“I am very sorry, Mr Bingley, but another presented himself only two days ago and was willing to offer far more generous terms if the owner would agree to consider leasing to him, in preference to you.”
“We had a contract, man!” Bingley’s ears were turning red, and Darcy drew himself up in surprise. Bingley was not the man to lose his temper, but his looks now bordered on very vexed, indeed.
“In fact, Mr Bingley, we didnothave a contract. That was the purpose of our meeting today. Thus far, we have only discussed details, and you have performed your due diligence, but there was nothing legally binding on either party. I truly am sorry, sir, but I am merely the one managing the contract. The decision was Mr Northam’s, as Netherfield property belongs to him. And once the other contract was signed, he departed for Bath, as he means to make his residence there. I am afraid there is no possibility at this point in asking him to reconsider.”
“But… Well, this is dashed indecent. Shoddy business, I should say! Who is this other party? Was he made aware that the property was under consideration?”
“I am afraid it is not within my purview to disclose any private matters, but indeed, he was made aware of your interest. Thus, the reason for his… exceeding generosity toward Mr Northam.”
“I should have been at least given the opportunity to match his offer!” Bingley protested. “I daresay, most indecent. I shall make a formal complaint, I shall, and—”
“Mr Philips,” Darcy interjected firmly, “we thank you for your time.” Darcy held an arm before Bingley, inviting him to extricate himself.
Philips nearly sagged; such was his evident relief, but Bingley was not quite prepared to surrender. “Well, I… I shall write to Mr Northam myself, I suppose. This should not have been carried on in such a way.”
He continued posing similar remarks, more to himself than anyone else, as Darcy ushered him out. His expression was that of a broken man, and in the short span of time it required to descend the stairs, he had gone from blaming Philips and Northam to questioning himself.
As they stepped into the carriage, Bingley turned to him, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Darcy, what more could I have done? I was prompt to answer all correspondence. My man in London looked over everything and said nothing looked out of the ordinary. Is it not irregular for a property to be let out from under one’s nose in such a manner?”
Darcy nodded. “Indeed, it is. These transactions usually take weeks, if not months, to complete. The last letter you showed me, a mere four days ago, gave no indication of any other interested parties.”
Bingley sighed. “That was what I thought, too. It is a shame, Darcy. Netherfield had everything I’d hoped for. I dearly wish I had been able to show it to you.”
“A pity,” Darcy agreed, though, for his part, he was already more than ready to quit the area and return to the comforts of home. The pounding in his head was growing steadily worse. “You will show me the next one.”
“Of course, but…” On impulse, Bingley leaned out the window and called out to the coachman, “Take us along the North Road before we turn back, would you? I would like to catch a glimpse of Netherfield, even if it is no longer to be mine.”
Darcy studied Bingley’s profile, noting the sharp disappointment etched in his features. Bingley was a chap whose every emotion played loudly across his face, but Darcy had never seen such extreme peevishness over a simple missed opportunity. He was not without sympathy, but surely, the matter did not warrant this level of disappointment. “I do not think it advisable to drive by the property. You only torture yourself needlessly.”
Bingley lifted his shoulder. “It is a lovely prospect, Darcy. I did want you to see it if for no other reason than that once you do, you will not doubt my taste.”
As the carriage rolled along the country lane, Netherfield came into view, its stately façade rising majestically against the backdrop of the Hertfordshire countryside. Indeed, it was a property worthy of admiration, and he could understand Bingley’s attraction. They did not drive directly up to the house; instead, they took a road that ran parallel to the property from which they could see most of the manor.
“It is a fine estate, Bingley,” Darcy remarked, his tone measured. “But there will be others.”
Bingley sighed, his gaze fixed on the retreating image of Netherfield as the carriage rolled on. “I know, Darcy. It is just... I had such high hopes for this place. The promise of a new beginning, a chance to establish myself.”
Darcy nodded, his mind already turning to the practicalities of their situation. So, it was not the loss of this particular house that had Bingley so crushed but the delay in all the things he had looked forward to. To become more like Darcy—that had always been Bingley’s unstated desire, and though flattered, Darcy often wondered if he was the proper standard by which Bingley ought to be measuring himself.
Well, there was nothing else for it now. They would need to redouble their efforts to seek new opportunities for Bingley to secure a suitable property. It was doubtful they would have any luck at all until spring, and there was certainly nothing to be done at this moment. And indeed, nothing when Darcy could hardly concentrate over the clamouring bells in his head that made his eyes ache and his skull feel as if it were ready to split apart.
Darcy shifted his hat a little lower on his brow and leaned toward the window, trying to let his thoughts trail into that gentle autumn breeze that rustled the remaining gold in the treetops.
Chapter Two
“Bingley, look there,” Darcysaid, pointing towards a figure on the side of the road. “Is that a young lady? And... is her horse lame?”
Bingley squinted, following Darcy’s gaze. “By Jove, I think you’re right, Darcy. She appears to be in some distress.”
Darcy rapped on the roof of the carriage, signalling for the driver to stop. He alighted as the carriage rolled to a halt, his long strides carrying him towards the lady in question. The young woman was covered in mud from head to toe, her skirts caked with the stuff. She stood beside a horse that looked equally worse for wear, its chest and legs mired in bog that was beginning to dry.
“Miss, are you in need of assistance?” Darcy inquired.
The lady had continued walking with her head bowed as if meaning to pass him by, but when he spoke, her eyes lifted to his, flashing with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. “Unless you have a magic wand to turn back time and prevent me from ever getting on this wretched beast, I am afraid there is little to be done, sir.”
“Well, I have no wand, and I never met anyone who could work such arts—useful though they might be—but it looks to me as though an injured ankle and a rather awkward state of discomportment are your chief troubles at the moment. Please, is there anything that may be done for your assistance?”
“Oh, I should think not, for that in itself would create further complications. Think what would be said of me if I accepted a ride from a stranger?”
