It was a cool morning as the four friends and the rest of their servants rode from Netherfield Park in the direction of London. It was to be a long journey and Darcy felt his heart race as he snuck a glance at his friend Bingley who stared woefully out the carriage window. Within the small space amongst deep blue velvet and cushioned bench seats there was a muggy feeling of awkwardness. Mr Hurst was, as usual, immune to such social issues as he rested his head against the wall in a drunken slumber. The two women, Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs Louisa Hurst continued to look nervously at each other but thankfully refrained from whispering as regards the silence of their brother and his best friend. There had been little warning before the house was packed up and locked up and both Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were rather puzzled as to why they were fleeing the countryside. It was true that neither one favoured the society in the slightest – there was little talent or beauty or culture here – but they knew Charles to have a very high regard for the place and most especially for his quiet, blonde Miss Jane Bennet.
"I will be very pleased to return to London I am sure", said Caroline in an attempt to break the silence. Mrs Hurst nodded enthusiastically but the men ignored her; Mr Darcy writing a long letter to his sister, while Mr Bingley continued to stare out the window and Mr Hurst gave a great snore but slept on.
"Indeed, Caroline", added Mrs Hurst. "It is so very pleasant to return to one's home with one's own people."
"I care nothing for your people, Louisa", muttered Bingley to the green wilderness beyond the window. Louisa stared at her sister with wide eyes, seemingly quite unable to comprehend that it was their gentile brother whom had just snapped at her. Charles Bingley had not spoken to her in such a harsh manner since he was a very young boy and it startled her immensely. Mr Darcy had, at least, shown some response to Charles' words and looked at the man unhappily, his mind clearly troubled, but said nothing.
Darcy presently sat at his large cedar desk with only a single candle for light, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts, and failing dismally. He couldn't escape from the fact that Bingley was so very downcast. Darcy had acted selfishly before, many times in fact, but he felt nothing could quite match this latest act. It was, to be sure, an act of betrayal to his friend of so many years, but although he felt quite guilty about it, he simply couldn't bring himself to regret speaking up about the Bennet girl and convincing them all to return to the city.
Jane Bennet's beauty and her good and caring nature were unable to be contested. Darcy truly believed her to be in love with Bingley despite what he had so adamantly argued to the man the night previously. They had been sitting in the smoking room well after supper, Caroline and Louisa having left for bed hours before, and Mr Hurst slept fitfully on a sofa by the large, dark window.
"Bingley, there is nothing for you here", he had said quietly to his friend. "I know you believe yourself to be in love, but it is a passing fancy, a folly. She clearly does not love you in return, not in the way you deserve, anyway. I think it best that we remove ourselves to London so there is no danger of you being trapped by that… family." Bingley had listened intently to his words and by the end Darcy saw a slight dampness to his eyes that he cursed himself for having been the cause of.
"I'm sorry Bingley, really I am. But I think it is for the best."
From there, the man had not taken much convincing and Darcy had gone to rouse the servants and tell them of the swift departure the following day.
It had been cruel, Darcy knew, to separate Bingley and Jane, but Darcy knew in his heart that it was for the best. Bingley could not possibly end up with this girl, and Darcy didn't think he could bare it if he knew he were to lose the man he loved to a country girl with such a family. He had reconciled himself long ago to the fact that he had little chance gaining Bingley's deepest affections, but if his friend were to end up with someone else, Darcy would make absolute sure that the woman was worthy of him.
Sitting in his dark bed chambers in nothing but his crisp, white nightshirt though, he felt a twitch in his resolve. Now that he had removed Bingley from the girl, from the country, he had him all to himself. Darcy didn't want to let go of that. Maybe in time Bingley would come to see that they could become more than friends – "no", he whispered harshly to himself. It was impossible. His most secret of dreams would never reach reality. No matter how much it hurt, he would have to push those dreams aside and work on making Bingley the happiest he could be, with the worthiest of wives.
Bingley could not make out the painting on the ceiling of his large, warm bed chamber that night. The moon was nowhere to be seen and he had long since snuffed the candle by his bed. Despite the lack of anything to look at, Bingley had been lying there, with his eyes open, for over four hours. He simply couldn't get to sleep, he didn't bother trying for his head continued to swirl with unhappy thoughts. He was ashamed to say that those thoughts did not revolve around the young Miss Jane Bennet however. He had been loathed to leave her, she was excellent company, sweet and funny, however he had come to see her as nothing more than a companion, a good friend. No, the person that filled his head, and had done since the night before, was the tall, proud, Darcy. He couldn't help but think that Darcy had convinced him to leave so that he could escape Bingley's company. The two friends, Caroline, Louisa and Mr Hurst had been living in Netherfield for months and he had long held the worry that Darcy was growing tired of him. This part of the country and Netherfield itself was incomparable to the majestic Pemberly, and Bingley feared that living in the house with him with little to do and no ladies of beauty or promise had starved his friend of enjoyment.
Bingley sighed and his shoulders slumped; he knew he was wrong in thinking it, pathetic even, but how he wished it was his company that Darcy sought, his looks and humour, and dare he think it, his kisses to be stolen in the shadows of a ball. He turned over, utterly restless, and wished that there was some God in heaven that could make his dreams come true, some way of getting Darcy to fall for him and not some odious young woman that wanted him only for his dark features and great wealth.