Miss Bingley prattled on. “I will have the entire house refitted. A new ballroom for certain. And perhaps the main staircase replaced? Something grander. Oh! And a French carpet in the blue salon—one cannot do without French carpets…”
Bingley hummed amiably, clearly only half hearing her. Darcy exhaled slowly. Did he hear nothing? Did he understand nothing?
“Bingley,” he attempted again, “you must curb expenses until the estate stabilizes. With prudence, you will manage well—but if not—”
“If not, if not!” Bingley snapped, startling Darcy. “You speak as though bankruptcy awaits me at the door! You are forever lecturing, Darcy. Forever finding fault. Must you insist upon making a problem of every pleasant thing in my life?”
Darcy froze. Bingley had never spoken to him thus.
Miss Bingley paused mid-critique of the wallpaper, eyes widening with shock and some concern.
Darcy raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I mean only to ensure your success.”
“Well, I wish you would leave off!” Bingley burst out. “Not everything requires your approval. I have had quite enough for one day.”
And with that, he stalked from the room, the door slamming behind him.
Miss Bingley smiled sympathetically. “Youdopress him dreadfully, Mr. Darcy. Some men simply wish to enjoy what they have.”
Darcy ignored her pointed sweetness. She had no idea what was at stake.
He stared at the closed door, emotions a tangle of frustration and a darker sting—hurt. He had been Bingley’s advisor, confidant, and friend for years. Yet this…this was a side of Bingley he had never witnessed.
Is it the influence of his newfound independence? The neighborhood? Miss Bennet? Or merely the flush of ownership gone to his head?
Whatever the cause, Darcy realized one unsettling truth. If Bingley would not listen to sense, the consequences could be severe—and Darcy might not be able to save him from himself.
Chapter Seven
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were frequent callers at Longbourn, much to Mrs. Bennet’s delight. Elizabeth could hardly blame her mother. To have two such eligible bachelors calling upon the household was nothing short of a coup. Lady Lucas positively seethed with envy while her eldest daughter congratulated her friend on her conquest.
“You are over-exaggerating, Charlotte,” Elizabeth protested as she glanced toward the door. The Lucases were hosting a gathering and all the principal families of the area were invited. According to her friend, the Netherfield party had accepted. They were, however, late.
“I am not. Pray, do not toy with my intelligence and expert observational skills. How many times have the gentlemen called upon your household?” Charlotte raised both her eyebrows and grinned wryly. “My mother has done nothing more than complain since the assembly.”
“Have we a spy among Longbourn’s servants?” Elizabeth teased.
“Oh, undoubtedly. You know your maid Molly is sister to our upstairs maid, Nancy. They share gossip frequently.” Charlotte looked quite pleased with herself. “I do not begrudge you your good fortune. Only when you marry, promise you will throw me in the paths of other rich men.” They chuckled lightly but Elizabeth could tell her friend was not in jest.
“If I am so fortunate as to gain a proposal from Mr. Darcy, I promise I shall not hesitate to extend an invitation to my dearest friend. I am convinced that if you were among a large society, you would have no trouble securing a match. What man would not want such a practical, intelligent woman for his wife?”
“Men like to have something pretty to look at as well, unfortunately.” Charlotte sighed. “There is nothing to be done in that area, for my features are quite set.”
Elizabeth disliked it when her friend denigrated herself. “You are not unattractive, dear Charlotte,” she protested. “I shall never be convinced of it.”
“I may not be unattractive, but my looks are very plain in comparison to some. Fear not, Eliza; such things ceased to bother me long ago.”
The drawing room around them was warm, bustling, and lit with an impressive number of candles—Lady Lucas had spared no expense in attempting to outshine Longbourn’s most recent triumph. The room glowed golden, gowns of every color glittering whenever a lady passed too close to the candlelight. Footmen weaved through the crowd with trays of punch; the hum of conversation rose and fell like the tide.
There was a commotion at the door, and Elizabeth turned in that direction again. There. Mr. Bingley entered first, his sister on his arm. The Hursts followed next, and at last came Mr. Darcy. The latter looked slightly perturbed… Or perhaps it was vexed. His lips were pursed tightly together, and his expression was rather foreboding.
“What ails Mr. Darcy?” Charlotte breathed in Elizabeth’s ear.
“Considering how fast he left his party, I suspect it was the company in the carriage.” Elizabeth realized Mr. Darcy was coming toward them. She met his gaze and was relieved to see his features soften into pleasure.
“Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth, good evening. I am very pleased to see you both.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte curtsied. “We are happy you have arrived.”
