Bingley frowned. Darcy had not returned? He was his own man, perfectly capable of looking after himself, not to mention a splendid horseman, but Bingley worried. His friend had not been himself when they last spoke. Clearly, his conversation with Miss Elizabeth had shaken him. He would have to ask at the stables if any word had been had.
At the moment, however, Darcy was not his first problem. He sipped his tea silently, waiting for the storm to break. As soon as the servers had vanished, which was as quickly as they possibly could, Caroline drew her seat closer to his. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “Everyone is spreading the vilest rumours about Mr Darcy! Have you heard? You cannot have! Of course, it is the most scandalous falsehood. Why, they are circulating the report that he has engaged himself to Eliza Bennet, of all people! Charles, you must have these rumours uniformly contradicted!”
He purposely nursed his teacup, snatching for himself a few precious seconds more before he was forced to make a reply. When he had drained the entire contents, he set it down gingerly and slowly composed himself. “Caroline, it is quite true. I was there when Darcy made the announcement.”
Her face drained of all colour. “There must be some mistake! He could not… no! He disdains the Bennet family as much as we all do! Why, if you had only seen his face last night when they all put on such a scene!”
Charles Bingley was by no means done with his sudden decisiveness for the day. He jerked to his feet angrily, throwing his heavy chair backwards several inches. His voice lowered with a brand-new threatening tone he had just discovered. “Caroline Bingley, youwillcease your mockery of the Bennet family. I will not tolerate another word from you on the subject! Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth are enchanting girls. As for the younger girls, they only want time and guidance. Who among your fashionable London friends does not have relatives for whom they must occasionally blush? Their father is agentleman, Caroline. Do not forget our own father was in trade, and as such, we ought to be grateful for their society! The family is in considerable distress at the moment, and I insist you refrain from attempting to taunt or humiliate them.” He threw his napkin in the chair and made to stalk out of the room.
She leapt from her seat and pressed placating hands on his chest. Biting his lip, he held his temper back. “Charles, you have never spoken to me in that way! Why, I have never seen you so angry! It is this country, the uncouth company we keep here! Please, Charles,” she sobbed, “let us leave at once, at the earliest opportunity tomorrow! Surely Mr Darcy will be only too grateful to join us. He cannot have been thinking clearly! We will all go back to London for Christmas, and all will be forgotten! Truly, you will see how much happier we all will be!”
Louisa chose this moment to speak up. “We all so long to return to London, Charles! Only think of the winter balls we are missing! Mrs Spencer wrote to me just last week to tell us all the news. Her daughter Amelia came out only this last Season. I know you thought her quite a lovely girl. All our friends are in Town now, and I do declare, Charles, we are all quite miserable here!”
His teeth clenched; he faced his sisters as they stood unified against him. “Go, then. Darcy and I must remain here yet a while.” Louisa’s dismayed gasps were lost in Caroline’s devastated sobs as he quit the room.
Bingley bounded up the steps to his private room and began uncomfortably tugging at his cravat. He only managed to make a more tightly snarled knot of it before his valet appeared. The man seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He sighed gratefully. “Thank you, Jenkins. I know it is early, but I intend to retire for the night.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I have a tray brought up?” The short, balding man was a perfect professional, never batting an eye at his young master’s whims.
“Thank you, yes. No, never mind. Wait, has Darcy returned? Would you send down to the stables for any word?”
Jenkins’ face twitched slightly. “Mr Darcy returned several hours ago, sir.”
“Really?” Bingley was relieved. “How can the house not know of it?”
“He used the staff entrance, sir,” was the cryptic reply. “I believe you will find him in his room.”
The staff entrance! Clever dog, I should have thought of that years ago!Bingley thanked his valet and dismissed him. Peering cautiously into the corridor, he determined that it was safe to slip unobserved to his friend’s door.
A knock produced no response. Bingley knocked softly again, afraid to create too much noise in case Caroline had retreated to her own rooms nearby. Still there was no answer.
Concern for his oldest friend outweighed his manners. Bingley slowly pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, with only a dwindling fire in the hearth. Several burned-out candles littered Darcy’s writing desk, and he could just make out some blotched pages, the penknife, and half a dozen stubs in the shadows. The man had been up working, but where was he now?
Scanning the room, his eyes finally lit on Darcy’s form. He sat forlornly on the floor, his waistcoat and cravat gone, his expensively tailored shirt half open and untucked. He was staring dazedly into the fire, his hand curled around a bottle of Bingley’s best Scotch. Polished and sophisticated Darcy was downing the fine spirits without even the encumbrance of a glass, which shocked Bingley as much as anything else. From the looks of things, he had been sitting there quite some while.
“Darcy! Darcy, are you well?” Bingley came around for a better look. It would seem Darcy’s other hand held a bottle as well… an empty one. “Good heavens, man! Whatever is the matter?” Bingley impatiently threw more wood on the fire, stoking it so he at least would have better light to assess his friend’s condition.
Darcy’s bleary eyes slowly made their way to his face. “Chrlesss? Verry glad you’re ‘turned. Didjou have good sport-t t’day?”
Bingley squinted, trying to make out his friend’s slurred speech. “We had no shooting today, you know that.”
Darcy snorted derisively, his head rolling to the side just a bit to better look at his friend without having to move his aching eyes very much. “You wurr always-s a turrible shot-t.”
“Well, now, if you’re going to insult me, as well as drink all my best Scotch….” Bingley frowned and made as if to go, but Darcy went on as though he had not heard.
“Nevur-r did *hick* any good to c-coach you!” he waved an arm expressively. “‘St-steady pull on the t-trigger,’ I say, ‘Don’t j-j-urrk the m-muzzle,’ I say, but-t therr you go, half-f-f c-cocked ag-again. *hick* Damned w-wayst-t of powdurr! What the devil-l-l makes you so ‘mpulsive, man?” Darcy grunted, lifting the bottle to his lips.
Bingley reached to snatch it from him, but Darcy only jerked away, glowering. He swilled the expensive liquid without even bothering to savour it and dropped the bottle again, heaving out a caustic sigh. Bingley observed him with a raised brow. “It seems to me thatIam not the impulsive one today. What is this all about? Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy huffed. “Therrr, you have hit a f-fine id’y’a. Pur-h-hapsshecould t-teach you to sh-shoot burrds-s. *hick* Sh-she sh-shoots ev’r’thing else down.*hick*Fearf’lly angrrry though, s-stay well back. She may well sh-shoot you r-rath-urrr than the groussse.”
“Shoot me? What the blazes are you talking about, man?”
“…then therrr is that r-river nearest the house where she throws rocks-s-s. Can you s-s-swim, Charles-s?”
“Swim? Darcy, you’re completely foxed! I don’t understand what you’re going on about.”
He groaned and fell flat backward, the half full bottle of Scotch tipping precariously in his slack hand. Only Bingley’s quick action saved it from being dumped. He spirited it out of his friend’s reach. “‘Liz’beth. I think she wants-s to k-killll me.”
