Darcy suppressed a sigh, forcing a polite smile. His head still throbbed, and the news from Dr Westing had left him so shaken he could hardly stand. “Bingley. I was not expecting you today.”
“I know, I know,” Bingley said, running a hand through his hair. “And it was dashed rude of me to simply invite myself in, but—”
“Come now. Giles would not have permitted you if I had not given standing instructions for you to be welcomed at any time.”
Bingley’s posture eased somewhat. “Very kind. I am at my wit’s end, Darcy. This property search is driving me to distraction.”
“I thought we settled the matter last night. You intended to wait until spring.”
“Nooo…” Bingley’s brow furrowed. “That wasyouradvice, and I conceded the wisdom in it, but my mind could not let the matter go so easily.”
“I see.” Darcy’s shoulders sagged. He was in no mood for Bingley’s whims tonight. His head pounded with every heartbeat, and his vision blurred slightly at the edges, but… well, it did take his mind off his own troubles. “Very well. Shall we retire to the study?”
Once settled, Bingley spread a sheaf of papers across Darcy’s desk. “Look here. My man of business has suggested a dozen properties, but none seem quite right.”
Darcy picked up the nearest document, skimming it without much interest. His hand trembled slightly, a residual effect of the spasms earlier. “You have already considered and rejected this one.”
“Yes, yes, but perhaps I was mistaken. What do you think? I know there is no ballroom, and you found the farmlands vastly disappointing, but it did have a fair view of the valley.”
“It had a view because it was perched on a rocky hillside. The property cannot possibly sustain itself in farm rents.”
“Well, what about this one? You recall, the one situated near the New Forest in Hampshire.”
“How could I forget? The western wing was sinking into a peat bog.” Darcy leafed through a few more pages, then impatiently tossed them back together in a stack. His fingers felt stiff, and he struggled to keep his composure. “What precisely are you looking for, Bingley?”
“That is just it!” Bingley exclaimed. “I thought I knew, but now... I want something grand enough to impress, you see, but not so large as to be overwhelming. Good hunting, of course, and a decent neighbourhood. But not too close to town. I want to establish myself as a country gentleman, after all.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, suppressing another wave of nausea. “That is quite a list of requirements.”
Bingley deflated slightly. “I know. Perhaps I am being too particular?”
“Not at all.” Privately, he thought Bingley might benefit from beingmoreparticular, not less so. “It is a significant investment. You should be satisfied with your choice.”
“Indeed. And the more I think on it, the more disappointed I am that I could not get Netherfield.” Bingley poured himself into his chair, his face dropping into dejection.
Oh, this would not do. Darcy straightened the pile of papers and pressed them back toward his friend in a dignified stack. His vision twisted again, and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear it. “I suggest speaking with my solicitor instead of yours. Perhaps he knows of something on offer.”
“If it isyoursolicitor, he will try to lease me an earl’s estate,” Bingley groaned. “My income is notthatcomfortable.”
“I will clarify your requirements. Are we agreed? Let us speak of this again when we have something new to speak of.”
Bingley looked crestfallen. “You are right, of course. I am sorry to have imposed on you like this, especially when you clearly have affairs of your own to attend.”
“It is no imposition. I am merely suggesting a fresh start might yield better results.”
Bingley was just leaning forward in his chair to gather his papers when the door to Darcy’s study swung open with a bang, startling both men. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam strode in, his military bearing evident even in his casual attire.
“Well, well! What have we here? A war council?”
Darcy rose to greet his cousin, his legs feeling unsteady. Just when he wanted nothing more than to retire to his chambers… “Richard,” Darcy greeted wearily. “What brings you here this evening?”
“Oh, this and that,” Richard said airily, helping himself to a glass of brandy at the sideboard. “Mostly escaping the tedium of the barracks or my mother’s drawing room. And you, gentlemen? Planning the invasion of France?”
Bingley chuckled. “Nothing so exciting, I am afraid. Just trying to find a suitable property to let.”
“Ah, the great estate hunt!” Richard exclaimed, dropping into a nearby chair. “I had forgot all about that. A noble pursuit, to be sure. But surely not one to occupy all your time? Come now, you both look as if you’ve been poring over those papers for days.”
Darcy sighed, his headache throbbing more persistently. “It has been... a challenge.”
