DARCY
It was pouring rain as it neared the time to leave for the dinner, and Bingley sent a note advancing the time by half an hour. “We cannot ride, after all; we will take a carriage, and it will likely be slower going with the rain,” the note explained with Bingley’s usual poor penmanship and inkblots requiring far more time to decode than such a billet ought.
Darcy met Hurst and Bingley at the front door at half past five, and they donned their coats, hats and gloves. They dashed to the waiting carriage but were still a bit wetter than expected; the skies had opened up to be quite a deluge.
“Well, this has been more trouble than I expected,” Bingley said as he brushed droplets off the shoulders of his greatcoat. He kept his hat on, and it dripped a bit from the brim.
Hurst and Darcy had managed to flick excess water off their hats as they entered and therefore dripped considerably less. “Well, after all, it is Britain,” Darcy said with drier tones than should have been possible in such a downfall. “Rain is to be expected in mid-November.”
“I hope Miss Bennet arrived early enough to miss the rain,” Hurst said.
“Miss Bennet?” Bingley’s voice was at least an octave higher than usual.
Hurst looked surprised. “Yes. Caroline invited her to dine with the ladies tonight, as we would be missing from the meal. Have you not heard?”
Bingley’s eyes were wide, and his smile widened but then disappeared. “I was not informed. Can we cancel?—?”
Darcy opened his mouth to counter such a notion, but Hurst was there first. “No! We cannot, Bingley. Your sisters only made the plans for the evening because we would be gone.”
“But she is there, at Netherfield.” Bingley sounded almost bereft. “Well, at any rate, I promised Darcy we would not linger long at the dinner; he is tired from his morning journey, and we do not know the men of Meryton and environs well enough to wish to chat overmuch. So it is possible we can see Jane—uh, Miss Bennet—before she leaves.”
Hurst grinned and looked as if he would tease his brother-in-law.
Bingley hurried to add, “Because that would be a great opportunity to introduce her to you, Darcy.”
Hurst smiled knowingly but gave up the notion of poking at the besotted man.
The dinner was held in the town’s assembly hall, and the large space became quite loud with chatter. Darcy bore up well enough with Bingley’s introductions to Sir William and a variety of misters: Goulding, King, Jones, Philips, Johnson, Robbins. He also met the colonel in charge of the regiment, Colonel Forster, but he little bothered to memorise the names of the officers who were introduced.
Mr Johnson knew of Pemberley and engaged Darcy immediately, and several other men joined in as they discussed four-crop rotation, breeds of goats and sheep, and the way the war was impacting sales of grains and other crops. “Ourbarley, wheat, and rye crops are selling very well, indeed,” Darcy claimed. “Apparently war tends to increase, rather than decrease, the need for liquor.”
The other men chuckled and nodded. The conversation continued along familiar and welcome topics.
Bingley, who usually found large gatherings extremely pleasing to his outgoing character, looked a bit lost. Part of that was that so much of the conversation dealt with agriculture, but Darcy suspected the larger part of Bingley’s unusual mood was the distraction of Miss Bennet being at his house while he was away.
Bingley kept an eye on the windows, and shortly after the meal, the rain stopped altogether. “We should take advantage of the respite in the storm, I believe,” Bingley said as he made hasty farewells to the colonel and the men closest to him.
The roads were safe enough, and soon the men entered Netherfield’s manor house. Bingley asked Mr Evans, his butler, if Miss Bennet was still in the house.
Mr Evans’s face did not quite maintain his usual impassive expression as he explained, “Miss Bennet has taken ill and is upstairs in the guest wing.”
“Ill?”
“Yes, sir. Mrs Nicholls can tell you far more than I.”
Darcy stayed near Bingley as he conferred with his housekeeper. Bingley had never been a host before, and with his feelings so elevated for this particular guest, he might not think as clearly as usual. He wished to support his friend.
However, Mrs Nicholls was everything capable. She briskly informed Bingley that Miss Bennet had been on horseback when the heavens opened up, and she had gotten quite soaked. Although the ladies had insisted that she change into a dry gown and had pressed warm drinks on her, Miss Bennet felt so poorly halfway through the dinner that she borrowed nightclothes andretired to a bed. A footman had braved the rain to take a message to Longbourn, alerting the Bennets of the illness. The apothecary, Mr Jones, replied to a message that the symptoms did not sound severe, especially since she was not running a fever. He said that, given the fact that she was sleeping peacefully, he would come in the morning at first light rather than during the night.
Darcy approved all that she reported and felt that Bingley need do nothing more, given the circumstances. He waited to see what Bingley’s instincts were.
His friend apparently needed more reassurance, for he asked a question she had already answered: “Miss Bennet is notseverelyill?”
“She is not running a fever, and she seems to be sleeping peacefully,” Mrs Nicholls repeated with a soothing note in her voice.
“She is not alone in a strange room in a strange house?”
“Miss Bingley assigned Baxter to stay with her until midnight, and Clarke will attend to her after that.”
