Page 29 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
“Indeed. Now, if you wish to know, I was also considering the look on Caroline’s face when you suddenly appear before her.”
Darcy blanched.
The laughter that erupted from Bingley was not soon dampened, but at last he shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, my friend. I will inform my sister that you are here. Caroline, that is, not Lizzy, who is already aware.”
“Too many sisters, Bingley.”
“Just wait until we have to add the other two still at Longbourn, or when Louisa comes to call. Even your sharp mind will have trouble keeping up.”
Darcy grunted and led his horse away from the soft, wet ground. “None of them will likely give me as much trouble as you.”
“Me?” Bingley exclaimed, “I am the easiest fellow you shall ever meet.”
When they arrived back at Netherfield, Darcy went directly upstairs for a bath and to write some letters. His steward had been expecting him back days ago, but he doubted now that he would return to Pemberley at all before the season began. He would cut his stay in London short and return to Pemberley before planting. He explained the change in his plans and answered a number of outstanding questions.
Dinner was served early in the country, and as soon as his letters were done, Darcy prepared himself for it. He would see Miss Bingley, but he might also see Elizabeth.
“How is Miss Bennet faring?” Darcy asked Scripps as the valet arranged his hair.
“I could not say, sir, but there has been no rushing about for more than some hot soup and tea from the kitchen.” He pressed his lips together. “Kerr had a gown to press, so I suppose that means Miss Bennet will be down for dinner.”
Darcy smiled to himself. Just as he had predicted. “Good, good.”
“Miss Bennet is well thought of by everyone at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not everyone,” Darcy remarked drolly, and felt a painful tug on his hair. “Ow,” he said, complaining. “Do you mind? The hair is attached to my head at present, and I should prefer to keep it there.”
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy,” Scripps replied curtly.
“Scripps,” Darcy said slowly, recalling his misunderstanding with Bingley, “do you think I am the one who does not think well of Miss Bennet? If so, you quite mistake the matter.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“I was speaking of Miss Bingley. She has never thought well of Miss Bennet.”
“Ah,” Scripps said politely. His ministrations eased.
“I think quite highly of Mrs. Bingley’s sister,” Darcy assured Scripps.
“Very good, sir.”
Darcy almost repeated himself in the hopes that Scripps would believe him, but he stopped himself in time. It did not matter whether Scripps believed him or not. It only mattered that Elizabeth did—and what her response to his admission would be.
“Thank you, Scripps,” he said when the man was done, and Scripps hurried away to assist his master.
Miss Bingley was waiting for Mr. Darcy—lying in wait like the carnivorous plant from America that the botanist Mr. Ellis had written of so exactly. Only Mr. Darcy was not an insect, and he was unlikely to be caught no matter how long Miss Bingley waited.
Elizabeth had believed she would enjoy seeing Miss Bingley’s face when she first encountered Mr. Darcy and learned he had been hiding himself away in the guest wing of the house, but this game had grown tiresome. Charles had already informed Miss Bingley of Mr. Darcy’s presence in any case, and Elizabeth had refused to eavesdrop near the study door to hear what the woman’s reaction might be. She did not wish to act like a child, no matter how sorely she was tempted.
She did not wish to tease Mr. Darcy either, not really. She wished to speak to him like the rational creature she knew herself to be.
She could tease him afterward.
His expression, when he did arrive, was stoic and perfectly composed. “Miss Bingley,” he said flatly, and then turned to Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet. I trust you have not suffered any lasting harm from your accident yesterday?”
“As you see, sir,” she replied with a little smile.
He returned it, though his smile was fleeting.
