Page 8 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 8

B ingley rarely felt irritation, but Darcy was testing his patience. Had he not acted on Darcy’s every suggestion over the past weeks? He had taken a dusty, neglected estate and transformed it into a sparkling jewel worthy of his neighbors’ glowing praise.

Well, the servants had done that, but had Bingley himself not overseen every detail? Had he not been the one to order the work done, send to London for supplies, and ensure the laborers were paid… once they had done the work properly, an oversight on his part and an inconvenient lesson the sealed windows in the upper floors had taught him. It was not a mistake he would soon make again.

All this, and did Darcy impart even one “well done” or “hear hear”? No. He hovered over Bingley’s shoulder, a scowling chaperone, keeping Bingley from doing the one thing he most wanted to do: dance again with Jane Bennet.

She was an angel. Bingley’s heart fluttered every time her blue eyes met his and her rosebud lips smiled at him. She smiled at everything he said. She made him feel like the most intelligent man in the room. A king’s ransom for another dance! How else was he supposed to discern the depth of her feeling?

What would Darcy do in this situation? Bingley considered.

Darcy would never be in this situation to begin with. He was quick to decide; quick to act. And so must Bingley be. He drew himself to his full height, lifting his chin and widening his stance. Had he not been acting decisively for weeks? Now was not the time to back down. He must act confidently. He wanted to dance with Jane, to prove to Darcy that she was not indifferent, and nothing would change Bingley’s mind about it. How was that for decisive?

But how? Bingley had given Darcy several hints to favor his guests with his company, and yet, when they were not dancing, his friend stood at his side, limiting his conversation. He dared not approach the Bennets, though that was precisely what he must do if he were to settle his heart on Miss Bennet.

If only he were as clever as Miss Elizabeth. She would find a way to lure Darcy away. Few could match his friend’s quick wit, but she had managed splendidly during her short stay at Netherfield. Where others reacted with awe, she poked fun. Where others adjusted their views to suit Darcy’s, she boldly defended hers. She debated with Darcy fearlessly, though in all honesty, Bingley could not tell for certain if she took any particular enjoyment from their debates. Bingley suspected that Darcy did, though he could not countenance why.

That was how it struck him. Who better to distract Darcy than Miss Elizabeth?

Bingley saw her standing under the archway and, heart hammering in his chest, he pointed her out to Darcy. With hardly any coercion at all, his friend set off across the room, and a delighted Bingley floated on the wings of his success to Miss Bennet… just in time to see her take the arm of another gentleman to join the cotillion.

Drat! He had been so close! So close and a moment too late. Now he would have to wait until the end of the set. Darcy would resume his post by then and unless Bingley could think of a way to distract him again, he despaired of exchanging more than a word with Miss Bennet for the rest of the evening. He needed a plan.

Contrary to his custom, Bingley backed up against the wall to ponder. He must have managed several minutes, but he grew quite restless. How did Darcy do it? Bingley could not stand still for so long, and he felt guilty contemplating in silence when he had guests to entertain.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bingley saw Caroline grin at Louisa while she clutched a key behind her fan. Both of them stood on their toes, necks stretched, feathers waving over the heads of their guests, searching for something, or more likely, someone. It could not be Darcy. He was too easy to spot in a crowd.

Too cross to ask another lady to dance and too defeated to immediately formulate another plan, Bingley joined his sisters. “What have you there?” He nodded at the key.

Caroline clutched the key tighter, hiding it in the folds of her skirt. “Nothing of any note.”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

No reply.

“Where is the key to?” Bingley pressed.

Louisa snapped, “Really, Charles, have you nothing better to do than ask stupid questions?” She did not stick her tongue out, but it was implied. Marriage had not softened Louisa. If anything, her tongue had become sharper. No wonder Hurst pretended to sleep all the time.

“You have not seen Miss Eliza recently, have you?” Caro’s tone was sweet in contrast. She batted her eyelashes, a gesture wasted on him.

“Do you have something in your eye, Caro?”

“Of course not, I was merely inquiring after Miss Eliza.” Her smile tightened, much like her voice.

Bingley’s suspicions grew. While his sisters fawned over Miss Bennet, he had not noticed any particular regard toward Miss Elizabeth from them. “Why?” he asked.

“‘Tis no matter.” Caroline fluttered her fan, the key gone.

“No reason at all,” Louisa added.

His unease grew the more they hemmed and hawed. Bingley watched the dancers weaving and spinning. He saw Miss Bennet’s white dress and pink ribbons in a cluster, but he did not see Miss Elizabeth… nor could he remember what color ribbon she wore that evening. Blue? Yellow? Green?

Come to think of it, he did not see Darcy either. Maybe she had refused to dance with him. Again. Bingley knew it was wicked of him, but the thought brought him cheer.

He could not care less about the key, but his humor had taken a devilish turn, so he asked again, “What is the key for?”

Caroline batted her eyelashes quicker, a sure sign she was up to something she did not want to admit to. “Oh, nothing.”

Knowing better than to accept her vague reply, Bingley pressed, “It is not nothing when I very clearly saw something.”

She huffed. “Only the key to your study.”

“My study?” It was not a room he used often yet, though he had great plans for it. He had ordered several volumes to be sent from Hatchards as well as a newly commissioned leather chair to complement the large mahogany desk. But that was neither here nor there. Caroline had not answered his question. He repeated, “What are you doing with the housekeeper’s key?”

Caroline scrunched her nose. “Mr. Collins already trapped me once in conversation and would have done so again had I not encouraged him to look over your books for recommendations.”

“So you sent him to my study? Why not the library?”

“You keep books in your study too.” She pouted and fiddled with her fan. What was she not telling him? A key she should not have, a room he rarely used, a gentleman she wished to avoid…

Bingley narrowed his eyes at her. “You did not lock Mr. Collins inside, did you?”

She gasped. “Of course not! I only unlocked the door so that he might enter.”

Louisa tittered behind her hand. “You can count on Mr. Collins to extol the virtues expounded upon in Fordyce’s Sermons. You will be presumed upon to secure a copy, Charles.”

Caroline chuckled. “What would Mr. Darcy say?”

Darcy would not allow his sister to play manipulative games on his guests. Neither would Bingley.

He held out his hand expectantly. “I shall see that the key gets returned to Mrs. Nichols. After I see to Mr. Collins.” He still did not trust that Caroline had not locked the clergyman inside the room. With the window painted shut and no connecting door, the poor man would be trapped inside until Mrs. Nichols unlocked the room the following morning.

“No harm has been done.” With a scowl, Caroline dropped the key in his palm. Tugging on Louisa’s arm, she said, “Come, let us find another amusement. Perhaps Miss Mary is tormenting our guests in the music room.”

“I do not know which is worse: the assault on my ears or staying here and risking another dance with a local,” Louisa said.

When had his sisters become so high and mighty?

Tucking the key inside his pocket, Bingley noticed Darcy returning his way. Alone. Oh, drat! No Miss Elizabeth. No freedom for Bingley to talk to Miss Bennet or secure her next dance.

Not having experienced irritation to this degree before, Bingley hardly knew what to do with it, but he would burst if he did not do something! If only he could dispatch his friend as easily as Caroline had rid herself of Mr. Collins.

Bingley stilled. A crazy idea had popped into his mind—a harmless plan which would give him just enough time to secure Jane’s next dance if he acted quickly. He nodded at Darcy. “You decided not to dance?”

Darcy grunted in reply. He had done his best to give an impression of an aloof, taciturn, proud man since that first night at the Meryton assembly. This disagreeable behavior began to grate Bingley’s nerves, especially when he knew his friend to be more gentlemanly than that. It would serve him right to be set down a peg or two. “Caroline told me something interesting about my study…” Bingley began only to stop himself. If he told Darcy that Mr. Collins was in his study, he would never get Darcy to go to that room. He grabbed another name, the first one that crossed his mind. “… and Mr. Wickham.”

The effect was instantaneous. Darcy’s shoulders stiffened and his demeanor hardened. “Wickham would not dare to show his face here.”

Bingley hated to distress his friend. What a poor choice he had made. Attempting to soothe the feathers he had ruffled, he said, “I cannot help but think that some great misunderstanding is at the root of your breach. If only you would speak openly with each other, perhaps you could clear up the matter and resume your friendship.”

Bingley did not know what had transpired, but he hated all forms of conflict. It pained him to know the two childhood friends had cast aside their good opinions of each other to become enemies.

Darcy’s eyes hardened. “Is he here? In your study?”

Bingley felt his eyes widen and his head shake, but he stopped himself before his tongue revealed the truth. This was the opportunity he had been looking for, and he had come so near to wasting it. The dance must be close to ending.

He did not need to lie outright to get Darcy to go to his study. A vague reply would suffice. No harm would come of it. Really, it was an innocent plan. While he did not hope that Darcy would tarry long in Mr. Collins’ company, it might just give Bingley enough time to secure Jane’s next dance.

His decision made, Bingley shrugged his shoulders and allowed Darcy to believe what he would.

Darcy’s reaction was as perfect as Bingley had prayed it might be. Speaking through gritted teeth, he said, “I shall rid us of him.” Without another word, he left.

Bingley gasped at his easy success. Just as quickly, he groaned in guilt. Lies of omission were still lies. He had manipulated his closest friend—something Bingley never did!—and the wretchedness consuming him did not allow him to celebrate his success. He had to tell him the truth.

He chased after Darcy, gaining the bottom of the stairwell just as his friend disappeared down the hall at the top of the landing. Foot on the first step, ready to run to gain Darcy, Bingley heard his name being called.

Stopping with a groan, he looked over to see Mrs. Nichols twisting her hands in her apron. “Mr. Bingley! I do not suppose you have seen Miss Bingley?”

The key! Bingley pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to his housekeeper.

“What a relief! One must never leave the private rooms open during a ball, and I regret to inform you that one of the maids admitted to leaving Miss Bingley’s bedchamber door unlocked. Now I may secure your study and her room.”

Bingley looked at the top of the landing. Darcy was gone. He was likely inside the study by now.

Then Bingley imagined a bevy of gentlemen standing at the edge of the dance floor waiting to snatch Miss Bennet away from him. He could not blame them. She was the handsomest lady present. But he would have his dance!

Eager to place himself at the greatest advantage, he returned to the ballroom, his mind and heart too full of Jane Bennet to yield space to the consequences of what he had just done.