Chapter 9
Darcy did not leaveNetherfield at dawn, nor did he tell Bingley the truth. He tried, in all honesty, but Bingley was in such high spirits Darcy did not have the heart to go through with it. Postponing his journey was not a good solution, obviously, but last night, when he did have an opportunity to speak to Bingley, Darcy had been too drained to deal with the situation, and he let it go.
He awoke, however, full of resolution. It was unconscionable to leave without ensuring Bingley had all the facts in his possession. Darcy owed it to his friend. Once he had told him, Bingley would be free to act on the information as he chose.
Darcy went down to breakfast early, anxious to get the whole business over and done with, but Bingley did not oblige him by appearing for breakfast. Darcy retreated to the library, leaving instructions with the butler, Mr. Stead, for Bingley to be awakened and informed that Darcy wished to speak to him there.
It was almost noon when Bingley finally strode into the library. Darcy was on the verge of giving up and setting out for London, his patience wearing thin.
“Ah, you are finally awake!” said Darcy, his voice censorious. “I thought you were going to wave me off this morning when I left.”
“Sorry to disappoint, Darcy, but I need my sleep. Besides, since when do I rise at the crack of dawn to bid you farewell? That is more Caroline’s domain than mine. Though if I had known you would take it so much to heart, I might have made the effort.”
“Very funny,” said Darcy.
“I thought so,” said Bingley, sitting casually on the edge of the desk.
Bingley’s cheerful mood grated on Darcy’s nerves, not least because he himself felt as grumpy as a bear that was tied and being bated.
If you knew the truth, Bingley, you would not be quite that cheerful.
“Come on, Darcy. It’s a beautiful day. Don’t you fancy a quick gallop across the fields?”
The last thing he wanted was to go back to the fields that had landed them where they were now in the first place. If they had not encountered Collins that day, Darcy would never have discovered the lengths to which the Bennets were prepared to go to capture a husband. He would have departed with a memory of Elizabeth as he believed her to be – a model of honesty and candor in a corrupt world. Now he was left with nothing. His memories would be forever tainted.
As Bingley began to whistle a song Darcy recognized as a love ballad Miss Bingley liked to sing. Darcy’s frustration doubled.
“Will you cease that confounded racket?”
Bingley stared at his friend. “What has gotten into you, Darcy? You have woken up with a sore head. Too much brandy last night?”
“After one sifter?” said Darcy. “Not very likely. I have a perfect right to object if you are whistling abysmally out of tune.”
“I am not out of tune, Darcy. At least, I do not think so. And I am entitled to whistle out of tune in my own house, surely? Anyway, what did you wish to talk about that was so urgent?”
Bingley was so damnably cheerful, Darcy felt apprehensive breaking the bad news to him.
“I think you should leave this afternoon. Ride to London with me,” said Darcy. “You need to get a different perspective.”
