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Darcy took a long draught of his port. “So what have you been about today? I have not seen you since breakfast.”
The visit to the Gardiners’, Caroline’s lies, Jane’s distress, his suspicions about his friend. What should Bingley share with Darcy? The longer Bingley thought about it, the warmer and more agitated he became. It was as if tiny bolts of lightning danced throughout his body, ready to start a fire.
Whatever Darcy saw on his friend’s face, it caused the affable smile to disappear. “Is something amiss?”
Bingley impatiently pushed away the unruly blond hair hanging over his forehead. “Yes, there is.” He was at a loss as to how to raise the subject. “I encountered Jane Bennet yesterday…quite by accident.”
Darcy froze, his eyes fixed on the fire—a reaction that lent credence to Bingley’s suspicions. “She has been in London these two months,” Bingley said, managing to keep most of the agitation from his voice. “Did you know?”
Darcy said nothing, but a flush spread over his face.
“My sisters knew,” Bingley continued, bitterness leaking into his voice, “and they concealed it from me.”
Darcy still did not respond, staring into the fire as if it held all the answers to life. Bingley resisted the urge to fill the silence. Darcy deserved any discomfort he was experiencing.
The master of Pemberley set his glass down carefully on the table at his elbow and fixed his eyes on the carpet. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I knew she was in town.”
The lightning ignited; Bingley’s body was on fire. He shot to his feet. “A-And y-you concealed it from me?” Thick emotion made him stumble over his words.
Darcy gave a minute shrug. “You never inquired of me.”
“Poppycock!” Propelled by an urgent restlessness, his feet paced the length of the room with determined strides. “That is quibbling. You were well aware of my interest in Miss Bennet! There is no possible explanation except a deliberate attempt to conceal her presence from me.”
Darcy met Bingley’s gaze. “Yes, I will not deny it. Your sisters and I believed it best if you remained ignorant of her presence.”
Fired by his inner lightning, Bingley whirled to face his friend. “Am I a child for you to decide such things? Can I not determine my own mind?”
Darcy drew back in his chair, as if Bingley’s vehement words constituted a physical attack. “I thought it best to spare you further heartache…”
“Heartache?” Bingley heard his voice rise, but—for once in his life—he had no desire to modulate it. Let Darcy understand how he felt. “My pain arose from the belief that Miss Bennet was indifferent to me, but her arrival in London suggests otherwise.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “She could be visiting London for any number of reasons.”
Bingley’s hand shook as he pointed at his friend. “She called upon Caroline immediately upon her arrival, and Caroline said nothing!”
Darcy did not respond.
“If she had little feeling for me, she would not have been eager to reestablish ties to our family.”
His friend sighed. “Of course, she wished to renew the acquaintance. Her mother desires to secure your five thousand pounds!”
“Jane is not like that!”
“How would you know?”
Bingley gasped, freezing in his tracks and staring at his friend. The lightning pulsed so powerfully through his body that he almost expected to see sparks shooting from his fingers.
His friend was holding himself very still, watching Bingley with wide eyes as if he realized he had said too much.
“Do you think me such a simpleton that I can discern nothing of the woman’s true feelings?” Bingley asked, his voice now a harsh whisper. “If that is what you believe, why do you tolerate my friendship?”
Darcy waved a dismissive hand, but his brow furrowed with anxiety. “Naturally I do not believe that. I spoke in haste. My apologies.”
The blaze inside Bingley had not even begun to subside. “If such is your opinion of me, Darcy, I begin to wonder if we can be friends.” A voice in the back of his head was horrified at these words, but the fire raged on unchecked.
Darcy leaned forward, both of his hands clenched on his thighs. “Do not let us quarrel, Bingley. Our friendship should not founder over such a petty concern—”
“A petty concern? You call my future happiness a petty concern?”
