Page 12 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived
Day 17: Tuesday, November 19, 1811
He was alone. Darcy had been painfully aware of that fact, but today it clawed at his chest and stole his breath.
This morning he had gone down to breakfast, knowing that Bingley would not remember last night but still wanting to see his friend, to be reminded that someone would believe him if he told them the truth.
But Bingley had yawned his way through breakfast and cheerfully suggested they visit the Bennets, his behaviour entirely unchanged from previous Tuesdays. There had been a closeness, an understanding and sympathy, that was now missing from Bingley’s gaze.
He had known it would happen, and yet . . . .
That morning, Darcy had feigned illness rather than spend the day with a Bingley who could ramble on, untouched by time’s passage—by Darcy’s plight.
He was alone. No one else even remembered the events of the previous repetitions. There was no one who could understand how he felt or in whom he could confide. Telling Bingley yesterday had felt like a glorious release, a chance to be honest about what was eating him alive, one repetition at a time.
And now Bingley did not remember. The camaraderie they had shared had been erased, wiped out of existence by the simple expedient of time. It was almost as though the loss had turned Darcy’s dearest friend into a stranger.
He had been used to considering himself self-sufficient, not needing others’ company to remain content. But he had never before been so thoroughly cut off from those few he loved. Letters to Fitzwilliam that would never get to his cousin. Letters to Georgiana. Even if he went to London and spoke with her, she would not remember. None of it met his need for companionship.
For the first time, he considered how difficult his life would become after Georgiana got married. He had been accustomed to believing he would miss her, but that her absence would do little to affect his ability to carry out his regular duties. Now, his Aunt Margaret’s arguments about how he needed to find a wife before Georgiana married began to make sense. Eventually, Bingley would marry and be involved in his wife. Fitzwilliam was a strong support when he was around, but he was a soldier and the dangers he faced meant that he, too, might be gone one day.
Darcy buried his face in his hands. He had avoided marrying thus far, unwilling to marry any of the lacklustre females he had encountered. The cattiness, fawning, and scrambling for social position would certainly make for a miserable life. If he chose the wrong woman, Pemberley might become nearly as much of a prison as this day.
His entire soul cried out against the thought.
Not that it was even an option on this ghastly Tuesday.
Perhaps he was just destined to be alone, an observer in his own life, no matter how hard he tried to change things.
Day 18: Tuesday, November 19, 1811
Unable to stomach seeing Bingley’s or Miss Elizabeth’s empty eyes, Darcy once more spent the day attempting to escape the ache in his chest through vigorous riding. He could almost make himself believe that he was simply winded if he kept moving.
Once more, the hour was advanced when he returned to Netherfield. Not even Hawkin’s worried gaze could make him feel any worse than he already did. Perhaps he would achieve some sort of tolerance for the loneliness and pain—or at least become numb to the whole thing.
“Darcy!” Bingley cried the moment he entered. He clasped his friend’s forearms. “I was so worried. Are you well?”
Darcy merely gestured to one of the chairs by the fire and poured them both brandy. “I am perfectly well. I was simply exploring the surrounding countryside and decided to dine elsewhere due to the late hour.”
Bingley took the offered brandy and settled in the indicated chair. “Are you certain?” he asked, studying Darcy.
Before Bingley could say anything else, Darcy nodded curtly. “I apologise for worrying you.”
Bingley did not look as though he believed Darcy’s assurances, but apparently, he recognised that there was no point in pressing him. “Very well. Did you discover anything interesting?”
Darcy suppressed a sigh, simultaneously grateful that he did not have to endure the pain of once more telling his friend the truth (and watching that light leave his eyes the next day) and exhausted by the thought of answering the same question yet again. “Not particularly. The countryside is different from Derbyshire.”
“Very,” Bingley agreed with a laugh. “I like it though.” He fiddled with his glass. “I could see myself settling down here—quite easily.” He shifted. “What do you think of Miss Bennet?”
Darcy tensed. “Other than that she smiles too much?”
Bingley’s expression shuttered before his lips curved in a forced smile.
“She is pleasant enough,” Darcy hurried to add. “However, her family is intolerable—the lack of propriety almost uniformly shown by her mother and two youngest sisters, their connections to trade, the entail.... You cannot seriously be considering her.”
“Well, I—one cannot choose one’s family, nor control their behaviour.” He grimaced. “I know that better than most. Besides, I am already connected to trade. The Bennets are more respectable than I am in that respect.”
While that was all true, Bingley could do far better than the Bennets; more to the point, he would never be happy without love and Miss Bennet seemed too tepid a woman to have conceived any grand passion for his friend.
“And I have wealth enough that the entail is not such a large ill—not in the face of obtaining a wife like Miss Bennet,” Bingley said fiercely. “She is kind and sees the best in those around her. I also believe she knows the value of smiling, even when one does not wish to do so, in order to put others at ease. Sometimes smiling is the only good one may put into this world.”
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “You have thought much about this.”
“We had a lengthy conversation tonight, and it solidified some things for me.”
“I see.” He would have to ensure that said conversation did not recur in the future. Miss Bennet had ever appeared to be far too serene for her heart to be easily won. And her family could be nothing but a drain on Bingley’s resources. He doubted Bingley’s affections were of lasting duration anyway. If he could only leave this cursed town, Bingley’s interest would likely wane.
Bingley held Darcy’s gaze. “You do not approve of her now, but I hope you will spend more time with her before making up your mind that she is unworthy.”
“I shall watch your interactions most closely,” Darcy promised without hesitation.
“Thank you, Darcy,” Bingley said. “You are a true friend!” He turned to leave before turning back with a puzzled expression. “Oh, an old woman in Meryton asked me to pass along a message.”
Darcy stilled. “An old woman in Meryton?”
“Yes, she was most insistent that I not wait until tomorrow. She asked where you were and whether you were well.”
Blood rushed to Darcy’s head, and he felt light-headed. The old woman had asked about him. Why had she known who he was or that he was absent?
“I think she is not in her right mind,” Bingley added. “She said that she has missed you the past five days, but we have not been to Meryton for the past five days.”
That settled it: she was aware of the repetitions. Goose-flesh prickled his skin. He was not the only one trapped in Tuesday. She had always seemed odd and confused. Now, he longed to ride into Meryton—night though it was. Unfortunately, he doubted she would be strolling the streets at this hour and he did not know where she lived. He would have to wait for the morning. “I see. Perhaps she was simply confused and needs someone to take care of her.”
Bingley nodded. “I shall ask around and find out if she has some local family; they may be unaware that she wandered into Meryton.”
Darcy almost admitted that he had already asked that question, but remained silent at the last minute—he had no desire to raise any other questions that he did not wish to answer.
“Do you know her?” Bingley asked.
Darcy shook his head. “I have noticed her, but we have not been introduced.”
“Well, she asked me to request that you visit her in Meryton tomorrow morning. She said you would know where and when. Deuced if I know why she wants to see you. What place is she referring to?”
“Where did you encounter her today?”
“In front of the milliner’s in Meryton—it is on the north end of the main street.”
Darcy nodded. “Then I imagine that is where she wishes to meet. I shall do my best to fulfil her request.”
Bingley merely yawned and bid him a goodnight.
Darcy stared contemplatively at the door after Bingley left. He fully intended to keep that appointment.