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Having anticipated spending his morning in a joyful reunion over tea with Miss Bennet, Bingley found himself instead having to return to Hurst’s townhouse for his carpetbag. Arriving as he would at Longbourn in the afternoon, he had no doubt that Mrs Bennet would ask him to dinner. Further musings led him to realise that, without the benefit of his residence at Netherfield, he would have to put up at the Red Lion and would be well advised to take his valet, which meant packing a trunk and hiring a post-chaise. Should he repair first to the Red Lion to tidy up? Privately, he hoped that Caroline would either still be in her bed after yesterday’s episode or have taken herself off visiting or shopping. Nonetheless, he decided to enter as quietly as he could to avoid another nerve-racking encounter.

“Ah! Tolmy!” he hissed when Hurst’s butler opened the door. “Could you tell Crimplesham I need him to pack for an overnight trip to the country?”

“Is that you, Charles?” came Caroline’s shrill voice from the saloon.

Bingley let out an infinitesimal sigh. Steeling himself for yet another onslaught, he took a step towards the saloon where a smiling Caroline met him.

“Charles? What can have possessed you to get up so early? Why I had hoped to introduce you to our visitors and could not believe my ears when Crimplesham told me you had already gone out!”

Caroline eyed her brother’s immaculate outfit with suspicion. From his expression she gathered he had not yet had a chance to pop the question to Jane Bennet. There was no look of giddy triumph there. She reminded herself that his sartorial elegance could not have been better timed. “Come! We are just having tea!”

Charles dutifully followed his sister into the saloon where he found Louisa pouring tea for two ladies sporting fashions of the first stare. Their expensive silk gowns matched the luxury of those worn by the Bingley sisters without any of the garishness of the flamboyant colours and accessories the Bingleys favoured.

“Lady Sophia Amberley and Miss Westruther, this is my brother, Charles Hector Bingley!” cooed Caroline.

When Lady Sophia favoured Charles with an encouraging smile, he returned it with a brilliant one of his own.

“I was just telling Lady Sophia how shocked we were to hear of Darcy’s clandestine marriage, Charles.”

“Caroline, I’m not sure that news was meant for public consumption. Darcy has not yet announced it in the papers for some reason, I forget why. But it was not clandestine, merely a private ceremony, because of his illness.”

“Nonsense, Charles; you should hear yourself speak. How can something be secret and not clandestine? It does not make sense.”

“No! I remember now!” protested Charles. “They were delaying the announcement till after Miss Mary Bennet’s wedding. It should be in the papers any day now.”

“To have thrown himself away on a country nobody!” continued Caroline. “It is too bad! Dear Charles has been to visit poor Darcy several times. They are such good friends! To be struck down by such an illness in his prime!”

“I believe he has made some progress,” said Lady Sophia. “I saw him in his wheeled chair at his cousin’s wedding. I thought he looked well enough, even rather dashing in his pink glasses. I hear he has taken on a secretary to help with his business dealings. He appears to be coping quite well.”

“Well, I only hope that Eliza Bennet is a good nurse! Indeed, I know she is a tolerable one for she came to nurse her ill sister at Netherfield. They are certainly an interesting family! I invited the elder sister, who seemed quite genteel at first, to dinner at Netherfield one day, only to have her arrive on horseback in the middle of a downpour. Apparently, they could not spare a second horse from the farm to send a carriage! That gives you some idea of their station in life! But imagine my shock when the second eldest arrived on foot, having walked three miles over dirty ground. Her petticoats were six inches deep in mud!”

“Was Miss Eliza the one who found Darcy when he came off his horse?” asked Lady Sophia, doing her best to turn the subject.

“Yes!” interjected Bingley. “It’s a jolly good thing that Elizabeth does like walking, Caroline, otherwise we might not have missed Darcy until lunch.”

“I wish them well,” said Lady Sophia placidly. “I knew there could never be anything between us once I heard Darcy had lost his sight and the use of his legs. My father abhors disfigurement of any kind. I am very sorry for the duchess who has done so much to forward the match. Perhaps we would not have suited very well. Although he is an amiable man, he is rather bookish, whereas my family has always been more engaged with sport.”

“Charles is an excellent sportsman!” chorused Louisa and Caroline together, causing Miss Westruther to suppress a smile.

Charles was inclined to protest but his sisters would not hear of it. His every sporting achievement at Oxford and Eton was discussed at length.

Eventually Miss Westruther consulted her jewelled lapel watch. “I fear we must depart; the duchess is expecting us.”

“Of course!” said Caroline, calling for their carriage to be brought round and offering their guests the last of the rolled wafers, which Miss Westruther seemed to be rather partial to. “I do hope you will be able to make it tonight. It’s just a small gathering of friends, but I can assure you that Hurst’s French chef is second to none. We recently acquired him from the Duke of Salford, having become quite enchanted by Continental food during our recent tour there.”

“Ah, yes!” replied Lady Sophia. “The duke has shut up his London townhouse after the birth of his son. His wife is an intrepid sportswoman and prefers the country. Be assured, I will come tonight. Although Miss Westruther is otherwise engaged, Mama has agreed to accompany me.”

Thus did Bingley not make it to Hertfordshire that day or any day after. He married Lady Sophia in the summer.

Chapter 53: Conversation

Over the next few days something approaching the routine the Darcy household would soon adopt during their residence in London was arrived at.

Having become familiar with the bulk of Darcy’s business dealings and beginning to know his employer’s mind, Mr Trevor met with his master only once or twice a week. Sometimes he went off to The City in a hackney or walked to the building site in Hanover Square, but mostly Mr Trevor could be found in his cosy but well-appointed office under the stairs, busily employed in managing his master’s investments. This turned out to be a satisfying occupation. No more did Mr Trevor have to grit his teeth in frustration as his employer undid half his good work because of the advice of some ill-informed friend or some out-dated tradition, as had frequently occurred with the earl. Darcy generally listened to Mr Trevor’s advice or had sound reasons for occasionally overturning it. He also had a much better grasp of good business principles than the earl. Best of all, he had plenty of money, so no investment was ever abandoned for lack of wherewithal. Occasionally Mr Trevor felt a pang when he heard that an excellent speech had been read in parliament, but in general his employment with Mr Darcy gave him sufficient scope for his talents to make him feel content with his lot.

Lizzy, who had initially worried that Mr Trevor would supplant her in assisting her husband in his more intellectual endeavours, began to spend mornings in Darcy’s study when he was not employed in business. She had reawakened her husband’s passion for mathematics. Rather than it being an ephemeral interest that had been briefly reanimated during his tour of the Continent and then lost with his sight, Darcy took to mathematics again in earnest. Some mornings he sat down immediately to the wax tablets on his desk to work on something that had drifted into his head upon waking. Lizzy would curl up in an armchair with a book or work at a small desk she had installed in a corner, sometimes at the household accounts, but also in transcribing Darcy’s wax tablets from the previous day. In time she became so adept in mathematical transcription that she translated ten books from the French under the pseudonym of Edgar Bennet during their sojourns in London.

If Darcy was uninspired, Lizzy read to him from a mathematical text, some of them brought to him by Calhoun who began to visit more regularly, whenever he was up from Cambridge. Calhoun would read Darcy’s work, nodding frequently and making offhand comments while Lizzy served them tea. Occasionally Calhoun would disagree with something and more often than not this would result in terrible arguments where he and Darcy shouted, calling each other idiots, but which always resulted in progress being made on some difficult topic. Lizzy could not stand being in the room when this occurred and would creep off to talk to Georgie, walk to Hatchard’s, or read a novel. Lizzy thought it rather amusing that Darcy only ever lost his temper about mathematics. She supposed it resulted from his grappling with a difficult problem.