Page 40 of The Briar Bargain
“If you think a man with a family who has his own home would give it up to live in the servants’ quarters, no matter the size of the manor, you are as daft as your sister,” Hurst grumbled.
Mrs. Hurst's fan snapped open with enough force to startle the cat sleeping by the fire.
Elizabeth chanced a look at Mr. Darcy. He was watching the exchange with the alert interest of a chess master observing his opponent's moves.
Miss Bingley's smile had become so strained that Elizabeth feared it would shortly give way to open displeasure.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, her fingers resting briefly atop Jane’s on the armrest between them. It was a silent signal of sisterly solidarity.
Mr. Darcy, still silent, took a seat not far from Elizabeth. His gaze met hers. There was no smile, no overt communication, yet something unspoken passed between them, an acknowledgement, perhaps, of the absurd performance they had all just witnessed. He did not speak, but he remained near.
The fire crackled in the hearth. Jane resumed her needlework while Mr. Bingley leaned in close, murmuring something that drew a quiet laugh from her lips. Elizabeth exhaled, allowing herself the luxury of a moment’s ease, and reached for some work of her own.
Across the room, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst conferred in whispers once more, but the edge of their earlier confidence had dulled. Elizabeth could not find it in herself to worry what new plan they might devise. There would be time enough tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
For the first time since the worst of the storm had ended, the sky was perfectly cloudless. The river would remain treacherous for some time yet, Darcy knew, but at least for now the deluge was over.
He stood at the window of his chamber, one hand resting against the frame, watching a shaft of sunlight make hesitant progress across the grounds. The scene should have been a welcome sight after days of grey skies and relentless rain, yet he found himself oddly reluctant to embrace the change. He ought to have felt relief. Surely the improving weather meant that within the week, the roads would be fully passable, the Miss Bennets would return to Longbourn, and the household would settle back into its usual rhythms. A little distance from Miss Elizabeth was all he required. The notion should have comforted him. But it did not.
Instead, a slow, strange unease had crept into his chest, a wistful sort of disappointment that surprised him with its intensity. How different were his feelings from only a few days ago, when he would have been grateful for Miss Elizabeth’s departure. Then, her presence had seemed a disruption to his carefully ordered existence, a challenge to his composure that he neitherwelcomed nor understood. Now, the thought of her departure left him feeling hollow.
Yesterday's campaign in defence of Miss Elizabeth had been both exhilarating and terrifying. Exhilarating because of the pleasure he had taken in deflecting every barbed comment directed her way, in watching the signs of her lethargy lift with each of his interventions. It had been effortless, even intoxicating, to answer Miss Bingley’s sharpness with studied civility. And the way Miss Elizabeth had looked at him afterward, so appreciative, had made him feel as though he might wish to be a man she found worthy of regard, not for what he possessed, but for who he was. Terrifying because each shared glance, each moment of wordless understanding between them, had only served to deepen an attachment he felt powerless to satisfy.
It was not merely that he admired her wit, though he did. Her quick intelligence never failed to surprise and delight him. Nor was it simply her devotion to her sister, though that too spoke to a goodness of heart that he found increasingly estimable. It was something more fundamental: without ever seeming to try, she made him feel as though he were not such a disagreeable fellow after all. That he was strong, clever, occasionally witty. In her presence, the careful walls he had built around himself seemed unnecessary, even burdensome.
He had told her, with all the conviction he could muster, that he was her friend. And he had meant it. But he was not certain, with more days in her company stretching before him, that he wished to remainonlyher friend.
How was he to survive this when his thoughts wandered at night to the memory of her voice, her laughter, the precise shape of her mouth when she spoke? When he lay awake remembering the weight of her in his arms as he carried her from the river?
Now he found himself in a position he had never expected to occupy, completely at the mercy of a woman he knew his family would find inappropriate. But the more he thought of their hopes, the less he cared.
All his life, Darcy had prided himself on his control, his ability to remain master of himself and his circumstances. Yet he had been in some danger with this woman even before she was originally meant to leave Netherfield. Now, knowing more of her—knowing that she would risk her very life to save another—how was he supposed to return to onlythinkinghimself in danger?
A soft knock drew him back from the window and the troubling direction of his thoughts. Expecting Harrison with his morning coffee, he straightened his cravat and said, "Enter."
Instead, it was one of Bingley's footmen, a young man whose usually cheerful countenance bore an expression of unusual solemnity. The servant bowed with precise deference.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr. Bingley requests your presence in the study when convenient."
Darcy turned, frowning slightly. The request was unusual on several counts. Bingley was rarely in his study so early in the morning, preferring to take his time over breakfast and the morning papers before attending to any business. Moreover, his choice of the study rather than the breakfast room or library suggested something more formal than their usual conversations.
"Thank you," Darcy replied, dismissing his own concerns for the moment. "Please inform Bingley I shall attend him presently."
The footman bowed again and withdrew, leaving Darcy to wonder what could have prompted such an early and formal request. As he made his way through the halls of Netherfield, there were subtle signs that the household was returning to its normal rhythms. Servants moved with purposebut less urgency, the fires burned more brightly because there were more servants free to tend them, and there seemed to be a general sense that the emergency of the flood was finally passing.
Yet as he approached the study, he found that not all was as peaceful as it appeared. The door stood slightly ajar, and from within came the unmistakable cadence of Bingley's voice.
“You wrote to my man of business to question whether I could cancel my lease?” This was followed by a pained sigh. "You are embarrassing yourself, and that is all well and good, but you are embarrassingmeas well. I have been more patient with your presumptions than I should have been, Caroline. But my patience is not inexhaustible, and it is at an end."
A murmur followed Bingley's words. The pitch of the voice was too high to be heard in the hall, and Darcy was glad of it. He did not wish to hear what Miss Bingley had to say. Then Bingley's tone dropped lower still.
This voice was firm, controlled, and precise, not the way Darcy would normally have described his habitually good-natured friend.
Miss Bingley said something else, and Darcy looked about. Perhaps he should leave and return in a quarter of an hour or so.
"You cannot offer excuses about what he would prefer. If Darcy had ever intended to offer for you, he would have done so long ago.”
