Page 11 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
“No reason. You just seemed in such a hurry to leave for Pemberley.”
“Yes, I was hoping to avoid the very predicament I now find myself in,” Darcy said drily, and Bingley laughed.
“Fair enough. You shall have to join us for the theatre and for dinner when we are in town. I know Jane is anxious to become better acquainted with you and all my friends. Her sister will be with us for part of the season, I believe, so you will have your verbal sparring partner to make it interesting.”
No need to inquire which sister that would be. He began to wonder whether he would be able to regroup and approach Elizabeth in London. “It would be a pleasure, Bingley.”
“Good fellow. And Hurst and I mean to get Caroline married off this season as well, so we will need your help.”
Darcy’s expression must have been comical, for Bingley bent over with laughter.
“You do not think I mean you, Darcy?” He wiped his eyes. “I cannot think of anything more likely to lose me your friendship. Can you imagine? Perhaps I ought to have her compromise you in the library since that is where we most often find you.” He caught his breath. “Well, not here at Netherfield, I grant you. The library is on the small side for you.”
“It would not matter what you did,” Darcy grumbled good-naturedly. “I will never marry your sister.”
Bingley tipped his head to one side, a little like Darcy’s favourite hunting dog when he caught a scent. “Hmm” was all he said. “I thank you for the laugh, Darcy, but I really must be returning to my lovely wife. Enjoy your solitude. I have given orders that you are to have things just as you like them.”
“You are a good friend, Bingley.”
“Thank you.” Bingley smiled slyly at him. “And good day, Darcy.”
Darcy waved him off and smiled as Bingley hurried back to his wife. He picked up his book and then set it down again, looking out into the growing darkness.
Three days later, Darcy was in the stables, speaking to Anders and feeling more than a little impatient.
“I would prefer to give her one more day to recuperate,” the coachman said smoothly, though he shifted from one foot to the other.
“Anders, I have been floating around this house attempting to remain unseen for three days. I am ready to depart.”
“Yes, sir,” Anders said briskly, but he could not keep his disapproval entirely out of the words.
Darcy was tired. He did not, could not, sleep well here. He rode out each day on one of his other horses for the exercise but made sure to ride in the opposite direction of Longbourn. He sequestered himself in his rooms where he read, wrote letters, and ate. He desperately wished to leave for Pemberley, where he could . . .
Where he would read, write letters, and eat.
At least he would not have to keep himself hidden. In point of fact, he might not need to keep himself hidden here anymore, but no one had come to tell him so, and therefore he would continue.
Darcy rubbed his hands together in the cold. It was nearly noon, and he suspected that the Bingleys had taken their breakfast and had retired again to their chambers. Shutting oneself away in the daytime was not done in London. Another point for the country, in his opinion.
There was always something to do or someone to see in London. But there was also always someone to comment on what you were doing or with who you were visiting. Sneering, more like. In the country, you met with your neighbours, and there was gossip, to be sure, but you did not live atop one another.
And what gossip would there be about Bingley and his new wife? That they had made a love match? That was enough to earn the scorn of many in London. More fools, them.
Despite his eagerness to be gone, how many miles could he actually travel today? It was already noon, and at this time of the year it would be dark in four hours. And tomorrow was Sunday. He would not travel on Sunday when there was no emergency.
He released a large breath. “Fine. Be ready to depart at first light Monday morning, Anders.”
Anders’s expression cleared. “Yes, Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth rose and stretched. It was Monday. Today would be five days since Jane’s marriage, and there had not been a single word in all that time. She began to think that Jane had found herself equal to all her tasks and in no need of her assistance. Or perhaps Mr. Bingley was not yet ready to part with her, even if therewaswork to be done.
She dressed herself for a walk. Sarah could do her hair later. With only three girls to tend instead of five, the maid was now more amenable to special requests. Elizabeth quickly donned her walking dress and boots and slipped downstairs and out into the gardens.
She wandered to the back of the park. It had not yet been cold enough to ice over the pond or turn the rain into sleet, but it was cold enough to give her a headache if her ears were not covered. She wound her scarf around her ears and nose, sure she made a ridiculous picture with her bonnet set atop the whole. When she was far enough away from the house that she would not be seen, she removed her bonnet and rearranged herself so that the scarf also covered her head.
Elizabeth was tired. Ever since the night before the wedding, she had not slept well. At least she had her bed back to herself. Her sisters had realised after one night that what had been a pleasant experience in childhood was a great deal less enjoyable now that they were grown. Mary kicked like a mule, and Kitty snored. Elizabeth had not slept at all until her sisters had crawled back to their own beds with the dawn.
When she returned to the house, cheeks ruddy with the cold and her spirits much lifted, her father handed her a note.
