“Well, that is over,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I knew it was coming.”
“You handled it well,” Darcy said, nodding approvingly. “I am very impressed with your fortitude. And, oddly enough, your sister strongly reminded me of my Aunt Catherine just now.”
Bingley chortled. “The Gorgon of Kent? Is that not what the colonel calls her?”
They laughed, and when their mirth subsided, Bingley sobered and turned to his friend. “In truth, Darcy, I should like your opinion. Am I making an error? I have known Miss Bennet for less than four weeks. Am I daft to consider marriage after so brief an acquaintance?”
“Marriages are founded on less every day,” his friend replied evenly.
“Arranged marriages, yes, but marriages of affection?” Bingley shook his head incredulously. “Am I a fool? A lovesick one? I cannot imagine life without her, and it pained me to see her ride away in my carriage today. I wanted nothing more than to take her back to her chamber and lock her in.”
“A veritable maiden in a tower, hmm?” Darcy chuckled. “Tell me, friend—will you feel the same way in two weeks as you do now?”
“No. I believe I shall feel even more. My admiration for Miss Bennet has grown steadily since our first dance. Each conversation reveals more of her character, and I fall further under her spell with every moment we spend together.”
“Then I suppose the only thing left is to decidewhenyou will propose.” Darcy leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “‘A happy marriage is possible for any two people who are united,’ or so my grandmother once said.”
Bingley sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, contemplating his friend’s words. Slowly, a broad grin spread across his face. “You have the right of it, Darcy! I meant to host a ball. Let us do it! It shall be in Miss Bennet’s honor, and I shall propose that night.”
“Congratulations! You will be very happy.” Darcy smiled, though something seemed to trouble him; the expression did not quite reach his eyes.
“Are you well?” Bingley asked impulsively. “You are happy for me, are you not?”
“Entirely! I merely wrestle with my own conflicted thoughts. But know that I wish you the very best with Miss Bennet. I believe you are perfectly suited.”
Darcy’s good opinion meant the world to him, and he thanked him profusely. “I must find Louisa. She will be…delightedto host a ball, do you not think?” Chuckling, he rose and left the room.
Louisa wasnotdelighted to assist in planning a ball and told her brother so at once.
“Do you doubt your capabilities?” he asked, all innocence. “I had assumed you would have ample experience hosting events of this magnitude by now. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“I have hosted balls in London,” she snapped. “An insignificant country gathering will be simple.”
“Then why hesitate? Do you not wish to show the denizens of the area what it means to be a truly fashionable hostess?” He knew he had struck the right chord when Louisa’s expression shifted from indignation to anticipation—tinged with a familiar, mean-spirited delight.
“I shall show them how a proper London hostess conducts such affairs,” she declared. “Very well, brother, you will have your ball. Now go away—I must begin my lists.”
Bingley left the room, chortling. Louisa was not difficult to understand. She liked to be praised, valued, andseen as superior to others. He had merely played to her vanity and received precisely what he wanted.
Darcy
Darcy remained in his chair long after Bingley left the room. He replayed their conversation, posing to himself the very questions and arguments that he had presented to his friend.
He, too, had only known Miss Elizabeth for only several weeks, yet he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. Her vibrancy lit every room she entered, and each encounter further enthralled him.
Bingley had already begun to contemplate marriage to the lady’s sister after the same brief acquaintance. It had been easy to reason on his friend’s behalf, but he struggled to apply the same logic to himself.
“Why must life be so blasted complicated?” he complained to the empty room. Rising, he began to pace. With his hands clasped behind his back and his brow furrowed in thought, he returned to the same questions he had earlier asked of Bingley.
Will I feel the same for Elizabeth in two weeks as I do now? What of a month?The answer came readily—identical to Bingley’s. Already his feelings deepened with every meeting. That would not change.
He posed another question.Will leaving her side diminish my affection?He had once considered departing for town after Bingley’s ball, hoping distance might clear his mind. But the longer he delayed, the more certain he became that it would serve no purpose. Elizabeth had already taken root in his heart, and the seed of admiration was swiftly growing into love.
He thought of his grandmother’s words: A happy marriage is possible for any two people who are united. What he had not told Bingley was that those were the very words his grandmother had used to persuade his mother to wed his father. The former Lady Matlock had insisted upon the match, much to her daughter’s displeasure. But her words had proven prophetic, and his parents had shared a contented marriage.
There was truth in the words. Even if his love were to fade, which he greatly doubted, as long as they worked toward common goals, he would be content with Elizabeth.
He had been determined to leave Netherfield Park after the ball, especially following their unexpected encounter in the library. But then came that moment in the garden—when they had nearly kissed. He could not forget it. She had turned her face up to his, clearly inviting the press ofhis lips against hers. And he had fully intended to do so until some unfortunate interruption forced them apart.
