Page 80 of The Briar Bargain
Miss Elizabeth would be returning to her father’s house. But before she did, he would ask whether he could call on her. Her easy agreement to join him on the morrow filled him with an almost giddy sense of anticipation. He would make his request there, in the garden.
His euphoria lasted until mid-afternoon, when business called him past the drawing room. The door stood ajar, and Miss Bingley's voice drifted into the corridor with unmistakable clarity. Initially there was only irritation. Again? Could the woman not hear how her voice carried?
But then he stopped, for he heard something he did not like.
"One must be careful, dearest Jane," she was purring in that tone of false concern he had come to recognise and despise. "It is so very easy to misread a gentleman's attentions. A kind word, a thoughtful gesture—some young ladies place far too much meaning in such things. Particularly when those attentions are offered out of courtesy or . . . pity."
Darcy froze mid-step, his hand clenching involuntarily at his side. The word “pity” hung in the air like a poison, its implications clear and deliberate. Miss Bingley was attempting to convince Miss Bennet that Bingley’s regard was nothing more than condescending charity.
It took considerable effort not to enter the room and deliver a retort he would later regret. His first impulse was to march in and correct Miss Bingley’s insinuations with all the force of his considerable displeasure. His second was to seek out Miss Elizabeth immediately and assure her that his friend’s attentions to her sister were honourable. Miss Bennet would believe her.
But he did neither. It was Bingley’s business, not his own. When he was certain he could walk without betraying his agitation, he continued to Bingley’s study where he found his friend poring over a letter with one hand pressed to his brow and the other idly stirring a spoon in a long-forgotten cup of tea. He looked up at Darcy’s approach and smiled, though it faltered almost immediately when he caught the expression on his friend’s face.
“Darcy?” he asked, straightening. “Is something amiss?”
“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said flatly, “has just told Miss Bennet that your attentions should be considered to be rooted in mere courtesy or outright pity.”
Bingley’s face paled. “She said what?”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “I overheard it on my way here. I believe her precise words were, ‘some young ladies place far too much meaning in such things.’ I am quite certain your sister intends Miss Bennet to believe that your regard is feigned.”
Bingley was already on his feet. “Where are they now?”
“Still in the drawing room, I believe.”
Without another word, Bingley strode past him and out the door, his normally cheerful expression gone. In its place was an expression Darcy had seen Bingley assume only once or twice before—most recently in a fencing match at Angelo’s when someone had had the temerity to question Bingley’s honour.
Darcy followed at a discreet distance, arriving just in time to hear Bingley request Miss Bingley’s attention in a calm but authoritative tone.
“Caroline,” he said, bowing formally, “I have something I wish to say, and I believe you will prefer it be said in private.”
He turned then to Miss Bingley, who was already rising from the settee. “Really, Charles,” she said with a sigh, “there is no need to speak privately.”
“Very well,” he said. “I am perfectly willing for the Miss Bennets to hear what I have to say to you. You may be less so.”
His sister sighed with exasperation and left the room.
Bingley turned to Miss Bennet, whose colour was high. “Miss Bennet, I am informed my sister has given you reason to doubt my intentions. I would beg that you do not listen to her, for it is not true.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “If you will permit me, I should like to speak to you. But I must have a conversation with Caroline first.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Miss Bennet said quietly. “I will await you here.”
Miss Elizabeth took her hand.
Bingley seemed caught up in Miss Bennet’s gaze, and after a long moment, Darcy shared a look with Miss Elizabeth.
“Ahem,” she said.
Bingley blinked. “I shall return shortly.” And then he turned and was gone.
Darcy wished to say something comforting. But he felt unsettled. Angry.He could not abide deceptions such as these. Certainly not when it risked injuring Miss Elizabeth’s sister, and, by extension, Miss Elizabeth herself.
He could not remain here and frighten the ladies with his temper. “If you will excuse me,” he said roughly, and made his own exit.
Once in his chamber, he drew a fist down his jaw, frowning at his own reflection in the glass.
The face that stared back at him was familiar, yet he regarded it now with a degree of suspicion. How easily, he thought, might he have behaved as Miss Bingley had. Not so long ago, he might have joined her in discouraging Bingley, perhaps even persuaded him that Miss Bennet’s beauty masked her indifference to him. Because had he not had the benefit of these additional days at Netherfield, he would not have known how to read her gentle expressions, would not have understood that her goodness was not only for show.
