Darcy inclined his head and followed her to a quieter part of the room. Part of his mind was busy admiring the stratagem. Under the cover of the pianoforte music, they could indeed talk in confidence, even with all the others present.
“I will be direct,” Miss Bingley began abruptly. “Charles is far too much attached to Hertfordshire for his own good. It is time we persuaded him to leave.”
He frowned, not much liking such presumption. It was wrong of Miss Bingley to speak so familiarly to him, and more wrong still to act as though they had a right to decide what Bingley ought to do. “On what grounds?” Darcy said at last.
“On every ground,” she replied. “The society here is not suitable. The influence exerted upon him is not advantageous. He will not see it himself, and therefore must be guided.”
Darcy considered her carefully. “You mean Miss Jane Bennet.”
Miss Bingley did not deny it. “She is very well in her way, but quite unconnected,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “If Charles remains here, he will only entangle himself further.”
Darcy felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on him. He had once thought much thesame; he had even urged Bingley not to stay too long. But to do so again, now that his own judgement had been shaken, was a choice Darcy could not relish.
“I will speak to him,” he said at last, though without conviction.
Miss Bingley brightened immediately. “I knew I could depend on you. Oh, how I shall look forward to London society again! And to seeing dear Georgiana, of course. Have you heard from your sister of late?”
“She writes with great dedication,” Darcy praised. A spirit of mischief made him briefly consider recounting Georgiana’s latest effusions about the brilliance of Bach in great, numbing detail, but he reconsidered. It was too likely that Miss Bingley would take any prolonged conversation as a reason to hope. Out of both compassion and his own interest, Darcy was very unwilling to promote such a conclusion.
He therefore took the first opportunity of a break in Mrs Hurst’s playing to urge Miss Bingley to the pianoforte. To judge by how quickly she accepted, Miss Bingley must have taken this as an opportunity to display her talents to him, rather than the wish to escape her conversation that it really was.
As the music began again, Darcy withdrew to the window, grateful for the solitude. He welcomedthe excuse to be silent, though silence did little to still his thoughts.
Elizabeth Bennet was in danger.
Once formed, the conclusion could not be dismissed. He knew Wickham too well to doubt it. He had seen the consequences of his charm, the ruin concealed beneath his manners. To remain silent, knowing what he did, was an abdication of responsibility.
And yet, to speak was unthinkable.
How could he warn her without an impossible degree of confidence and intimacy? How could he speak of Wickham’s designs without speaking of Georgiana? The thought of exposing his sister’s near ruin, even in the service of another’s safety, was intolerable.
Elizabeth Bennet did not trust him. Of that much, he was certain. She believed him proud, unjust, and capable of cruelty. In her mind, Wickham was the injured party, and Darcy his oppressor. Any warning he offered would be received with suspicion, if not outright disbelief. He could not bear the thought of her doubting his motives further.
Nor, if he were honest, could he bear the thought of revealing how much she had come to matter to him. His feelings, already a source of private unease, might be laid bare by any attempt to intervene. To bring her entirely into his confidencewould require a frankness he did not yet possess, and courage of a different kind.
Surely discretion was required.
They would leave Netherfield soon. Bingley would thus be removed from temptation, and Darcy would return to London and resume the life he understood. Elizabeth Bennet would fade from his thoughts, surely, once her bright eyes and charming humour were no longer immediately before him. As for the risk to her, he could not like it. But he must trust to Miss Elizabeth’s quick wit, good sense, and moral character. If she were truly the woman he thought her, she would be safe from the worst of Wickham’s scheming. Therefore, he would say nothing.
As the music ended and conversation resumed, Darcy remained apart, refusing to let his composure break. It was done. It was decided. He would speak to no one about what he knew. He would not risk his sister’s peace, nor his own composure, for a warning that might be rejected.
It was a resolution made with effort and held with difficulty, but it was the right one. Darcy was almost certain of it.
Chapter 3
Even a nuisance can contribute to one’s happiness, if only thanks to the relief caused by its removal. So it was when Mr Collins at last departed Longbourn, leaving a considerably lighten atmosphere behind him. The house felt suddenly more comfortable without his heavy footsteps and solemn, officious remarks.
But though better for the absence of one silly and self-important man, Longbourn was by no means calm, for Mrs Bennet had invited several of the officers for supper on the very night of his departure. Not two hours after Mr Collins was out of sight, the whole house had been thrown into a flurry of preparations.
As she fastened a simple amber cross on a gold chain about her neck, Elizabeth smiled into the glass. After so many days of enduring Mr Collin’s clumsy compliments and then his sullen reproaches, it was pleasant indeed to look forward to a meeting full of lively, pleasant conversation,friendly jests, and company that one might enjoy rather than endure.
That Mr Wickham was to be among their guests contributed significantly to her good humour. Each time they had met, Mr Wickham’s conversation had been not merely pleasant, but enlivening. There had been an ease in his manner, a readiness to listen and talk, and a warmth of expression that invited confidence without demanding it. That easy combination of intelligence and animation was particularly agreeable.
True, he had acted a little oddly at their last meeting — perhaps a little too warmly. But that was a compliment, surely. She could not judge him for actions that, after all, had been entirely within the bounds of propriety.
Upon descending the stairs, Elizabeth found her mother in a state of excitement still greater than her own, and one considerably less tempered with calm restraint. Mrs Bennet was moving from room to room with anxious energy, issuing instructions, revising arrangements, and offering unsolicited opinions on everything from the placement of candles to the behaviour of her daughters.
“Jane,” she said, looking narrowly at her eldest daughter, “you would do well to sit where you may be easily observed. There is no sense in hiding yourself away when company is present. A young man is far more likely to speak when he can plainly see thelady he addresses.”
