Bingley shook his head, chuckling. “You’re insufferable. The ladies there are lovely—charming, eligible, exactly the sort you claim to want.”
Darcy gave him a look, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “If by ‘charming,’ you mean ‘practiced in the art of fainting prettily,’ then perhaps. But I have little interest in women who look ready to topple over at the sight of my bank account.”
“So, you’re after a lady who will ignore it?” Bingley shot back. “Bonne chance. Perhaps you’ll find her down by the docks, far from the rarefied air of society.”
“Not precisely. But there are qualities a woman ought to have if she is to be a companion worth the effort.”
Bingley shot him an incredulous look. “I daresay you’ve become so particular you’ll require her to quote Plato by heart and handle one of your mile-high ledgers over afternoon tea.”
“Plato might be a bit much, but I would like someone who cares about more than the latest invitation to Almack’s.”
Bingley folded his arms, looking at Darcy with sudden interest. “And tell me, do you imagine this paragon of yours is simply waiting for you to stroll by? You want a veritable goddess, but you will not trouble yourself to look for her.”
“No, Bingley, I am well aware. In fact, the very definition of the woman I seek is that she is not ‘waiting’ for me at all.” Darcy cast a glance out of the window as they turned up another street, then back at his friend. “But neither will I find her in a room full of fortune-hunters and ambitious daughters of the peerage.”
“Some of the best families in London frequent Almack’s!” Bingley protested. “And what else would you have them do? Surely, it’s not a crime for a lady to seek a worthy match?”
Darcy held up a hand, shaking his head. “It is not that simple. The more wealth I accumulated, the more… complicated society became. It was one thing when I was only Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. But now—”
“Now you’re even richer,” Bingley finished. “It is no secret that your name is at the top of all those party invitations and when you do accept one, the lady of the house brags to her friends for weeks about it. I have it on good authority that at least four families are waiting with bated breath on your sister’s come-out just so they have an excuse to call at Darcy House.”
Darcy grunted. “And that is why she will be entertaining all callers at Matlock House instead. The matter is already settled.”
“Oh, Darcy, you will spoil their fun! That puts everyone back to hoping you will turn up at a ball or two, poor things. Not that I can blame anyone for wanting a bit of security.”
“Security is one thing. But London is overrun with women who think wealth and eligibility are all that is required of a gentleman. To them, I’m a bank draft that can walk and talk. It is not exactly flattering.”
“I suppose you would like them to faint for nobler reasons?”
Darcy sighed, giving his friend a long-suffering look. “If you must know, yes.”
Bingley sighed, shaking his head. “You are impossible, Darcy. You say you want a lady of breeding, but you will not go where they are. You want a woman of intelligence, yet you mock them for their accomplishments. Is there nothing that would please you?”
Darcy hesitated. “As terrified as I am to confess something like this to you—for I know you will run with it as if it were marching orders—Iwouldlike to actually enjoy a lady’s company someday. But men of our position must be… particular.”
“Particular?” He raised his eyebrows, laughter brimming behind his look of disbelief. “If you’re any more particular, Darcy, I’ll have to drop you off on some mountain where you can live like a hermit.”
“I am serious. If I am to marry, it will be to someone who can be a partner in every sense. She must be intelligent, able to manage the pressures of her place in society, for it is no easy precipice. She must be reliable, not a changeful miss blown about by the caprices of gossip and fortune. And for my own pleasure, she must have some warmth—some gentleness. Not ambition, not social climbing. That… that would ruin everything.”
For a moment, Bingley was silent, his expression thoughtful as they drove. “You speak of a precipice… do you ever worry that entering trade has… changed your place? In society, I mean.”
Darcy’s mouth flickered in an almost-smile. “Of course it has. The old families no longer see me as one of their own, for I bear the ‘stench of trade’ now. My own uncle still grimaces whenever he is obliged to introduce me anywhere. But the new sort of man sees me as an interloper—a ‘gentleman’ who would not stay in his own sphere. I am a man of both worlds now, yet a master of neither.”
Bingley’s mouth twitched downward as he shuffled his boots on the floor of the carriage. “I’d never any thought of what it would cost you when I asked you—surely, you must have some regrets.”
“Not for a second. I made my decision eight years ago in Calais, and I have never looked back. But it has… complicated things.”
Bingley nodded slowly as he looked up once more. “So, you feel you are even further from the kind of woman you’d like to marry.”
Darcy shook his head. “No, it is just… she will be harder to find, and no amount of your manipulation and wishful tactics will make her surface any sooner. The woman I seek must see past the moneyandthe name, Bingley, or none of it is worth a farthing.”
Bingley was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak quite like this.”
“Then consider it a rare confession.” Darcy gave him a small, wry smile. “Perhaps the result of your influence. You were, after all, the one who got me into all this in the first place.”
Bingley laughed. “And you’ve thrived in it, just as I knew you would. But let me make my own confession.” He took a deep breath, eyes thoughtful. “One of these days, I’m hoping you’ll meet this impossible woman of yours. Not just so you can spare me some of this moralizing, but maybe, for once, allow yourself a bit of happiness.”
“And on that day, Bingley, may she also distract me enough to save you from my insufferable standards.”
