Page 39 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
Two weeks in London had done nothing to improve Darcy’s spirits. The townhouse felt oppressive, each room a reminder of his own failures.
Not only because of his own poor mood but because of his company. The Hurst’s home at Grosvenor Street had suffered damage when a cook had accidentally set fire to the kitchen the day after their arrival. The stench was insufferable, according to Miss Bingley, and the clean-up would take several weeks.
Darcy had thus invited the Hurst and Bingley party to Darcy house. A decision he somewhat regretted.
Miss Bingley acted as though this were her home already, the Hursts—while generally well mannered—were both more curious about his affairs than they ought to be. And Bingley?
Bingley drifted about in a manner most forlorn, scarcely speaking or eating. Darcy could not deny that he had underestimated the effect his separation from Miss Bennet would have on him.
Had he done the right thing convincing him to leave?
Yes. Of course. Of course he had. Miss Bennet was engaged to another after all. Bingley would thank him. Eventually.
“You are being quite absurd,” Georgiana announced from across the breakfast table, her tone sharper than usual.
Darcy looked up from his untouched plate. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me perfectly well.” His sister set down her teacup with more force than necessary. “This pouting about like a tragedy has befallen you. It is most unlike you.”
“I am not pouting.”
“You most certainly are. And Charles is even worse. The poor man looks as though someone has died.” Georgiana’s eyes flashed with uncharacteristic fire. “When it was perfectly clear to anyone with eyes that he and Miss Bennet were quite taken with each other.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You spent precious little time in their company. How could you possibly—”
“Because I am not insensible!” Georgiana’s voice rose, causing even the footman to glance their way. “Miss Bennet’s face lit up whenever Mr Bingley entered a room. And he could scarcely take his eyes off her. Even I could see they were falling in love.”
“She was promised to another.”
“Was she? Or was she trapped by circumstances?” Georgiana leaned forward, forehead creased. “From what I observed, Miss Bennet seemed as reluctant about that arrangement as anyone could be.”
Darcy pushed back from the table. “You are a romantic, Georgiana. You see what you wish to see.”
“And what is wrong with being a romantic?” She stood as well, matching his stubborn stance. “At least I see possibilities for happiness instead of assuming the worst of everyone.”
“I protect those I care about.”
“You presume to interfere where you have no just cause.” The words hung between them like a gauntlet thrown. Georgiana’s mouth puckered, but she did not back down. “And speaking of assumptions, I thought you quite liked Miss Elizabeth as well.”
“That is of no consequence now.”
“Is it not?” Georgiana’s voice softened. “Because from what I saw, she seemed to enjoy your company. And you… you smiled more in her presence than I have seen you smile in months.”
Darcy turned towards the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “In any case, we shall never see them again. The Bennet family has no reason to venture into our circles.”
“How fortunate for you to decide so unilaterally,” Georgiana muttered. “To decide everyone’s fate without consulting them.”
Darcy said nothing more, turning back to his breakfast though the food held no appeal. The conversation died, leaving them in uncomfortable silence.
Later that afternoon, Georgiana suggested they take a walk to clear the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the house. Darcy agreed, hoping the fresh air might lift his spirits, though he doubted anything could penetrate the gloom that had taken residence in his chest.
They had been strolling through the fashionable streets near their townhouse for perhaps twenty minutes when Georgiana suddenly gripped his arm.
“Oh! Is that not—?”
Darcy followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop. Across the street, near the entrance to a popular milliner’s shop, stood a familiar group. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary Bennet stood with a refined looking couple in front of a shop window, peering in. His eyes scanned the road to see if Elizabeth too was here but he did not see her.
“The Bennet sisters,” he said under his breath.
