Nodding at the gardener, who stood nearby with a pair of shears and a woeful expression at the sight of his abused bushes, Darcy motioned for the man to cut the offending blooms. Five snips later, Miss Bingley rose to her feet and staggered forward, thorny stems poking out at odd angles around her wild coiffure.
As the servants scurried away, Darcy noted hands covering mouths and eyes brimming with amusement.
Mrs. Hurst attempted to free a dangling bloom, but Miss Bingley’s withering scowl made the lady recoil.
Richard was the first to recover. Mischief in his eye, he swooped an elegant bow. “Miss Bingley! The epitome of fashion, as always. You will soon have the ladies of thetonwearing rose clippings in their hair.”
Miss Bingley lifted her chin, but she was too aware of social standing to glare at the son of an earl, even if he was only the second son.
Richard’s smile widened.
Darcy called to the nearest footman. “Please ask Mrs. Reynolds to send some of her ointment from the distillery to Miss Bingley’s room.”
The corners of her lips turned upward, but Miss Bingley’s expression was too pinched to deem it a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Shall I join you in the music room once my maid sees to my hair?” Clearly, she had had enough of nature.
“And waste this glorious day indoors?” Bingley replied. “I had hoped to ask Miss Darcy if she might sketch my likeness.” He propped his foot on the bench and looked off into the distance. “Is this dignified enough?”
Georgiana giggled. “Very dignified.”
“You will have to stand still, Charles,” Mrs. Hurst chided as she settled onto her blanket. Her husband, whose sleep had been disturbed by the recent excitement, looked about him as though he had quite forgotten where he was and with whom.
As Miss Bingley walked stiffly toward the house, she glanced over her shoulder to hiss at her sister, who was too distracted with fruit tarts and cream now to pay her any heed.
Richard elbowed Darcy. Nodding toward Georgiana and speaking as low as he was capable of doing, he asked, “What is this?”
“Nothing I shall speak of here.”
“It is just as well. My visit is not without a purpose. A word in your study? And perhaps a glass of your smuggled brandy? I am parched.”
They made their way to Darcy’s inner sanctum. It overlooked the rose garden, and Georgiana’s laughter could be heard through the open window.
Richard helped himself to the contents of the sideboard and settled into a chair with a view of the garden. “I had expected to see Georgie still in the doldrums. Am I to understand that we have Bingley to thank for this welcome change?”
Darcy raised his glass and took a sip.
“What do you plan to do about it?”
For too many nights, Darcy had tossed and turned pondering this very question. “I had thought I might encourage Bingley to let an estate of his own.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “You take a keen interest in his life.”
“He is a trustworthy young man with a fortune of his own.”
“Meaning?”
“He is not after Georgiana’s dowry.”
“I doubt Bingley is after Georgiana at all! He is as agreeable to a countess as he is to a scullery maid.”
“Precisely. It makes him a safe choice.”
Richard swirled the amber liquor in his glass. “Are you certain she is in love, and so soon after Wickham? Could she not merely be acting as most fifteen-year-old females her age do?”
Darcy scoffed. “Georgiana is a Darcy through and through. She feels deeply, sincerely.”
“Just because Bingley is a saint in comparison to Wickham does not make him a suitable match for Georgiana. You cannot be serious, Darcy. Bingley falls in and out of love quicker than I change my waistcoat. He has been wanting to purchase an estate since his father’s death, but he is too fickle to settle on any one place. He is capricious, wholly manipulated by his pernicious sisters, and too reliant on others’ guidance.” Richard’s tone was grave.
All traits Darcy had considered.
