Darcy and Bingley had been friends for seven years and he thought he had seen all the various moods of Charles Bingley but this one seemed different somehow. Bingley had been pushing his food around his plate, indulging in desultory conversation interspersed with an occasional sigh for the past hour. Darcy had shown an inordinate amount of patience waiting for his friend to confide whatever was worrying him but his forbearance was beginning to wear thin. For the past week they had been enjoying London's night life, attending plays and musical theatre and dining at the most exclusive restaurants with some of their old Cambridge friends. More nights than not they had returned to Darcy's townhouse a little worse for the wear and had spent many hours sipping brandy before the fire and to their friends Bingley might have seemed his normal happy self but to Darcy something was amiss.
Tomorrow Darcy and his cousin Richard were heading off to Kent for their annual pilgrimage to Rosing's Park. Unconsciously, he let his own sigh slip out at the thought of the next few weeks in the company of his Aunt Catherine and her increasingly vocal demands that he finally set a date for his marriage to her daughter Anne. He had enough concerns of his own without worrying about Bingley. Darcy was extremely fond of Bingley and took his friendships seriously.
He finally broke the silence with a low growl, "out with it, Bingley. In the past hour I have yet to see a trace of that silly smile plastered on your amiable countenance. And this past week you have been more than a little dull. You've hardly touched your Beef Wellington and your sighs have begun to unnerve me. What has put you in this mood? Are you suffering from unrequited love or have you fallen in love with six women at the same time and can't decide which one to court?"
"Darcy, I think I'm dying," said Charles Bingley. "It's the only thing that could account for this dreadful ennui I feel."
Fitzwilliam Darcy eyed his friend who was the picture of robust health. Since leaving school three years earlier, Bingley had attended every dinner, every ball and any social occasion he could wangle an invitation to and had fallen in love with a regularity that was almost frightening. "Have you run out of ladies to admire?" he asked.
"Worse than that," Bingley groaned. "I've lost all interest in them."
Darcy suppressed a smile "How long has it been?" he asked.
"Two months," Bingley replied, feeling his pulse.
Well," Darcy allowed, "they do say that the last thing that dies is the sex drive, old friend. If it's been two months since you fell desperately in love for one or two days, it could be serious. What sort of a funeral would you like?"
Bingley wrinkled his brow in deep thought. "Something modest, I suppose. A couple of brass bands. A dozen black steeds to bear my poor body to it's final resting place."
Darcy shook his head. "Too humble in my humble opinion. Your sister would never approve."
"I doubt if she'd miss me...at least not until she missed her allowance check."
"What has Caroline been up to?"
"Oh, the usual. She wants to know when I'm going to invite my most excellent friend to dinner. You being the most excellent friend."
"Tell her that my engagement book is full."
She wants me to buy her a new carriage and she wants you to choose it as you have impeccable taste. Apparently, my taste leaves something to be desired."
Caroline Bingley still had the power to astonish. "Tell her to buy her own. She can afford it."
Bingley rolled his eyes. "sure, Darcy, I'll do just that. And finally, she wants me to buy an estate."
"Buying an estate is not a bad idea," Darcy allowed.
"In Derbyshire." Bingley added slyly.
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed," Bingley said with a wry smile.
"Tell her there's nothing in Derbyshire for her."
Bingley eyed his friend, "you tell her. I've been trying to tell her for the past six years that you have absolutely no interest in her. So have the Hursts."
Darcy had been hounded by Caroline Bingley since the day her brother had introduced them six years earlier. She seemed to think that her scalding wit was her greatest attribute. He had to allow that at the beginning of their acquaintance she had indeed amused him with her scathing remarks about their mutual friends but her barbs no longer had the power to amuse. He now looked upon her as a rather nasty and conniving creature. It didn't help that her favorite colors were various shades of orange which did not suit her sallow complexion, and the feathers which invariably adorned her costumes reminded him of an over-sized emu. Every time she leaned into him to whisper some biting remark he always steeled himself against the possibility that she was about to peck his eyes out.
The worst part of it was that she had absolutely no romantic feelings towards Darcy and he knew it. How could she? He had always been extremely polite to her on all occasions but always staying aloof and distant not wishing to excite her aspirations. At balls he danced with her only once and always danced with her married sister once. He allowed her to clutch his arm every chance she got and never once did he roll his eyes though her hands felt like talons. In short, he'd been the perfect gentleman in her company and for most women with any modicum of pride or sense that should have been enough to dissuade her from any hope that she could procure him as a husband. That she desired above all things to be the mistress of his estate was left in no doubt but she had no chance of winning his love. He wasn't sure of just what he wanted in a wife but he was sure she would be a far cry from the Caroline Bingleys of the world.
His ruminations were interrupted when he looked up and saw his favorite cousin heading in their direction.
Richard advanced towards them wearing that engaging grin which could charm the most dour character. His one failure had been Caroline Bingley who despised his amiable wit, and who was, after all, only the youngest son of the Earl of Matlock. "So," Richard cried, "what are you two looking looking so serious about? I can imagine my cousin contemplating philosophy, destiny and his navel, but you, Bingley, what is your excuse?"
Bingley, shrugged and remained silent.
"Well," Darcy drawled, "there's the matter of Bingley's funeral."
Richard blinked and shot a look a look at Bingley who rolled his eyes and looked resigned. "Poor fellow," Richard murmured, sadly.
"Well, I'd honored to be your pallbearer."
"You're too kind," Bingley replied.
"What's he dying of?" Richard asked Darcy.
"He's lost interest in women."
"That is serious indeed. Perhaps he spends too much time with his sister."
"Richard!" Darcy spoke sharply to his cousin.
"Oh, let him be, Darce," Bingley said. "He isn't saying anything you haven't thought. Or for that matter, I haven't thought."
"What you need," Richard pronounced, "is a wife."
Bingley stared at Richard in disbelief. "What on earth do you think I've been trying to do for the past three years?"
"Trying and succeeding to have fun!" Richard retorted. "But apparently you've tired of it. Time to get serious, old man."
"I suppose I could put a want ad in the Times. 'Affable young man is in need of a wife. Comes encumbered with an elder sister who is determined to be displeased with everything and everyone except Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley who comes encumbered with a not so saintly cousin.' Will that do?"
The two cousins laughed out loud enjoying Bingley's dry wit.
"It's too bad you don't show this side of yourself at a ball, Bingley," Richard said. "Instead of dancing and prancing around the room like a fuzzy wuzzy wabbit, you might adopt more of Darcy's behavior. Show the ladies your intellect and how well you can strut around examining the fireplaces and sconces that adorn the room. You might illicit more than a blush and a giggle. You might even practice the famous Darcy glare of disdain."
Bingley looked appalled. "Have you ever seen my look of disdain? I'd be more apt to be sent to my room for a healthy dose of Castor oil."
"Now wait a minute," Darcy objected. "That's a poor description of my deportment at a ball."
Richard and Bingley turned and stared at Darcy. "No it isn't," they said in tandem.
Darcy frowned, "how did we go from Bingley's funeral to my deportment at a ball?"
"Easy enough." Richard responded. "If you don't show more affability when mixing with the Ton, it will be your funeral. You stalk about like a humorless boor. I swear, Darcy, you're beginning to resemble Aunt Catherine."
Darcy was truly horrified, trying to discern whether his cousin was serious or just teasing.
Bingley, seeing Darcy's disquiet, did not laugh but came to his friend's defense. "Richard, if you didn't spend so much time in the gaming rooms when you attend a ball, you would understand why Darcy keeps so much to himself. The mothers of the Ton are a frightening horde and lately I've noticed that the fathers have begun to pressure Darcy into open admiration of their daughters. It's one thing to outmaneuver a mother, but when the fathers get into the act, it can become an uncomfortable and even dangerous game."
Richard would not be moved. Darcy was a kind and generous man whom he was proud to call cousin but his innate shyness was becoming to look more like pride. Darcy and Richard went back a long way. He had known Darcy for most of his life being three years his senior. He had seen him through the untimely death of his mother and the death of his father just five years ago and had seen the changes wrought by these deaths and the burden of running an enormous estate at such an early age. He'd watched his cousin turn from an outgoing young man to an introvert when in company. Richard feared for his future. He'd begun to study Darcy this past year and he saw what his dearest friend Bingley probably never even guessed at. Darcy was a lonely man. His obligations were onerous. The care of Pemberley was exacting and the welfare of his sister Georgianna was ever on his mind.
Richard's gaze moved from Darcy to Bingley. The friendship between his cousin and Bingley had begun at Cambridge when Darcy had taken Bingley under his wing. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper and Bingley had the firmest reliance of Darcy's judgment. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offense.
Unconsciously, Richard shook his head at the irony of it. Here was a wealthy man whose looks made the knees of women both old and young grow weak, and he was lonely. "Perhaps I should start looking for your brides, as you two are doing very badly at it."
"That's all we'd need," Darcy replied. Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you responsible for Edmond's marriage?"
Richard's anger was instant. "My brother is a fool," he snapped. "I may have introduced them, but I begged him not to marry Juliet. But all he could think of was her money and how it would enhance his own fortune. He's utterly miserable with her. On top of that, I've yet to hear a sensible word from her. Whatever you two do, don't make his mistake or you'll live to regret it."
Bingley let out a heavy sigh which drew the cousins' attention. "Caroline wants me to take her to Shropshire," Bingley said. "Her newest, dearest friend is in need of a husband. And I guess I've been elected."
Darcy blanched and stared at his friend. "You can't be serious, Charles."
"No, but Caroline is. Oh, Darce, settle down. You've been telling me for years to take my time before choosing a bride. Despite what you may think, I was listening. I have no intention of going to Shropshire with my sister. And the last thing I would ever do is marry a close, dear friend of Caroline's. It would be the death of me."
"What was her reaction," Darcy asked, "when you told her you weren't going with her?"
"I haven't told her yet. I was thinking of taking a ship to the Fiji Islands for a few months."
Richard laughed at the woeful expression on Bingley's face. "Coward," he said.
Bingley grinned, "my middle name," he replied.
"Charles," Darcy offered, "why not join Richard and me when we leave for Kent on the morrow. I doubt if there are any bare bosomed ladies in Kent and if my Aunt Catherine has any sarongs in her wardrobe, I've yet to see her wearing one, but you're welcome to join us."
"Great idea," chimed in Richard. "Maybe you can find a country girl that's more to your liking."
"Thank you both," Bingley responded, "but something's come up and I want to look into it. One of the estates I looked at last year has come back on the market and they're willing to lease it with an option to buy."
"Which one?" Darcy asked.
"I can't remember. In Herefordshire, I think. I have the letter at home. I think we both liked it, Darcy. Besides, at the moment I don't really care where it is as long as it gives me a chance to get away from London for a few days.
"In Herefordshire, you think? There are forty counties in England. Could you be more concise?"
Bingley laughed, "I know it started with an H."
Darcy shook his head in mock despair. That narrows it to four. You're hopeless, Charles."
Richard laughed hardily. "Poor Charles. We may never see him again. I can see him a year from now wondering through the British Isles looking for a county that starts with an H."
"That's if he runs into someone who knows the alphabet," drawled Darcy.
"Waiter," cried Bingley, "more brandy!"