Page 72 of Her Whole Heart
“Mr. Bingley is here, sir.”
“Bingley?” Whatever was Bingley doing here at this time of night? “Show him in, Mr. Yardley.”
The butler hesitated, casting a glance in the direction of the front door and then back at Darcy.
“What is it?”
Mr. Yardley frowned. “He has been imbibing, Mr. Darcy.”
Bingley did not often drink to excess, and when he did, he certainly did not visit his friends. He went home. But then, his sisters and brother had returned to town, and home would mean listening to their complaints whilst in his cups.
“Show him in, Mr. Yardley. And ask the kitchen for coffee.”
“Very good, Mr. Darcy.”
A few moments later, Bingley was striding into the room, his cravat slightly askew and the top button of his waistcoat undone.
“Darssy, my good man!” He blinked owlishly when he realized that they were not alone. “I do hope I am not interrupting anysing . . . anysing . . . important.”
“Are you quite all right, Bingley?” Darcy asked.
“No!” Bingley nearly shouted before finding a chair and collapsing into it. “I need advisse.”
“How is that different from any other day?” Fitz asked. Milton laughed.
Bingley pointed at Fitz. “Zzzactly. But sis is diff . . . diff-rent. I need to know how to be”—here he punctuated each syllable with a jab of his finger—“com-MAN-ding.”
Darcy sighed. Someone had obviously put a bug in Bingley’s ear. “Whatever for?”
Fitz crossed his arms over his chest and stood up as tall as he was able, which was still a few inches shorter than Darcy.
“Commanding, you say?”
Bingley’s bleary gaze swung over to Fitz.
“You are in the right place,” he said. “Who better to ask than a colonel in the British Army?”
“Nooo,” Bingley groaned. “Darssy. He hass ssisters. I mean, a ssister.”
“We have a sister,” Fitz said, smiling. “Perhaps you have heard of her? Lady Henrietta Fitzwilliam?”
“Ohhh, thasss right. And isss sha . . . sha . . . she ssweet like Misss Darssy?”
Milton began to laugh.
“Cousin,” Darcy remonstrated.
“Please,” Milton said, waving at Bingley. “It is as though the children found their nanny’s flask. Tell me you are not having trouble maintaining your composure, and I shall think you made of stone.”
Milton had been laughing at his sister, not Bingley, but Darcy let it go. Despite his suspicion that Lady Henrietta was at last comprehending that her actions had not been above reproach, she was not his to protect, certainly not against her own brothers. She had put herself in a position of being laughed at, and that was no one’s fault but her own.
“Sstone,” Bingley said, nodding. “My sissterss heartss are sstone. They have been hounding me about Misss Bennet. Ssay to break it off. But it wass Misss Bennet who broke . . . broke—”
“Oh, ho!” Fitz exclaimed in astonishment. “Miss Bennet broke with you? Because of your sisters?”
“Sstupid sissters. Think they know . . .” Here Bingley made a wide, sweeping motion with one arm. “All.”
Milton pretended to commiserate. “It is the eternal struggle of the younger brother, right Fitz?”
