turning to follow his cousin as he headed along the hallway towards Darcy’s study at the back of the house, he reflected upon her obvious reluctance to leave their company. It bespoke how much she had missed them and reinforced what he had long known: she lacked company, most especially of those near her in age, and in particular female companions – friends – with whom she could interact. A small voice reminded him how he had long been imagining Elizabeth in that role, but he ruthlessly silenced it. He would not think of her.

  Entering his study a few moments later, he found Fitzwilliam settled in one of the wing chairs near the fireplace, nursing a glass of Darcy’s finest brandy.

  “I refrained from pouring you one, Cousin,” the Colonel raised his glass in a toast. “Whilst the effect upon your empty stomach is entertaining, I believe it is not always to your satisfaction.”

  Darcy threw him a look more eloquent than words as he walked over to the tray of drinks that had been placed upon the side table earlier; the Colonel merely snorted and took a long sip from his glass.

  “We have just dined, Fitzwilliam. I think I can tolerate at least one glass before retiring.” Darcy poured himself a small brandy and walked over to the hearth, staring into the fire for a moment. Then, placing his glass on a circular leather-topped table near his own chair, he rested one arm against the mantelpiece and reached for the poker, giving the logs a hefty shove that caused them to spit and fire up.

  “Did you call that dining, Darce? One bread roll torn into pieces, and a meal that probably half a dozen people had a hand in preparing, moved about the plate like pieces on a chess board?”

  Darcy stared into the crackling flames, before muttering, “I did eat something!”

  “Oh yes, something indeed. A very little something – was it a pea? Do not think it will go unnoticed.”

  Darcy grunted and gave the logs one more prod before replacing the poker, satisfied that there was sufficient heat remaining to accompany their nightcap, before dropping into his chair.

  Conscious that Fitzwilliam scrutinised him over the rim of his glass, Darcy reached for his own drink and cradled it in both hands, studying the amber liquid as he swirled it around restlessly.

  “You performed we
ll enough this evening, I will grant you– certainly an improvement upon the prior two. At worst your concentration drifted but rarely, and I think with the aid of my incessant chatter, and her general delight in our return, your occasional bouts of ill attention will have escaped Georgiana for now.” Fitzwilliam paused. “You do appear somewhat more at ease. I trust things went well with Bingley?”

  Darcy adjusted his position, before raising his gaze to meet his cousin’s. “Almost too well; I do not deserve Bingley’s easy acceptance of the situation, his forgiveness. How can he not resent me?”

  The Colonel laughed. “This is Bingley. He would not know how to bear a grudge if one came along and poked him in the eye.”

  Darcy shook his head, still somewhat flummoxed over the way his friend had managed to absolve him of all culpability, and was about to speak again when there came an unexpected knock on the door.

  “Forgive the intrusion, Sir,” Pagett, the butler, intoned in his solemn voice. “Mr Bingley requests an audience with you, and begs you will forgive the lateness of the call.”

  A flicker of concern passed through Darcy, and he cast a glance at the clock before looking questioningly in his cousin’s direction. The Colonel lifted both hands and shrugged and settled back into his seat as Darcy instructed Pagett to show the gentleman in.

  Walking swiftly over to the drinks tray, Darcy measured out another glass of brandy, turning around as the door opened once more and Bingley came rapidly into the room. Barely pausing to take a breath, he fetched up in front of Darcy pink-faced and positively quivering.

  “She will not do it, Darcy; she will not atone, and I… I… well, can you but believe it?” Bingley huffed, opened his mouth to continue, but when no sound came out, shut it with a snap.

  Darcy handed his friend the glass and raised a brow as he knocked the drink back in one before handing it back and begging a refill. By the time he had turned back with the refreshed glass, Bingley had taken to pacing to and fro near the door.

  “I am in high dudgeon, Darcy.”