She jumped. “Oh no! I’m sorry, sir! Mrs Arbuthnot told me to light candles in all the rooms.”
The flickering light of the taper she held cast a shadow beneath her cheeks, making her appear more like Elizabeth than ever. Bingley stepped farther into the room. “There is no need to apologise. Pray, tell me I did not hurt you when I knocked you over.”
She lost some of her servility and smiled as she assured him he had not.
Bingley nodded his relief and stepped closer, and when his approach did not seem to perturb her, closer still. “I am glad to hear it.”
“It were very kind o’ you to come to my rescue.”
He triumphed to have succeeded, at last, in rescuingsomebody. “It was nothing,” he assured her. “Anybody would have done the same.”
“No,” she replied softly. “There’s many a master’d be less gen’rous to ’ave caught a maid at ’er work. You’re very kind.” She smiled coquettishly. “Quite my ’ero, in fact.”
A short while later, Bingley stared at the canopy above his bed, reflecting upon his brief and ill-advised kiss. Shame had rapidly obtruded upon his ardour, prompting an abrupt end to their clinch. That shame persisted. Alone in his bedchamber with only his thoughts for company, however, it was so very tempting to imagine it had been Elizabeth he had taken in his arms and Elizabeth’s willing lips to which he had pressed his own.
WILFUL MISUNDERSTANDINGS
Monday 13 July 1812, Hertfordshire
Darcy set his book aside,for he had not the concentration to read. He closed his eyes but could not sleep. He used to be a far more sensible man, but impatience for his wedding on the morrow had rendered him distracted and restless.
He rather thought he had good cause to be in a hurry. Theirs had not been an easy courtship. From their devastating quarrel in Kent to Greyson’s unpardonable transgression, they had suffered more than their share of misfortunes. He was done waiting to be Elizabeth’s husband—to protect her, to loveher. By God, he was impatient to love her. After his brief glimpse of her nascent passion last Wednesday, he downright ached for her. An absurd number of vexatious social obligations meant they had been rarely together since then, and not for one momentalone. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.
This day was apparently not quite done, however. His door abruptly banged twice, flew open, bounced on its hinges and swung back to hit his visitor in the face.
“Blast and bugger it!” came Bingley’s muffled voice from the passage beyond.
With a wry smile, Darcy crossed the room to hold the door open.
“Thought I would take you up on that offer of a drink,” Bingley mumbled, rubbing his forehead.
“You might have waited for me in that case,” he replied after watching his friend sway across the room and slump onto the foot of the bed.
“Eh? Oh, yes. I might have had one or two already.”
Darcy pulled the bell for his man. “Have you forgotten you are to be wed at nine in the morning?”
“Not quite. Another couple of measures ought to do it, though.”
Wetherby arrived, and Darcy gave a quiet instruction for him to bring some coffee then turned back to his friend. “Is this merely nerves, Bingley, or is there something you wish to tell me?”
“What? No! I meant not to give the impression that I—I meant not to say anything at all. Blast! I cannot speak of this with you!”
That stung, though Darcy knew it was deserved. “My previous interference was indefensible, I know. But if you have need of me now, I beg you would not be discouraged from asking.”
“You mistake my meaning.” Bingley gave him a pained look. “Dash it, Darcy, what if…what if a person does not feel what they ought to when they marry?”
“You doubt Jane’s affections still?”
“No, I doubt my own.”
“Yourown?”
Bingley immediately appeared to regret admitting as much and shook his head violently in denial, but Wetherby’s arrival with the coffee interrupted his frantic attempts to explain himself.
“Do not be concerned that I shall judge you,” Darcy assured him when his man had gone. “I comprehend why you might expect me to, but I have been taught better.”
Bingley’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand dejectedly through his hair. “So much has transpired. Jane is not the same as she was, and I certainly am not.”
