Page 19 of Secrets Across the Sea
Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 9
“Charles. Charles!” Miss Bingley cried as the three men made their way upstairs, her arms crossed as she stared imperiously down at them from the landing. “I take it you are done with your ride, hopefully now you are more inclined to keep your promise?”
“Perhaps we ought to discuss this in private,” Bingley suggested, the immediate displeasure on his sister’s face making such a sound suggestion unlikely.
“Tosh. Simply see sense and this tête-à-tête will be over before it has begun,” she remarked as she motioned for him to come to her.
Moving as cautiously as they might, Darcy and his cousin crept one step at a time in hopes of avoiding the inevitable row, the fiery miss holding her arm out in front of them.
“No. You two… whatever your background, must see sense. Must realize I have the right of it. Charles is as a lamb, he needs a shepherd; and if I am charged with the task, I shall not shirk it. Now then, Charles,” she huffed as she turned toward her brother, “come, you must see an estate in the middle of nowhere is going to do the opposite of what it ought. Purchasing an estate is meant to bring us up in the world. Yet, how can it if we are so far from London? From all good society? No. Had you inherited such a wretched thing, then I might understand… But when you can have your pick of any number of estates between here and Bath, then I really see no need to seclude ourselves in a cold, drafty shack!”
“A shack?” Bingley guffawed. “One which happens to have enough rooms to host dozens of guests for months if desired? Which can easily accommodate balls of ridiculous size without the crush you have in London? I dare say it is nothing akin to a shack, nor is it drafty. For what it is worth, I believe it to be one of the finest I have toured–and I have toured many this past year. Indeed, I find it fine enough that I am already in the midst of purchasing it. I am sorry, truly, that you shall find yourself as far away from London as this; however, as you have told me repeatedly, it will not be long before a peer falls at your feet and offers marriage. You will not have to suffer long.”
Screeching, Miss Bingley bent and removed her slippers, the first missing Bingley’s head as he dodged, the second finding its mark, his head whipping back as he muttered profanities.
“I would have an idiot for a brother!” she cried as she turned and stomped toward her room, a hapless Bingley shaking his head as he watched.
“Well… that went only a little better than expected,” he said with a shrug before turning to pick up her slippers. “The last time I crossed her, she landed both.”
∞∞∞
Half an hour later, clean and eager to put the incident with Miss Bingley behind them, they left their rooms, the long, dark hall quickly traversed as they made their way to the landing.
“Hopefully we are not favoured with additional company,” Fitz remarked as they made their way down the old stairs; the treads well-tended, even if the walls suffered from plaster loss. “That man might try it too. What with his audacity to join you all on that sleigh ride… and then last night, the way he followed Miss Mary from one end of the drawing room to the other, like some hapless pup… not to mention other instances! Well, I would not be surprised if that fellow sought to do the same today.”
“Jealous then, are we?” Darcy smirked as they neared the drawing room–the promise of a walk with the three Bennet ladies more than enough incentive to brave the cold again.
Pausing outside the doorway, Fitz sought to counter the attack. “Jealous? No more than you are when that Thomson fellow works to beguile Miss Elizabeth.”
“As much as that then?” Bingley goaded, his lopsided grin as disarming as infuriating.
“Do you know what he is on about?” Darcy rebutted; his eyes alight as he viewed his cousin.
“I have no idea,” Fitz remarked, an impish grin forming as he leaned against the wall. “Perhaps that fall all those days ago has rattled his brain?”
“True. True,” Darcy hummed, his face grave as he viewed Bingley.
“I pity you both,” Bingley countered, one corner of his lips curling as he observed them. “With the small number of men present, I have been the fortunate one amongst us; for only the Reverend remains, and Miss Wordsworth will do her utmost to steal his time. So, you see, no matter how you tease, I am the victor. My Miss Bennet is not to be wooed by anyone else.”
“Your Miss Bennet?” Fitz grinned, his eyes dancing with delight and mischief.
“She is not MY Miss Bennet. Not yet, anyway,” Bingley admitted. “Though I am hopeful.”
Patting Bingley on the back, Fitz nodded, “As you should be; she appears as fond of you as you are of her. Only…” Pausing, all mirth left his face.
“Only?” Bingley questioned.
“Only, do not take her affection for you, or there being no other suitor here, as an… as an indication that you can court her with less effort, or without any demonstrations or tokens of your affection. A lady likes to be wooed. Gape at me all you like. I know I am a bachelor, but I have witnessed many a mans’ attempts to court a lady, and men who take lightly the art of courting, well… not every woman will accept a man they are not certain of. Of whom they doubt his affections, constancy, or, dare I say, sense. I merely mean to say, if you do intend upon asking for her hand… woo her properly first. Even without, she may say yes, but she will be much more content in her decision if you have done your part.”
“A romantic?” Darcy awed. “I never would have guessed.”
The drawing room door opening, Mr. Thomson stepped from within, a false smile fixed in place and eyes narrowed. “Ah, Mr. Darcy… I was just in the company of the Bennet sisters, Miss Elizabeth looks exceptionally well–as she did in the library this morning.”
“You are off then?” Darcy clipped, his eyes traveling to the hat and coat the man held.
“Unfortunately,” he said as he neared Darcy. “One so hates to disappoint a lady, but duty calls. I am to town on business, but as I assured her, I shan’t be away long.”
“Please, do not hurry back on our account,” Darcy answered; a slight pull at his lips as his brow raised. “I would hate for you to overexert yourself.”
“No need to worry,” Mr. Thomson said as he moved down the hall, “I suspect this trip shall see me in a better position than when I left. Do console Miss Elizabeth for me; remind her, I could never stay away long.”
Scowling at Mr. Thomson’s back, Darcy’s hands clenched.
The scoundrel continued to infuriate him at every turn! Every! If only it would not please Mr. Thomson to engage him in fisticuffs. It would be incredibly satisfying should Thomson's face come in contact with his fist once or twice.
“Come, let us go in,” Bingley said as he motioned to the drawing room.
Yes, Darcy mused as his friend passed through the door. A far better use of time than letting his anger fester over that worm.
“Miss Bennet!” Bingley’s happy overtures sounded as Darcy and Fitz at last followed, the three Bennet sisters standing by the window, the expanse of white outside being met with new snowfall. “Miss Elizabeth. Miss Mary.”
“Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy. Colonel,” the three ladies acknowledged.
“Were you successful in your task?” Darcy questioned.
“Unfortunately, no,” Miss Elizabeth frowned. “We had no success at all.”
“Is there anything I might do?”
“If you are willing to sit on our hostess long enough for us to talk to her, then yes, Mr. Darcy, you could be a great help indeed,” Miss Elizabeth answered impertinently, her eyes twinkling gaily.
Nodding he drew nearer, his voice a mock whisper, “If that is what it takes, Miss, to complete your task, I am prepared to perish in the attempt.”
Chuckling, she shook her head, “I hope it does not come to that. No. My sisters and I shall speak to her one of these days; if she ceases to vanish through walls.”
“Through walls?” Fitz asked incredulously.
“It would seem,” Miss Mary said, her lips pinched as she considered the matter. “For all that it sounds mysterious, it is likely the result of old passageways or cubbies hidden into the walls. The real mystery is why she keeps avoiding us, considering it was she who invited us into her home. If one of you has an idea of how to speak with her alone without it taking someone sitting upon her, please, do let us know?”
“It may be that sitting upon our host is the easiest solution,” Fitz chuckled as he drew nearer Miss Mary. The young woman lifting her head to meet his gaze forcing all laughter from him as his voice deepened, “In all seriousness, know that whatever your plan may entail, whatever you need, I am here to help. In this, and… and in anything else I may be of use.”
Gaze lowering, Miss Mary wet her lips. “I… that is, we, thank you. I thank you.”
Apparently, his cousin was not the only one in danger of losing their heart.
“Well then,” Miss Elizabeth smiled at her sister. “In the meantime, I believe we are engaged for a walk.”
“Of course,” Miss Mary hurried, a blush forming as she moved toward the door. “Any particular path?”
∞∞∞
Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 10
Settling down in the library to enjoy a bit of quiet, Darcy lifted his tea to his lips as he opened his chosen tome– Jane's Poems and Essays . Fingering through the pages in search of any selection which might catch his eye; the title, Love , stilled his search. The sweet story of cupid turning to his mother when his arrows failed him being far from Darcy’s usual choice, though he read the poem through with a small smile, then flipped onward through the book.
Rereading a verse four times, and yet, failing to comprehend the words, Darcy pinched the book shut with a resounding thump.
The author had skill, true skill, and indeed, a refreshing way of expression… if only he could focus. If only his mind did not return to the face and voice of Miss Elizabeth; not that it proved in any way unpleasant, save that he wished she were here beside him, enjoying the sweet words with him.
Gulping the last of his tea, Darcy stood abruptly. Something had to be done.
Even if he did not plan to yet reveal the full depth of his feelings, that did not mean he could not speak on some of what he felt?
Striding toward a nearby shelf, book in hand, Darcy considered what he might say to Miss Elizabeth. A simple greeting? Remarking on the poem he had read? Complimenting the glow of her gaze, or her wit?
“Charles, come in here. I must speak with you,” the voice of Miss Bingley flitted as footsteps fell.
Turning around to find no one, Darcy’s forehead crinkled. What the deuce?
“If this is about Wrotham Park, the deed is done; I am sole owner of the place now and as soon as our stay here is concluded, I plan to move in lock, stock, and barrel to the new Bingley estate.”
Stepping closer to the shelf, Darcy leaned his ear to the wall of books, the voice of Bingley and his sister, though still muffled, far clearer than before.
The passageways Miss Mary mentioned?
Elizabeth would be pleased; at least Lady Charmane’s vanishing made sense if it were true.
Perhaps, knowing that this room and… oh, what room would be behind this one? Lady Charmane’s study? Yes, if memory served. Perhaps knowing that these rooms connected, some of them might hide in the library and the rest in the study, until their host chose to enter? Then the sisters might have their talk at last. Fitz would be of help, likely Bingley too, if his sister calmed herself long enough to allow him privacy.