The first bet had started innocently enough. Bingley had deigned it impossible to make Caroline dance with anyone without a title, and Bennet had proved his friend wrong. The next to bet was Fitzwilliam, who lost ten shillings to his cousin for believing that Georgiana would side with him over her own brother. The next to lose after him was Bennet, who could not convince Lady Catherine de Bourgh that Darcy had pock marks on his buttocks. As it was, the many bets continued throughout the course of their friendship. Cambridge, after all, was as place as much of fun as of learning.
Such as it was, the four friends found themselves in particular need for alleviation of moods upon this night - to be henceforth known, to Bingley's eternal protests, as the night of 'Bingley's first broken heart.' Upon retrospection years later, the appellation granted far more significance to the frivolous evening that deserved. In this particular moment, however, Bingley found his heart nearly stopping and his world a bleak image of everlasting loneliness.
"Was she truly that beautiful to begin with, man?" Darcy, ever stoic, sat straight as a tree with his arms resolutely crossed. His solemn deportment had him hovering across the table much, much taller than Bingley's crestfallen perch. Harsh as he ever was, Darcy showed just as little optimism as he would on every other day.
"Oh Darcy, must you be so glum?" Bennet laughed, hand on the mug on the table. "Bingley appears genuinely grieved. Should we not at least bear his burdens?"
"Oh, but is he truly grieved?" Darcy retorted, to Bingley's pain. "Appearances are wont to be deceiving, I dare say."
"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam, to Bingley's left, interrupted with a heartily shaking head. "Bingley mourns - must we be so heartless?"
"He mourns unnecessarily," Darcy replied curtly.
"Indeed, accustomed to his sisters' frankness, Bingley must have found Miss Jameson's graces far more lovely than they perhaps had been," Bennet conceded. His voice remained unsettlingly blithe. "But must we make sport of his sadness? Her engagement did come most suddenly."
"I do not make sport," Darcy stated simply.
"I dare say you never do!" interjected Fitzwilliam, smiling. "For a man so certain Bingley does not grieve, you look most melancholy of the lot of us!"
"I am not melancholy," spat Darcy.
The laughter exchanged amongst the three other friends lifted Bingley's spirits a certain degree. Now, at least, he found himself able to smile slightly. "I hope to God I do not look half as melancholy as you, Darce."
His subtle ribbing earned him a prompt glare from the ever-serious Darcy, and Bingley found himself smiling even more.
"Darcy, man, you frankly look far too grouchy than is acceptable," Fitzwilliam rebuked his cousin across the tavern table. Their warm sleeves felt warmer as each sip of whiskey burned down their throats. The room blurred gradually in Bingley's grief-addled mind. "If a stranger were to enter this room at this instant, I am quite certain he shall declare you the one to have lost one's first passionate love."
"I do not!" Darcy thundered, to the sheer amusement of his friends.
"Well then, man," Bingley found himself speaking despite the pain. He looked straight at Darcy's somber mien. "I choose to bet that you should have your heart broken at least once before the term closes."
Darcy scoffed, clearly unamused.
"I second Bingley," Bennet spoke. His empty mug hit the coarse table boards. "I would gladly double the bet."
"Very well, I accept." Darcy scoffed again. "I simply will not let my heart be touched."
Bingley looked beside him, first at Bennet and then at Fitzwilliam, and exchanged their knowing smiles.
"A good day for a good ride." Darcy dropped on the seat beside him, particularly eager, in impeccable riding garb. The cooling weather of late had seemed to rouse the outdoorsman in his cousin - who rather disliked the heat of summer noons.
Fitzwilliam smiled grimly. "I am afraid I shall be riding horses aplenty for years to come - in England or in France."
Darcy frowned, seldom one to understand things not plainly said. Bingley, quite the opposite, turned immediately from his books to face him. "You are to leave Cambridge?"
Fitzwilliam smiled at his friend's quick observation. Darcy, on the other hand, had his face grow instantly dark.
"Your family refuses to support you, Richard?" His cousin demanded, eyes tense. "I shall do it myself if I have to. You deserve an education."
"Don't be silly, Darce, you are in no position to determine my future." Fitzwilliam laughed. His right hand still clung tightly onto his father's latest letter, its contents heavy on his heart. He forced himself to laugh again. "I have never had achievements half as good as yours, after all, cousin dear. The army and its shifting faces perhaps suits me best."
"The army?" Bennet looked up from his book once more. The man was studious, no doubt. "I had thought you better a charming statesman."
"A statesman must first gather his crowd." Fitzwilliam smiled. His fingers gripped the letter firmly to his side. "My father knows best how I should gather mine."
"Napoleon's threat brews thicker by the day. To enlist is not a game. Your father makes unexpected choices."
"Alas, 'tis the lot of a second son." Fitzwilliam's chest ached, though his voice remained jovial. "My fortunes hold not the security of my friends'."
The friends quickly moved to object, but not one among the three could deny his own privilege as the only son. The murmurs of discontent at the imminent departure of their affable companion rose heatedly - but, without reason to sustain, they just as swiftly declined.
"I am afraid, Darcy, that you shall to visit Aunt Catherine without me the next few years." Fitzwilliam found the opportunity perfect to rib his stormy-eyed cousin. It would be hard indeed to part with Darcy. Having wasted two years of his life in social meandering before attending university with Darcy, however, Fitzwilliam knew he himself had few more years of reckless youth to squander. "I believe you must pay her twice the obeisance to relieve her of the pain of losing mine."
"Heaven forbid you ever leave me alone to her clutches," Darcy commanded, frowning sternly.
Fitzwilliam smiled. "Would you prefer I entrust you to Bingley's sister?"
Bennet's guffaw, Darcy's glare, and Bingley's apologetic grin composed a most amusing view.
"I am sorry, Darcy, you know, for Caroline's incessant hinting," Bingley, shrugging, offered in peace.
"I would appreciate it much if you can convince her that I have no interest to be married," Darcy appealed as he leaned back against the sofa. The shock over his cousin's eventual departure seemed to be slowly morphing into begrudging acceptance.
When Bingley seemed stunted in his efforts to formulate an adequate response, Bennet's voice soon came to his rescue. "I believe Bingley would gladly do so if only it were the truth."
"Truth?" Darcy scoffed. "I am most decidedly against marriage, I am afraid. My mother may turn in her grave - but even she cannot aim cupid's arrows."
"But my mother can." Bennet laughed. His regal blue clothes and manner contrasted with his choice of topic. "If you are so certain to escape matrimony, Darcy, I would advise that you never allow yourself to meet my mother. Five daughters have made her quite the matchmaker."
"Your sisters are all married?" Bingley asked openly.
"Ah, I stand corrected." Bennet smiled, closing his book. "My mother endeavors to be quite the matchmaker."
Darcy, perhaps accustomed to London's flirtatious hordes, only frowned further while his two other friends chuckled.
"I would be glad to meet your sisters, Bennet. You have often spoken of them so well." Bingley's words were beyond predictable.
"Have I?" Bennet laughed again. "Perhaps my mother has affected me without my knowledge. I dare not vouch for all of them, I'm afraid. Jane, like her brother, is known for being quite the local beauty. Elizabeth and her witty thoughts enliven every room she occupies. The younger three, however, I dare not claim to know well, given our disparity in age."
"I did not know you thought so highly of your own face, man." Fitzwilliam joined, spirits much lifted in the previous ten minutes. "I hope you do not intend for any of us to fall in love with you."
Bingley's paled face and Darcy's groan were just what Fitzwilliam wanted.
"I am afraid that course of action would still be unsuccessful in keeping you from the army's barracks." Bennet smiled. "But, if you would but marry one of my sisters, I promise my mother shall worship the ground you tread upon, perhaps to the point of convincing your father of your need to stay in England."
"I shall give the plan my due consideration."
Bennet nodded, and Fitzwilliam wondered if his two other dear friends could be just as cheerful about the matter as Bennet seemed to be.
"Well, you look dour today, my friend," Fitzwiliam observed as he took the seat across the long table.
College fare was never as appetizing as what Darcy's private cook would serve - but Bennet's moods today had little to do with the victuals before him. Never one to be as lively as Bingley nor as sober as Darcy, Bennet found very few people able to discern his subtle thoughts. Fitzwilliam, thank God for his presence, was among the few.
"Is something the matter?" Bingley slid beside Fitzwilliam upon the bench. "I thought the weather quite lovely today."
As lovely as it could be with the onset of winter, Bennet thought with a very tight smile.
"My father chose to let me end the term in peace, Bennet," Fitzwilliam said. "Don't let Darcy's storminess have you upsetting the fact as well."
Bennet chuckled just as Darcy appeared by their side. His haughty bearings fit ill with the youthful crowd about them. With his friends alone, Darcy was sober; among strangers, he was positively arrogant. "Could we not come to my residence? I fail to see the allure of messy halls and stuffy rooms."
Darcy's complaint, it seemed, was just the thing to bring about Bennet's usual cheer. The Hertfordshire gentleman eased his open hand towards Bingley as quickly as a young deer took after is mother. "I believe payment is due, chap. He barely lasted a minute."
Fitzwilliam's and Darcy's frowns only served to better Bennet's mood. "Come now, Bingley, I had always payed you fair. You could spare your shilling easily enough, I'm sure."
Bingley - still smiling, for the man could do little else - promptly dropped his shilling on Bennet's palm before whispering, "I'm sorry," to Darcy.
"You are sorry to me?" Darcy's confusion could hardly be feigned.
"I had thought you would not complain that we should come here today," Bingley muttered meekly, and Fitzwilliam's howled in laughter.
"I, of course, had the foresight to know that you would barely last five minutes." Bennet smiled, pocketing his winning. "I had not thought you to exceed my expectations to barely last one."
Darcy's gruff scoff heightened the comedic fact that it was his pride that had subjected him to being the topic of his friends' bet at all.
"Oh, cousin, you prove them absolutely correct!" Fitzwilliam exclaimed, laughing. "I bet you could barely suffer yourself to smile once before bed today."
Darcy's growl, once again, merely displayed his predictable sourness further - to his friends' great amusement.
"I am only thoughtful," Darcy defended himself firmly. "I do smile."
His friends laughed still.
"I am the sole heir to so much of England!" Darcy insisted childishly. "I simply have to be sober for my tasks."
Fitzwilliam and Bingley laughed all the same. Bennet, however, soon found his thoughts dark once more.
"Bennet?" Fitzwilliam was first to notice.
Bennet smiled sadly. "I am afraid my problems for today regard exactly the fact that I am the sole heir to a small part of England."
Darcy, perhaps intrigued by this turn of thought, sat beside him.
"Your father's estate?" asked Bingley.
Bennet nodded. "His cousin is visiting today - a Mr. Collins, I believe. If I were to die heirless at any point in time, the estate is entailed away to him - rather than my dear sisters."
Reality covered the young men's mirth with a much more somber mien.
"With you, I am certain your sisters would not lack for care," Darcy spoke first, perhaps thinking of his own young sibling.
"I can only hope I neither die young nor spend my parents' meager earnings." Bennet knew his own smile was sad. "Five sisters I could hardly vouch to support my entire life."
"Perhaps, like me, then, you ought to find yourself a happy, fair heiress." Fitzwilliam's joviality revived happier thoughts. The friends, including Darcy, smiled.
"I am glad I did not bet money," Fitzwilliam claimed, staring at his cousin.
"I am sorry I did not." Darcy smiled.
In his young life, Darcy had had many dark moments. From childhood injuries to the loss of his mother - he had never been shielded from life's truest despairs. The day Wickham had been banished from Pemberley, of course, had been easily among those horrific memories. Young as he was - Darcy knew grief.
Thus he knew, today, that this grief would chill him to the very bone for years to come.
"I am sorry, man," Fitzwilliam comforted beside him.
Darcy frowned further, his throat tight.
"I would not wish such sorrow upon my worst enemy." Bennet's voice seemed to crack today.
Darcy lowered his head.
"Shall I call on my sisters to cheer you, Darce?" Bingley offered unhelpfully.
"No!" Darcy cried in unison with Fitzwilliam. Bennet smiled sadly beside them all. Darcy sighed. "Let us menfolk mourn in peace."
Bingley nodded understandingly, and the room fell into silence once more.
The harsh rain outside the window encapsulated Darcy's pain. His eyes fell shut as memories of his father flitted through his mind: the first ride they'd shared, the first ball he'd allowed his son to attend, the first time he'd entrusted Georgiana to Darcy's care, the first time - and the last - that he'd held his dying wife tightly until she'd slipped into heaven. Darcy found himself choking uncontrollably for a whole minute in the quiet sitting room.
"Is there little we can do?" Bennet asked, voice pained himself. Perhaps his friend also feared the horror of losing one's father.
No, Darcy, realized, the only friend who truly knew - had to be Bingley.
"I'm sorry, Darce," Bingley, shifting in his brown suit, hung his head. "I had been unwise to bet so."
The echoes of that bet - made so heartily on the night of Bingley's first broken heart - reverberated in hollow tones around their present company.
Darcy sighed. "I blame you not."
"But I was so very inconsiderate!" Bingley flew from his seat and started pacing about. His mournful face exhibited deep, exhausting guilt. "If I suffered from a broken heart so - how could I so lightly wish it upon my friends?"
"You had not thought your wish to apply to Uncle George," Fitzwilliam assured. "Our family cannot fault you."
"Oh, the horrors of a broken heart!" Bingley continued to exclaim. "I cannot fathom what I have wished upon you."
"Again, be quiet." Darcy sighed. Bingley's guilt, while truly heartfelt, was rather untimely in his hour of mourning. "Please - leave me be."
"Perhaps we should extend your bet, Bingley," Bennet offered, "to apply only to a woman breaking Darcy's heart."
Bingley looked hopefully at his grieving friend, and Darcy grunted his assent.
It would not do, after all, to compare this sadness to a woman's rejection. The latter, Darcy was certain, he would never have to face.