Page 47 of The Briar Bargain
"The Miss Bennets will not be pleased about the further delay," Bingley said quietly, his voice pitched for Darcy's ears alone.
"No. But I do not believe they will voice any complaint."
"No, neither of them ever complains," Bingley agreed with evident admiration.
That was notentirelytrue, but Miss Elizabeth had done so only when grievously provoked.
They rode without speaking for several minutes, the familiar quiet of friendship easy between them. Somewhere in the trees to their left, a flock of starlings lifted into the air with a sudden flurry of wings, their cries bright against the pale sky.
It was Bingley who finally broke the silence, his voice careful but direct. "You care for her."
The statement hung in the air between them, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Darcy considered his options: denial, deflection, or some witty rejoinder that might redirect the conversation to safer ground. But the words would not come, and he found himself oddly reluctant to attempt deception with Bingley.
"Yes," he said simply. "I do."
Bingley looked over at him with something that might have been relief mixed with concern. "Then you must tell her so. Surely you cannot mean to allow her to leave without declaring yourself?"
Darcy shook his head once, decisively. "We are friends, Bingley. That is all."
Bingley shook his head. “Miss Elizabeth is perfect for you. She is clever, charming, and already knows you are occasionally unbearable.”
“I do not believe anyone is perfect,” Darcy said with good humour. What would he do with such a paragon, if she even existed?
Bingley snorted. “No indeed, including yourself. Does the phrase ‘failure of perfect symmetry’ ring a bell for you?”
It did, and not a good one. He had much to atone for. But he could not say as much to Bingley. "I have expectations I must meet, and while Miss Elizabeth is everything admirable, as is her sister, the rest of the family . . .”
Bingley shook his head but said no more.
They reached the stables when the sun was directly overhead. The stable master glanced up from his work and promptly did a double take at thesight of Darcy’s mud-streaked coat and windblown cravat. But it was the slumped and thoroughly dishevelled figure of Mr. Hurst that truly rendered him speechless. The stableboy who had accompanied them simply shrugged with the weary acceptance of one who had witnessed the whole misadventure and decided it was not his place to say anything.
As Darcy handed his reins to a waiting groom and brushed ineffectually at his muddy sleeves, he reflected that he had learned something useful during the morning's expedition. Elizabeth Bennet might not need him, precisely; indeed, she had given every indication of being thoroughly capable of managing her own affairs without his interference. But that realisation did not diminish his desire to earn her good opinion.
It was, he thought, a most inconvenient discovery.
Chapter Sixteen
"Miss Bingley has certainly furnished us with an array of patterns," Jane observed from her position on the settee in the blue sitting room, her needle catching the morning light as she worked. "Though I confess myself curious about her sudden interest in our needlework."
Elizabeth glanced up from her own embroidery, a half-finished spray of forget-me-nots. "Indeed, her thoughtfulness is quite remarkable. I suspect she hopes to keep us suitably occupied and well out of the way while the gentlemen conduct their important business away from the house." For once, she was sorry that she did not ride. She would not have minded joining them if only to enjoy a bit more of the sunny weather.
"One should not attribute uncharitable motives to acts of hospitality," Jane said gently, though her tone suggested she was not entirely convinced of her own words. At Elizabeth’s searching look, she shook her head and smiled. "Even if the hospitality does appear somewhat calculated."
"’Calculated’ is precisely the right word for it," Elizabeth agreed, setting aside her work to examine a fresh pattern from the basket at her feet. "I cannot help but note that her kindness seems to flourish most remarkably when Mr. Darcy might witness it."
It was then that her fingers encountered something unexpected, a paper whose texture was different than that of the patterns. Elizabeth lifted it, noting immediately that it bore no resemblance to the delicate botanical designs they had been working from. The sketch was executed on fine paper with evident skill, depicting what appeared to be an anatomical study, the sort of detailed rendering of human musculature and bone structure she had seen in her father's medical texts. It was clearly the work of someone with considerable scientific knowledge, reminiscent of the precise illustrations in the copy of Vesalius that Papa kept in his study.
"Jane, have you seen this before?" Elizabeth asked, holding up the drawing with mild curiosity.
Jane squinted at it from her position several feet away, then shook her head. "The draughtsmanship appears rather accomplished. Perhaps it belongs to Mr. Bingley? You might place it on Miss Bingley’s work basket, and she can see that it is returned."
Elizabeth nodded, though something in the sketch's presence among their simple patterns struck her as odd. The servants must have known that this was not hers. Perhaps someone had not known which basket was Miss Bingley’s?
She rose and made her way to Miss Bingley's elegant work basket, beautifully appointed with ivory handles and lined with rose-coloured silk. Elizabeth placed the sketch carefully atop their hostess's current project, which appeared to be an ambitious cushion cover featuring peacocks in full display.
"There," she said with satisfaction, returning to her seat.
After a time, she grew restless. “Jane, would you walk the gallery with me? I feel as though I require another stroll. Unless,” she said hopefully, “you would not mind another visit to the garden?”
