“You believe she will receive me with pleasure?” he panted. “Truly, Miss Elizabeth, do not tease me, I could not bear it! If you are not certain, I shall take myself from her company straightaway, but if there is the slightest hope—”
“I should say your hope is more than a slight one, sir. Would you care to go in to her, or shall I ask her to accompany us in the garden?”
“Oh! The drawing room seems more suitable, do you not agree? I would not wish to cause her any mortification. In the drawing room, she may seek the ease of others’ conversation as she sorts her feelings. I fear I might overwhelm her out here, if it is only the three of us.”
“A perfectly sensible idea, sir,” she encouraged.
“Then it is settled!” he cried, and offered her his arm once more. Elizabeth took it, noting again with some concern the band settled just below his shoulder.
He caught her gaze, and his expression sobered. “I shall have to ask her to wait—that is, if she accepts me,” he sighed. “It would not be right, would it? So soon… but if I have learnt anything, it is that the deferral of hope is not as noble as the world would have us believe. No, perhaps we shall not delay over-long.”
“It was a dear friend you lost, sir?”
“None could have been a truer friend, Miss Elizabeth.” He swallowed and looked for all the world as if he would next shed tears of deepest agony. If Elizabeth were not mistaken, there was that still about his face which suggested that he may already have spent many hours so employed.
“I am sorry, sir.” She lapsed into silence as they walked back to the house and took some comfort in noting his expression lightening. Perhaps his joy at reconciliation with Jane would overshadow his loss.
As they drew near to the door, she dared to try a little levity with him once more, hoping to clear the last of his melancholy before he entered the house to face Jane. “My father tells us it will be an excellent season for shooting this year. Do you intend to remain at Netherfield for some while, sir?”
“Indeed. There is nothing for me in Town, and if my darling Jane accepts me, I shall wish to remain close.”
“Surely you have many friends, sir.” Elizabeth brightened with the full force of her charm. She slanted her teasing brow up at him, plying him with a light smile and an easy tone. “You will no doubt host a shooting party? I cannot but think that many among your acquaintance would be delighted with the opportunity to view your home and meet your betrothed, if there is to be such a lady.”
He permitted a flicker about his mouth. “Perhaps I may invite one or two….”
Elizabeth fought a shiver of delightful expectancy as she at last dared to ask the preeminent question on her mind. “I believe Mr Hurst and Mr Darcy found the local sport much to their liking. It is not too late in the season, surely, for them to make such arrangements?”
Bingley’s calm shattered, and he covered his face in his hand. His shoulders shook with the effort of commanding himself, and Elizabeth politely pretended not to hear the agonised moans shuddering from his heart.
“Sir, do forgive me. I did not mean to recall a painful subject!” she pleaded. Was it Mr Hurst who had died? She had not thought Mr Bingley so fond of his brother-in-law as to cause such abiding grief!
He turned his frame slightly, concealing from her the task of drying and composing his features. “No, Miss Elizabeth, it is not your fault. I see that you have not heard the news, although it is not surprising. The family have kept it from the papers.”
She shook her head, mystified. “News? No, sir, we have heard of no one who—”
“It is Darcy. Darcy is dead.”
Elizabeth’s world went suddenly black. Distantly, she heard Mr Bingley calling her name, but no words could reach her. She was numb, utterly beyond recall. Her lips mouthed again and again, as Mr Bingley bent to assist her into her house—Oh, Darcy!
Chapter three
“MrBingley!Howdelightedwe are that you have come. I do hope you intend to remain in the area some weeks—perhaps longer, for the shooting?” Mrs Bennet nearly pranced in delight, maneuvering her own body about the room so that Mr Bingley was forced to retreat in the direction that brought him closest to Jane’s seat in the drawing room.
He glanced about nervously, searching Jane’s rosy countenance for any signs of discomfort. If he did not take the seat on his own, he feared Mrs Bennet would shove the chair under him herself—and he did desire to be close to Jane. She, however, could not be his first concern at the moment.
“I do indeed, Mrs Bennet, but might I inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s health? She appeared very unwell a few moments ago. Has she retired?”
“Oh! Lizzy is hale as a horse, Mr Bingley. I do not doubt that she has caught the sun. That girl is forever giving herself new freckles, for she will not wear her bonnet!”
“Miss Elizabeth has a lovely glow of health about her,” he affirmed gallantly, “but she seemed rather distressed—”
“And so we all are!” lamented Mrs Bennet. “To think that such a fine gentleman should be struck down in his prime, unmarried and with ten thousand a year left to goodness knows whom! Such a tragic loss. If only my Lydia had taken a fancy to him last year, but do you know, there was nothing to a red coat for her! Oh, if only Mr Wickham had two or three thousand per year,” she sighed. “He intends to send for her, you know, as soon as he may. Such a pity that he did not get the living Mr Darcy promised him, but I suppose it is too late for that now.”
Bingley’s face suffused with mortification and grief, but he sought courage from Jane’s sympathetic expression. There was a tenderness about her eyes, a sincere softening of her mouth. Whatever her own embarrassment, whatever modesty might have required of a maiden, she chose instead to extend comfort to him.
His heart began to beat once more.Thiswas the woman he wanted by his side, and never more than now, when the loss of his closest friend had staggered and crushed him. Her mother was positively ghastly, but perhaps there was none better to stand by him than one who had already learnt to weather trials with grace.
“If you please, Mrs Bennet,” he swallowed, “I should like to speak of other things.”
