Page 12 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A s the last carriage—that of the Bennets—drove away into the darkness, Darcy watched it go with a great sense of discontent.

If he ever saw Elizabeth again, it would only be in issuing her a final farewell because he had every intention of spiriting Bingley away to London as soon as could be arranged.

He knew it to be a betrayal against her, but it could not be helped; his first loyalties must lie with his friend, not a woman he had known for less than two months whose acquaintance he must sever.

Resigned and weary, he clapped Bingley on the shoulder and turned them back towards the manor. “What say you to one last drink before bed?”

His friend yielded easily to his guidance, stifling a yawn behind his fist. “I suppose that can be arranged. In my study?”

“Certainly.”

The study, much like the attached library, was relatively bare.

Bingley, new to estate management, had not the same collection of books and papers that Darcy utilised to keep Pemberley running, and it seemed as though Netherfield’s owner had not bothered to leave much behind.

Aside from a few outdated maps of the area and a tome on animal husbandry—worthless to an estate that did not rear sheep—the only object of any use to a landowner was the decanter.

Bingley made directly for it and poured them each a drink.

Brandy in hand, Darcy settled himself into the chair before the desk while Bingley took his rightful place behind it. He took a sip while he considered how to raise the delicate subject of Jane Bennet and the expectations of the neighbourhood.

He was pleasantly surprised when Bingley anticipated him. “What do you think of Miss Bennet, Darcy?”

“She is a pretty, genteel lady”—much as it pained him to admit—“even though her fortune and connexions are atrocious. Aside from her next youngest sister, the Bennets are an embarrassment. You would not gain much in marrying her.”

“The Bennets are not so bad,” replied Bingley. At the disbelieving arch of Darcy’s brow, he continued, more vehemently, “They are not! A little…exuberant, perhaps, but there is no harm in them.”

“I beg to differ,” Darcy countered. “You likely did not see it because you were so enthralled with your ‘angel’, but Mrs Bennet spent half the evening plotting a Christmas wedding for you and her eldest at the top of her voice. Her husband, far from making any attempt to curb her tongue, merely laughed at her. The less said about the youngest daughters’ pursuit of the officers the better.

Even your Miss Bennet has a tendency to impose upon and order about Miss Elizabeth—you must have noticed whilst they both stayed at Netherfield. ”

“I saw no such thing! Miss Bennet has always been sweet and amiable in my presence.”

“Then you are misremembering. Do you not recall how Miss Bennet sent her sister off to fetch a shawl like a common servant?”

Bingley rolled his eyes. “You are making far too much of that. Miss Elizabeth herself said she did not mind.”

“It is not about whether or not Miss Elizabeth minded, it is about the presumption?—”

“I do not give three straws about Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley exclaimed. In the face of Darcy’s glower, he had the grace to look chagrined. “My apologies. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I wish to focus on the subject of Miss Bennet. More to the point, do you think she cares for me?”

Darcy fixed him with a steady look. “More than just your purse, you mean?”

“I know you believe every woman to be mercenary, but I promise you Miss Bennet is not of that ilk. She is so…so sweet, and-and amiable…”

“So you have said.” Darcy took a sip of his drink to rewet his throat after this dry rejoinder.

In response, Bingley slapped a hand on the desk, making his frustration plain. “Blast it, Darcy, take this seriously! I may not have as great a capacity for four-syllable words as you, but that does not lessen Miss Bennet’s worth.”

Nor would four-syllable words increase it, in Darcy’s estimation.

Bingley drew in a calming breath. “Forgive me. I am tired and agitated. In all sincerity, I require your guidance.”

“It is I who should beg forgiveness. You are correct—I was being glib. As to Miss Bennet, I cannot say that I approve of the match at all. Her fortune and connexions are a strike against her, of course, but more of a concern is her motive for enticing you.” He held up a hand as Bingley made to interject on Miss Bennet’s behalf.

“I say this not merely because my own experience has taught me to be wary of the fairer sex and their wiles, but also from my impartial observations of the lady in question. While Miss Bennet appears to accept your attentions gladly, I have seen no symptom of particular regard.”

“None?”

Darcy shook his head.

Bingley lowered his to stare morosely into his glass.

“What if you are wrong? I have heard—from her own sister, no less—that Miss Bennet once suffered a grave disappointment that nearly took her life. She is still delicate, apparently. Miss Elizabeth begged me not to trifle with her lest she suffer another setback. I should feel horribly guilty if I were to make her ill.”

Scoffing, Darcy countered, “So you must throw away your own future for the sake of Miss Bennet’s health? It is nonsensical, man! If she is so ‘delicate’ as to be barred from suffering a disappointment, then she is not well enough to marry in the first place.”

“I had not thought of it like that…”

“From my observations, I cannot see that Miss Bennet suffers from any genuine infirmity. If I had to guess, I would say that any ‘delicacy’ on her part is feigned in order to garner sympathy.” Darcy had witnessed his cousin Anne play at being sick often enough that he was capable of spotting it in others.

She relied on her purported ‘weakness’ to entice those around her into obeying her various whims, much in the same way he had seen Miss Bennet treat Elizabeth.

It was only surprising to him that Miss Bennet had not swooned into Bingley’s arms to cement an engagement, but perhaps a scandalous enough opportunity had not presented itself.

“You think she is pretending?” Bingley’s eyes grew distant for several seconds as if he were pondering this possibility.

He shook his head and seemed to wipe the notion from his brain.

“That is absurd. No one would pretend to be enfeebled in order to ensnare a husband. It is too incredible. I am sure you are wrong.”

Oh, Bingley. Still so green. “Even if I am, it does not alter my opinion that Miss Bennet’s heart is untouched. If that be the case, there is no concern of breaking it nor of any resulting malady. You may leave with your conscience clear. If her frailty is authentic, she is still ineligible.”

“I suppose you are right.” Slumping down into his chair, Bingley looked despondent. “What makes you so certain that she feels nothing for me?”

“Miss Bennet’s serenity, coupled with witnessing her parcel out her smiles to everyone equally, has convinced me that she does not return your affections. I would expect her to treat you with some preference, were that the case. I am sorry, my friend.”

“Perhaps she is simply not in love with me yet . I have only known her a few weeks, after all, and her feelings could change. I ought to persist a little longer to be sure.”

Darcy shook his head. “You have already given rise to a general expectation in the neighbourhood that a proposal is imminent. Mrs Bennet was not the only one in anticipation of a wedding—I was also approached by Sir William Lucas with similar predictions. If you remain here in Hertfordshire, you will be required to marry her regardless of the sentiments of either of you.”

“But if she does not care for me, would she not simply dissuade me from offering?”

“With a mother such as hers?” Darcy scoffed. “Unlikely. My advice is to hie back to town in the morning before you are prevented from leaving altogether.”

Bingley drained the last of his brandy and set his glass onto the desk with a harsh clatter. “What a shame.”

Darcy experienced a twinge of regret on his friend’s behalf. He was sorry for Bingley if he sincerely imagined an attachment to Miss Bennet. “There will be others.”

“Yes, but Miss Bennet’s beauty is a rare thing.” Bingley sighed in a way that brought to mind the unsubtle affectations of a woebegone bard. “It will take some time before I find another lady as handsome as she.”

At least I need not worry about Bingley descending into unending melancholy.

Although he was no proponent of Miss Bennet, Darcy was a mite affronted on her behalf.

Was her beauty truly what Bingley valued most?

He, himself, was enthralled with Elizabeth, but even after so short an acquaintance he could list so many fine qualities apart from her light and pleasing figure.

Indeed, it was the glimmer of intelligence in her eyes that had drawn him in to begin with.

Appreciation for her face and form soon followed, but it was Elizabeth’s mind that had entranced him first. If Bingley’s own attachment were so shallow, perhaps he was doing both of them a favour.

“I suppose it cannot be helped,” Bingley lamented, rising to his feet. “I might not break her heart when I leave, but I would not like a sickly wife in any case. If she were of a stronger constitution, I might be of a different mind, but…”

Darcy stood likewise, and the pair of them strolled to the door. “As I said, there will be others. There are worthy young ladies aplenty in London.” Though I am hard pressed to name them.

“True, true. I shall instruct Caroline to begin closing up the house tomorrow. It seems she and Louisa will get their wish of spending Christmas in town.”