Page 48 of The Work of a Moment

The hall was loud. Underneath the expected noise and conversations of the crowd, Caroline could hear an unsettling hum of whispers and titters. Perhaps the ladies are overwhelmed by the exhibits. Determined that she would have no fear of the salacious and menacing displays, Caroline craned her neck to look about. Mr Darcy would be easy to find. She was certain that a man of such deep intellect would not miss the first opportunity to see Captain Cook’s curiosities.

Darcy stared at the collection of carved wooden masks, fascinated by the fearsome expression created by intricate scrollwork. He knew Elizabeth would find the artefacts and art as interesting as he did. Would she note the resemblance of that especially angry long-nosed warrior to Lady Catherine? His smile was short-lived as he recalled the scathing letter he had received from his aunt, impugning Elizabeth’s reputation and demanding he return to Rosings to repair his relationship with Anne or be struck from her consideration. He would tell Elizabeth before they went to Hertfordshire, and he would ensure she knew of his three-word reply: So be it.

Across the room, he spied Miss Bingley standing near—but not within—a group of society’s most popular young ladies and their mothers, the ton’s grande dames. For a moment, he almost pitied her, for she was as Elizabeth had said—a young lady without a mother to guide and advise her and with the taint of trade surrounding her as she had tried to navigate society on her brother’s arm these past few years. But Caroline Bingley was far more than that. Despite her wealth and education, she was grasping, cruel, and mean-tongued. There were ladies of gentle birth and greater wealth who behaved little differently, but they expressed their invective charmingly, at ease within their sphere.

Elizabeth is superior to them all.

They had been apart since they had arrived with Mr and Mrs Gardiner ten minutes earlier. Elizabeth had been quickly diverted by one of her uncle’s associates. After introductions had been made, Darcy had been pulled into conversation with an old friend of his father’s, who tut-tutted on whether he had yet called out “your bouncy young friend for trying to woo little Miss Darcy, who must still be in leading strings.”

Amused though he was by the elderly man’s confusion, hearing Miss Bingley’s outrageous calumny once again circulated deepened his determination to deliver the lady her just deserts. Bingley was gone from town, and Darcy could only wonder how treacherous his sister might be, now that she had been cut loose. He turned and surveyed the gallery, impatient, for once, to be noticed. It took only a moment.

Miss Bingley’s sharp cry alerted him, and likely everyone in the room, that she had seen him. The other ladies—Miss Wabshaw, Miss Finnis, Miss Alberton, and their mothers—looked on with interest as Miss Bingley sauntered towards him. A year ago, he might have danced with one or two of the young ladies at a ball while ensuring he gave no hint of further interest. He did not disdain any of them. They were as they were—the type of lady he had been expected to marry but who would instead find husbands within society and host parties he and Elizabeth would likely attend. He nodded at them and turned to Miss Bingley. She stared at him, eager and expectant and giving the impression of confidence. It was grimly amusing to realise how truly foolish she was.

“Mr Darcy, I am so pleased to see you. It has been an age since we have been together, and your company has been sorely missed.”

He nodded and gestured that she should join him in a well-lit spot with fewer ears to overhear their conversation. Clearly pleased by his attention, if misunderstanding his intent, the preening lady moved quickly to his side.

“How much I enjoyed spending time with Miss Darcy while you were in Kent,” she said, her tone intimate and coquettish. “I regret, as I am certain you do, that she has left town as soon as you arrived. How dizzying you are, sir, with your comings and goings.”

“Family is like that, Miss Bingley. They require our company and demand we visit. You, too, are close with your family in, is it Scarborough and Leeds?”

“Scarborough and Sheffield.” She sniffed, her lips pinched, her disgust apparent.

“And your brother is gone from town? You did not join him?”

“The Season continues. As you see, I have remained here to be with my friends,” she confided, gesturing at some ladies who were staring at them. “Come autumn, I am to be an aunt, and Charles will have fallen in love again, likely three times over.”

“I must say, Miss Bingley, that I hope you will not write letters to any of those ladies as you did to Miss Bennet, attempting to prevent your brother’s happiness by supposing his interest in, and future engagement to, my sister.”

She gasped audibly in a most unladylike manner and, although her lips moved, seemed unable to form words. Rather fish-like.

“Those letters, had they been read by others, could have forced my sister into a betrothal to your brother, a man whose company Georgiana has only enjoyed as the friend of her elder brother and guardian. She is two or three years from her first Season, yet you would tie her name to your brother’s to ensure a connexion to the Darcy name.”

“I did nothing of the kind,” she sputtered, her face drained of colour.

“No? Shall I have them read to you aloud by Miss Bennet? It was your hand, your venom.”

“I would never do anything to endanger Miss Darcy. Much as we—all of us—adore her, I-I did not mean to infer an alliance was wished by you or Miss Darcy.”

“Imply. You did not mean to imply.”

“No!”

The woman was too far gone in her mortification and lies to grasp that he was correcting her vocabulary, and with his impatience growing, Darcy hurried things along.

“And yet, hints and implications were made, in your hand, which any decent member of society would see as neither kindness nor friendship to my sister, whose reputation might have been ruined but for Lady Matlock’s actions”—here, Miss Bingley seemed to stagger a bit—“or to Miss Bennet, whose heart had been touched by your brother. She suffered when Netherfield was abandoned, and she suffered when she read letters clearly meant to cause her pain. Your brother was seen in Meryton as a rake who trifled with the emotions of the much-loved and respected eldest daughter of a leading family. Just the sort of man whose reputation alone could ruin my sister, and you brought her repeatedly into his company!”

“No! Miss Darcy enjoyed our calls, which were always very proper! You know Charles is anything but a rake. He is your friend!” Miss Bingley lowered her voice. “Miss Bennet is a foolish rustic. Charles had no intention of returning to Netherfield, and he is, as you know, rather capricious in his decisions. He did not reciprocate Miss Bennet’s interest, or shall I say, her mother’s interest in his fortune. He, we all, were spending time in town together, dear Georgiana as well. If Miss Bennet misunderstood what was meant in my letters, it is the fault of her parents. Those girls had no governess, no education. Nevertheless, I did well by Miss Bennet. I wrote to her of our departure from Netherfield and replied to her letter.”

“How very generous you were in your beneficence,” he said drily.

“You see how they are! While Miss Bennet has proved vexing with her loose tongue and misunderstanding of my gently placed hints about Charles’s lack of affection, you were followed to Kent by her impertinent sister in a desperate ploy to entrap you.”

She paused, presenting an affected sigh as part of her performance. Darcy quickly put an end to her unwanted presumption of intimacy.

“The desperation was all mine.”

CHAPTER 35