Darcy had already enjoyed a sufficient number of long and rainy walks in the past week; he took his carriage for the not particularly long trip to the house that Bingley had taken on Bedford Square.
He got out wearing his heavy great coat, with a tall beaver cap to keep the drenching rain off. Rain that had become even thicker during the ride.
A knock on the door.
Darcy had no idea if Bingley would still be in. This was an irregular hour for a call, but they were particular friends, which madethatall right.
The butler opened the door. He wore the familiar expression of superciliousness that a high servant learned to wear as they firmly announced that the master wasnotat home. Such an expression would never waver while sending off the unwanted guest, not even in those not uncommon cases when the master could be seen standing twenty feet back in the hall in a dressing robe, glancing over to check who'd come by.
Once he recognized Darcy, the butler’s manner changed to show genuine pleasure, without displaying the sort of enthusiasm that was not in keeping with his station. “Mr. Darcy. Do come in. Mr. Bingley told me that he would be eager to see you at any time if you called.”
Darcy nodded his head, and followed the butler to the breakfast room, where Bingley, Mr. Hurst, and Bingley’s two sisters lolled over a prolonged breakfast.
“Good man! Good man! Look at the married man!” Bingley said expansively as he stood, stretching his arms wide. “You’ve…” He looked Darcy up and down. “I had not expected to see you for months more, not till the season properly started.”
The silent message in the sudden decline of enthusiasm in Bingley’s description of his guest was the same one that Colonel Fitzwilliam had openly given him the previous day: He looked awful. The remains of his hangover could not improve his appearance.
“An unfortunate matter required… led to my presence in London.” Bingley did not look well either. He was thinner, with rings around his eyes.
“Particularly unfortunate that it took you away from your wife so fast.” This was said ironically. After all, Darcyhadtold him that Elizabeth was a fortune hunter as part of his successful effort to convince Bingley to abandon his interest in Jane Bennet.
Darcy felt sick and guilty. There was a thing in his throat that did not belong there.
Bingley looked unhappy, in a way he’d never seen his cheerful friend before.
“Sit down,” Miss Bingley offered. “The food is still warm. Please join us for breakfast.”
Her manner was perfunctory. The tone was polite, but barely so. A wholly different greeting from how she’d always spoken to him before his marriage. Likely she nursed a pointless disappointment — he had never considered her for marriage.
“No, I thank you kindly, but I ate before coming over,” Darcy replied.
“Country hours in the city?” Bingley laughed. “You arefortunate to find us even awake at this hour.”
Mr. Hurst grunted. “Nonsense. Time is time.” He poured more wine into his tall wine glass.
Darcy rather judged him for drinking with breakfast, but it also was none of his business. In truth, after having spent a whole month in the same house as Mr. Hurst, Darcy could say little in his favor. At least he was excellent at cards, while not being so capable as to be actively unpleasant to play with.
Darcy twisted his wedding ring around his finger half a dozen times, and then without looking directly at his friend, he said to Bingley, “Might I speak with you in private? I’ve a matter of some importance to discuss.”
Bingley paled, nodded, and led Darcy out.
The instant they were out of the hallway and into the room Bingley kept as a small sitting room for himself and his male friends, he exclaimed, “Tell me immediately. Is Jane married already? I tell you, I can handle it. I have ceased, almost, to think of her and—”
“Nothing of the sort,” Darcy replied. This was both painful to hear, and yet promising to his second agenda. Bingley showed every sign of still being attached.
“Did she die?” Bingley asked at a panicky rush. “And the business that brought you here — Mrs. Darcy returned for the funeral, and—”
“If she had died, that would besomething of the sort.”
Silence.
“Oh. You’d dress in black, also. Even for an unwanted sister.” Bingley barked a small laugh. He walked to the gloomy window. A gust rattled the frame. “Even if she does not love me… I imagine… not caring that she is a fortune hunter. Not caring about anything. I feel as though I do not care about anything. I once thought I caught sight of her on Bond Street, but when I crossed the street to look, she was not there.”
Darcy stepped next to him.
The window faced down onto the inner courtyard garden, and the rain lashed the windows, and shook the tree branches despite their lack of foliage.
“I dream of her. At night. Less this past week, so perhaps… I am well now. It is… I’ve never experienced this before… not chiefly her beauty… Ithoughtwe understood each other. She smiled at me. In such a way. She looked at me… she seemed to really see me. Her eyes had a particular softness that I thought were just for me. I… It is silly, but I truly believed I had found my helpmeet, my wife, the woman I wasmeantto spend my life with.”
