"A Mr. Darcy is here for you, Miss."
Now, on any other day, the news of a visit from Fitzwilliam Darcy would send her into near panic - scrambling to check her hair, arranging her dress in just the right way, searching for the perfect book to casually read - but today, she finds that she could not be bothered with such necessities.
The summer had seemed to add a great weight to Miss Bingley's shoulders. London was humid; damp and stifling. Her brother and sister-in-law had retreated to the countryside, and Mrs. Hurst and her husband were vacationing in Bath. All other peers of notable social rank, anyone she had ever called a 'friend', was either at the ocean for the summer or, at this point, married.
Even a visit from her beloved Mr. Darcy could not remedy her mood.
"Miss Bingley." He greets her formally, as is his nature.
"A pleasure as always, Mr. Darcy." She rises to her feet, letting a polite smile grace her lips. "By all means, sit. Please." She gestures towards the seat next to her, which he takes with a silent nod.
The silence is perhaps more suffocating than the London air. She keeps her gaze on her neatly folded hands in her lap, but out of the corner of her eye she can see his tense shoulders, the storm brewing in his eyes.
"I thought perhaps you would be in Derbyshire for the season." She asks, because any conversation is better than this awful silence. "Pemberley is lovely this time of year."
"I hope to return there shortly." He replies tersely, enough for her to blink at the curtness of his response.
"Charles is in Hertfordshire for the summer, if you were searching for him." She clarifies. Though she has been in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy for years, rarely ever was she left with him in such an intimate setting.
"I am aware of your brother's whereabouts, Miss Bingley." Darcy responds, and she knits her eyebrows gracefully in confusion.
"Though it is always a joy to have you here, Mr. Darcy, I am a tad perplexed at the purpose of your visit." She inquires; after all, Mr. Darcy has never visited her privately before.
"I have just returned from Kent." He tells her slowly.
"And how is your aunt, Lady Catherine?"
"Quite well, thank you." He clears his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere in the room except for her. "Have you heard of my cousin's marriage?"
"Yes. He and Miss Elizabeth have moved to the North, have they not?" She wonders gently.
"To Newcastle." She has to lean closer to hear him.
"Ah."
"Miss Bingley," He begins anew. "I have been relatively open with you about my...sentiments toward Miss Elizabeth."
"Indeed you have." She says it perhaps more harshly than she means, punctuating the end with a humorless grin. It has been your constant occupation these last few months.
"And as you have heard, she is otherwise engaged, " He continues with conviction. "Perhaps other arrangements can be made."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy?"
"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
And again, on any other day she would rejoice at this news - she would be weeping with joy. She has been pining after her for years but now she just feels vastly shocked.
"Mr. Darcy!" She jumps to her feet in alarm.
"Miss Bingley," He sinks on to one knee in front of her.
"Sir, you can not be serious in your proposal." She shakes her head, wringing her hands nervously.
"I would not be here if I wasn't. And I know of your own feelings towards me." She feels the blush crawl up her cheeks in embarrassment.
"You have not loved me a day in your life." She whispers, though it pains her to admit it.
"I have never disliked you." He argues. "I must admit, I thought you would be more...joyous at this proposal."
"Who would ever want to marry someone who is so clearly in love with someone else?" She laughs slightly in exasperation.
"But Elizabeth denied me, and made her feelings extremely clear."
"And so I am second to her even now." She sighs, finally meeting his determined, yet pleading eyes.
"Caroline, please." It is the first time she's ever heard him use her Christian name, and she hates the twisting she feels in her chest.
"I must be a fool to be even considering this proposal of yours." She chuckles sharply, and she can see the flash of pain in his eyes and her laughter dies.
"Is this what you want, Mr. Darcy?" She lowers her voice, stepping closer to him. "For I do not think I could be in a marriage with a miserable man pining after someone else."
"I most dearly hope you can help alleviate my pain, Miss Bingley." It doesn't sound sincere in the slightest; much more like a schoolboy reciting his lessons.
"Then yes." She shrugs simply. She wishes she has the strength to deny him, just to spite him, but admittedly she is too in love with him for even that.
He blinks in surprise before rising to feet, reaching into his pocket, and slipping the ring on her finger. His hand lingers on hers, seemingly undecided on whether to embrace her, or kiss her.
"You will have to write my brother." She makes his decision for him.
"Of course. I will notify him at once." He agrees, and she nods slightly. "I will call again shortly." He looks down at their joined hands, forgotten until that moment, before pressing a kiss to her hand in formality.
"Until then, Mr. Darcy." She responds, feeling like this is some incredibly complex dream that she will soon wake up from.
"Miss Bingley," He bids her farewell stiffly, as if they were still acquaintances and not recently engaged.
When he exits, she exhales readily, not realizing she had been holding her breath.
Oddly, she doesn't even have the strength to write Louisa.