“And did you stay for tea? Drinks? No, no, for we both know your drawing room is vastly more comfortable. Even Hurst’s townhouse would be something, do you know?”Bingley squirmed a little and downed another slosh of brandy. “We both know he bought that with Louisa’s dowry.”
“Come, come, now.” Darcy replaced the watch in his pocket after glancing at the time. Well after eleven—little wonder Bingley was in his cups. They had been at it for three hours. “You enjoy an evening with Hurst as well as I do—that is to say, not at all. ‘Tis one thing to offer fine spirits. ‘Tis quite another for the host to imbibe them so freely that he slithers under the table before his guests have taken their leave.”
“Indeed.” Bingley sighed and pinched his eyes. “Oh, you little know how I was looking forward to an evening in the drawing room, for once master of my own house and able to offer you the same courtesies you have always extended to me!”
Darcy smiled and eased forward in his chair to stand, replacing his empty glass on the sideboard. “It is a commendable sentiment. Never fear, for I have no doubt that honour will be yours soon enough. Perhaps in the spring, something will present itself.”
“Spring! One minor setback, and you speak of waiting for months?”
Darcy strode to the fire and drew the poker from its rack to tease the embers. “You say you have surveyed nearly every suitable property through half of England, yes? It is nearly Michaelmas already. How many gentry find themselves in a mood to retrench and offer their properties to let in November or December? Do you truly think any new opportunities will present themselves before the seasons change more favourably once more?”
“Some old fellow might die. I do not think death is seasonal.”
Darcy made a wry face. “And you think the odds are high that his heir will immediately let the property to another, do you?
“Oh, perhaps not.” Bingley swiped a hand down his face with a sigh of resignation and kicked to his feet. “Then I shall hie me home and wait for another opportunity, shall I?”
Darcy fingered the wrought handle of the fire poker. “Your carriage will have been sent back to the mews hours ago. No doubt by now, your coachman is in little better state than you are. Come, Bingley, take your usual room and sleep off the nightcap. You will be thinking more clearly in the morning.”
Bingley paused and, with a lazy, reluctant smile, tossed a jaunty salute. “Very good, sir. Yes, sir, I quite like that. No, sir, I do not require any assistance. I shall…” Bingley’s careless chatter broke off as he tripped over the edge of the rug, sending his arms pinwheeling. He righted himself before Darcy could react to assist him, then turned around with an insouciant grin. “I thank you again for your hospitality, Darcy.”
Darcy regarded him cautiously. “Are you quite certain you need nothing? Shall I call a footman for you?”
“No, no, keep your footman. Do you know, I believe I shall rise early on the morrow, Darcy. I might even drive back to Hertfordshire without you if I must. There was something rather canny about that whole affair.”
“I think you mean ‘uncanny.’”
Bingley squinted. “No, I am quite certain I meant ‘canny.’ Or was it ‘cagey’?” He frowned. “Whatever it was, it bears insti… investi… looking into.”
Darcy smiled thinly. He would much rather do without another head-jarring ride in Bingley’s carriage. He was still paying for that journey today and was not eager to repeat it. “You are welcome to return on your own if you feel compelled. I believe I must call on my sister tomorrow.”
“Oh. Cheerio, then.” Bingley nodded tiredly, then turned around and wandered out of the study. Darcy watched him go, then resumed poking absently at the fire.
Perhaps heoughtto go with Bingley tomorrow. Why the man was so possessed by this Netherfield estate was beyond him, but if he went, he might be able to prevent Bingley from making some impassioned mistake, like tracking down the new lessor and offering more money to buy him out of the lease. Or finding some other nearby house that was not nearly suitable for his station, merely so he could look upon the one that got away.
But keeping Bingley from making a foolish mistake could not be his first concern. Guarding his sister… and keeping himself far away from muddy damsels with eyes like the sunrise and a laugh like a bubbling brook… yes, that was much wiser.
Elizabeth entered her auntPhilips’ drawing room, seeking out Charlotte’s familiar figure amongst the smattering of early arrivals. She spotted her friend hovering near the window, back turned, tension evident in the line of her shoulders.
“Charlotte.” Elizabeth approached, laying a hand on her arm. “I worried you might not come.”
Charlotte mustered a half-hearted smile. “Mother insisted I could not miss the party.”
Elizabeth scrutinised Charlotte’s drawn features, the lacklustre eyes that belied her brave front. “Forgive me, but you seem out of spirits. Are you quite well?”
“The same as usual, Lizzy. Mother is so determined that socialising will lift my melancholy, but...” She trailed off, gaze distant.
“But you are not convinced?” Elizabeth finished gently, guiding Charlotte to a sofa in the corner.
As they sat, Charlotte sighed. “In truth, I often feel ill-suited to society’s expectations. The pressure to be ever charming and secure an advantageous match—it can be so wearying.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, but a playful notion struck her—something that might make Charlotte smile a little more and pity herself a little less. “But if you think it bothersome for us, just imagine how dreary it must be for the gentlemen. They have not the luxury of retiring to a corner to watch the room go round. They must make themselves agreeable to simplyeveryone, regardless of their feelings. Now, how many of them do you think must find themselves obliged to put on some sort of false face in company?”
Charlotte shifted in her chair. “Quite several, I suppose.”
“Just so! And I daresay they are far more hunted for their ‘assets’ than we ladies are and only think of the poor man whose fortune isjustshort of what everyone is seeking after?”
Charlotte looped a hand over her knee and twisted to level a significant glance across the room at Mary King. “Is it any less fair than those who are barely agreeable at all being pursued relentlessly for the one ‘asset’ they do have?”
