Page 27 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
Darcy had been cautious when relating his plan to Bingley. Miss Jane Bennet might not have the same feelings for his friend as she once had, but Bingley was determined to find out once and for all. When Darcy understood that Jane Bennet still loved Bingley and would forgive him, he had left Netherfield to allow his friend to court in peace.
He had not put the knocker up on the door in London, as he had wished for privacy to work through his feelings. It was difficult to accept that his admiration and affection were not returned. If only she had been able to remain at Pemberley for a few more days! Everything then might have been different. He might even have had some standing to force Lydia Bennet home.
During those days in London, his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh had called, but had left in a huff when the servants informed her that Darcy was not at home. The letter she had left for him had begun with vitriol, and he had not read the rest, but tossed it immediately into the fire.
It was unlike him. He had always been very patient with his aunt, for his mother had loved her. But he was worn out, all his reserves depleted. Loving Elizabeth without having gained, without havingearnedher love in return had been—was—a terrible burden to bear.
“You are quiet, Darcy, even for you.” Bingley nudged him with an elbow. “Are you asleep?”
Darcy scoffed. “Would I ever fall asleep in front of a fire rather than in my bed, Bingley?”
His friend laughed. “Most of us have, at one time or another, you know. When you are in your own chambers, you may do as you like.”
“Servants talk, Bingley. I am never alone, not even in my own chambers.”
Bingley leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped before him. “That sounds exhausting.”
Darcy cast his eyes upward. “It is.”
“Perhaps you ought to learn to shave yourself and tie your own cravat.”
It surprised a laugh out of him. Bingley was a good friend. He always knew when to be serious and when Darcy needed to be goaded out of his dark humours. “Perhaps I shall.”
“Because you are my good friend, Darcy, I shall offer you one more evening of reprieve. I will announce that your heroics today have left you quite done in and that you will dine up here. But tomorrow, I expect you to join us, like a gentleman should.”
Darcy sighed and nodded. “Thank you for your forbearance, Bingley. I shall do as you say.”
Bingley appeared a little shocked by Darcy’s easy acquiescence. But Darcy knew that Elizabeth was unlikely to come to dinner tonight—her sister would not allow it after the events of this morning, no matter whether Elizabeth felt recovered or not. And Elizabeth would not worry her sister by insisting. But that would only last so long. Provided there were no lingering ill effects from her misadventure this morning, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be at dinner tomorrow night.
“Well, Darcy,” Bingley said, standing and tugging the hem of his waistcoat, “I will leave you to it.”
“To what?”
Bingley chuckled. “To whatever it is that you do when you are on your own.”
He nodded, but when his friend reached for the knob, Darcy abruptly recalled why he was still here, “How is your servant? The one who was taken ill?”
Bingley met Darcy’s gaze steadily. “He appears to be doing well enough, but it is too soon to say.”
Chapter Eleven
Bythemorningafterher unexpected dunking, Elizabeth was wild to be out of her room. She was embarrassed that Mr. Darcy had seen her in such dishabille, but it was as much his fault as hers—more, really. First, he ought to have attended the dinner at Netherfield where she had appeared at her best, and second, he ought not have cried out her name and frightened her when she thought she was alone. But what was done was done, and she was determined not to dwell on it. She had done enough of that these past few months. Mr. Darcy was still here, and she did not much care why.
Somehow, she would gain a private moment with him and confess what she had hoped for last summer. If he did not wish to renew his offers, it would hurt—it would hurt badly—but at least she would know. And then, one way or another, she could go on with her life. Elizabeth sighed. She hoped she could go on with her life.
“Lizzy, what are you doing up?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth had not even heard her sister walk in. “I am well, Jane. A warm fire, a good meal, and a full night’s sleep have done their work.”
“I would prefer you remain in bed today, just to be safe. If you are still feeling well this evening, you can come down to dinner.”
“Will Mr. Darcy be there?”
Jane worried her bottom lip, but Elizabeth could see that she was trying not to smile.
“What is it?” Elizabeth inquired, ready to be entertained.
“You need not worry about the meal being awkward for you, Lizzy. Caroline does not know that Mr. Darcy is here, and upon his request, she will not learn of his presence until just before dinner. I suspect she will demand his attentions tonight.” Jane shook her head. “The poor man had hoped to slip out of the house without her knowing, but between the trouble with his horses, a servant taking ill with an influenza . . .”
