Page 28

After Miss Jane, Mary, and Catherine Bennet had departed Netherfield for Longbourn in Mr. Bingley’s carriage, Darcy turned a sober eye on his younger friend.

Charles had fluttered about the ladies, desperate to be near Jane but simultaneously afraid to meet her eye for fear of seeing a decline in her regard.

When the coach disappeared down the drive, Bingley finally dared glance toward his friend and took note of the censure.

Sighing, he turned back into the house, heading for the library that, though not his natural habitat, was certain at least to have a well-stocked bar.

“Oh come on, Darce. Let me get a whisky and then you may lecture me to your heart’s content.

Though I can tell you right now that nothing you can say will be worse than what I’ve already said to myself. ”

Bingley’s back was turned and so he did not see the other gentleman’s expression soften ever so slightly.

Once in the library, Charles poured out significantly more than two fingers of whisky before Darcy even entered the room and then moved to stare out the window while his friend shut the door.

Jane’s fiancé took a sip and rested his forehead against the cool windowpane, self-disgust evident in his posture.

Although for years Caroline had waged a campaign to refine his palate, the taste of whiskey reminded Charles comfortingly of his late father.

A gruff, hard-working Yorkshireman, John Bingley had grown up close to the Scottish border and referred to his favored drink as the Romans had— aquavit .

Normally an even-tempered man, the only time his son could recall seeing him truly angry had been when discussing the effects of the English Malt Tax that had driven many Scottish distillers to go underground in order to avoid the excise men.

It had infuriated John Bingley that the government’s excessive taxation would force otherwise honest men to break the law in order to feed their families.

Charles considered what his father would think of him now. The landed gentry might speak disparagingly of the integrity of tradesmen but John Bingley had had a deep, abiding sense of right and wrong, particularly where it concerned how a man should treat a woman.

Charles sighed and murmured softly, “I only wanted to kiss her. I’ve dreamt about it for so long.” Suddenly he felt very, very young.

Darcy stood behind an armchair and gripped its back tightly to keep himself from throttling his friend.

“Bingley, you are not some adolescent schoolboy who’s never danced with a girl!

If her father had walked in, he would have been justified in calling you out on the spot.

I’ve half a mind to do so myself! What were you thinking? !?”

“I wasn’t thinking, obviously.” Charles turned just in time to see his friend’s face flush.

He held up a hand and lowered his eyes in supplication.

“Please, I’m not trying to make a joke out of it.

I deserve everything you have to say to me and more; if you wish to take a swing at me, I won’t stop you.

” His thoughts turned inward. “Jane wouldn’t even look at me. ”

The sight of his normally ebullient friend so completely drained of all good humor soothed a bit of Darcy’s outrage. “Miss Bennet is a well-bred gentlewoman, not some Society flirt. You must exercise some self-control, Bingley.”

Charles groaned and moved to slump down into the nearest chair, legs stretched out before him.

“I only wanted to kiss her… just once… is that too much to ask before the wedding? I’m not cold and serious like you, Darce; I have such passions boiling up inside me…

I can’t imagine wanting only to speak about books or philosophy or whatever you and Miss Elizabeth spend all your time debating. ”

Had Bingley been paying attention, he would have been struck by the rare sight of Fitzwilliam Darcy blushing, eyebrows so high as to nearly merge with his hairline. Charles did take note when his friend snorted in a most ungentlemanlike manner and dropped into the other armchair.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Darcy released such a deep belly laugh as his friend had rarely witnessed.

“You may believe that if it brings you pleasure, Bingley.” Darcy was not about to admit that he had kissed Elizabeth deeply and passionately the very instant she had accepted his proposal and had been doing so on a regular basis ever since.

Seeing the onset of an interrogation, the gentleman only held up his hand sternly.

“You may pose as many questions as you wish but I have no intention of answering any of them. What is between my fiancée and myself is private.” His eyes sharpened.

“As it should be between you and Miss Bennet. A public drawing room where anyone might walk in on you is not the place.”

Bingley, however, had the look of one experiencing an epiphany. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he eyed his friend with such an air of expectant curiosity that it made Fitzwilliam squirm. “Lizzy told us of the many walks you took together at Pemberley.”

Darcy squared his shoulders and attempted to resume his air of unquestionable authority.

“Of course. I wished her to know her future home.” Seeing Bingley’s raised eyebrow, he continued, attempt not to sound defensive.

“We were usually accompanied by my sister, or Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, or their children.”

The younger man grinned. “Usually?”

Darcy rose stiffly and moved to stand behind the chair again. “We occasionally toured the park alone, either on horseback or afoot.”

Seeing that his friend had a sly look in his eye, Fitzwilliam snapped before Bingley could say more; “However, never did anyone happen upon us with her bodice undone and my hand up her skirts! And not because I was better at hiding us but because I respect Elizabeth too much to go so far before we are married!!!”

Darcy’s voice gained strength as he spoke and Bingley’s attitude deflated back to self-disgust. Fitzwilliam sighed and twisted the signet ring on his finger. An angry lecture would not aid his friend.

“Bingley, believe me, I understand the… desire. I am engaged to a beautiful, passionate, teasing woman whom I’ve loved and, if you must know, desired, for many months.

The fifteenth of September seems eons away.

However, I’ve seen the reputations of too many ladies permanently tarnished when a babe was born too soon after the wedding and though they may be safely married by then, the gossips never forget.

“Charles, you know as well as I how unkind Society can be; there are those who will twist any fault or impropriety, however minor, to condemn someone if they see an advantage can be gained by it. And the cats are going to be especially eager to do so with our future wives, however well-bred and kind-natured Jane and Elizabeth may be, simply because they were relative unknowns before they married us.”

When Bingley remained silent, staring at the rug, Darcy sighed and moved to sit down again. “Charles, forgive me. I don’t mean to lecture you. Truly, I’ve not the right. It’s only that I don’t want to see Elizabeth or Jane hurt.”

The two men pondered the situation silently for some minutes. Eventually, Bingley heaved a great sigh. “I’ve had my head in the clouds for these past weeks.” He paused before adding softly, “Caroline shall be among the worst of them, you know.”

Darcy have him a sardonic look. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh may have been relatively quiet when we finally packed her off to Kent last week but she was not before and I highly doubt that she will remain so.”

After his friend summarized the most recent events, Bingley admitted that he had received another letter from his younger sister. “Four pages long, closely written, and not a pleasant word throughout.”

Darcy’s lips tightened into a thin line but he spoke evenly, “What shall you do about her?”

Charles sighed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take advantage of your hospitality when we are in town later this month.

” At the other gentleman’s nod, he continued slowly, reasoning out a strategy as he went.

“Thank you. I’ve sent word for the house on Waverley Street to be opened up.

” At Darcy’s curious look, Bingley explained, “The property came to me directly; Caroline and Louisa’s inheritances were purely monetary. ”

After a few moments of silence, Bingley resumed, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself.

“It’s the house in which I grew up— when we were not in Scarborough, that is— and I have many fond memories of our family there.

After my parents died, Caroline and I stayed with the Hursts.

I’ve not liked to think about the place since then; without Mum and Da and Artie there, it was too empty, too full of memories. ”

Both men sat silently for some minutes, thinking grimly of how houses that had once been filled with happy families seemed all the more more melancholy when empty.

Eventually, Bingley took a deep breath and forced himself back to his original line of thought.

“But now I’m determined that Jane and I shall make it a home again.

I’ve written to the housekeeper with my plans; we shall visit the house next week when we’re all in London and begin deciding what needs to be replaced and redecorated and so forth.

Jane will meet with Mrs. Barton about hiring a staff—most of the servants were let go after…

Well, you know. Mr. and Mrs. Barton stayed on to maintain the place. ”

Bingley trailed off and was silent for some moments before looking at his friend with a determined glint in his eye. “I’ll meet with my sisters and arrange for them to retrieve any keepsakes they wish to have.”

“Miss Bingley shall not live with you, then?”