Darcy understood her meaning perfectly.
He gave it no further thought.
Darcy dressed with his usual precision, his movements unhurried, his thoughts inclined more toward endurance than anticipation.
When he entered the parlor, Bingley was pacing.
“We are late,” he said with irritation, consulting the mantel clock in visible frustration.
“We are not ready to depart?” Darcy replied.
Bingley nodded. “Exactly. Which is the difficulty.”
Mrs. Hurst sat nearby, her posture composed, her expression suggesting that time was of little consequence. “Caroline is still dressing,” she said.
Darcy took a seat.
Time passed.
Bingley checked his watch, then the mantel clock once again. “We ought to have left half an hour ago.”
Darcy offered no reply.
Another ten minutes elapsed.
Bingley stopped before the door, his patience finally exhausted. “We are leaving.”
Darcy rose.
Mr. and Mrs. Hurst followed.
They stepped outside, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the house. The carriage stood ready, the horses shifting with impatience.
Bingley gave the order.
The carriage began to move.
The door of the house flew open.
“Wait!”
Miss Bingley descended in haste, her usual composure only slightly compromised by urgency. “Surely you would not depart without me,” she said as she entered the carriage.
Bingley made little effort to conceal his frustration.
Mrs. Hurst adjusted her shawl and leaned toward her brother. “Next time, you must provide Caroline with an earlier hour than the one you intend to keep.”
“I shall remember it,” he said.
Darcy took his place by the window.
The carriage set off once more.
Miss Bingley spoke.
Her subject varied—roads, company, expectations—but the tone remained unchanged. Country assemblies were inferior. Country manners insufficient. Country society unworthy of serious attention.
Darcy listened without attending.
