“But why?”
“I know not. Is it possible she learnt of Mr. Darcy’s presence here?”
“I can think of no other reason for her visit,” poor Mr. Bingley grumbled. “What will I tell him?”
“To lock his bedroom door,” Mrs. Bingley suggested.
***
Mr. Darcy returned to Netherfield from an afternoon visit with Miss Bennet. He thought his unofficial courtship was going well. He wished she would allow him to ask her father for anofficialcourtship, but she still insisted, after a week of daily visits, that she did not know him well enough. Though she did allow him to take her hands in his when they walked in the garden! He knew her well enough to know that permitting such a liberty was a certain sign of affection.
Elizabeth – he could no longer think of her as Miss Bennet – liked him, he knew it. She might even love him, as he loved her. And in truth, her hesitation to allow him to declare himself to her father made him love her all the more, for what other young lady in all of England would have not leapt at the chance to become Mrs. Darcy?
He hummed a cheerful tune as he tossed his reins to a stable boy and all but ran up the steps to the front door. Mr. Hughes opened the door for him, but his countenance was unusually dour. Mr. Darcy paused. “What is it, Hughes?”
“There is a visitor, Mr. Darcy.” The butler’s tone was downright sepulchral.
A visitor! Who could it be, to have Mr. Hughes so obviously out of sorts? Surely his Aunt Catherine would not have – “It is Miss Bingley,” the butler said.
Mr. Darcy stopped. He turned to go back to Longbourn; surely he would be offered a dinner invitation from Longbourn’s obliging mistress.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.” Mis Bingley’s voice, pitched to a soprano coyness he had always found maddening, accosted him. It was almost as bad as Cousin Anne’s perpetual whine.
Unable now to make good his escape, Mr. Darcy turned and replied, “Good afternoon, Miss Bingley. I confess that I am surprised to see you here.”
“But I hope the surprise is not an unpleasant one,” she said, all but begging for the compliment.
He left it hanging in the air between them, heavy with unmet expectation.
“There you are, Caroline.” Bingley walked into the entryway; he sounded exasperated. “Jane told me you had arrived.”
She scowled at her brother. “No one seems glad to see me,” she said. “But I missed you, Charles, and thought to surprise you.”
“You have succeeded; I am indeed surprised.”
Mr. Darcy was amazed that the woman could not hear the grim tone in her brother’s voice; or perhaps she simply chose to ignore that which she did not like.
“I thought perhaps your new bride might wish for some assistance in learning her new responsibilities,” Miss Bingley said.
“We have done without your assistance these past many months, Caroline, and she is far more familiar with the responsibilities attendant to being mistress of the estate than you. So if that is truly why you are here, you might wish to return to your friends in London at once.” Bingley’s tone was flat.
“Well, as long as I am here…” she drawled.
“I do not think you will enjoy yourself here, Caroline. We live rather simply, you know. No theater, no opera, no entertainments to speak of. And the shopping opportunities in the village are not extensive.”
She lifted her eyes to Mr. Darcy’s and stared him full in the face as she responded, “Oh, I think I shall find entertainment a-plenty.”
At that, Mr. Darcy said, quickly, “I believe I shall rest before dinner,” and ran – yes, actuallyran– up the stairs.
But he was still able to hear Bingley tell his sister, “Behave yourself, Caroline, or I shall bring you back to London myself.”
***
After dinner that night, the Bingleys met with the Hursts in the parlour shared by the master and mistress of Netherfield. It was a private place, as even Caroline would not intrude on a married couple’s private space.
Mr. Bingley was direct. “Louisa, did you tell Caroline that Darcy was here?”
“I did not.”
