I allowed Mrs Hurst to stir up whatever concoction she had in mind and drank it down while staring out the window and speaking to Bingley about the shooting season that would soon come to an end. This led me to the precipice that I sensed on the horizon, that of selecting a day to leave Hertfordshire, and I spoke of other things to forestall my decision.
“Is your sister equal to giving a ball?” I asked in a low voice.
“Dashed if I know what has got into her, but if Caroline is having one of her fits, then Louisa can play hostess. I very much want to open the doors to this place, Darcy. Everyone has welcomed me so warmly here, and I wish to show my appreciation.”
In his declaration of intent, I sensed an unspoken resentment. The Bingley fortune had come from trade, and that accounted for the tepidness with which Bingley was often received in town. My friend must have suffered a rare half-second of reflection that caused him to think of something else that was on his mind because he turned from the window and spoke in a more public voice.
“I do hope you will be feeling up to going with me to the assembly hall, Caroline. Our neighbours expect us, you know, and I wish to oblige them. Hurst, Louisa? I hope you are in the mood for dancing.”
“Does Mr Darcy intend to go?” Miss Bingley asked weakly.
“That is entirely up to him,” Bingley said with rare annoyance. “Should you not lie down in your room if you are ill?”
She struggled into an upright position and sniffed. “I simply needed a moment to compose myself after the incident with the cook.”
Hurst, never a man to disguise his feelings, groaned and left the room, and sensing the family was on the verge of an argument over whatever had happened in my absence, I excused myself.
