AUTHOR'S NOTES: WOW! Thank you all so much for your continued readership, feedback and support. With each chapter I post I become more and more shocked by how much attention this story has received and I am so grateful for it. The world outside of writing has been pretty busy and stressful lately, and your continued encouragement has really helped me to get this chapter out boosted my confidence so much. I hope to have the next chapter out by the end of July. It is partially written already, but as we are really starting to get the plot rolling, chapters are going to get longer and more complex to write.
The hour was late and the damp air of November rain had begun to permeate the halls of Netherfield. Darcy stood before the billiard table, hardly seeing the plays before him. To his back was a roaring fire, which did little to warm him - the draft had settled comfortably into the great house. Across the table stood his best friend, one Charles Bingley, master of Netherfield, a glass of half drank brandy in his hand, his sandy hair irretrievably tussled. While physically present, the minds of both men drifted through the halls of Netherfield, meandering in and out of the many rooms.
It had been a long and trying day, in a relentless series of them. They had been offered up some relief by the arrival of Dr. Barringer and Mr. Gantry, though the gentlemen had no glad tidings for them.
The Reverend Collins remained in as fevered a state as ever, and the doctor attributed only his age, an assumption of a naturally strong constitution, and God's favor, that he had not yet succumb to the fire that burned within him. More worrisome was that a cough had developed, a cough that racked through his chest to send the entirety of his body into convulsions. A cough filled with foul phlegm, that would not allow the ill man any further rest unless heavily medicated. It was determined that the patient was simply too weak for any further blood-letting. Salves were applied to lessen the severity of the cough, and to soothe the extensive bruising of his body.
The pair had given their reports to their host and their benefactor only a quarter hour prior.
"I am exceedingly sorry, Mr. Darcy," the doctor had said with sincerity, "If the roads had been better and I could have reached Hertfordshire with more haste, perhaps I could do more."
Darcy had frowned heavily, and said nothing, knowing the doctor's words to be true. Bingley, thinking of his friend Jane - Mrs. Collins! - and how distraught she already was, had more to say. "Please, I beg of you, spare no expense in attempting to aid our friend - I know that Mr. Darcy has already advanced you some degree of money, but know that the pockets of Netherfield are bottomless when in the business of saving a man's life."
The doctor had laughed then, joylessly, and placed a comforting hand on Bingley's shoulder. "Believe me, son, that I am doing all in my power to help Reverend Collins. Our obstacles have nothing to do with monetary access. It is an unfortunate truth that the sum of mankind's medical knowledge can only tell us so much. I do not wish to speak so bluntly, but the situation is truly dire. I have done all I can to ease his suffering at present, and will continue to administer to this patient until he is well, or passes. At this stage in his illness, we can only do what we can to comfort him and to support his battle as much as possible. However it is Mr. Collins alone who must wrestle with this foe. All we can do is attempt to aid him in his fight. Prayers would not be remiss."
"Forgive me," Bingley replied, dropping his head in embarrassment. "I do not mean to discredit any of your efforts or your generosity in leaving your usual practice to attend us in the country side."
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Bingley," Dr Barringer replied with warmth. "A man in my position must not become offended by such a generous offer. And perhaps a lesser man might aim to take advantage of such an offer to his own benefit. However Mr. Darcy has summoned me here because I am not such a man — I am cousin to Viceroy _ and have no need to bribe my clients with promises of impossible results. I can well afford to be honest, and God's honest truth is that what will come may be completely out of my hands at this juncture. Perhaps if the patient was well physically…but I digress."
A thin, wheedling voice cut across the room. "Yet the patient is not well physically, and the circumstance of his leaving the protection of a covered carriage on such a day as you gentlemen have described to us, leaves one with many questions."
Darcy turned toward the Bow Street runner with alacrity. "I am not pleased with the circumstance in which we all find ourselves, but I am glad to know that now surveying the situation yourself, you do not find me remiss in requesting your presence here."
"No indeed, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Gantry replied with keen energy, "Your request to Bow Street interested us all greatly. Now that I have arrived I am eager to begin in earnest. I fail to understand why a young man of such stature and status could have found himself evicted from his family equipage and then trapped in such a deluge. My examination of the patient matches what was conveyed to you by your valet. Mr. Collins was beaten with severity, prior to his visit to Netherfield and subsequent walk in the rain."
All the gentleman turned toward the small, thin man with bright eager eyes. Seeing he had the full attention of the room, Gantry continued, saying - "Furthermore, I believe him to have suffered many such attacks - he has a fascinating pattern of scarring which could only develop over the passage of many years. I have only seen similar patterns among self-flagellating papists when I was on the continent, and convicts."
The medical man look mildly curious, while Darcy grew grave and his friend winced in sympathy. "There is no chance of of his injuries being inflicted by an attack from highwaymen, or a band of gypsies perhaps? We are only half a day's ride from Town." Bingley asked.
"I will not eliminate any possibility just yet," the smaller man replied. "I have only just begun my investigation," seeing Bingley grimace, he added, "yes, I am afraid I must carry out a full investigation. Whether by stranger, acquaintance, or family, the Reverend was assaulted, that much can be ascertained for certain. Whoever beat him so severely either meant to kill him and did a hack job of it, or had no regard for his life in the moment of attack - a premeditated attempt at murder is certainly more foul, and more fascinating than fisticuffs gone wrong, but in either circumstance a crime has most certainly been committed — and the victim a man of God, no less!"
"We are very happy that you have come, sir. Are these not modern times? Should such a brute go unpunished? I certainly think not!" Responded the host, with some bluster.
Dr. Barringer interjected again. "It is important to remember that medical observation is not proof in this case. The bruising on the gentleman's neck, chest, arms and back arms indicates from it's coloration a duration of time of some five of six days, and it has only been three since Mr. Collins was discovered. However, there are many variables that could effect the coloration, and some people are known to bruise with above or below average intensity. It is merely a hint toward a time line of events - not approbation of your theory."
"I however, can provide the approbation, and Mr. Smyth, my valet, will also lend credence to my observation." Darcy said, absolute conviction written across his countenance.
"Indeed sir?" Grandly asked, with no small degree of excitement.
"Yes." Darcy replied firmly. "When the Collins family came to Netherfield for their social call, I was introduced to Mr. Collins as a new member of their family party. As I was meeting the gentleman for the very first time, I was looking toward him with purpose, in order to remember his face and attach it firmly to his name in my mind. I could not help but observe that the gentleman was wearing a truly extravagant cravat, and if he had been dressed in silks, would have written him off as a dandy. However, he was very simply dressed in all other respects, and the cravat looked rather…well, forgive me, but silly."
Gantry laughed affably at Darcy's discomfort in speaking ill of another man's fashion, while Barringer cracked a small smile. Bingley to his credit, frowned at the description.
"I am sure Mr. Smyth can confirm the audacious style of Mr. Collins' cravat, but that does not corroborate with Mr. Gantry's theory that the assault occurred prior to Mr. Collins' visit to Netherfield." Interjected the host, with the hint of a scolding in his tone.
"Indeed, it does not, Bingley." Replied his friend, "However as the cravat was so…bold a choice, I felt compelled to study it at length during my conversation with the gentleman, and I did observe at that time that there was some very dark purple bruising at the top of his neck. It had been mostly concealed but with a keen study it was detectable. I feel very sure that Mr. Collins received the bulk of his injuries before attending us at Netherfield."
The eldest amongst the men assembled, Barringer looked toward Darcy with a frightening gravitas. "If Mr. Collins truly was attacked, and for a darker purpose than the usual robbery, your testimony could be vital to bringing a man to justice. It is likely that any man charged with this crime could hang — and if Mr. Collins dies, they most certainly shall. Are you certain enough of this fact that you would willingly testify in court to its truth?"
Bingley let out a low whistle at the notion. For a moment, the intensely private Darcy hesitated. Testify in a trial! His every word and look written about with fervor in the paper, friends and acquaintances placing wagers on the outcome in his clubs! To be talked about and personally addressed with such frequency?! There was nothing he detested more.
As quickly as his distaste for public display arrived at the forefront of his mind, it vanished again. In it's place was the image of William Collins, desperately waving out to voices calling to him through the storm, soaked through, caked in mud, ankle swollen, body bruised, eyes feverish. No man deserved such indignity. Certainly not a young, painfully timid, man of God. If Darcy could help deliver justice for this crime, he would.
"Yes." He said, matching the doctor's gravitas for his own, "Yes I would testify to that. I am wholly confident in my observation."
Gantry clapped his hands together gleefully. "Excellent. Excellent. It is quite a delight to be in the employe of gentleman with such acute observational skills and quickness of mind! With the help of you gentlemen, we will solve this crime with rapidity." The slight man began to pace the length of the billiard room, as if his feet needed to keep pace with the increasingly rapid flow of his thoughts. The other men watched him tarry to and fro in bemused astonishment.
As he moved, Gantry pulled a long piece of parchment from his waist coat and unfolded it. The page was covered in cross marked lines, an indicperhable mess to anyone but it's author. Checking it over, the gentleman asked, "The magistrate of this town, I have him listed as Sir William Lucas. Are you acquainted with him Mr. Bingley?"
"Indeed I am, a very affable gentleman. He will be very eager to be of assistance, I am sure."
"Very good news! We must call on him tomorrow, as early as one allows in the country. If the roads are very bad, we must travel on foot. It is of the upmost importance to see him, and I shall rely on you to introduce me."
"I am more than happy to take up that office sir."
"I shall need to also have interviews with and Miss Bennet. They all left Netherfield in the Collins family carriage together, correct?"
"No - Darcy told me he heard Mr. Collins declare that he would seek his exercise and return to Longbourn on foot."
Gantry froze with the words, and turned toward where Darcy stood with a quick pivot of his heel, sharply asking, "Is that true, Mr. Darcy? I wonder at you're summoning me if such is the case."
The assembled group look toward Darcy with a variety of expressions. Knowing what must be said, the gentleman squared his shoulders and responded in contrite tones, saying, "Forgive me, Bingley - you know disguise of any sort is my abhorrence. That is what I told Bingley at the time, Mr. Gantry. I did not want to disclose what I had witnessed as it seemed a very private and embarrassing situation for Mr. Collins. I had been standing toward the windows of the drawing room during the length of the Collins' visit to Netherfield. Mr. Bingley or any of the other guests could attest to my vantage point. These windows look out onto the drive and the view ends where the drive heads into woods once more. I watched the carriage pull off almost completely out of view, but then it stopped, and I saw Mr. Collins emerge. The carriage then sped off, splattering the man with mud. I could not make out his facial features from such a distance, but the way he held his head…he seemed a broken man. I felt that I had witnessed a private moment that he would not want anyone to know of, especially Bingley or myself."
"Good God man!" Bingley cried, "I do not blame you in the least for dissembling. It was natural and just that you should do so. When he recovers, I believe the right thing to do would be to dissemble still - he need never know what you witnessed. Few men could bear such humiliation."
"If he recovers, he must bear it." Gantry spat. "The only way to achieve justice is through full knowledge of the unvarnished truth - no matter how private or embarrassing it may be."
A low, gravely yawn interrupted the speculation. "Pardon me, gentleman." The doctor said with weary tones. "I shall aid in whatever way I can with the investigation of Mr. Collins' assault, but my primary responsibility is to see him live through it. As I expect for him to awaken in a few hours, I feel it best to seek my retirement presently."
"Of course!" Bingley replied, cheeks flushing, "After a cold wet ride from London you must be utterly exhausted. I beg your pardon!" He glanced toward the clock with a frown. "I will lead you to your bedchamber myself, the servants have been working so diligently to attend our patient and all my guests' needs, I hate to disturb them at so late an hour. Follow me if you would, Doctor."
The gentlemen exchanged the typical bows - Bingley led Barring from the room, talking about the history of the house with good breeding. Gantry turned Darcy as their host's voice drifted out of hearing, his eyes shining.
"And now, the rest of it, Mr. Darcy. All the sordid little pieces you would rather not share."
The gentleman from Derbyshire approached the sideboard, pulling a crystal decanter of a dark amber beverage and two glasses from it's depth. With an approving nod from Gantry, Darcy poured two drinks, handing one to his companion. He took a long, fortifying sip of the fiery liquid, and looked away with a deep sigh.
"I have the beginnings of a theory - a fantastical tale better than anything in one of my sister's magazines. It leaves many more questions than it answers…yet it is an avenue I feel must be pursued."
"Wonderful!" replied the small man with energy, "Fantastic theories are my favorite sort — simple answers are exceedingly common, and far too easy to solve. A man needs a challenge to arise once or twice in his lifetime. Do continue, Mr. Darcy."
A deep sigh was silenced by a long sip of liquor. "Very well," he replied with steely resignation. "Like so many great stories, mine begins with a remarkable young woman. She may be familiar to you - Miss Adelaide Bernard - the actress."
"I know of her from my perusal of the gossip rags. I take little interest in the theatrical arts, but it is important to stay informed of the goings on of the Ton and their little playthings."
"Miss Bernard was first introduced to London some five or six years ago, and I made her acquaintance four years ago, though it has been close to two years since we last met. If you read the society section with frequency, you will be aware of how she was introduced to my circles - the new muse of the famed artist Benito Forelli, darling of the Royal family as he was, she inspired his first series of independent paintings in more than a decade, his series "The Many Moods of Venus".
"Yes, I recall the series, the Duke of _ purchased several of the paintings for his Townhouse and the piece-de-resistance for his country seat. I never had an opportunity to view the gallery, but the reputation was that the series was decidedly provocative."
"The Duke became an ardent admirer and patron of Signore Forelli, and his muse, Miss Adelaide Bernard, slowly rose in fame with the Duke's favor. She was still a girl then, fifteen, sixteen at most, and full young to be out in society as she was - but she was excessively quick witted, painstakingly educated by Forelli's hand, and mature past her years in many ways. As strikingly attractive and interesting a character as she was she became a popular guest in the more liberal drawing rooms of Town. I met her then, but dismissed her, knowing her as little but an art model and a grasping actress - hardly the sort I would consort with.
Then came her turn as Ophelia in Hamlet and the rising of her star ascended into the Heavens - and I truly made her acquaintance. You know me largely through reputation as well, but you have already given credit to my being observant beyond the common way. Knowing this, I hope you will give my observations some degree of weight. Once properly introduced, I kept company with Miss Bernard for the duration of an entire Season. I was present for any soiree hosted in Signore Forelli's home, a weekly visitor when she was at-home to guests, and saw to it that I accepted any invitation I received which had also been accepted by her house-hold. It was, generally, the most social Season I had experienced since leaving University. I also walked with her frequently in Hyde park, sometimes more than twice in one week."
"You were in love with her." Gantry observed, not unkindly.
The Darcy Adelaide had known during that time would have taken offense at the blunt remark given from a hired hand, but the man of the present had spent much of the past two years tending to her reproofs. "Yes." He said simply and sincerely, "In truth, I am dedicated to her still."
"A very romantic notion, sir, but I am failing to understand how it connects to our situation at Netherfield."
"Tell me, what do you know of her history from the gossip columns?"
Gantry frowned slightly, mulling over the question. Eyes searching past Darcy as he wandered the recesses of his mind to retrieve the memories, he began to recite saying, "Very little is known of Miss Bernard, prior to her entering London society with The Many Moods of Venus. She has been notoriously private as to her background, and a certain air of mystery looms around her. She is something of a tragic, romantic figure in the papers. The most common belief is that she is Forelli's natural daughter with an Englishwoman, and has been raised in the countryside until she came of age. This is often offered as the reason Signore Forelli never returned to his home country after completing his commission for the royal family, whenever that question is ventured. Another common assumption is that she must be his mistress."
"At first, I believed her to be his mistress, despite the gentleman's rather advanced years. It seemed a strange notion that a father would paint his own daughter as the Goddess of Love, with all that it entailed."
"Your observations laid that theory to rest as the acquaintance developed, I assume."
"Indeed. There was a very warm affection between the pair which they made not attempts to conceal, but after a few weeks in Forelli's drawing room, it became apparent to me that there could be no possible liaison between them. The affection reminded me of one of my professors at Cambridge - on his side, warm, and doting, on hers, reverently respectful bursting to the brim with admiration for so great a man. Miss Bernard is the sort of young woman that any man can come to admire, but the little I learned of their history fixed the nature of their relationship very firmly in my mind."
"And what exactly do you know of her history?" Gantry asked with increasing agitation.
"I am a man that speaks little in company, unless compelled to do so. I am often uneasy to speak, and can not always find common ground for conversation with indifferent acquaintances. As enamored as I was with Miss Bernard, I often felt myself at a loss for words in her company. With a personality as vivacious as her own, and mind so quick witted - she spoke often, to fill my many silences. I also found myself constantly near her when in company, during times at which she hardly noticed my presence. My infatuation only intensified my observations of the lady and committed all her comments to memory.
"A man in the throes of love for the very first time would naturally seek to learn as much of his beloved as possible."
"Indeed. The facts that I gathered in that season of consistent companionship are as follows.
One: Signore Forelli and Miss Bernard had only been acquainted when she came to London for the first time.
Two: Miss Bernard had not lived in London all her life, and came from a rural background.
Three: Miss Bernard had received a good deal of education from Forelli in the arts, languages, and the improvement of her mind through extensive reading, but had received no tutelage from him or by his purse in regards to the typical genteel feminine improvements or comportment. This means that while she had a rural upbringing, it was very unlikely she was the daughter of a farmer or a working man. A young woman able to conduct herself credibly in the Ton needed some sort of training in proper manners, and she acquired it prior to her knowing Forelli. If not genteel herself, she had been raised for genteel society.
Four: Miss Bernard greatly yearned for female companionship and lamented her status for there were few women of similar years she could mingle with - other thespians and entertainers could materially damage her reputation, while young ladies of good families would have their own reputations sullied if they became too intimate with her. However, she had certainly experienced close female friendship prior to her arrival in Town.
Lastly, and really this detail is the most important of them all…Miss Bernard lives in great fear of her true name being exposed to the public. Many would assume that this is because of the shame her family would feel as her status as an actress, living in the protection of a man unrelated to her, but to the acute observer, it was fear that went beyond that. It was an utter terror which could completely disconcert her in a way nothing else could. I learned that Adelaide Bernard was a moniker for the stage, but she has not revealed her identity to anyone that I know of…and her agitation when asked for it was consistently extreme."
The men drank in silence as Gantry ruminated on the information Darcy had presented. Several long moments passed in contemplative quiet before the Bow Street Runner deigned to speak again. When he finally spoke, he simply asked, "You believe her to be connected to the Collins' family then? And that her connection correlates to the assault on Reverend Collins?"
Darcy's lips pulled into a wry smile. "I told you it was fantastic theory, did I not?"
"Indeed you did sir," The runner replied, "But I should like to hear it in it's particulars all the same."
"And so you shall have it, as simply as I can convey it to you. Reverend Collins is the heir to his father's estate, Longbourn. However, Mr. Collins, his father, inherited via fee entail. Mrs. Collins, his wife, was the eldest daughter of the previous owner, and so the marriage was conducted as a way to provide for the Bennet orphans after his death. Mr. Collins is a cold, proud sort of man, with a great deal of self importance. He snapped at his son several times during their visit to Netherfield. There seems to be little love lost between the family members. All of them.
Only a day prior to Reverend Collins' assault in Hertfordshire, Signore Forelli died in London. I believe the assault could be related to the death — that Mr. Collins was expecting a bequest from Forelli in his will, and when news came that all would go directly to Miss Bernard - either he blamed his son for this, or simply took out his frustration upon his person."
"And why would Mr. Collins expect a bequest from Mr. Forelli?" Gantry prodded, leaning forward with anticipation at Darcy's answer.
"If my supposition is correct, it is because Miss Bernard was once his charge, a former Miss Bennet of Longbourn. A family notorious in this area for having several daughters….all of whom have been sent away to 'school', save the Miss Bennet currently in residence."
"Fascinating," the detective replied with vigor, "a tale truly worthy of the gossip rags. And how do you connect Miss Bernard with the Miss Bennets of Hertfordshire?"
Darcy refilled both glasses, glad for the fire poured through his veins with each sip. "I am a man in love, Mr. Gantry. Miss Bernard's likeness is burned into my mind's eye — and I have seen that image reflected to me in the countenance of Mrs. Collins and her sister."
It was then that Bingley returned. Darcy could not be sure just how much his friend had heard, but the wide-eyed stare that he sent Darcy over Gantry's head assured him that at the very least, he had heard Darcy's confession of love.
"Well, Mr. Bingley," the Bow Street Runner said formally, "Now that you have returned, I shall see myself to bed as well. Do not tarry to head to sleep yourself, for it is of the upmost importance for us to call on Sir William as soon as a respectable hour is upon us."
"Have you any need of an escort?" Bingley asked, all politeness.
"No indeed, sir." Came the equally friendly reply, "Mrs. Nichols set me up nicely upon our arrival, while all others were engaged with the good doctor. I bid you gentlemen good evening."
With the pleasantries exchanged between all parties, the pair of friends found themselves alone once again.
Darcy could hardly credit which one of the pair had picked up his cue stick first, though now he found himself aimlessly knocking the balls across the slate top, hardly making a pocket. They played in companionable silence until Bingley finally felt compelled to speak.
Darcy felt, rather than saw, Bingley's clear blue gaze from across the table. "How is it that you are my closest friend in all the world - and I never knew until this evening that you had fallen in love with a woman?" It was asked with a certain gentleness.
The Derbyshire gentleman sighed heavily. "It is simple really - I have no hopes in that quarter at all, and so I thought if I never spoke of my feelings, they would dissipate with time. It has been far too painful for me to confide in anyone, especially a friend as well meaning as yourself."
"Your family does not approve, I take it." Bingley said with kindness.
Perhaps it was the liquid courage that ran through his blood, the exhaustion of the past several days at the sickbed of a dying man, or the torment of seeing her face constantly in society since making the acquaintance of the Collins family, but the normally stoic Darcy released a short bark of laughter. "The lady in question had some rather strong objections to the match herself."
Bingley's hand froze as he raised his glass for another sip of Brandy. "I beg your pardon? Are you telling me that you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberly, relation of nearly ever notable so-and-so in high society made an offer to Adelaide Bernard, an actress?"
Darcy smiled at his friend's astonishment. "My cousin the Colonel recently referred to my proposal as hysterically romantic. An apt description, is it not?"
The sip that Bingley had just taken found itself spewed from his lips across the Billard Room. "Your proposal!?" He spat, clearly incredulous. "Are you telling me that not only did you make an offer for an actress - but an honorable offer at that?"
"Indeed."
"You are one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, and you offered marriage to an actress…and she refused you? Good God man, surely you don't believe me as gullible as that!"
"This is a very poor beginning." Darcy said calmly. "If you don't believe it possible of me - you, who know me better than most, how can you begrudge me for not confiding in you earlier?"
"Forgive me, Darcy — surely you know that I do not bear you any ill will in keeping your own counsel, but you must allow me some degree of surprise. You are one of the most serious minded men I know. What is it that I've often said? That I would not be as fastidious as you for a Kingdom? The notion of your being in love with someone so decidedly removed from your own station…it is a shocking thought!"
Darcy smiled tightly, and readied himself to reply, but Bingley had not quite finished his thoughts. "It is even more shocking to me that she could have possibly refused you, a most advantageous match! It is unheard of."
"Yes!" Darcy spat with bitterness. "The material advantage of the match for her could not be denied - and I made sure to remind her of it, even as I claimed to admire her, to love her with ardent passion. As if she was not aware then, and at every waking moment, just where in society she should stood."
Bingley winced sympathetically. "You made a bungle of it then?"
"A bungle does not begin to describe it - it was an unparalleled disaster. I humiliated and insulted the woman I claimed to love. What a fool I was! At the time, I was very much of your mindset…that for her to refuse such a good match was preposterous, but I have had nearly two years of reflection to have me think the better of that notion. …I had been raised with good principles, but allowed, no, encouraged, to follow them with pride and conceit - to think well of myself, and my family, and meanly of the rest of the world."
Resting his cue stick against the table, Bingley crossed the length of the room, and clapped Darcy on his shoulder, leading the pair toward a set of wing back chairs. "Come now, man." He said with warmth, "That is my friend you are speaking of so cruelly." Darcy did not smile and shook his head, allowing himself to be lead, but his dark eyes sparkled at Bingley with familial affection.
When they were seated, and glasses refreshed, the younger turned toward the elder with a thoughtful expression. "Is it truly as hopeless as you say, then? Have you not just written to her to express your condolences at her loss?"
Darcy's brow furrowed, mulling over his thoughts. "My affections and wishes remain unchanged…sometimes I wonder if I haven't made her something of a mythical creature in my mind…it has been so long since we were last in company."
Bingley frowned. "To me, the longevity of your affection, after having been rejected and then separated for some duration…it shows me that your feelings were sincere, not a passing inclination or infatuation. I suppose you can only know for sure when you are in company together again. You are bound to cross paths with her one day, as she resides in London and rarely leaves Town. It is inevitable. I wonder at your having managed to avoid it for so long now."
His friend's lips turned up in the mockery of a smile. "My own injured feelings kept me away at first - then the summer invitations I could not refuse, and my own presence needed at Pemberly for the harvest. When I came back to Town, I had largely recovered from my pique at being rejected, yet I still did not comprehend that a woman in her position would give up the security and status that I offered her. I did not call on her, but I kept up with the same people I knew she had favored in the previous season…only to discover that she had largely moved on to other groups of friends…or miraculously had always just left before my own arrival. I do not think she could bare my company after being so thoroughly insulted and actively avoided my company."
"And now?"
"And now she is a heiress in her own right - enough to keep her comfortable, especially if she continues to work on the stage. She is connected to no one, beholden to no father or husband, or even the typical dictates of society for a woman. She was never desperate to marry. She is free. And she would not put herself into the power of a man who claimed to love her while believing her so beneath him that he could insult her to her face, with pride and conviction. She is in no need of rescue - it was me all along who needed saving, bound as I am by the shackles of society." His head sank into his hands in an uncharacteristic display of despondency.
Bingley took a long sip from his glass, his mind turning toward self reflection in light of Darcy's personal confession. To see such a strong character as Darcy's suffer in unrequited love only made him fear where his own future was headed. Bingley was self aware enough to know his own sensitive nature, and had experienced many small infatuations that caused him some degree or another of pain. If he truly fell in love with someone who would not…was unable to love him back…would he be able to recover?
After an intermittent time had passed between them - he decided to speak, because there was one very important question that still needed answering.
"Well Darcy," he said soberly, "I understand you now better than I did when I rose this morning…but there is still one point on which I am very confused. Why is it that you were discussing your feelings for Miss Bernard with a man who you had never seen before in your life — and just what are you implying when you said that you see her likeness in the face of my guests?"
The Derbyshire gentleman rose, faithful crystal glass still in hand. "Will you follow me to the kitchen Bingley? For I have a tale for you that will require quite a bit more liquor to tell…and if we don't have a bite to eat the pair of us are going to pay for it in the morning."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter contained the most dialogue of probably anything I've ever written. Please let me know if there were any issues in following who the speaker was. I tend to write a lot of introspective reflection for our characters, and I feel the sometimes when I write dialogue it becomes quite a bit of "Bingley said "...", and "..." Darcy replied, which gets very annoying when its a whole chapter. I tried to avoid doing too much of that while still being able to follow the flow of conversation.
Casual reminder: The only characters who know the whole truths of the situations they are in are Mr. Collins and Elizabeth. Any theory Darcy may have is still that...a theory. :)