“You do not understand, Darcy,” Mr. Bingley whispered. “I am not upset that I misread her intentions; I am upset – no, far more than upset, I am devastated! – that the woman I love does not return my affections. Oh, Darcy!” He turned to his friend, his face devastated. “I dream of her! My heart quickens when I am near her! My hands tingle when they touch hers! Tell me, how am I to live, knowing that she does not feel the same?”
Mr. Darcy bowed his head. He could no longer say that these were mere romantic fancies, now that he had experienced them for himself. The object of his own such fancies, Miss Elizabeth had vanished from sight; so it was plain enough that she did not return Mr. Darcy’s affections. Not that he had evermade those affections plain to her, as had Mr. Bingley to his Miss Bennet.
“I suppose we are both love-crossed,” he said to his friend.
Mr. Bingley stared at Mr. Darcy. “You as well? For – for Miss Bennet?” His tone was horrified.
“No, for her sister,” Mr. Darcy muttered. There! He had confessed it for the first time.
“Oh! I had no idea!”
“You were not meant to have any idea,” Mr. Darcy said, almost smiling.
“But does she know?”
“I hope not!” Mr. Darcy said, fervently.
“You hope not? I do not understand you.”
“I had no intention of ever confessing it to anyone.”
“Why? Do you think it shameful?”
“I think it weak,” Mr. Darcy said. He then realised his error. “Bingley, I apologise, I did not intend to infer that you were –“
“No, I am not offended, Darcy. I am sad for you.” Mr. Bingley spoke slowly and sincerely.
“Sad? For me?”
“Indeed. You think love is a weakness?” Mr. Bingley shook his head. “Oh, my friend, my dearest friend. How very wrong you are!”
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if Mr. Bingley might not be right. A knock on the study door, a maid offering tea, rescued the two gentlemen from a difficult conversation.
***
That evening, a special messenger came with a message for Mr. Darcy from Pemberley. Mr. Darcy, recognising his sister’s handwriting at once, ripped open the message.
Be not alarmed, dearest Brother, upon receiving this message. We are all well at Pemberley. But I cannot believe you did not tell me that Reggie had visited you in Hertfordshire and found a bride there!
In any case, I am invited to the wedding. The Matlocks have offered to send a carriage to collect me, but it seems everything absurd when there are five or more carriages sitting idle here at Pemberley. So I intend to come to you with Mrs. Annesley and a good number of footmen. All I need from you is a list of places where we should stop for luncheon and for the night. Please ask Mr. Bingley if I might stay there at Netherfield Park.
The messenger will wait for a reply.
With love and great anticipation!
Georgiana
Mr. Darcy, bowing to the inevitable, went at once to his desk and wrote out a list of inns that he considered safe for his sister, and detailed directions to Netherfield Park.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Jane realised that she had not yet visited Charlotte Lucas to congratulate her on her engagement. As heartsick as Jane was, the idea of visiting a deliriously happy friend was almost more than she could bear, but she knew her duty.
Trudging down the road to Lucas Lodge, she tried to paste a smile upon her face. It hurt; it actually hurt to smile! How she was going to get through this very necessary morning call was beyond her understanding, but she would do her best.
She was welcomed warmly, made to sit by the fire, and offered a cup of tea. She took the tea gratefully; it was strong, as was her preference, not the weak, watery stuff her family now called tea.
“I have come to offer you my most sincere congratulations, dearest Charlotte,” she said. She was aware that her tone was wooden; she tried to brighten it. “He is the luckiest man in all of England to have you as a wife!”
