I think this chapter is almost entirely new material. Enjoy.

Chapter 8: Fulfilling His Promise

I knew I had an obligation to marry and to marry well. My father had drilled it into me repeatedly that I must marry a woman of consequence, someone whose breeding and style might match what our families expected and establish that my idiosyncrasies were of no import, someone whose place in society would cement mine. It was what was expected. It was what was needed to ensure that the legacy of the Darcys carried on to the line of Darcys that would flow through me to generations yet unknown.

But I had only a vague idea of how I was supposed to accomplish this end. When I pictured marrying, it was all about obligation and duty and had nothing to do with what I might desire. Yet after Bingley stated he wished to help my mind often drifted back to our exchange. Was it possible that he could help me? Could I really find such a woman who would want to marry me, who might truly come to care for me? Would he even remember his offer, what I had now come to regard as his promise?

While we were still at Cambridge together, the matter was not raised again by either of us. Neither was it raised during our correspondence of more than three years.

Although I was glad to receive Bingley's letters, his written words were not a good substitute for his presence. He expressed himself so much better verbally and it was harder to feel his presence while I was struggling to decipher the meaning contained in correspondence with many blots and missing words. Having helped him before, I was most familiar with his hand and able to make more sense of the thoughts behind his execution than most. However, even though I could understand them, eventually, reading them was like handling a string that was frayed to the point of almost breaking in some places and tangled in others; in short, it bothered me as such a string would bother me.

It was a struggle for me not to correct Bingley's letters, as I had with his papers during my university days. Every time I received a new letter, the desire grew. I would catch my fingers moving in the air above his missives as if I were holding a pen. I felt a physical need to correct his scribblings, to make order of the chaos, to tame it with correct grammar and spelling, to fill in all omissions.

One day, when holding his new letter, I wondered why I was fighting so hard against this impulse. It was not as if he would ever see my corrections. No one would.

As I began editing, I immediately felt better. After my first edit, I drafted a new and perfected letter. I might go back and forth about what word was intended: Was it "fortress" or "fortunate"? Was it "burying" or "braying"? Was a completely different word intended? I would make my best guess and then continue on. When I reviewed the original again and might make additional corrections to my revision before I finally wrote a final draft. Revising his letters could make for a cheerful evening for me.

Originally, I never intended to share my revisions with anyone, but I could not resist showing Georgiana (who was all of twelve at the time but already far above me in making sense of the world around her) my work after a particularly intense deciphering session.

The letter I was correcting appeared to be written while Bingley was perhaps writing from the desk in his carriage on a particularly rough road while he was somewhat intoxicated. It was the most jumbled mess I had ever seen from him. In the letter I believed he was bemoaning the loss of a woman who had lately married another man, but it was difficult to make the matter out. I decided to ask for Georgiana's opinion as to whether I had successfully deciphered his unreadable garble of a sentence that read: Sh* **d *he must b*utiful **g*s and I ****l Nebbr *** ***** v**w th* *lc* ** cl**r Au****s *ay tink her.

My first effort yielded: Should the most bountiful dugs and I mingle? Never, [ever, I must] vow that luck [will] clear Another's hay stink [from] her. However, I doubted Bingley would write about a woman's dugs to me, and the rest of the sentence made little sense.

Dissatisfied with this version, I tried again: Should the most beautiful legs and I shall never [be able to] view the luck [on a] clear Autumn day [without] thinking of her.

I showed these two versions to Georgiana after extracting a promise from her that she would not tell our mother about any inappropriate words contained in the letter. She studied the original and my transcriptions for a while before suggesting, "I think the first word you have is actually two words and this word," she pointed to the "g" in **g*s, "might actually be a 'y' and not a 'g'. And perhaps the "lc" is actually a "k" and 'tink' is 'think.'"

This yielded, "She had the most beautiful eyes and I shall never [be able to] view the sky on a clear Autumn's day [without] think[ing] of her."

Well satisfied with Georgiana's help, and happy that she seemed to enjoy the activity also, what had been a purely solitary endeavor became something that I began to regularly share with my sister. So it was that she was just as eager for me to receive letters from Bingley as me.

It was some letters later before Bingley finally raised the subject of aiding me with women. He was responding to a letter I wrote to him, telling him that I would soon be in London on business and hoped he would call upon me after I arrived. I knew of course that as I was visiting, I should have called upon him first, but I did not particularly want to meet the rest of his family.

Thus, it was that in this latest letter, Georgiana and I learned how Bingley meant to fulfill the first part of his promise, to help me learn how to talk to women (although of course Georgiana knew nothing of Miss Wilde or of Bingley's promise). His corrected letter (which took us the better part of two evenings to decipher, mostly because she kept suggesting outrageous interpretations of blotted words, in an apparent effort to make me laugh), read in pertinent part as follows:

I miss our association and I shall certainly be glad to call upon you on Tuesday, the twenty-third as you requested. However, I wish you to visit me and my family also rather than for only me to visit you at your London home. I live with my mother and two sisters. My mother is in ill health and you would likely not see her very often, but her presence in the house insures propriety. My sisters are who I really wish you to meet and get to know. They will be patient and kind to you. Indeed, they are most desirous of meeting you. I have told that them that you are a bit shy and awkward but are my closest friend.

If you should come, my sisters will provide many opportunities to practice talking to women. They should prove invaluable in helping you improve your skills. Louisa is my elder and of an age with you and Caroline is nineteen and not yet out.

Louisa is a light brunette, but she would not be a good match for you, for she is too bland in personality and has no great curiosity about the world around her. She would bore you as a wife.

Louisa is being courted by a Mr. Hurst. It is no grand love affair, but they get along well enough. They are in no hurry to marry. Before my father passed on, he granted his permission conditionally. While Louisa since reached her majority and could marry now if she so desired, they are both honoring my father's wishes.

The reason for the delay is that Hurst is awaiting an inheritance from his great-uncle which shall allow him to live separately from his parents. I think this uncle is now almost eighty and no one expected him to live this long. It will be a good match should Hurst's inheritance come through, but I imagine that Louisa will marry him sooner or later. So as should be clear to you, she will have no designs on you.

Because Louisa has not married, our mother has directed that Caroline cannot come out until she reaches the age of one and twenty or Louisa marries, whichever comes first. I am almost certain that Caroline will be waiting for that birthday, so you have nearly two years to be friendly to her without her having any right to think of you as a marital prospect. Caroline is intelligent but does not have the hair color you seek. I do not think you would ever suit as she can be a bit sharp with other people, but she has a good heart underneath. She will be anxious to impress you.

When we finished reading this letter together, Georgiana asked me, "Will you call upon him and his sisters?"

I did not want to but said nothing as Georgiana looked at me with her wide eyes.

She then offered, "Brother, Mr. Bingley is a good and loyal friend. Surely you do not mean to wait until I am old enough to be presented to society and am able to assist you in finding a wife?"

The image of me depending upon my little sister to help me find a match finally decided me on accepting Bingley's offer and meeting his sisters. During my most proper fifteen-minute call, I said very little, but the next time it was not quite as hard, and I spoke a little more.

Bingley was correct that his sisters would be most kind to me and I soon became a frequent visitor to their home every time I visited London. They were not all that difficult to talk to and Bingley was always there to help facilitate the conversation. I found Miss Caroline Bingley the more interesting of the two, but while she was always kind to me, she could be rather mean with other people. My other general objection to her was that her copper hair, although attractive, was too startling of a color to be soothing.

As I had no designs on either of Bingley sisters, I managed to stumble through conversations with them and gain a bit more facility in such exchanges, but I had trouble taking an interest in their concerns. Often the conversations flowed around me, rather than requiring my contributions, but I did not mind that. What was fashion or gossip to me?

As the years went by, Miss Bingley became Mrs. Hurst, they all moved into Hurst's new home, and Miss Caroline became Miss Bingley. I managed to adjust to these changes and continued to be friendly with them. In these alterations, they still remained essentially the same or at least I could pretend they did.

When Miss Caroline Bingley attended her first ball after she came out, I accompanied her and the rest of her party. Out of politeness I danced one set with both her and her sister. Her ginger hair was elaborately arranged atop her head and she wore fine jewels and a new gown of pale pink.

It was not much different speaking to Miss Bingley as we danced as compared with when I saw her at her home. Her conversation had not materially altered now that she was a woman rather than a girl. As usual, she canvased familiar topics: praising me ("Oh Darcy, this is a fine enough room but I imagine it is nothing to the ballroom at Pemberley"); asking me about Georgiana ("I so desire to meet your sister, have you had a letter from her lately?"; criticizing what other women were wearing and their lack of accomplishments ("Oh dear, I do not know who has told Miss Granger that the shade of yellow she is wearing is still fashionable and did you see those jewels that Mrs. blogging was wearing? Everyone knows her husband is running short of funds. I imagine they are simply paste.") I had heard it all before and other than answering in as few words as possible her inquiry about Georgiana, I was free to let my mind wander, to glance about the room and see what brunettes were in attendance, cataloging them though I did not dare to talk to them.

When the set was over, I excused myself and contemplated asking someone else to dance. There was a lovely woman with chocolate hair and light eyes, who was the daughter of our hostess. I had been introduced to her earlier, but was unable to utter any words beyond, "Charmed," before she looked at me and I felt the need to quickly retreat and did so.

Now she was a few feet away from me and talking with a handsome man who was far more loquacious than me. I was not close enough to hear their conversation, but whatever he was saying was making her smile and her eyes sparkle. They traded more words as she wrote his name on her card.

I imagined walking up to her to request a dance, but having the words get garbled and stuck in my mouth. Her smile would fade as mere politeness prevented her from turning away. Instead of making the attempt and facing failure, I slowly walked away from her and tried to avoid talking with anyone.

I felt out of sorts. Bingley had been wrong. Just because I could talk and dance with his sisters, did not mean that I now felt ready to do likewise with other women.

When I retreated to the edge of the room, I watched as Bingley found partner after partner to dance with. I envied him his ease, the way everyone smiled at him. He danced with mostly blondes. When the players were taking a break, he came over and found me, exclaiming, "There are so many handsome women here, including some lovely brunettes. Should you like me to make some introductions for you?"

I shook my head.

"Well, at least you are here. It will get easier with time." Then he let me be.

Later, Miss Bingley sought me out again. The supper dance was about to commence. She clung to my arm. I let her.

"There is no one I would rather dance this set with than you," Miss Bingley commented, trying to catch my eyes which were determinedly fixed above her head on the candles on the other side of the room. I said nothing. My lack of contribution did not keep her from persisting in talking to me. I heard all about her opinions of the fashions that everyone was wearing but made no reply. It was very rude of me, but I could not bring myself to care. Eventually Miss Bingley left, I suppose in hopes of attracting a more willing partner.

I attended one other ball with Bingley and his sisters before I left London for my estate. Again, I danced one time with each of Bingley's sisters. Again, Miss Bingley sought me out and lingered on my arm for a time. She lingered so long that I had no choice but to escort her into supper. It was not so bad to prepare a plate of food for her and to sit beside her.

I did not think much about her behavior at these balls but apparently Bingley noticed as after this second time, he came to visit me the following day and told me, "I think my sister Caroline thinks you would make her a good husband. As much as I would like you to be my brother in truth, I have tried to tell her that you would not suit each other, but she is stubborn, almost as stubborn as someone else I know."

"Who?" I asked, confused as to whom he was speaking.

"You, of course. It cannot have escaped your knowledge that you are most particular in many regards, wanting things to be ordered just so. Perhaps you may want to distance yourself from Caroline, or perhaps it is time for you to look for a wife as once you are married any hopes she harbors will be at an end. I think her interest in you partially stems from her believing that should you marry you would be willing to part with some generous sums to facilitate her favorite charitable endeavors."

But I did not want to do anything differently than I had being doing; I was comfortable enough with how things were, and I seldom enough had that. Too, I would be departing for Pemberley soon. However, I did not attend any further balls while I was in London.

On my most recent visit to London with Georgiana and her new companion, I was more than ready to resume the pleasant association with Bingley's family. I wished for a distraction from the pain that still lay heavily on my heart from my mother's death and how I had failed Georgiana in failing to warn her about George.

When I came to call, the Hursts and Miss Bingley were not at home, but Bingley was. After the requisite expressions of sympathy about our mothers' deaths (they had passed within months of each other), Bingley told me, "You must congratulate me." When I inquired, thinking that perhaps he was on the cusp of getting married now that the official period of mourning for his mother had ended, he explained, "I have found my new home, it is an estate in Hertfordshire and I have already signed the lease. It is perfect, an easy distance from London and if I should find it satisfactory, it is also available to purchase."

He gave me many details before finally concluding, "I am sorry to tell you, when you have only just arrived in town, that tomorrow I leave with the Hursts and Caroline to take up residence there. I hope to finally fulfill my father's desires, to see our family established with an estate, by finally purchasing. The lease is through harvest of next year, but I may purchase it at any time."

As he said this, he did not seem as happy as I would expect him to be. In fact, he was less happy than usual, I judged based on his lack of a smile.

Being uncertain of the cause of his unhappiness, I expressed some doubt, "Are you sure, Bingley, that you wish to buy so soon? Why you have only just now taken up the lease. Managing property is a serious business, even with a steward there are many decisions to be made to make it a success. And to have you permanently so far away . . . . Can I not persuade you to consider finding an estate nearer to my own?"

"I think I would rather reside closer to London. Netherfield is a fine estate and the people in Meryton are kind and friendly. I hope to get to know many of my neighbors, and most especially their beautiful daughters," here he waggled his eyebrows, "at their assemblies. In fact, an assembly is scheduled for the evening of our arrival. I am more than ready to fall in love for good and settle down. The Hursts are not planning on staying long, but I am hoping I can persuade Caroline to stay longer as my hostess."

I found it doubtful that he would have much success with this. Miss Bingley never seemed content with what she had. She seemed to always be seeking excitement elsewhere. She was frequently away from London taking trips and visiting friends.

When she returned and I next saw her, Miss Bingley often mentioned me how she had just gotten a new maid as her previous maid had moved on to other employment. I thought it likely that she was a demanding mistress and her maids were most eager to leave her (perhaps they did not like to travel as much as she), but she never spoke ill of those who left. Instead she said things like, "I shall miss Tabitha, but I am certain she will be quite happy in Cornwall."

Bingley and I talked on for a while about the estate he was leasing. He told me much about the house but seemed not to know many particulars of the land. "Perhaps, Darcy, I might persuade you to visit for a day or two and give me your impression of the estate."

"Perhaps," I replied, having no real intention of doing so, at least not at this juncture, though I would certainly do so before he made a purchase. I did not want to be far from Georgiana, though she spent little time with me these days, instead mostly keeping to her rooms. I was considering having her stay with our relatives, the Earl (my uncle) and my aunt for a time. Though Georgiana was well enough guarded in my London home, I thought perhaps her aunt could reach her in a way that I could not, but I did not particularly want her around the Earl.

"I have a better notion," Bingley told me, "You must come to Hertfordshire with the Hursts and Caroline tomorrow. Miss Darcy is of course invited, too. It will be a perfect opportunity for you. No one will know you there and you may ease up a little, be yourself a bit more. You may even try new things without fear of failing at them. Those that I have met thus far are very friendly and kind. It would be a good opportunity to practice speaking to more women. Perhaps you might even try dancing with someone other than my sisters. You will never find yourself a bride if you do not exert yourself and make some effort. I do not expect you to find anyone there, but you could at least have more practice. If you pay more attention to other women, Caroline may finally set her sights elsewhere."

"You assume, then, that I have no interest in marrying your sister?"

"Would you really consider Caroline?" Bingley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I do not know. I am more comfortable with her than with other single women of my acquaintance, but she is not the sort of bride that my father would have wanted for me."

"What other single women do you really know?"

I considered; there was my cousin Anne, but whatever was wrong with me seemed to be even more magnified in her. I had not decided whether to mention Anne to Bingley when he added, "Just because you can tolerate Caroline and are used to her, is not a good reason to marry her. I think Louisa married Hurst for similar reasons, but I do not know that she is all that happy with him. At best, I would say she is content. Far be it for me to insult my sister, but can Caroline even compare with Miss Wilde?"

I answered without hesitating, "No."

"Well, then, I certainly do not think you should marry Caroline. Do not even consider it! Instead, try to find someone who at least makes you feel what that girl did long ago."

I wanted to hope that it might be possible to find her equal, but it hardly seemed likely, and even if I met her, how likely was it that she would like me? Again, and again I saw Lucy Wilde's look of disgust as she wiped her mouth clean with her handkerchief.

Still, Bingley's words must have affected me as somehow or other in the course of a half hour he managed to persuade me to depart with them the next day. Georgiana, despite my best efforts, determined that she would remain in my London home with her companion.

But attending the assembly was too much. In London I was at least passing acquaintances with some people at the balls I had attended and the formality and the structure made it more bearable. In Meryton the dance was far louder and more boisterous. There was less civility and a tighter crush than I was used to.

It took me a long time to come up with an apt comparison, as I still struggle with analogies, but I think Bingley expecting me to speak and dance with women who were strangers to me, was like tossing a man who does not know how to swim into the sea when he is on a boat that is miles from shore. I am sure he meant well, but I do not think Bingley truly understands what it is like to be me, and how hard it is for me to maintain an approximation of normalcy. How could he, really? I do not know what it is like to be him, either, save for that despite his background which on paper is much humbler than my own, it still seems far easier to be him than me.

If I could have, I would have ridden away from there, fled from them all on my horse and spoken to no one. On a road, tracing a familiar path, I would have felt safe, at least for a while.