Bingley took a deep breath, his fists clenching at his sides as he glanced at Darcy, who was watching the exchange with quiet interest. “Sir,” Bingley stammered, his voice growing firmer as he pressed on, “I would very much like to court Miss Bennet. But... I do not feel worthy of her. Not yet. Not until I have secured a house—a proper home to offer her. I could not ask for her hand without first providing that.”
Mr Bennet listened quietly, his gaze occasionally shifting to Darcy, who had already made his intentions known regarding Elizabeth. Bingley’s earnestness was clear, and there was a raw honesty in his words that must have struck a chord with the flippant Mr Bennet.
“Bingley,” Darcy said, drawing Bingley’s attention, “if there is one thing you can learn from me, it is that life is short. Do not wait.”
Bingley’s breath hitched as if he could scarcely believe what he had just heard. His colour rose. “Do you... do you truly mean that?You, Darcy?”
“I do. I have held you back, Bingley.” Darcy frowned and swallowed, glancing away for a second. “You must do as you feel is right, without me… or anyone else… telling you how to manage your affairs.”
Bingley blinked, his chest rising quickly.
Mr Bennet, who had been observing the interaction with quiet amusement, nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, Mr Bingley. One ought to strike while the iron is hot.”
Bingley’s eyes widened in wild dismay and excitement, his gaze darting between Mr Bennet and Darcy. “But... sir,” he stammered, “what do you mean? Is this some... some reference to Miss Bennet’s feelings?”
Mr Bennet scratched his ear, chuckling. “No, Mr Bingley, it is not. Although the sentiment would certainly apply, I was actually referring to Mrs Bennet, who does not yet know that she has a second daughter engaged. You may as well give her a third.”
Bingley blinked in confusion, and then understanding dawned on his face. His gaze flickered back to Darcy, who gave him a thin smile of encouragement. Mr Bennet leaned in conspiratorially, his tone light but laced with meaning. “If you wish to protect your friend from yet another pain in his head, Mr Bingley, you might consider declaring yourself at once. It would halve the burden of Mrs Bennet’s joy, you see.”
Bingley’s face suddenly blossomed into hope. He glanced back and forth between Mr Bennet and Darcy, his eyes brightening with newfound determination. “Then, sir... if I may... may I speak with Miss Bennet immediately?”
Mr Bennet gave him a wry shrug as though the outcome were already certain. “By all means, Mr Bingley. I shall not stand in your way.”
With that, Bingley bolted from the room. Mr Bennet watched him go, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Ah, to be young again,” he mused aloud, his tone light and nostalgic. “Head over boots and all that. I felt like that once... and it was heaven for ten minutes.”
Darcy allowed a soft laugh to escape, then sighed, a bittersweet note in his voice. “I rather hope the feeling will endure the rest of my life... however long that may be.”
The journey north toCambridge had got off to a gruelling start. Every jolt of the carriage sent fresh waves of pain through Darcy’s head, and the damp chill in the air seemed to seep into his very bones. The decision to leave Meryton so abruptly still felt too rushed. It was not that he lacked matters to attend to there—indeed, staying would have been the more sensible option, considering all that had transpired. Not least among his new concerns was his future mother-in-law—who had only consented to let him out the door after he gave her leave to begin planning a wedding for three weeks hence.
There was also Bingley and matters with Lord Matlock. Collins, his future… egad, his future brother-in-law, who was probably already penning an outraged letter to Lady Catherine. And whatever consequences might fall on the servants of Netherfield after his escape this morning…
But the sense of danger clung to him, an instinctual need to put distance between himself and Wickham, had driven him to insist on their departure.
Elizabeth would not hear of being left behind. Despite the oddity, the scandal even, of a lady travelling so intimately with a man who was not yet her husband, Darcy found himself deeply grateful for her presence. She truly did not mean to permit him out of her sight, whether out of protectiveness for his vulnerability or ardour for him as her future husband… either sentiment was welcome to him just now.
When it became clear that Elizabeth meant to lash herself to the back of the carriage if her father tried to prevent her from going, Mr Bennet joined them as well. His presence added a layer of safety to their journey, for Darcy had already been uncertain enough of his ability to manage on the road should another attack befall him. But, perhaps even more importantly, Bennet provided a buffer against the impropriety of Elizabeth and Darcy being alone together.
However, as they had all settled into the carriage, Mr Bennet had made an odd request. He asked for the rear-facing seat inside the carriage, all to himself. “Cannot abide thecloseness,” he announced. “Always had a morbid fear of being shut up in a confined space.”
Elizabeth did not bother concealing the sceptical slant of her brows at her father’s strange declaration, but the arrangement left Darcy facing forward in the carriage—which was far easier on his unsteady equilibrium—with Elizabeth beside him. The arrangement seemed intentional, a subtle manoeuvre by Mr Bennet to allow his daughter to be close to Darcy.
At first, the proximity of her body, with her father looking on, was hideously awkward. He was acutely aware of Elizabeth’s presence, the warmth of her breath so close to his, the way her shoulder brushed against his arm with every lurch of the carriage. He had no choice but to lean on her when the pain became too much or when the dizziness nearly overwhelmed him. But Mr Bennet, true to form, buried his face in a book and seemed to take no notice of them, pointedly ignoring the pair as they sat side by side.
There was little to say that they could share before a chaperon, but also, little that needed to be said. She had always understood him from that first day, and he felt a deep, sinking relief in his chest. No more masks, no pretences, just… her. She was, perhaps, the only person he had ever felt that with since his father’s death.
Her hand slid up the inside of his arm, her fingers tickling the sensitive skin under his wrists and then deftly lacing with his. The touch was gentle, intimate, and it sent a wave of warmth through him. She rested her chin on his shoulder, her smile soft and tender. It was a look that nearly undid him, and Darcy was seized by the nearly overwhelming urge to turn and kiss her, to lose himself in that simple, pure connection. But with her father mere feet away, Darcy clung to the last vestiges of his propriety, despite the longing that twisted his heart.
The carriage rocked along the muddy road, the scenery blurring past in a wash of grey and green. The rain had begun to fall in earnest now, the steady drumming on the carriage roof adding to the tension thrumming through Darcy’s veins. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he found himself leaning more heavily on Elizabeth as they rolled into open country, putting Meryton behind them. Yet, there was a certain peace in the gentle sway of the carriage and Elizabeth’s comforting presence by his side.
That peace was shattered as the carriage rounded a bend, and the driver abruptly reined in the horses. The vehicle lurched to a sudden stop, sending Darcy forward in his seat. The jolt sent a fresh stab of pain through his skull, and he gritted his teeth against the sensation.
“What is it?” Mr Bennet asked from behind his book, though his tone remained more curious than alarmed.
Darcy didn’t answer. He motioned for Elizabeth to remain inside and dry as he pushed the door open and leaned out to assess the situation. The rain-soaked air hit him like a slap, sharp and cold, and he tilted his hat to better shield his face as he scanned the road ahead.
A tree lay across the road—a great thick trunk blocking their path entirely. Darcy’s unease deepened as he took in the scene. This was no natural fall—the tree had been deliberately cut; its base sawn cleanly through. A sense of danger prickled at the back of his neck, and he found himself scanning the surroundings with a growing sense of dread.
There was no way to move the tree with any expediency, and going around was impossible as the sides of the road were marshy with flooding. Any attempt to manoeuvre around the obstruction was impossible. The only way out was back the way they had come.
