Page 14 of Hidden Desires

THE JOLT OF THE FRONT WHEEL dropping into a hole snapped Darcy awake.

His heart pounded as he lurched upright on the bench, one hand bracing against the carriage wall while the other fumbled for the door handle.

A second thud marked the rear wheel’s descent into the same rut, shaking the frame and deepening his alarm.

Across from him, Georgiana watched with a faint smile tugging at her lips. Her expression left no doubt that she had witnessed the entire episode. Flustered, he offered a quick smile of his own.

“Testing the carriage’s sturdiness. A gentleman must ensure his sister’s comfort and safety.”

Her smile faded. She held his gaze for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the floor, as if the worn boards might offer answers to questions she could not bring herself to ask.

He reached across and gave her hand a brief squeeze, the only comfort left to him. Words failed too often, each effort to console her ending in silence and a deeper sorrow settling into her features.

He leaned back and let his thoughts wander.

Nothing he had done seemed to help. Perhaps Bingley’s presence would succeed where his own had failed.

She trusted him and always brightened in his company.

If more people treated her as Bingley did, she might not dread every introduction.

That fear, born of innocence, had made her vulnerable.

He was unsure about bringing her, wondering if the journey would ease her burden or deepen it, but her tears removed all doubt.

He could not leave her behind at Pemberley after such a long absence.

If he had been present, she might have sought him out instead of trusting a man who preyed on her youth.

Even now, the thought of what might have happened if he had come home later turned his stomach.

And when she told him no, he responded with insults, mocked her family, and ridiculed her appearance. What kind of man seeks to wound a woman who only wished to preserve her dignity?

The carriage entered Netherfield’s drive, chasing the grim thoughts from Darcy’s mind and offering a first glimpse of the changes Bingley had described in his letter.

All the dilapidated rails and rotten posts that once enclosed the paddock were gone, leaving the pasture open. At the far end stood the stable. Its doors, once barely attached when he left, had vanished. The entrance gaped, and he wondered if the decaying wood had collapsed into a heap.

A raised voice drew his gaze upward to the roof, where two men stripped shingles and tossed them to the ground.

Another, not much older than a boy, gathered the wood and added it to a fire burning well behind the building.

“What are they doing?” Georgiana asked as the carriage stopped, and the driver opened the door.

Darcy stepped down and offered her his hand. “They are burning the waste as they work,” he said, steadying her and leading her toward the house. “I would have salvaged what I could to save money, but this is not Pemberley. The decision is

Bingley’s, and he must have his reasons.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Darcy,” the butler said, stepping aside to admit them. “Mr. Bingley is in the garden. He spends most mornings there, if you wish to find him.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replied with a polite nod. He guided his sister across the hall and out to the garden, where Bingley sat beneath the shade, studying the fields that stretched to the horizon.

At the sight of them, Caroline rose from a garden bench, smoothing her skirts with exaggerated care.

“Mr. Darcy! What a relief to see you at last. And Georgiana, how delightful to see you as well.”

He inclined his head in greeting. “Miss Bingley.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Georgiana stiffen at Miss Bingley’s familiarity, a liberty she claimed by virtue of his friendship with her brother. Georgiana lowered her gaze and shifted slightly behind him, as if seeking the reassurance of his presence.

“I trust your journey was not too fatiguing,” Caroline continued, though her voice had acquired that brittle note he recognized as the prelude to complaint.

“Not at all.”

She folded her hands, her gaze sliding from Darcy to her brother. “Now that you are here,” she said, her tone sharpening, “perhaps you will take command.”

Then she turned fully to Bingley, her voice growing more pointed.

“Mr. Bennet’s careless, disorganized approach has left us mired in delays. I cannot understand why you persist in defending his failures.”

Bingley’s jaw tightened, though he did not look away from the fields.

“Mr. Bennet is doing exactly what he promised,” he said, his voice calm although the firm set of his jaw belied its tone.

“Remember, Caroline, he has no obligation to us. He could have remained at Longbourn and left us to struggle without guidance.”

His sister gave a thin, humorless laugh. “And what progress has all this generous guidance produced? A great deal of discussion, and precious little else.”

Darcy took a step closer, fixing her with a steady look. “Mr. Bennet has offered time, knowledge, and labor without expecting payment or gratitude. As Pemberley’s master, I can assure you few landowners would extend such courtesy. It would be well to remember that before questioning his integrity.”

He turned to Bingley. “Now, about you. Your letter said you hurt yourself three weeks ago but failed to mention you were bedridden. What kind of trouble did you manage to find?”

The change in appearance struck Darcy at once. Gone was the smiling countenance he remembered, replaced by a face lined with pain and concern. Each movement, no matter how slight, drew a flinch and an involuntary gasp, while the anger behind his friend’s eyes flared bright.

His mouth clamped shut at his sister’s insult and his fingers tightened on the edge of the seat, making Darcy wonder if the man’s much vaunted cheer had begun to fray under the weight of her endless complaints.

“We came as fast as we could,” he said, nodding toward Georgiana. “Although this is not what I expected to find.” He swept his arm in a wide arc, taking in the siblings and the grounds beyond, then let it fall back to his side.

“From the tone of the letters, I feared I might not arrive before the funeral,” he added, winking at Georgiana, whose widening eyes dropped to the ground. “If I had known you were spending a holiday in the sun, I could have waited another week or two.”

“Letters?” Bingley asked, his brows rising. “All I said was I understood if you had to remain at Pemberley.”

Darcy nodded. “You wrote that the situation was not desperate, so I stayed to resolve a few matters before leaving. I planned to spend the week with Georgiana and depart Monday.”

With a slight tilt of his head, Bingley scratched his chin. “Today is Tuesday, so either you are six days early or one late, unless you forgot what day it was when you left, which I confess happens to me. Watching others move about while I sit still makes the hours run together.”

Darcy frowned and turned a glare on Miss Bingley. “Believe me, I am not confused. I meant to make it up to Georgiana for my absence, since she deserves better than the neglect I too often show her. Then your second letter arrived, claiming your injuries were much worse than first described.”

Bingley’s gaze flew to his sister, who edged toward the hedge as if she meant to flee before he could demand an explanation. Georgiana, with unexpected resolve, caught her by the elbow and held firm.

Miss Bingley shook her arm, but the younger woman tightened her grip and looked to Darcy, who gave a single approving nod.

“What is he talking about?” Bingley demanded, striking the arm of the chaise with his fist and glaring at his sister. “Did you write to him? Why? Do you not care how inappropriate that was?”

Her eyes narrowed at his censure and her mouth tightened in response to the accusation. When his words ended, she gave her arm a sharp jerk, freeing herself from Georgiana’s hold, then advanced with nostrils flared and her lips drawn back in a sneer.

“I was only trying to bring this charade to its conclusion,” she said, drawing a deep breath. “We both know Mr. Bennet has accomplished nothing, though you prefer to look the other way. If Mr. Darcy had been here, he would never have tolerated such ineptitude.”

She threw her arms toward the estate and turned in place to look it over.

“Has your infatuation with his daughter blinded you? Look around, Charles. How can you ignore this? The stable is in pieces, yet the horses remain confined to their stalls most of the time because Mr. Bennet removed the paddock fence.”

With a gentler expression, she placed her hand against her brother’s cheek. “I agree Miss Bennet is pretty, but you cannot let her father ruin this estate just to gain his approval.”

Straightening, she pointed to Darcy. “He has come to rescue you. I want him to stop this farce, finish the repairs, and then take you back to London where you belong.”

She stamped her foot, though the soft grass swallowed the sound, then turned to Darcy. “Please talk some sense into my brother. Show him how foolish it is to waste more money and time on this place. He will thank you when we return to the city.”

While his friend’s sister railed, Darcy studied Bingley. His brows lifted in surprise, then drew together in irritation. He glanced at his hands, fingers curled in thought, before lifting his head. Uncertainty clouded his expression.

“What do you think?” Bingley asked, throwing up his hands. “Am I wasting time and money on a misguided effort to improve these tenants’ lives?”

Darcy shrugged. “Are you happy?” he said, raising a hand to stop the interruption he saw coming.

“Have you squandered your money, as your sister claims, or do you see progress? Has removing the fence and clearing out the stable made a difference, or are you, as she suggests, only trying to please her father?”