Authors: Karalynne Mackrory
“Well?” they both said at once.
Darcy clenched his jaw before speaking again. “What are you doing here, Bingley?”
Bingley allowed one irritated huff before replying. “What am I doing here? Offering my sympathies to a family of my acquaintance, of course.”
“I thought we had agreed that I would convey your sentiments for you.” He pulled out the note he had not delivered after seeing Bingley enter the home and tossed it back to his friend.
“Do you really think I could leave the Bennets with a few polite words of comfort when I could have attended them myself?
You
may think them below you; however,
I
respect them and wish to be of whatever service I can. ”
Darcy ignored the cutting remark. “I do not think this is a good idea, Bingley.”
“In what way, my friend? Do you mean it is not a good idea that I venture to show my concern for a friend’s loss in person, or is it the identity of that friend that you find distasteful?”
Darcy rubbed his eyes. “Bingley, I was wrong about the Bennets. And although I am beginning to believe that I might have been wrong about Miss Bennet’s affection for you as well, I had not wished to better inform you until I was certain. That is why I am not sure this is such a good idea. I do not want you to get hurt.”
“A fine speech, Darcy. Do you not think that I am old enough to make that decision for myself?” Bingley huffed again as he quoted him in a frightfully good impression. “‘I might have been wrong about Miss Bennet’s affection for you . . . ’” In disbelief, he continued, “Do you really think you might have been wrong in that respect?”
Bingley was struggling against the hope building in his chest. Although still wishing to protect his friend, Darcy realized that Bingley was right; it was not his decision to make. “I now believe that Miss Bennet may have returned your feelings, Bingley.”
Bingley sat against the back of the carriage in wide-eyed astonishment before a slow smile began to curl his lips.
“Do you know what this means, Darcy? My angel did love me!”
“Yes, and for your sake, I hope she still does.”
Bingley’s brow furrowed. “Do you suspect her feelings to have changed?”
Darcy expelled a deep breath before deciding to reveal all. “Bingley, I have something to say to you, and I hope after I confess it that you will still count me your friend, though I understand completely if you should not.”
Darcy then began to relate to his astounded friend his actions last autumn in separating Miss Bennet from him. Darcy admitted that, although he thought he was doing his friend a service in his appraisal of Miss Bennet’s feelings, he had purposely concealed her being in town all winter. He confessed that Miss Elizabeth had hinted that Miss Bennet had suffered another loss this year, leading him to believe that that loss was Bingley. He ended with his growing suspicion that Miss Bennet did not seem to show her feelings openly in company as his only excuse for his gross misjudgment of her character.
He watched Bingley during the entirety of his admission, as he changed from astonishment to renewed ire. Darcy ended his speech and looked out the window to avoid Bingley’s last reaction, that of displeasure and despair.
He barely heard his friend whisper, “What must she think of me?” before leaning forward and allowing his head to fall into his hands.
“I am sincerely sorry for my interference, Bingley. Would that I could undo my actions . . . ” For more reasons than his friend knew, he wished he had not acted in such an insolent manner. If he had not, perhaps Elizabeth would not have taken such an affront to him.
Bingley looked up at his friend when he detected the sincere tone of his apology. He could not be angry with him anymore, accepting that Darcy, in his own way, had tried to protect him. Likewise, he could not hold himself blameless. He had allowed himself to be persuaded. He had allowed himself to trust the words of his sisters and friend over the truth and love he saw in Jane’s eyes last autumn. If he was to be completely honest, he knew that he allowed himself to be persuaded because he had been afraid. He had often ‘been in love,’ as his friend might say, but never had he been so completely bowled over by a woman.
After having experienced the torment of the past couple of months without her, not to mention the regret, he knew what must be done. He could not live without her; the only thing that made it possible to leave her before was the thought that she did not return his feelings. Now with renewed hope building in his breast, perhaps he could convince her to love again; he was determined to stay in Hertfordshire as long as necessary.
“I forgive you, Darcy.” Seeing that they were arriving at the inn, he continued, “You must stay with me at Netherfield.”
Solicitous of his friend’s charitable forgiveness, Darcy said, “I thank you for your kind offer, but I think I will be less in the way as you open up Netherfield if I stay at the inn.”
Sheepishly Bingley owned, “I may have sent an express to Mrs. Nicholls at Netherfield immediately after leaving you yesterday afternoon, instructing her to open up the house and to prepare for my arrival today.”
Darcy could not help but laugh at his friend’s impulsiveness. “You wasted little time at all, sir. Tell me, when did you decide to return? Were you even out of my house?”
Bingley beamed. “I confess I had no intentions of letting you go to Hertfordshire without me, though I knew it unlikely I could convince you to allow me. Hence I left town not long after you this morning, ensuring you would not hear of my plans.”
“I see.” Darcy was amused and a little proud of his friend’s decision. He had acted in the determined manner of a gentleman.
“So will you not stay with me? You do plan to stay through the funeral services in a few days, do you not?”
“I had planned on attending the funeral. I also have a few things I want to look into here in Meryton.” Darcy’s jaw flexed as he thought about Wickham and wondered at his duplicity once again.
“Splendid! Inform your man to pack your trunks again and return with them to Netherfield. Then we shall be off.”
Darcy’s lips twitched at his friend’s enthusiastic command and did as he was told. Before long, they were on the familiar road to Netherfield Park.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth slid a hand down over the ebony fabric of her mourning dress. Until they had time to order mourning clothes, each lady in the house had dyed one of her day dresses black. Her eyes rose to meet Jane’s in the mirror in front of them as her sister tied the black ribbon around her bodice. They shared a sad smile with each other in the mirror before changing places, so Elizabeth could button Jane’s dress.
She could see Jane had been relieved to have her home, but she knew that Bingley’s return added to her strain. Over the last few days, he had come to call nearly every day. Sometimes he came with his friend, sometimes alone. She knew Jane was carrying not only the burden of grief but also a further tumult of emotions over his return. She was more guarded around him as well. Elizabeth was sure that Jane’s solemnity was more pronounced during his visits — not wishing to attribute too much meaning into his return if he were simply to leave again. She hated that her sister had reason to guard her heart so closely.
The presence of his friend was distracting enough for Elizabeth. She could not make out why he remained in the area. He had safely delivered her home; his duty was fulfilled. Yet he remained. When he called with Mr. Bingley, although his manners remained solicitous of her comfort and he was indeed polite to everyone else, his expression was unreadable, and like before, she was still the recipient of his stern looks.
Why does he still look for flaws in me?
“Well, Lizzy” — Jane looked at her sister in the mirror — “I cannot say that I am sorry that women are not allowed to attend funerals. It shall be difficult enough for our mother to host the visitors for the mourning hours.”
Elizabeth could not agree. She wished she could be there, albeit she knew that seeing Lydia’s casket lowered into the ground — to rest there forevermore — would be an image she could never forget.
“Mother is much changed, is she not, Jane?”
Jane sighed as she sat on their shared bed. “I cannot fathom it. She is so subdued and brought low. I never thought that I would say it, but I would wish to see her more intemperate self than this sad demeanor. It makes me worry for the state of her suffering.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully as she sat next to her sister and took her hand. “Aye, sister. Both of our parents seem to be very much shaken.” She thought of her father’s altered behavior as well. He was spending more time with her mother. Lydia’s death had prompted one thing that nothing else had previously been able to do: her parents were united in their sentiments.
“I hope with time and careful care, we shall see them through this,” Jane murmured sadly.
Elizabeth nodded her head. “I am glad our aunt and uncle are here.”
“Yes, they have been invaluable.”
Both sisters elapsed into their private reverie about poor Lydia, then to their parents and back again.
Elizabeth sighed and patted her sister’s leg. “Come, Jane. It is time to join the ladies in the parlor.”
Standing, she took her sister’s hand, and they both drew a bracing breath. Then they left their chambers to sit with the other mourning ladies, awaiting the gentlemen’s return from the funeral.
* * *
Upon entering the parlor, Darcy could not help scanning the room, his gaze finally resting upon Elizabeth. She had her head lowered and her hand intertwined with her mother’s. He could not find her anything but beautiful despite her black attire. Indeed, he was sure there was not a color in which she would not look lovely. Her usual, bright and cheery disposition was more suited to a pretty yellow or mint hue. However, her warm, rich brown tresses, combined with the dark fabric only made her ivory skin seem to glow in contrast.
He patted the item in his breast pocket to assure its presence. He hoped she would find comfort in his offering as a similar gift had done for him in years past when he buried his own father and mother.
Walking over to the ladies, he bowed and murmured the customary phrases for such an occasion. He noticed Elizabeth was, indeed, surprised to see him there. He had thought his continued presence in the neighborhood for the last few days would have indicated his intentions to attend the services.
Uncomfortable with the occasion, as well as the growing number of visitors come to pay their respects, Darcy excused himself to the edge of the room where he might find some solitude.
He spoke to nobody and soon became lost in his thoughts. The funeral had been much like any other he had attended — solemn, quiet and formal. The men had gathered around the grave and listened to the parson utter the final prayers on behalf of the deceased, and then the box was lowered into the ground. Mr. Bennet had tossed the first shovel of earth onto the casket, followed by Mr. Gardiner as was the custom. All the men took turns before the job was handed over to the grave diggers. The walk back to Longbourn was silent.
Mr. Denny had attended along with several of the officers from the regiment. They were to depart for the summer to Brighton in a fortnight. Seeing the officers had brought Darcy’s mind to the situation with Wickham. He was frustrated that he had not gained any valuable information. The tradesmen and shopkeepers of Meryton had been willing — he assumed because of his wealth and the hope of remuneration — to divulge that Wickham held debts with them.
But Mr. Denny and some of the other officers were tight-lipped with Darcy and would not offer any clues as to Wickham’s whereabouts. He had questioned them, but they were less forthcoming due to their prejudice against him because of Wickham’s tales. Darcy cared little for their approbation but was irritated that he could not learn anything useful. However, a few disgruntled officers admitted Wickham had debts of honor in the regiment, and like the tradesmen in Meryton, they feared they had been cheated, and they wanted retribution.
The only valuable information came from Colonel Forster who had said that Wickham asked and had been granted a short, three-week leave of absence from his commission to attend his sister’s wedding. He was told to report to Brighton at the end of his leave. To his dismay at this intelligence, Darcy knew Mr. Bennet’s suspicions garnered real merit. Firstly, the leave was requested a few days prior to Miss Lydia’s accident and granted the next day. Secondly, he knew Wickham had no sister.
Tormented in his private fury, Darcy was unaware he was being observed. Elizabeth watched his scowl grow and deepen the longer he was in the room. It was too much for her to think that he could harbor such uncharitable thoughts regarding present company while her family grieved. It was for this purpose she charged herself with the task of taking Mr. Darcy his tea.
Darcy was deep in his taciturn speculations when Elizabeth approached with a cup for him. He looked about and realized that, in his distraction, the refreshments had been served, and all the ladies of the house were bringing cups to their guests. He was gratified that Elizabeth had chosen to bring his herself. He had to press his lips together in an effort not to smile.
“Mr. Darcy, your tea.”