“I am glad then that I have no recollection of it. I wished to thank you, Roger, for bringing help when you did and moreover, for your companionship.”
“We had a rare old time, did we not, sir?”
“The rarest. And my cousin? How do you find his arm these days?”
“As you see, he has the use of it restored somewhat, but now that I am recovering, I mean to coax him to raise it above his head.”
“I do not envy you.”
The sergeant’s moustache twitched, and he said, “I have his measure, Mr Darcy, being perhaps just as much of a stubborn old crotchet as the colonel.”
“What vile lies are being said of me?” Fitzwilliam said from the door to the library. “My shoulder aches these days whenever I am maligned, you know.”
“Does it also tell you when it might rain or when some foul deed is afoot in the palace?” I asked, winking conspiratorially at his batman.
Donaldson chuckled as he excused himself and my cousin took a seat beside me. We had not commiserated for more than a few moments at a stretch since my return home, and in fact, we did not do so then. Instead, we fell into silence as he took up a book, and I stared out the window.
“My leave ends soon,” he eventually said.
“I was afraid you were coming to tell me so. I shall miss you, you know.”
“I do. And I am serious about finding the time to travel to Hertfordshire with Georgiana. We should plan to meet in Meryton in October.”
“And where do you suggest we stay—at the tavern?”
“I see you have not read your mail.”
“Only those few letters that pertain to the estate.”
“Bingley has invited us to hunt this year. I could not go last year, you recall.”
“He is to open Netherfield Park?”
“Hmm. He is bringing with him his affianced and her family and wishes to have a grand house party.”
I sat dumbstruck for two beats of a measure. Then three, four, and five beats.
“Who is he to marry?” I finally croaked.
“I do not recall precisely. Miss St-John or Jordan or some such.”
“Johnson.”
“Yes. I believe that was it. What is the matter?”
I could only shake my head in disbelief, but upon his insistence, I relented, relating in as few words as possible the history which had rendered me so speechless.
“Our friend Bingley may have raised the elder Miss Bennet’s hopes last year, and now he is to come back and rub salt in that wound.”
It was my cousin’s turn to stare at me dumbstruck.
“Miss Bingley must not be best pleased,” I continued distractedly, for I was still quite shocked. “She had hopes her brother would marry Georgiana?—”
“He would what?”
“…and she heartily despised the Johnsons who have their fortune from his East India business.”
“I-I do not rightly know what to say,” Fitzwilliam eventually spluttered. “How could he be so stupid as to raise Miss Bennet’s hopes?”
