A Fair Prospect

by Cassandra Grafton

  Bingley accepted the new offering from his friend, who bit back upon stating the obvious, waiting for him to continue.

  “Caroline refused, most emphatically, to assist my endeavours to trace Miss Bennet!”

  Bingley tossed the contents of the glass down his throat without a second glance and Darcy retrieved it as his friend resumed his pacing.

  “There will be no note despatched to Miss Bennet’s aunt, nor any call to establish if she remains in Town! I have discovered no direction for them, nor have I ascertained the name of these relatives, so I am unable to find them through other means.” He ran a hand through his extremely dishevelled hair. “This is a disaster!”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Darcy walked over to the fireplace as his cousin nestled back against the leather of his chair, clearly relishing the scene playing out before him. Throwing him a warning look, Darcy turned back to face Bingley, deciding it was time to point out that they were not alone, when Bingley happened to draw the same conclusion.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam! Forgive the intrusion.”

  “Pray, do not concern yourself, Bingley. I shall permit you some privacy,” the Colonel rose to his feet, drained his glass and walked over to deposit it on the silver salver.

  “I beg you would not depart on my account. I trust I have caused no offence with my lack of discretion.”

  Darcy felt obliged to interrupt. “My cousin is well-versed in my mistakes regarding Miss Bennet.”

  Bingley blew out a long breath. “Good. Then he is aware of mine also. Colonel, please do not excuse yourself. It may be that you can offer a fresh perspective.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes at the smug expression crossing his cousin’s face, and interjected, “Oh have no doubt of that. Be prepared for all the wisdom Fitzwilliam can offer – I am sure he will not disappoint.”

  The Colonel bowed and, retrieving his glass along with the decanter, paused to top up Bingley’s before returning to his chair, and Darcy indicated to Bingley to seat himself before resuming his own.

  “So come, Bingley. What has transpired? I am certain you will find your way to overcome any obstacle that has been presented.”

  “You have more faith in my ability to deduce than I.” Bingley sat down heavily. “Let us not deny it. I need your counsel, whether you would wish it or not.”

  “Did she give a particular reason for her refusal?

  “It sounded like some form of brain malfunction,” Bingley said morosely, taking a large mouthful of brandy and pulling a face as he swallowed it.

  The Colonel tried and failed to repress a snort but Darcy ignored him, throwing his friend a questioning look.

  Bingley shrugged. “She appears to be suffering from memory loss in relation to her call upon Miss Bennet. She claims she has no recollection of the exact address, merely that it is in a – well, I shall not tell you the exact words she used, but clearly she intended me to think it a dreadfully poor area.”

  Darcy frowned. “Were we not almost convinced that Miss Bennet has been staying somewhere in Cheapside?”

  “Cheapside?” The Colonel leaned forward in his chair to place the decanter upon a side table, his gaze moving from Darcy to Bingley. “That is no poor area of Town. It is hardly fashionable, admittedly, but it is a thriving district of up and coming businesses – a breeding ground for trade and commerce. The merchants in that part of Town are anything but poor!”

  Bingley let out a derisive laugh. “Precisely. And thus I must wonder if Caroline’s ailment is genuine, for this is not the first occasion upon which my sister’s memory deficiency has been exposed in relation to the source of our own family fortune.”

  Darcy eyed his friend sympathetically as he observed his frustrated demeanour. Whilst he was not surprised at Caroline Bingley’s resistance to aiding her brother in his quest, he was concerned at how limited their options were for discerning Miss Bennet’s whereabouts. It may well be that a ride out to Hertfordshire was required after all.

  Bingley, meanwhile, had put his glass down and risen to his feet as his indignation began to surface again. Standing on the rug in front of the fire, he turned first to the Colonel and then Darcy.

  “Further – can you but believe it – she claims she does not even recollect the name of the aunt and uncle, that she had,” here Bingley paused, and drawing himself up in height he assumed a haughty expression, and in a manner markedly like that of his sister said, “no intention of retaining such pointless detail, for what likelihood was there of a need to prolong the acquaintance”?”

  Before either of his companions could react, Bingley had begun to pace to and fro across the rug.

  “I even tried to question Louisa. She is the more malleable of the two.” Bingley paused to address the Colonel with these latter words, then resumed his pacing. “And to be fair to Hurst, he did instruct her to reveal whatever she knew. Yet, when pushed, all she could come up with was that she thought their name might be ‘Green’, or similar; possibly something akin to horticulture. What use is that to either man or beast? Horticulture…Bah!”

  Bingley threw himself back into his chair and folded his arms across his chest, his air and countenance indicative of the frustration he had experienced in Grosvenor Street.

  Darcy studied his friend thoughtfully. He did not wish to be seen to be guiding him, yet he also felt an obligation to ensure that Bingley had every opportunity to be reunited with Miss Bennet, and he cast his mind back over all that Bingley had disclosed.

  “Is there no letter from Miss Bennet? They must have exchanged some correspondence for the calls to have been paid at all.”

  “Destroyed. All gone.”

  “Destroyed?”

  “So my sister attests. Her response was strikingly similar to my earlier request – why would she want to retain a letter from someone with whom she is so little familiar and with whom she had no intention of continuing an acquaintance?”

  “There is one other who would know the direction,” both Darcy and Bingley turned to observe the Colonel, who was clearly most satisfied with having drawn a conclusion no one else had yet reached.

  Bingley pursed his lips in concentration, but it was Darcy who spoke. “Of course! The Hursts’ coachman!”

  Bingley sat up quickly, his hair flopping onto his forehead, and he brushed it aside impatiently as Darcy turned to face him. “Therein lies your answer. Your sisters would not have made the journey to Cheapside on foot.”

  The Colonel grunted and drained his glass. “For what it is worth, Bingley, I would make your enquiries discreetly, or you will find the poor man has been despatched to the Far East. Miss Bingley does, if you allow me, seem one very determined woman.”

  “That would be a fair interpretation,” Bingley said, his spirits clearly rising upon discerning his purpose again. “Now we must decide…”

  A loud rap upon the study door had them all turn in their seats, and once more Darcy got to his feet and called, ‘Enter.’

  Pagett stepped forward into the room bearing a resigned demeanour as well as a small silver tray, upon which rested a note. Walking with stately progress across the floor, he came to a halt in front of the Colonel, bowing as he offered the tray to him.

  The Colonel snatched the note up and quickly scanned its contents before hauling himself to his feet.

  “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. It is from my commanding officer and the Express rider is awaiting my response.” With a bow he excused himself, and as Pagett slowly closed the door, Bingley turned back to face his friend once more.

  “Well, I do believe we have made progress. I am all anticipation for the morrow and the opportunity to visit Hurst’s household again. I only hope his coachman is not out with the carriage when I call, for I cannot leave for Grosvenor Street until late morning.” He settled himself more deeply into the chair and reached for his glass.

  Darcy studied his feet, troubled by a thought that had just occurred to him. He did not wish to seem as if he were
opposing Bingley’s decision to seek Miss Bennet out as quickly as he could; nor did he wish to offer further poor counsel. Yet, knowing from Elizabeth that her sister had suffered a cruel disappointment at what appeared to be Bingley’s hand, he did wonder how she might feel upon suddenly receiving an unexpected call from him. Indeed, he was not at all sure the surprise would be a welcome one in the circumstances – yet how to tender such a suggestion, when his friend was understandably so eager to find her?

  “You are-,” he hesitated, raising his eyes to meet those of his friend. “You are not at all concerned about your reception, Bingley? I am not blind to the fact that my mistake over Miss Bennet’s true feelings will have caused her some pain, and …” Darcy broke off as Bingley’s contented smile slowly faded, and he sat up in his seat.

  “What a damn fool I am!” Bingley jumped up out of his chair and dropped his glass onto the nearby table before turning round to face Darcy. “If she was not indifferent… Lord, Darcy, it will appear I abandoned her! What will she think of me? What will her family think? I had given it little enough thought, keen as I am to see her. How should I approach her after what I have done?”

  “What you have done? It is I who caused the damage, Bingley. If it were not for my actions…”

  “Darcy, please.” Bingley stopped him. “Let us not go over it again; you are not solely culpable here, and the sooner you accept the sharing of the blame with me, the better for us both.”

  “But you must tell her – if for any reason she doubts your sincerity – tell her of my interference, Bingley, and not of your sister’s. If you are successful in your attempt to repair the relationship, and Miss Bingley is to one day become sister to Miss Bennet, it would not sit well with either of them to begin that connection with such an impediment between them.”

  “If need be, I shall tell her of my own foolish behaviour. I will not pass the blame by implying you were the sole cause of this situation.” Darcy stared at Bingley for a moment, as a tumult of feelings assailed him: a touch of frustration at not gaining his point, combined with pride in his friend’s new firmness and chagrin at still being so easily forgiven.

  “You really are too good, Bingley.”

  Bingley let out a somewhat bitter laugh and walked over to reclaim his seat. “I am not sure that Miss Bennet would agree.”

  Darcy ruminated upon how Bingley’s sudden departure from Hertfordshire and subsequent failure to return must have been received by the Bennets. “Or, indeed, Mrs Bennet – though I am certain her forgiveness will be rapid if you put things to rights.”

  Bingley’s face paled as he threw an appalled look at Darcy. “Oh good grief – can you but imagine the lament of Mrs Bennet?”

  “I must own that imagining Mrs Bennet, lamenting or otherwise, is something I avoid at all costs.”

  Bingley released a huff of laughter, then studied his friend for a moment. “Are you quite reconciled to my making such a match?”

  “I have no need to be reconciled. If you are convinced of your future happiness with Miss Bennet, then I wish you every success.”

  There was no time for further comment, as the Colonel returned to the room and walked over to join them.

  “I am committed to an early meeting with my commanding officer at Whitehall, gentlemen, so I shall bid you both goodnight.”

  “Yes, I must away also. My apologies for the late-night intrusion.” Bingley got to his feet and turned to shake Fitzwilliam’s hand. “Thank you for your assistance, Colonel. It is much appreciated.”

  “Delighted to have been of service, Bingley. At least you have the discernment to value my input.”

  Darcy stood up, pointedly ignoring the smug look that his cousin threw him, and the three gentlemen turned towards the still open door.

  Glancing at Bingley as he followed him out of the room, the Colonel added, “You are off on your quest at first light, I trust?”

  Bingley shook his head as they walked the length of the hall towards the front door. “No, indeed. I have a prior commitment in the morning, though I doubt Harington will get much sense out of me in the circumstances.” Bingley turned towards Darcy and shook his hand. “I will call to report on progress, if you are at home?”

  Darcy motioned to the footman to open the door as Pagett handed Bingley his hat and gloves. “I have no plans other than to catch up on some business and spend time with my sister.”

  Bingley nodded, took his leave of them both and made his way out to his waiting carriage.

  Darcy exchanged a few words with his butler before turning to join his cousin as they walked towards the staircase, but the Colonel turned a frowning visage upon his companion.

  “Does the name Harington mean anything to you?”

  “Should it?”

  Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders as they reached the first stair.

  “I have a notion it was mentioned recently, but I cannot for the life of me think in what connection or by whom.”

  Unable to contribute anything enlightening, Darcy shook his head and began to climb the stairs, his cousin following silently in his wake. With another long night approaching, he was less concerned with troubling his mind over unfamiliar names than attempting to close it forcibly against one other that would persist in haunting him.

  ~o0o~

  Most of the windows of the Pulteney Hotel were covered against the night, and slowly the lamps within were being extinguished. Yet at one window, the drapes remained fastened, and backlit by the candlelight a figure could be discerned staring out across Piccadilly.

  From his suite on one of the upper floors, Nicholas Harington would have been able to see the full moon, the rooftops of Kensington Palace and a glimpse of the tallest trees in St James Park, had his gaze been fixed upon anything at all. As it was, he leaned against the sill, a half empty glass of wine in one hand, his eyes focused upon nothing as his mind dwelled on the morrow.

  An uncharacteristic melancholy lingered about him, an aura that he had struggled to conceal. Yet the pretence of assuming his normal happy- go-lucky demeanour in front of his Godmother took its toll upon him, even a mere seven days after his arrival in Town. Restlessly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and raised the glass to his lips, taking a hefty swig of the contents.

  Closing his eyes briefly, Nicholas let the liquid slide down his throat before rousing himself, turning his back upon the darkness. Crossing over to the dresser, he drained his glass and deposited it next to the wine bottle; he wished for no more alcohol, and picking up a book from a nearby console table, he walked over to one of the leather armchairs near the hearth and threw himself into it, dropping the book onto his lap.

  Nicholas stretched his legs out and leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes and letting memories wash over him. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his breast pocket and rested it upon the weight there; then, unable to resist, he sat up and withdrew a miniature which he held up to the light. To be certain, it was not the most recent, having been taken some two years earlier, but Nicholas had happened to observe the original as the likeness was taken. He shook his head, smiling at the memory. She had meant something entirely different to him then, and how mercilessly had he teased her – until he had been banished from the room by his Godmother.

  His expression sobered, and he stroked his thumb gently over the face before him. He had known her for so many years; she was his friend, yet now he wished for so much more from her. Nicholas chewed his lip as he studied the likeness in his hand intently. This interminable wait since he had last laid eyes upon her; if he could only comprehend what was in her mind, her heart – what she really felt for him.

  Then, with a sigh and a final sweep of his thumb over the surface, Nicholas slipped the miniature back into the pocket of his waistcoat and got slowly to his feet. There was little point in dwelling upon that for which he had no answer. There was only one who could help put an end to his suffering and, despite his apprehension, he could sense h
is spirits rise in anticipation, knowing as he did of her imminent arrival in Town.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The clock on the mantel had chimed the midday hour, yet the man seated at the leather-topped desk appeared to heed it not.

  Having attended his cousin to breakfast before his early departure, Darcy had repaired to his study determined to clear the backlog of paperwork that always awaited his attention after a sojourn in the country. Yet his interest had soon waned, and he had been staring at the papers on his desk for some time, unable to find an incentive to lift the letter opener from the blotter.

  With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. Was it only days since his world had turned upside down? Was it in truth only Wednesday?

  Wednesday… the day that heralded Elizabeth’s arrival in Town. An instinctive urge to indulge in thoughts of her fought with his resolve to reject any such visitation, but his heart remained the victor, and his mind flooded with all the questions he had struggled to suppress throughout the morning.

  Had she yet departed Kent? Was she even now on the road? Who accompanied her that she might travel in safety – surely her uncle had sent more than one servant to attend her? Admittedly, it was an oft- travelled route, being the main thoroughfare between London and the southeast ports, but he did not like the thought of her journeying alone and unprotected.

  Feeling his agitation rise, Darcy stirred in his seat. At what time of day might she be in London? Their paths were unlikely to cross, but what if… what if he should find out where she stayed? Darcy sighed: who did he attempt to fool? If Bingley’s endeavours this morning with the coachman were unsuccessful, he knew his friend’s sense of purpose would have him in Hertfordshire soon after. Once the location of Elizabeth’s relations was known, he could – as an acquaintance – presume to make a call. He could, and yet he would not. He was, after all, the last man she would wish to see, and if there was something in all of this that he must learn, it was that he could not think only of himself and what he alone desired.