I ought to have known. He was the son of a business owner who had raised him to have all the advantages of a gentleman but without the ignorance. His father had taught him to manage the family’s business—not so that he would continue with it, but to share what he knew best with his heir. I could see that this instruction was serving Bingley well and wished more fathers did the same.
Bingley inquired about the Meryton horse, and I told him enough of the animal’s responses to my commands to convince him to purchase the gelding.
Miss Bingley was the first person I saw when I entered the drawing room before dinner. Bingley and Hurst played a game of checkers while Mrs. Hurst yawned by the fire.
“Mr. Darcy, to what do we owe the honor of your presence?” Miss Bingley asked coyly, clearly thinking her question clever.
It irritated me, so I did not reply. Who was Caroline Bingley to Elizabeth Bennet?
Bingley skipped over Hurst’s token, scooping up his winning piece triumphantly. “See, Caro? I told you Darcy would stay in the village.”
Mrs. Hurst shivered. “Such a dreadful storm! It kept me up all night.”
Miss Bingley fluttered her eyelashes. “None of us could sleep for concern over Mr. Darcy’s welfare.”
Bingley rolled his eyes. “You thought he had quit to London! Darcy would not leave us without so much as a farewell to hisfriends, and certainly not when he knew Colonel Fitzwilliam might join us any day now.”
She huffed and sighed. “Well, it is dull enough here. I would not have blamed him if he had withdrawn from this dreary shire. If you insist on settling here, I shall die of ennui.” Miss Bingley seemed to believe boredom was fashionable.
I had never seen Elizabeth bored. She made a game of everything.
The activities of the day to repair damage from the storm dominated the conversation at dinner. Miss Bingley made futile endeavors to make her pursuits sound as important as those of her brothers. As she had done nothing to assist her neighbors or her servants’ families, her attempts to impress fell short. Hurst was currently exerting his energy to ingest the dishes placed before him, his exertions with his brother-in-law having sharpened his already ample appetite. His wife echoed her sister’s earlier comments by repeatedly remarking upon the lack of entertainments to be had in the country and asserting that, were she in town, she would not be afflicted with such boredom. Her apparent intention was to draw my attention to her sister, but every word drew an unfavorable comparison to Elizabeth.
Too alert with anticipation for the arrival of my messenger the following morning, I endured a restless night. I awoke before daylight to continue scanning the horizon for the rider to appear bearing the gift I had carefully arranged. I first paced in my bedchamber and then took my restlessness down to the parlor, where I had a better view of the drive that led to Netherfield’s entrance. As the morning progressed and the other residents of the household began to stir, I reluctantly went to the morning parlor to break my fast, my gaze constantly seeking the doorway, expecting the butler to appear there and announce the messenger’s arrival.
I glanced at the clock. It was getting late. Had the messenger’s horse gone lame? Had some accident befallen him? I tried to explain the delay to prevent myself from succumbing to my increasing anxiety. It was too early yet to make calls, anyway.
The butler appeared, carrying a salver with the recently arrived post. There was nothing on the tray for me. Nor had a messenger arrived, he assured me. I nodded at this news as though it meant no difference when every fiber of my body screamed in impatience.
Bingley was disinclined to read the newspaper just then, so I dismissed myself from the table and took it to read in the parlor. There I sat, choosing a chair that faced both the road and the door. If the messenger came by the usual path, I was certain to see him. I opened the paper and attempted to read, but the pages could not hold my attention.
I rose from my chair and began pacing, my need to do something overwhelming my senses. This was ridiculous! Striding to the door to call for my horse and change into my riding coat so I might meet the messenger along the roadway, I startled to an abrupt halt when the butler rounded the corner and stepped into my path.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam has arrived from town, sir. Mr. Bingley will join you shortly, and Miss Bingley has sent for tea.”
My cousin appeared over the houseman’s shoulder, his grin wide. “Darcy! How good it is to see you!”
It was easy for me to return Richard’s smile, but I struggled to prevent my impatience from lessening my happiness at seeing him. Where was the infernal messenger? The butler caught my look and replied with a subtle shake of his head before retreating down the hall.
Drat!
Masking my disappointment, I turned to Richard, pulled him to me, and slapped him on the back in a brotherly embrace. “It isgood of you to come, Rich. Bingley has talked of little else but his hope that you might accept his invitation.”
Richard stepped back, his eyebrows raised. “I had to see with my own eyes if there truly is an angel living in the Hertfordshire countryside.” He jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow. “Perhaps this angel has an equally charming sister?”
Elizabeth popped into my mind, and my previous thoughts returned. Richard would like her, and no doubt she would enjoy his conversation. Jealousy seeped into me. What if she preferred Richard over me?
Bingley and the rest of his household joined us, providing the distraction I needed to restore order to my distraught mind. If Elizabeth did prefer Richard, I would wish her to be with the man who made her happier. In the meantime, I would put forth my best effort to be that man, to be her choice.
The tea service arrived, Miss Bingley poured, and I returned to my chair with the view of the door and the road. With my attention thus divided, I did not pay as much heed to the surrounding discussion as I should have. It was a foolish mistake. The conversation had paused, and everyone was looking at me expectantly. Although Bingley would excuse my inattention, Richard would be more likely to make a game out of extracting the reason for my distraction.
He grinned slyly. “Woolgathering, are we, Darcy?”
Drat!Heart pounding furiously, I took in a deep, slow breath and held my gaze steady. Richard had not been here for more than a quarter of an hour, and I had already given him proof to suspect I was not entirely myself. Not that I was ashamed of my growing feelings for Elizabeth… only that I would prefer not to expose myself to the one person who would tease me most mercilessly about them.
Richard cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing in on me. “I might have arrived earlier, but I stopped at The Golden Lion to quench my thirst.”
I held my breath, afraid to be hopeful. I had done what I could to make amends for my aloofness, but people often stubbornly adhered to their first impression. Would the villagers speak kindly of me to a stranger?
