Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Frerichs
Cross-posted on elizabethfrerichs dot com and wattpad
Saturday, November 23, 1811
Darcy nearly cursed as he awoke to the gentle patter of steady rain yet again. Though he had seen Elizabeth on Thursday morning, yesterday's rain had kept everyone cooped up indoors, and, if the weather kept on, that state of affairs would continue today. Not only would he not see Elizabeth, but he would have to spend the day dodging Miss Bingley's transparent attempts to snare him. At least the rain would preclude a tête-à-tête in the garden.
"Good morning, sir," Hawkin greeted as he opened the bed-curtains.
"Not so good a morning," Darcy replied, gesturing to the rain-streaked windows.
Hawkin nodded. "Your morning ride will have to wait again. I image Sisyphus is as happy about it as you are. Miss Bingley's maid mentioned the possibility of cards in the drawing room this afternoon."
Darcy took a deep breath, reminding himself that snapping at Hawkin would be not only unjustified and rude, but also he did not wish to be unkind even when harassed by circumstances. "I will keep that in mind. Would you please convey a message to Mr. Bingley's valet that the rain provides us with the perfect opportunity to continue our work on the estate plan today?"
"Of course, sir," Hawkin said, his eyes smiling.
Trapped indoors, there was little opportunity to truly escape Miss Bingley. Though she acquiesced (fretfully) to the men's need to discuss estate business, she proclaimed that she would come "rescue them from their dusty ledgers" if they were not out of the study by two o'clock.
"Bingley, you know I am not going to marry your sister, correct?" Darcy said the moment the study door clicked shut behind them.
Bingley looked at him as though he had proposed they spend the entire day dancing through Netherfield's halls. "Yes?"
"You do or you do not?"
"I am aware that you have no desire to marry her," Bingley said, his expression still puzzled as he settled at the ornate desk.
"Your sister appears to be under the mistaken impression that it is a possibility," Darcy said, his hands clasped behind his back as he strode over to the window, studying the heavy gloom for the hundredth time, trying to gauge how much longer this infernal rain would last.
Bingley shrugged. "I doubt anyone can change her mind. If you bring up the subject too directly, she will just see it as leave to discuss it with you whenever she desires."
Darcy blanched and faced his friend. "Well, perhaps you might drop a hint?"
"I can try," Bingley said. He studied Darcy anxiously. "I hope her behaviour has not caused you discomfort."
"No," Darcy said politely. "Normally, we are not always in the house, and I am used to being pursued. It is just—" Just that he chafed at anyone but Elizabeth trying to create an atmosphere of intimacy. Just that he wanted nothing to do with the familiarities Miss Bingley claimed, like drawing his arm close when he escorted her to dinner or the sly smiles that invited him to share her amusement. Just that he was out of practice at enduring such behaviour. Just that he was out of sorts from the days of separation between him and Elizabeth—particularly since the time until his departure was slipping away like rays of sunshine in a storm's advent. He clenched one hand at his side, then forced it to relax.
"—I am out of sorts," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite Bingley. "I have never been one to be cooped up indoors and I am poor company."
"You are not cross with me, are you?" Bingley asked hesitantly.
Darcy considered for a moment, gently tapping the wooden arms of his chair. He was a bit cross, but not for any reasons that Bingley could understand. It was frustrating to lose the changes that had happened in their friendship. In addition, he was annoyed that Bingley was unwilling to check his sisters. Bingley, however, knew of now reason for Darcy's irritation. "Why do you ask?"
"You have been a bit, a bit off the past few days, and I was not sure if being cooped up was the sum of it. I thought maybe—maybe you are frustrated about the ball?"
"Why would I be upset that you are holding a ball in your own home?" Darcy asked with a frown.
"You were not keen on the idea, and you dislike balls in general." Bingley straightened. "I believe holding this ball is an important part of being neighbourly though."
"And you wish to dance with Miss Bennet," Darcy put in. Had he really been such a bear before Tuesday that Bingley would have reconsidered his plans on Darcy's word alone? He was not thrilled with the idea of a ball, but it was not as though it would be full of strangers; he knew a great many of these people already and was looking forward to renewing some acquaintances now that Tuesday was over. Mr. Clarke, in particular, had proven a pleasant conversationalist.
"Yes," Bingley said, a mulish tilt to his chin. "I know that you and Caroline disapprove of the Bennets, but I have already asked Miss Bennet for the first set."
"Bingley, it is your house and your life. Whether I or anyone else disagree with those decisions, they are yours to make. I believe you are correct though: holding a ball is very neighbourly. Whom else did Miss Bingley invite?" Darcy asked.
Bingley stared at him for a moment and then began ticking off the various people who had received an invitation. "The Bennets, the Lucases, the militia officers—"
Darcy tensed. The officers. He had forgotten about them. "Was it a general invitation to the officers?" he asked. Wickham would not dare to show his face, would he?
Bingley leaned forward. "Is that a problem?"
Darcy thought back to how they had spent their last Tuesday. "Do you recall meeting Mr. Wickham on Tuesday?"
"He was the chap with Lieutenant Denny in Meryton?"
Darcy nodded. "He is not to be trusted, with women or with money."
Bingley frowned. "How do you know?"
"His father was my father's steward. Wickham and I have known each other for many years. Unfortunately, Wickham has ever been prone to deception and preying on the innocent." How sad that Wickham had not been discovered and attended to in his childhood! The child could have been saved. The man—well, he would see. "His father was a worthy gentleman." Or at least he had seemed so, but if he was so worthy, how had he not noticed his son's behaviour? "My father took pains to further Wickham's career, sponsoring his schooling and such. But Wickham squandered all the benefits my father provided him. I have several of his natural born children and their mothers in my household. I am afraid he is not to be trusted."
"Do you believe he is a danger to the community?" Bingley asked, his frown deepening.
Darcy stood and poured them both a glass of port, trying to decide precisely how much of his plans to disclose to his friend. "I do not know. To my knowledge, he has not changed. I intend to speak to Colonel Forster before I leave for London to suggest he keep an eye on Wickham."
"He seems like an excellent fellow. I cannot imagine that he does not already keep a close watch on his officers," Bingley said.
"You are probably correct. A bit of extra incentive will not go amiss, however." Darcy swirled the red liquid in his glass. He sighed. He hated to keep the truth of his plans from Bingley, but his friend had a habit of folding under Miss Bingley's demands and should word reach Wickham, the man would decamp immediately. Yet, if he wanted a relationship of equals between them, would he not be honest?
Once they reached London. Wickham was too dangerous and too beloved by his father to risk letting him run.
"Are you certain you wish to work on the estate today? We can do something else if you prefer," Bingley said.
"We ought to make good use of this time," Darcy said firmly. "Who knows when we will have another such opportunity?"
"Very well."
A/N: I don't think I'd like to be trapped in Netherfield with the Bingley sisters, especially if I were Darcy ;)
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