Thank you for your patience! I'm back, and this chapter is a meaty one! I hope you enjoy it :D
Chapter 4:
Darcy had always found balls tedious, but the end of the Netherfield ball was excruciating. He barely endured the whispers and stares, the false wishes of congratulations as each guest took their leave, all while Miss Bingley's angry gaze bore into him like a dagger at his back.
Only after the last guest departed was Darcy able to breathe again. He allowed Bingley to lead him to the study. The scent of worn leather and wood polish enveloped him as they entered the paneled room.
Bingley went to retrieve the brandy, the decanter clinking softly as he poured two generous glasses. He pressed one into Darcy's hand before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs before the crackling fire.
Darcy sank into the other chair, the heat from the flames prickling his face. He swirled the brandy, inhaling its mellow aroma before taking a bracing sip. The liquor burned smoothly down his throat, it but did little to calm his roiling thoughts.
He could still taste Miss Elizabeth on his lips, feel the softness of her skin against his fingertips as he'd tangled his fingers through her curls.
"Well," Bingley said, taking a long sip from his glass. "That was unexpected."
Darcy choked on a brandy flavored laugh.
"I did not know you and Miss Elizabeth were so close," Bingley continued, his tone light but with an underlying note of confusion. "When did you become engaged?"
"You witnessed it," Darcy said, taking another, longer gulp of his drink. The heat of it burned down his throat and into his chest.
Bingley's expression darkened, and for a moment, he looked almost angry, his open, cheerful face clouding over as his brows drew together. "And you and Miss Elizabeth came to some accord, then, while her sister was ill. Darcy, you have always been a true friend. Acerbic in your opinions, but true. You have made little secret that you believe my interest in Miss Bennet to be, as you termed it, a mere 'infatuation,' and yet you keep this from me?"
More than anger, Darcy realized Bingley was hurt. And he had a right to be. For Darcy to have chastised his friend for thinking to rush into an engagement with a young lady he barely knew, only to turn around and do the same thing himself...
Worse than the same thing. Darcy had disgraced himself and struck a terrible blow to Miss Elizabeth's reputation in the process.
Darcy sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. He could not explain his actions. The only honorable thing to do after was to insist upon an engagement, which he had done. But while Miss Elizabeth had returned his kiss with passion, marriage was another matter entirely. "It was a moment of madness," Darcy said at last, his voice thick with emotion.
Bingley raised an eyebrow. "The kiss or the proposal?"
"Perhaps I am still abed, and this whole thing is a nightmare or a fever dream." Darcy took another sip of brandy and placed it on the side table before holding his arm out to his friend. "Pinch me and wake us both."
Bingley laughed, but there was little humor in it. "Well, if nothing else, this will surely put an end to my sister's hopes of winning your favor. That, at the least, will bring me peace."
"Miss Bingley and I do not suit." Darcy might have suffered a moment of madness when he kissed Miss Elizabeth, but he knew his own mind well enough to know he and Miss Bingley were incompatible in all but the most surface manners.
"I love my sister, but you and her would tear each other to bits like two tomcats in a bag," Bingley agreed dryly, leaning back in his chair. "I only pray you and Miss Elizabeth can find some happiness together. She certainly does not lack wit or spirit, which is fortunate. I do not think you could stand a dull-witted woman, no matter her accomplishments. And one who yielded to your every dictate would become equally tiresome."
"Dictates? Hardly! I only offer practical advice when necessary. I am no tyrant," Darcy protested, though he knew his friend had some right in it. Darcy held himself to high standards, and he expected others to do the same. He took another swallow of brandy, savoring the warm bite on his tongue.
Bingley laughed, this time with genuine amusement. He stretched his legs out before the fire. "Perhaps it was some instinct of your soul then, begging you to shed the bonds of propriety and allow room for your heart."
Darcy snorted derisively. "My soul is hardly so romantic."
Bingley shrugged. "What other explanation can there be? You have made no secret of your disdain for Miss Elizabeth's lack of accomplishments or connections, and yet you kissed her as if she were Aphrodite herself."
Darcy's face flamed. "I did not intend-." He stopped, realizing his denial would only make things worse. He had kissed Miss Elizabeth with a passion that had shocked him as much as anyone. "I kissed her because... because..." Darcy's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had happened.
"I suppose I should not be surprised," Bingley continued, taking another sip from his glass. "You are a man of strong passions, Darcy. You simply hide them well. But if you have genuine regard for Miss Elizabeth beyond passion, and if you wish for future happiness together, you would do well to seek the romance you find lacking in your soul. Else your rash decision will lead to nothing but misery."
Bingley's words weighed in Darcy's mind as both gentlemen drained and refilled their glasses, and Bingley shifted the subject to the eldest Bennet and the subject of his affections. Bingley knew Darcy well enough to give his friend time to thoroughly digest his advice. Though the rashness of his actions still baffled him, it forced Darcy to admit to himself that Miss Elizabeth had occupied his thoughts more than he'd liked after her stay at Netherfield. Her wit and spirit had impressed him, and even before their dance, his gaze had sought her out.
"We must, to bed," Bingley finally said, yawning. "Fear not, old chap," he added with a smile. "Now that you and she are officially engaged, you can show your affections more directly." Bingley's cheeks, already reddened by alcohol, seemed to deepen as he ran a palm over his forehead. "Or perhaps less directly. Write her a poem."
Darcy snorted derisively. "I assure you, I have no talent for poetry."
"You are certainly quick enough to criticize my attempts." Bingley wrinkled his nose. "But if not poetry, give her one of your sketches. You have more than a fair hand, as much as you deny it."
"She is likely fonder of literature."
"Then embarrass yourself in verse. You can do no worse with it than you have with wooing." Bingley stood, stretching his arms overhead. "The brandy is in the cabinet if you wish for another nightcap." He gestured to the intricately carved mahogany cabinet in the corner, the brandy decanter visible through the glass doors.
"But I suggest you get some rest." Bingley yawned again, running a hand through his tousled hair, limned in the reflection of orange firelight. "We will probably be receiving some number of Bennets on the morrow, and it would be best they do not find you in your cups."
Darcy forced a smile, to which Bingley returned an exaggerated expression of surprise, and after exchanging another round of pleasantries, Bingley left. Darcy leaned back into the heavy leather of the chair, closing his eyes as he tried to imagine what Miss Elizabeth might say to him upon her next visit. She had seemed shocked by his kiss, but she had not resisted.
He felt a stirring of desire at the memory of her lips against his and quashed it. His body thrummed with energy. The energy of memory, guilt, and desire. He stood, drained his remaining glass and, leaving it on the end-table, started down the corridor towards his rooms.
The corridor was dimly lit, with flickering sconces lining the walls every few feet. He was halfway between the study and his rooms when he heard low-pitched voices and the sound of a muffled sob.
Was it a servant? Or Miss Bingley, suffering a heartbreak? Darcy hoped it was not the latter. He may not have had any marital interest in Bingley's sister, but he did not wish her ill.
"You have ruined everything!" a woman hissed. "How could you? You irredeemable fool!"
Darcy froze as he recognized Miss Bingley's shrill tones. Eavesdropping was ungentlemanly, but calling attention to himself while Miss Bingley was roundly chastising her lady's maid would only make things worse.
He could just glimpse their shadowed forms around the corner. Miss Bingley's figure was rigid with anger, while the maid cowered under her mistress's verbal lashing.
"Mistress!" the second woman pled, her voice thick. "Miss, I swear I didn't mean to! I only wanted-."
"You only wanted what?" Miss Bingley snapped. "Your Mr. Beaumont promised me his concoction would work! And instead, Mr. Darcy—with that-!"
What concoction, Darcy wondered, suspicion rising within him.
As he strained to listen, Miss Bingley seemed to take control of her temper, and her tone became more even as she said, "I will speak with Mr. Beaumont again. There must be some means to salvage this. Perhaps if there was a mistake in the dosage...," Miss Bingley's voice trailed off, and she let out a long sigh.
"Yes! Mistress!" the maid sniffled. "I cannot believe Mr. Beaumont would deceive you so-!"
"Best trust he finds some way to rectify his error. Else I will have no choice but to dismiss you from my service for recommending such a man."
The maid let out a strangled cry of protest as Miss Bingley continued, "Now go to bed. And do not breathe a word of this to anyone. You have done enough damage already. I will not allow you to cause more."
With that, Miss Bingley turned on her heel and, to Darcy's horror, started down the corridor towards him. He had only a moment to compose himself before she rounded the corner.
Miss Bingley froze, her eyes widening in shock and fear. "Mr. Darcy!"
"Miss Bingley," Darcy gave her a cool nod. "I thought I was the only one troubled enough to be wandering about so late at night."
"I hope you did not hear anything… untoward. My newest maid has been proving herself less than satisfactory," Miss Bingley said, smoothing her hands over her skirts in a nervous gesture. "It is important to take a firm hand in these situations, you understand."
"I see," Darcy replied.
"Miss Margaret will not be over-starching my gowns again," Miss Bingley added with a nervous giggle. "But you are not the sort to stand listening at keyholes, Mr. Darcy. I am sure you have far more pressing matters on your mind. Such as your engagement with Miss Eliza Bennet." Her lips twisted into a sneer as she uttered Elizabeth's name. "Miss Eliza is what some other ladies of the village call her. Such a quaint moniker, is it not? I had known Miss Eliza possessed only of country manners, but I did not think her more uncouth than even her mother."
Darcy felt anger flare within him at Miss Bingley's words. He knew well enough from his own observations that Miss Elizabeth was a young woman of wit and spirit, but he had also observed her gentleness and care for her sister during Jane's illness, and how she had humored said mother's foibles without complaint.
"My fiance is a lady of great intelligence and compassion," Darcy replied cooly. "I would suggest you do not speak so ill of her again in my presence."
"You hardly know her!" Miss Bingley protested, her voice rising sharply. She clasped her hands as if in supplication, the many rings on her fingers glinting in the candlelight. "It is not true emotion you feel, merely the effects of-!" She stopped herself, pressing a hand over her mouth. "She has bewitched you! I am sure of it!"
Darcy frowned. If not for the damning snatches of conversation he had just overheard, he would think the shock of Mr. Darcy's engagement had driven Miss Bingley to some form of madness. Darcy wanted to ask her about Mr. Beaumont, but if he pushed the conversation now, Miss Bingley would laugh it off and pretend ignorance. Better to approach Miss Margaret when her mistress was absent. Considering Miss Bingley's treatment of the maid, Darcy might be able to tempt the truth out of her with an offer of better employment.
"Perhaps," Darcy replied mildly, though he was certain any bewitching had not come from Miss Elizabeth. "But we are engaged to wed. And I am tired. It has been a long and troubling evening."
"Troubling indeed," Miss Bingley echoed, a speculative gleam entering her gaze. "Goodnight, Mr. Darcy," she said with a shallow curtsy, her eyes bright as she added, "I wish you sweet dreams."
Darcy nodded, though he harbored little hope for a peaceful sleep while this mystery remained. Bidding Miss Bingley goodnight, he strode swiftly toward his chambers, determined to uncover the truth about Mr. Beaumont and his suspicious "concoction."
THANK YOU FOR READING! The plot is thickening :D Working to get the next chapter up this weekend, ASAP! This is really FUN story to write, and I hope you're having as much fun reading it!