Bingley looked from one to the other with open delight. “Well! If this be not quarrelling, I must beg to witness more of it.”
Elizabeth smiled and returned her focus to the instrument while Bingley turned the pages for her.
Lady Catherine, with all the perseverance for which she was so justly celebrated, exerted herself throughout the evening to engage her nephew’s attention in favour of her daughter; yet for once even her determined directives were without effect. Darcy’s replies, though perfectly respectful, afforded little encouragement, while Miss de Bourgh’s languid attempts at participation were endured rather than appreciated... to the young woman’s own mortification.
Before the party dispersed for the night however, Lady Catherinehad formed, with great satisfaction, a decisive plan by which her daughter’s long-anticipated engagement should be secured beyond the hazard of further delay.
Chapter 11
As the sun was poking its head up the two friends tore through the countryside in a spirited ride, their horses enjoying the wind blasting through their manes. The morning was cool but very bright, the spring air was reinvigorating for both men and beast.
By the time they returned to Rosings, Bingley’s countenance was animated and flushed by the exertions of the morning’s ride and by renewed anticipation. Yet not the whole of their excursion had been devoted to easy conversation; for when they paused in the very grove where Darcy had once been seated with Miss Elizabeth upon a fallen trunk, Darcy had steeled himself and disclosed to his friend the true motive which had invited him to Rosings Park:
“Bingley,” He cleared his throat, “there was another reason why I asked you to come to Rosings, other than my desire to see you again.”
“Yes? What is it?” Bingley looked at his friend slightly confused.
“First of all I need to confess a wrong that I did you, and then ask you for your forgiveness.”
“What wrong?”
“But before I do, I need you to know that my intentions were never to harm you, but were always the very best. I do care about you, as I hope you never doubt.”
“Darcy,” Bingley said laughing, “I am now very curious! What did you do? Did you steal my fortune? Or worse still, did you promise marriage to Caroline, elevating her to the heights of haughtiness and turning her into the most insufferable woman in the Kingdom?”
Darcy shivered at the thought of Caroline Bingley as his wife, “No, God forbid, nothing as tragic as making Miss Bingley my wife.”
They laughed then Darcy sobered again, “No my friend, my fault was a miscalculation that I now know has brought you nothing but pain.”
“What are you referring to then?” Bingley enquired, his face becoming more sombre.
Darcy shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a nervous manner. “I did you wrong Bingley, when I presumed to instruct you on whom your heart should love... or not.”
Bingley blinked a few times in quick succession but made no comment.
“I separated you from a young lady who was... in fact, at the time, truly in love with you.”
Bingley gasped, “Miss Bennet?” He whispered, “Did her sister tell you that?”
Darcy nodded.
“Tell me all.” Bingley demanded.
“Miss Elizabeth informed me, in terms most explicit, of the suffering into which my conduct had plunged Miss Bennet.” Darcy closed his eyes, anticipating a blow to his nose which to his surprise never arrived. After a few moments of uneasy silence he resumed his account. “Upon our departure from Netherfield Park, Miss Bennet followed us to London. She paid her respects to your sisters who contrived to avoid her society for as long as propriety would permit. At length they waited upon her at Gracechurch Street, yet displayed no more than thebarest civility. Indeed, their manner made it abundantly clear to her that they no longer wished for the continuance of her friendship.”
Bingley looked at his friend with fire burning in his eyes, “did you know all this... all this time? I mean her being in London and my sisters’ behaviour?”
Darcy nodded again, this time with shame colouring his face.
“And you call yourself my friend...” Bingley said quietly, dangerously calm.
“I am your friend, you know that I am.”
“No. I thought I knew. But now I am truly starting to doubt that claim.”
“Bingley,”
Darcy began to protest but Bingley stepped toward him in a passion and cried hotly, “Silence, I beg you! You have no right to attempt your own defence. You have acted the villain whilst masquerading as an honourable man. It is your pride, your arrogance, your disdain for the feelings of others that marks you out most decidedly.” Bingley fixed him with a look of mingled fury and disbelief. “How was I so blind as not to discern it sooner? That you derive a sort of satisfaction from arranging the lives of others, as though you were appointed their guardian and superior when, beyond the accident of your birth you possess nothing to recommend you? What, sir, is truly yours, your distinguished name, your estate, your consequence in society? These were not earned but bestowed. Deprive you of them and what remains that you may claim as the fruit of your own exertions?”
