Page 19 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)
CHAPTER 19
D arcy paced. He and Bingley were to depart for London to meet with Darcy’s secretary that day. A draft of the marriage contract had already been drawn to Darcy’s specifications. Though Darcy trusted his attorney to adhere faithfully to the sums and terms detailed to him, the contract presented an opportunity to roust Bingley from Netherfield.
One hour remained before the time agreed upon to leave, and Darcy had nothing to do but wait.
He settled into the library with two books which had arrived in the morning post. One look was enough for Darcy to recognize his sister’s selections. He probably would hear about her missing books in her next letter; she could not have meant for them to be sent to him in Hertfordshire when she ought to have received them at Matlock House. Had she and Richard departed for Pemberley yet? Surely, they would not delay over the trifling matter of two misplaced novels.
Darcy held one up. Self Control by Mary Brunton. Darcy flipped open the cover, seeing that the tome he held was a second reprint. He was not surprised. Before leaving London, he had heard talk of this tale: a devout heroine who escapes from the clutches of a morally inept rake bent on spoiling her innocence and virtue. Why Georgiana would choose to read a tale uncomfortably similar to her own was beyond Darcy’s comprehension. He only hoped the vile devil had a satisfying end while the heroine went on to live a happy and fulfilling life.
The other novel was written by A Lady. It was not as wildly popular as the other, but the description the bookseller included promised a story of two sisters who overcome opposition from greedy relations and nefarious rakes to marry for love. Such heroines were bound to be handsome and marry above their station and into a fortune. Darcy held out the hope that at least one of the Dashwood sisters might be clever.
The latter being more suited to his tastes, he turned open the first page, ready to switch books at the first hint of foolishness.
He took an instant dislike to Mr. John Dashwood and his greedy, odious wife. He sympathized with Miss Elinor Dashwood when she masked her depth of feeling for Mr. Edward Ferrars to her mother and sisters in a sensible attempt to protect her own grieving heart after the recent loss of her father. He rolled his eyes at Marianne’s youthful romantic notions and applauded her mother when she said, “Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.” And he cursed the injustice when the Dashwood women forever lost their home. He could not imagine having to leave Pemberley with no hope of ever returning.
The Dashwoods had just arrived at their new home at Barton Cottage where they were certain to meet a cast of new, intriguing characters when Miss Bingley entered the library. She sashayed over to her brother’s scantily stocked shelves, pretending to search for a book. In reality, she just trailed her fingers over the leather spines and watched Darcy like a hawk circling in the sky looking for an advantage.
Darcy raised the book in front of his face, resenting her interruption. A Lady was an accomplished writer and engaging storyteller.
“ Sense and Sensibility ,” Miss Bingley read aloud, now standing close enough to reach for the second book on the table. “ Self Control .” She swatted at his shoulder. “Fine traits, to be sure. Are you seeking to improve yourself through extensive reading, Mr. Darcy?”
He raised his eyebrows. Did she think they were books of sermons?
She continued, “I hardly think you need to improve in either sense or self-control, though I hope you recommend them to Charles. He has neither quality where Miss Bennet is concerned.” She sat in the chair beside him, leaning forward and glancing at the open door. “What are we to do?”
Darcy wished he knew. But he was not desperate enough to enlist Miss Bingley’s assistance when he had already succeeded in convincing Bingley to accompany him to London. “You forget I am to marry the second Miss Bennet.”
She huffed. “But you can escape to Pemberley. You shall only have to endure one yearly visit from her dreadful relatives, and your property is large enough to avoid their company.”
He rose to leave the room, undesirous of occupying the same space as a bitter lady with disappointed ambitions disparaging the family into which he would marry.
She did not take his hint. “If Charles marries Miss Bennet, I shall have to endure daily visits from her horrible family. Oh, if only we could stay in London for longer than a day! I know Charles. He would forget Miss Bennet within a fortnight.”
A fortnight. The banns would be read on Sunday, and the countdown to his wedding day would officially begin. He had fifteen days. Fifteen days to separate Bingley from the source of his current infatuation. Fifteen days to secure Georgiana’s future without threatening the potential in Darcy’s. It was a monumental task to undertake. Should he enlist help?
Before Darcy could contemplate the advantages of including Miss Bingley in his plan—the disadvantages being immediate and obvious—there was a muffled tap at the door. Bingley's butler stood in the open doorway. "Guests have arrived, Miss Bingley."
She sighed, her cheeks puffing out in exasperation. "I suppose we cannot avoid the locals entirely. How tiresome." She made no attempt to rise but instead took another bolstering breath.
The butler added, "I took the liberty of showing Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy into the parlor for tea. Mr. Bingley and the Hursts are already with them."
Miss Bingley jumped to her feet with an unbecoming squeal. “Why did you not say so immediately?!"
While she chastised the butler, Darcy stood in stunned, frozen silence, his plans for London vanishing. Why were they here? Had some disaster befallen Georgiana?
Awakening from his momentary reverie, he brushed past Miss Bingley, who would rather criticize her butler than welcome her unexpected visitors, no matter how delighted she claimed to be to receive them. Darcy only just kept himself from breaking into the parlor at a run.
Remembering himself, he composed his face into one he hoped conveyed happy surprise rather than the panicked concern rushing his steps.