Page 36 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
T he soft click of ivory against ivory was the only sound in the billiard room as Darcy watched Bingley attempt what could generously be termed a stroke.
The mace wavered in his friend's grip, the leather tip catching the felt at an unfortunate angle before sending the cue ball careening wildly across the table.
It struck the red more as a result of luck than skill, though the subsequent trajectory fell disappointingly short of the intended cannon.
Darcy suppressed what would have been an unseemly display of amusement. Though if there were ever a cause for inappropriate mirth, Bingley’s billiards attempts might qualify.
"I maintain that this table possesses an unnatural inclination towards the eastern wall," Bingley declared, stepping back to survey his handiwork.
"The table," Darcy replied, accepting the mace from his friend's reluctant grasp, "maintains perfect equilibrium. The fault, I fear, lies elsewhere." He positioned himself carefully, considering the angle. The red ball sat at a distance that required both geometry and accuracy rather than force.
The mace moved smoothly through his fingers, leather tip connecting with the ivory sphere in a motion his father had drilled into him through countless games much like this one.
The cue ball rolled with satisfying precision, struck the red at precisely the intended angle, and sent it gliding towards the yellow in what even Bingley would be forced to acknowledge as a proper cannon.
"You are determined to make me appear hopeless," Bingley said with good-natured resignation.
“It would be redundant to assist you in that effort,” Darcy responded.
"Room for a third player?" Hurst inquired from the doorway, moving to the brandy decanter. "I find myself in need of male company."
Bingley gestured at the table with his mace. "By all means.” He assessed Hurst’s smug expression. “You appear uncommonly pleased with yourself.”
Darcy had noticed too. He chalked the leather tip of his mace with deliberate care. Bingley was rather adept at reading the subtle shifts in his companions' dispositions, even when they were not so obvious as Hurst’s. The problem was that he did not always consider what his response ought to be.
"Do I?” Hurst asked with an unusually pleased chuckle. “How gratifying to know that contentment shows so plainly upon one's countenance."
Bingley scrutinized his brother-in-law. "Contentment? You?"
A small smile played upon Hurst’s countenance. "You might attribute it to a restoration of order."
“Do not tell me Louisa finally locked Caroline in the linen cupboard?” Bingley quipped.
“Not yet,” Hurst replied.
Bingley shook his head. “Caroline did that to Louisa once, you know. Left her there for hours until a servant happened by, and then said Louisa was only attempting to cause trouble for her by making up such a story. My parents believed her too. ”
Hurst frowned. “Louisa has never told me that story. Poor girl.”
Darcy was intrigued. The Hurst household had long operated according to principles that defied his understanding—Mrs. Hurst’s devotion to her sister's increasingly questionable schemes balanced against Hurst's determined retreat into his wine and bitterness.
That such an arrangement might be subject to alteration seemed as unlikely as Bingley suddenly developing the ability to win at billiards.
"I noticed," Bingley continued, moving to line up his next stroke with characteristic optimism, "that Louisa seemed quite different this evening."
Mrs. Hurst had indeed displayed a marked departure from her usual behaviour.
Most remarkably, she had failed to support her sister's plans regarding the questions, had even laughed with the rest over Miss Elizabeth’s playful proverb and had been complimentary when it had been her turn.
And she had boldly brought her sister’s ambitions up short.
Darcy had applauded that directness even though it had embarrassed him.
“Do you think,” Darcy began as the evening began to make more sense, “that Mrs. Hurst wrote her own question as well as Miss Bingley’s?”
"Ah," Hurst said, setting down his brandy with the careful deliberation of a man savouring a victory. "You caught that, did you?"
"I feel rather slow not putting it together until now," Darcy said.
“That might be because you were distracted by Miss Elizabeth’s wisdom.” Bingley nudged Hurst in the ribs. “And possibly her fine eyes.”
Hurst laughed, an actual laugh, not the more hostile sound that usually accompanied his rare displays of humour.
Darcy sighed, and Bingley’s stroke went wide.
His friend straightened, abandoning all pretence of attention to the game. “And what is the result of all this, Hurst?”
Hurst moved to the table, accepting the mace from Bingley. His positioning was economical and efficient .
Darcy approved.
"Louisa and I," Hurst said, sighting along the length of his mace, "have reached an understanding."
Bingley’s complexion paled. “Good heavens. You have agreed to separate?”
“Worse,” Hurst shot back. “We have agreed to speak.” He smiled. “And other things.”
Hurst's stroke was a thing of beauty, smooth, controlled, sending the cue ball in a gentle arc that kissed the red and guided it into perfect alignment with the yellow. The resulting cannon was so precisely executed that even Bingley abandoned his usual commentary in favour of appreciative silence.
"I have reminded Louisa," Hurst said, straightening with evident satisfaction, "that a wife's primary loyalty should rest with her husband rather than her sister. And that there are rewards for that."
The pronouncement fell into the sudden quiet like a stone dropped into still water. Darcy found himself reassessing everything he knew about the Hurst marriage, while Bingley's expression cycled through surprise, comprehension, and what appeared to be genuine admiration.
"You told her that?" Bingley asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"And more." Hurst moved around the table with an unhurried gait.
"I informed her that I had grown weary of sharing my wife with an endless succession of ill-conceived schemes and social calculations.
That I missed the woman I had married before her father died and she became a side player in her sister's theatricals. "
Darcy set down his mace, recognizing that the game had become secondary to revelations of considerably more interest. "And how did she receive this observation?"
"Poorly, at first." Hurst's smile held genuine fondness now, the expression of a man recalling a battle well fought and ultimately won.
"She maintained that Caroline required her support, that they had always been companions, that familial duty demanded her continued involvement in whatever fresh catastrophe Caroline had devised. "
"A predictable response,” Darcy said. The Bingley sisters' devotion to each other was well established, though he had long suspected it served Miss Bingley's interests considerably more than Mrs. Hurst’s.
"Indeed. But I persisted." Hurst paused to refresh his brandy, the gesture somehow conveying both leisure and determination.
"I explained that Caroline might not know it yet, but she was to be dispatched northward, and that if Louisa felt compelled to accompany her into exile, I would not prevent it.
However, I would not be joining such an expedition, nor would the visit be a short one. "
Bingley winced. "I do not suppose that went over well."
"I beg to differ. It clarified matters wonderfully," Hurst continued with evident satisfaction.
"I suggested that if she preferred to remain with me, we might spend the season in London.
Visit my family, renew old friendships, conduct ourselves as a married couple rather than as Caroline's acolytes. "
The implications were clear enough, Darcy reflected.
Hurst's family, though not exorbitantly wealthy, was possessed of an old name.
They moved in circles where Caroline Bingley's particular brand of social climbing was neither appreciated nor encouraged, and for Mrs. Hurst to succeed in such company, she would need to demonstrate that she was not bound to her sister's ambitions.
"You presented her with a choice," Darcy said.
"I presented her with reality," Hurst corrected.
"I explained that my relations had developed a marked distaste for Caroline's company following several unfortunate incidents involving gossip, presumption, and what my mother termed 'a regrettable tendency towards social speculation.
' If Louisa wishes to be welcomed among them again, she will need to demonstrate she is not merely a reflection of Caroline in more becoming gowns. "
Bingley looked genuinely intrigued. "What manner of unfortunate incidents?"
Hurst waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing particularly scandalous.
Caroline simply possesses an unfortunate talent for mistaking courtesy for encouragement and interpreting polite interest as invitations to intimacy.
My family values discretion above most other virtues.
Caroline's fondness for claiming intimacy with people she does not know well and her conjecture about others' private affairs does not align well with their preferences. "
Darcy could well imagine such a scene. Miss Bingley's tendency to treat gossip as currency would indeed prove unwelcome among people who viewed such behaviour as vulgar display rather than social sophistication.
"And your wife's response?" he inquired.
"Sulking," Hurst replied cheerfully. "Magnificent, thorough sulking. She retired to her chambers with the air of a martyr ascending to sainthood, leaving me to contemplate the possibility that I had overplayed my hand."
Bingley shook his head in apparent admiration. "You took a considerable risk."