Miss Bingley chimed in, her voice fraught with nerves. “Surely, you cannot believe Mr. Darcy intended any slight! He is above such foolishness.”
“I hardly know what to believe any longer, sister. Darcy’s opinions are lately so different from my own.”
“Opinions and experience are two different things, Bingley,” Hurst interrupted. “I would say Darcy—and myself—have more experience in land ownership than you. There is no insult intended—merely a statement of the facts.”
Bingley frowned but said nothing more on that subject, instead turning the talk back to treasure. “I shall arrange a treasure-hunting expedition,” he proposed. “Would it not be entertaining? Why, half the countryside is already convinced there is a king’s ransom buried beneath these fields,” hecontinued, laughing. “I heard as much in Meryton myself—men speaking of it openly in the streets.”
“Country rustics milling around in the weeds and brambles in search of something to bolster their meager fortunes?” Miss Bingley sneered. “That is absolutely absurd.”
“Think of it; the more people we have combing the land, the greater the chance of discovering treasure. If we discover nothing, then it is an entertaining expedition, nonetheless.” Bingley looked rather pleased with himself. “It would give me time in Miss Bennet’s company as well.” He spoke lightly, but there was something beneath it—an insistence that bordered on strain, as though he clung to the promise of success with more determination than confidence.
Darcy bit his tongue. He did not approve of the attention Bingley paid to Miss Bennet. He presented to everyone that he was solvent and wealthy, but by Darcy’s estimation, his friend was on the brink of ruin. It would not be fair to become honor-bound to the lady when he was in no position to marry. Miss Bennet deserved better than enthusiasm unsupported by prudence.
Darcy exhaled slowly, the truth settling with unwelcome clarity. Bingley was not blind—he simply refused to see. Each warning was met with cheer, each concern dismissed with laughter. Perhaps he believed good humor alone might ward off consequence. It was easier, Darcy supposed, to chase diversion and speak of treasure than to confront accounts, obligations, and the quiet but inexorable arithmetic of debt. But avoidance did not alter reality. It merely delayed the moment at which it must be faced.
He excused himself politely when his tea was gone and went to his chambers.
Darcy closed the door to his chambers and crossed at once to the writing table. The post was there, neatly arranged and waiting. Among the usual bills and notices lay one envelope he recognized immediately. The hand was bold, confident, and familiar. A smile tugged at his mouth before he broke the seal. He eagerly opened a letter from his cousin, hoping it might contain some welcome distraction—or, at the very least, counsel grounded in sense.
He settled into the chair by the window, the late afternoon light falling across the page, and began to read.
Dear Darcy,
How goes your adventure in the wilds of Hertfordshire? Is Bingley an adequate host and a competent estate owner? What of his grasping sister? Does Miss Bingley continue to fawn and flaunt her assets? Pray, tell me she has not coerced you into matrimony.
Darcy huffed a quiet laugh. As ever, Richard wasted no time in getting to the heart of matters. If only the truth were as amusing as the question implied.
My commission has been resigned. The prize money acquired on the peninsula is safely in the four per cents until such time as I find anacceptable estate for purchase. The sum is such that I can find a prosperous property that brings in three thousand a year and still have some fifty thousand pounds or more remaining. Yes, I can live quite comfortably as a second son and now have the means to marry where I wish.
Darcy’s brows rose. He read the passage twice, a slow smile spreading as pride and relief followed close behind. Richard, free at last from dependence and constraint. Free to choose.
Aunt Catherine pressured me to find a wife when I last visited Rosings Park. She seems to have taken up match-making since my brother formally proposed to her daughter. I do not know what she expects to accomplish, for now that I have the means to marry for affection and inclination, I will not be hasty in choosing a bride, nor rushed into wedding the first eligible lady thrown in my path. Anne seems quite happy with my brother, and for that I am grateful. I am pleased for them both and wish them every felicity in marriage.
I am of a mind to join you in Hertfordshire. Do you think Bingley will welcome an additional guest? Pray, write to inform me immediately. Mama is attempting to introduce me to all the young ladies of her acquaintance in hopes that I shall fall madly in love with one and finally settle down. Bramley escapes her attention, though he remains unwed. It is highly vexing.
Darcy shook his head, amusement softening into fondness. His aunt’s energies, once turned upon a target, were relentless. Hertfordshire might indeed prove a refuge—for both of them.
Be assured, I have seen Georgiana recently, and she is doing better than she did over the summer. Lady Matlock shares my hope that she will return to her usual self in due time.
At that, Darcy’s expression sobered. He folded the page slightly, pressing his thumb along the crease. The reassurance eased something tight in his chest. He trusted Richard’s judgment. If he said Georgiana improved, then she truly was.
I look forward to your letter.
Formerly Colonel R. Fitzwilliam
Darcy lowered the letter and sat for a long moment, staring out the window at the grounds beyond Netherfield. Richard in Hertfordshire. Richard, free, independent, observant. His dearest cousin with a fortune substantial enough to command respect—and the discernment to use it wisely.
This may change more than he realizes,Darcy thought.
At last, he reached for his writing materials. There was much to tell his cousin. And much, he suspected, Richard would wish to see for himself.
Darcy posted the letter as soon as he had Bingley’s agreement that Richard could join them.
“Certainly, Darcy,” his friend said. “Perhaps the presence of your cousin will aid in distracting you from haranguing me into what you deem acceptable.”
Darcy did not reply; he merely tipped his head in acknowledgment and departed. He could hardly wait until Richard arrived. He wished to introduce his favorite cousin to the woman he wished to court. Elizabeth and Richard were very similar in some ways, and Darcy thought they would get along well. Having Richard’s approval meant it would be easier for the rest of the family to accept his choice.
Once alone, Darcy allowed himself a long breath, the sort one only takes when restraint has been maintained for too long. He crossed the gravel path slowly, his boots crunching in a steady rhythm, his thoughts moving in no such orderly fashion. Richard’s arrival would be a balm; of that he was certain. His cousin possessed the rare ability to observe keenly without condemning, to advise without condescension. And, perhaps most importantly, Richard would see plainly what Darcy himself had realized: that Elizabeth Bennet was no fleeting amusement.
