But Caroline had correctly judged the situation. Despite Elizabeth Bennet’s lack of elegance and perfect manners, and despite his resolute ideas regarding the ladies of Hertfordshire, Darcy could not take his mind off her.
In the carriage that carried the unmarried gentlemen to London, there was silence. In the face of Bingley’s deep sadness, Darcy chose to sit quietly in his corner and allow his friend to remain alone with his grief.
They were old friends, but they had never crossed into the realm of confession. From time to time, Darcy allowed himself to advise him—chiefly in matters of love—as Bingley’s natural benevolence and confidence in others exposed him to error and future disappointment. But that was all. They spoke of politics and the weather, of the war in Europe, and sometimes debated the concerns of London society. They had never shared their feelings or their most private thoughts. Bingley was suffering, and Darcy could do nothing. It was because of him that Bingley had left Netherfield—and Miss Bennet—and any attempt at consolation would seem false. What could he say? That he regretted their departure in such haste? It would not be true.
Yet, with every mile that brought them nearer to London and further from Hertfordshire, a strange uneasiness took hold of Darcy as well. He tried to resist it, to persuade himself that it arose only from his friend’s distress; but at last he was forced to admit that he too was out of spirits.
It was not reasonable—it was impossible. He could not accept such a state, and he resisted it with determination. Looking out upon the grey landscape, he recalled the matters awaiting him in London and at Pemberley. He thought of his relatives and the friends he intended to visit, but in the end, nothing availed. Elizabeth Bennet’s face remained in his mind and refused to leave him, whatever he attempted.
Casting a discreet glance at Charles—who seemed to sleep—he felt both embarrassed and disturbed. Elizabeth was, after all, Miss Bennet’s sister, and of the same family; yet his thoughts were filled with her. She was remarkable—that was true—but again his reason rose against him. It was inconceivable that he could ever be connected to her mother and sisters.
Nor did their father appear to him a respectable man. They had scarcely exchanged words; still, the mere fact that he had been among the first to call at Netherfield struck Darcy as less a mark of neighbourly civility than a declaration:I have five daughters to marry, and you are a bachelor.
For neither Bingley nor himself was the Bennet family suitable.
“Sorry, Darcy,” Bingley murmured at one point, “I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“It is well—rest; we are near…”
And once more, silence settled between them.
It is the effect of this silence, Darcy thought,that I entertain such strange notions. Once at home, this infatuation will surely vanish. I shall marry. Not as a distant plan, but as a resolution I must act upon.
He looked at Bingley, whose eyes were now open. “What would you say if we turned the carriage and went to Pemberley?”
Bingley attempted a smile, but the effort failed, and he relapsed into his former dejection. “A fine idea—at another time. I thank you, but we must proceed to London. I have business that requires my attention.”
Darcy wondered what business his friend could have. He had inherited both money and a house in London upon his father’s death; neither demanded much exertion. It was evident that he sought occupation merely to forget Miss Bennet.
“I am alone at home,” Darcy said. “Georgiana will arrive in a week or so. Come and stay with me for a few days, until your house in town is ready.”
This was true. When Bingley had taken Netherfield, he had removed his servants from London and shut up the house. Their departure from the country had been so sudden that it could not yet be prepared for his return.
“Louisa has invited me to stay with them,” he replied, in a low voice.
“And do you wish to go there?”
Bingley did not answer, but it was plain that he did not.
“Then it is settled, my friend—we go to Darcy House. You may send word to Hurst and your sisters.”
Bingley nodded, though with little animation. Cold and dispirited, he longed only to sit in silence before a good fire with a glass of brandy; and that comfort was far more likely at Darcy’s than at the Hursts’, whose home he remembered as cold and noisy.
“We shall ride in the morning and go to the club in the afternoon,” Darcy continued, attempting to show him that life was not at an end—least of all in London, where the Season promised an abundance of engagements. “And do not forget—we are invited to several balls, and we must also attend Lady Axton’s receiving day.”
Bingley made a faint attempt to shake his head; but he knew from experience that it was useless to oppose Darcy when he had once decided. In the end, anything would be better than solitude.
“Do not concern yourself about the invitation,” Darcy added. “Lady Axton is always pleased to see old friends.”
That was somewhat untrue. It was well known that Lady Axton was particular about her guests, and she never received more than fifty people. Still, she always made exceptions for certain unmarried men, as she delighted in being called “godmother” by couples who had found happiness at one of her parties.
Axton Hall was one of those addresses in London that any family who considered themselves part of the ton was expected to attend at least once during the Season. If the young were drawn by her spacious parlours, where they might converse with ease, the elders—whether parents or not—came to be seen and to enjoy the entertainments Lady Axton provided.
Popular card games, such as whist, loo, casino, and commerce, were played at small tables that could easily be drawn up near the fire. The players benefitted from both the light and the warmth of the flames in the vast drawing room. Each table was furnished with candles and fresh packs of cards—a display of expense so necessary when hosting an evening of that kind.
Other guests preferred the music salon, and it was the custom, after a round of cards, to follow and applaud the young ladies who sang or played the pianoforte.
Lady Axton’s house was one of the places where Darcy might seek a wife. There were, indeed, several such places he ought to attend. If, in former years, her assemblies and theballs at Almack’s had been among his chief amusements, of late he had lived chiefly at Pemberley. Even in London, he had preferred quiet evenings with Georgiana, or small dinners and visits to the theatre. But now—he must change.
