Mrs. Hurst expressed her enthusiasm for the idea, as did her husband. “Mrs. Bennet sets a fine table,” the gentleman declared. “Or so I have heard. I am eager to partake in her hospitality.”
There was a faint scrape as Miss Bingley placed her fork down more firmly than necessary. Her lips pursed, and she glanced toward the empty seat where her brother had sat, as if willing him to reappear and reclaim his place in the conversation.
“If they deign to invite us to dine.” Miss Bingley’s retort was slightly censorious.
“Oh, she will. Two such eligible gentlemen paying court to her daughters—she could not resist.” Hurst chuckled and sipped his tea. He did it with the air of a man delivering a simple fact, though his eyes glittered as if the entire situation amused him.
Richard’s brows rose, and his grin softened into something more pointedly polite. “Mrs. Bennet has ever behaved with decorum and circumspection,” Richard reminded Hurst. “Though she is very enthusiastic at the prospect of marrying her daughters off to ‘eligible gentlemen,’ as you call us.”
Hurst lifted his glass in a lazy sort of salute. “I meant no insult to the lady,” he said, the faintest edge of humor still in his voice. “Only that enthusiasm is difficult to disguise when it is the very marrow of one’s existence.”
Mrs. Hurst gave her husband a sharp look that might have been reproach. “Hurst,” she warned, though there was little heat in it.
“I speak plainly,” he said, unrepentant. “It is one of my few virtues.”
Darcy’s attention wandered as he contemplated his dear Elizabeth. Every moment away from her vibrancy, her zest for life, brought pain.How long until I can propose?he wondered.
It was an absurd question to ask so soon. He had asked for a courtship, secured Mr. Bennet’s permission, and still he foundhimself restless, as if the future might slip away if he did not grasp it at once. Elizabeth’s laugh haunted him—light and quick, but never empty. Her very being made the world feel sharper, more honest. Even now, with Bingley’s troubles pressing at the edges of every thought, Darcy could not keep Elizabeth from the center of his mind.
If I had her beside me now,he thought,I could breathe.
Lost in his thoughts, it was some time before he realized Miss Bingley had moved to sit beside him. The scent of her perfume—something floral and too insistent—caught at the edge of his senses.
Immediately on his guard, he addressed her politely. She returned the greeting, and when the others were absorbed in their conversation, she spoke.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said hesitantly. Miss Bingley paused and cleared her throat nervously. “Sir, I am unsure how to go about what I must say without causing offense…or embarrassing myself.”
Darcy’s spine stiffened. He kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he braced. Caroline Bingley did nothing without calculation, and he had come to expect every word from her to be either a weapon or a snare.
He gave the slightest nod of his head. “You may speak freely, Miss Bingley,” he said, ever cautious. “I shall not take offense where none is intended.”
Her fingers tightened around her napkin. Darcy noticed the telltale white at her knuckles. For a moment, she looked not the assured, glittering creature of London drawing rooms, but a woman—young, uncertain, perhaps even frightened of her own vulnerability.
“Sir, I am sure you are aware that I had certain…expectations.” Her voice was quiet, pitched so low it could not easily carry beyond him. “I believed us to be well-suited and designed foreach other. I know now how very wrong I was. After seeing your…accord with Miss Elizabeth, I cannot help but see the difference in your manner to me.”
Darcy gaped. For an instant, he could not summon words. He had anticipated sharp insinuations, not…this.
“Miss Bingley, I am very sorry if I ever gave the impression—”
She raised a hand, effectively cutting him off. “No, sir, you never behaved with anything other than the utmost propriety. It was I who saw more than truly existed.” She took a breath, and her chin lifted, though not in its usual hauteur. “I am happy for you, and I hope we can be friends.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly. Darcy searched her face for mockery, for a concealed barb. He found none. There was only earnestness, and something like weary acceptance. It was as if something within her had deflated. This behavior was so different from what he had come to expect in Miss Bingley that he did not know what to say. “Friends,” he repeated awkwardly. “Yes, I believe that is acceptable.”
It was a miserable thing to say—flat, inadequate—but it was honest. Friendship with Caroline Bingley would never be effortless. If she truly meant what she had said, if she truly intended to withdraw her pretensions and treat him with civility, then perhaps the remainder of his time at Netherfield might be bearable.
She looked very relieved, rising and excusing herself from the room. Her departure was brisk, as if she feared that if she lingered, she might regret having spoken at all.
Darcy stared after her, equal parts stunned and bemused.
Hurst made a low sound of amusement, as if he had been watching a play and had just been rewarded with an unexpected twist.
“Well, it would seem you have no need to worry about my sister any longer, eh, Darcy?” Hurst chuckled. “You have givenher barely any attention since your arrival. It has been very entertaining to watch her brooding.”
Darcy blinked and forced himself back into the moment. “If she continues as she just demonstrated, I believe it will be no trial to be around her.” Darcy shrugged, feigning nonchalance while battling the very great shock Miss Bingley’s behavior had caused.
Mrs. Hurst’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Caroline can be…intense,” she said, weighing each word with care. “But she is not without sense. She may have finally realized the futility of continuing as she has.”
Hurst snorted softly. “Or she may have realized the danger of offending a man who no longer has patience for flattery.”
