Page 8 of Hidden Desires

“He inspected Netherfield after I let him know I had leased the property.” Mr. Bingley smiled at Elizabeth, then gave a quick shrug. “Caroline and I brought him to last week’s assembly, but he had to return to his estate the following Monday.”

And not a day too soon. How a man so personable could view someone like Mr. Darcy as a friend is beyond me.

He was rude and condescending to everyone in the room, and his demeanor only worsened as the evening went on.

Mr. Bingley will not see my face if his unpleasant associate is there—not that I would have visited anyway.

If he returns, I am going to stay at Longbourn.

The less I see of that disagreeable man, the better.

“Ah, yes, I remember hearing something about that,” Bennet said, interrupting her thoughts with a knowing smile. “And as I recall, the reports of his demeanor were less than favorable. Something about considering himself too good for my Lizzy?”

Mr. Bingley reddened, which in Elizabeth’s eyes raised his worth. “That was my fault,” he said, his eyes darting about the room. “I insisted he come along, even though I knew he would not enjoy himself.”

His gaze returned to Elizabeth, who listened despite her lingering frustration with his friend. She smiled at his contrite shrug, which seemed to encourage him.

“Darcy avoids large gatherings where he knows no one, a consequence of his reserved nature and long habit of keeping to himself in unfamiliar company. He never meant to give offense; he only wished to be left alone. Once he realized how his words must have sounded, he wanted to apologize but assumed she would not receive him.”

Bennet nodded and arched a brow at Elizabeth. “Perhaps if they meet again, he will have the chance to explain the misunderstanding. Lizzy is not one to hold something like that against a person forever.”

Although he directed the remark to Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth knew he spoke to her. Whether she would heed his advice depended on the man’s behavior when he returned.

“The carriage is as ready as I can make it,” Miss Bingley announced as she swept into the room. “It is not perfect, but nothing in this county comes close to adequate.”

Elizabeth saw Jane rise from her seat, her temper at last stirred. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes flashed. Bennet noticed his eldest daughter’s reaction and, with a subtle wave of his hand, guided her back into her chair.

Her sister’s response stirred Elizabeth’s imagination. Would Jane have spoken her mind, or thought better of it and sat down again? Heaven knew Miss Bingley deserved a strong rebuke, but Elizabeth doubted Jane had the resolve to give it.

Mr. Bingley also looked displeased, though whether it was from pain or anger, Elizabeth could not say. He drew a breath, much like their father did when striving for calm. When he spoke, his tone held.

“Nothing on this earth is perfect, Miss Bingley,” he said, his guilty smile directed at Jane, who nodded once. “And as you know, the carriage came with us from London. If it no longer meets your standards, I can have the carpenter speak to you about improvements.”

Elizabeth smirked, unable to help herself. The look did not go unnoticed; Miss Bingley stiffened, her jaw tightening as she struggled to maintain composure.

Her answering smile resembled a grimace more than pleasure.

“I will not need him in the orchard for the next couple of weeks,” Mr. Bingley said.

“I have other, more pressing, plans. Tomorrow, I am writing to Darcy to ask for his help. I intend to set the carpenter to work on the stable and other buildings. So do not have him build you a new carriage. Be content with fresh paint and new fabric on the seats.”

“Mr. Darcy is coming?” Miss Bingley cried. Her countenance brightened at once, the carriage forgotten. “I shall have the servants prepare his room tomorrow.” She turned and hurried from the library, a distinct lightness in her step.

“Until he arrives,” Bennet said, “you need someone to supervise the changes you want to make. I am going to do that so you can rest.” He turned toward the entrance and beckoned for two burly men, whom he had summoned from the stable, to carry Mr. Bingley to the carriage.

Bennet accompanied them to the waiting transport, where Miss Bingley sat with ill-contained excitement. Once the man was settled, he leaned into the cabin.

“Enjoy your night and look for me tomorrow. We need to discuss your ideas before starting anything. And please believe me, I promise an improved visit the next time you call.”

“I don’t know.” Mr. Bingley smiled through the window. “Today was an experience I won’t soon forget. How are you going to top it?”

Bennet laughed and patted his arm, then stepped back and signaled the driver. As the carriage turned toward Netherfield, he slipped a hand through the crooks of both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s arms and led them inside.

“How bad is Netherfield’s orchard?” he muttered as they made their way to the sitting room. “Is it worth trying to save? I’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose. Can I count on any of the tenants to help? That is going to depend on the condition of their crops, among other things.”

On his left, Jane sighed, drawing his attention from the floor. Worry creased her brow, and tears gathered in her eyes.

“Papa,” she said, her voice tight with concern, “did we give Mr. Bingley poor care and fail to deliver comfort? Miss Bingley seemed to think we showed less compassion than he deserved.”

Bennet looked from one daughter to the other, a habit when forming a reply.

Elizabeth knew Jane to be the kindest person in Hertfordshire, perhaps in all of England, and Miss Bingley’s accusation would weigh on her long past tonight.

That the complaint touched a man she cared for would only deepen her distress.

“She was upset about her brother’s injury,” Bennet said, drawing Jane against his side.

“Forget what she said. Her worry robbed her of sense and civility, and I cannot hold that against her. We made him comfortable and sent for Mr. Jones, who treated him without delay. Mr. Bingley expressed his thanks, and that is what matters.”

At Jane’s nod, he added, “Why waste our time fretting over a problem which does not exist? If Mr. Bingley has a complaint, I trust him to raise the point with me tomorrow.”

“But what should we do until then?” she asked, unwilling to leave the future to chance.

Bennet lowered his gaze to hers, a slow grin forming on his face as amusement lit his eyes.

“I cannot answer for you,” he said, leading them down the hall toward the dining room, “but I plan to beg the cook for some scraps to last me until supper. I was hungry before we left to go hunting, and today’s madness has doubled my appetite.”

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy lifted his gaze from the account book and waited as the butler crossed the library carrying a tray on which lay an envelope.

“This came a few minutes ago,” said he, placing the correspondence on the desk.

“I heard the rider’s horse.” Darcy eyed the envelope. “Another letter from Bingley? His first only arrived yesterday. What could have changed so quickly?”

“You might find the answer inside the envelope,” the butler replied, “but that requires breaking the seal, does it not? Of course, if you are too busy, I can leave it on your bedside table. You can forget about it for a few hours. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”

Darcy glared at his butler, but if he hoped to see the man cower or slink away, he was disappointed. The man’s strengths were loyalty and resolve, not cowardice or subservience.

“Tell me again, Mr. Morton, why I have not dismissed you?” A faint smile played on Darcy’s lips. “Most of my acquaintances—apart from Bingley—would have tired of your insolence and sent you packing by now.”

Morton showed no amusement or concern. He tipped his head and offered a paltry shrug.

“As I recall, you wanted someone who valued honesty and was not afraid to tell you the truth, not a sycophant like most of your friends employ.”

Darcy laughed and pointed a finger at him. “No one could mistake you for a lackey. If you are finished insulting me, I am sure you could bother the other servants.”

“I could,” the butler replied, turning to the doorway, “but they do not attach the same value to the truth.” Without another word, he bowed and left the room, leaving Darcy alone once more.

For ten minutes he stared at the envelope, wondering why Bingley had written again.

Was he so desperate he considered asking his sister for help?

That might explain the appearance of a second letter.

Caroline would never offer help of her own accord, but if pressed, she might agree, though not without complaint.

Darcy lifted the envelope from the tray. Breaking the wax seal, he unfolded the letter and began to read.

The first two sentences shocked him into action. He sprang from the chair, the movement pushing it back against the wall.

“Morton!” He took the cord hanging behind him and gave it a sharp pull.

“Sir?” The butler hurried to the room. “Is there a problem?”

“Have my horse ready before sunrise and tell Mrs. Elkins to prepare a cold meal. I am leaving for Netherfield at first light.”