The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

T he dinner party at Longbourn had been much like any other Darcy had attended. What am I thinking? It was much worse than many of them.

Watching the Bennets interact with each other had been distasteful—absurd, really. As he sat in the carriage with the Bingleys and Hursts to return to Netherfield afterwards, scenes from the evening came back to him despite his desire to erase them from his memory. The chief example was possibly Mrs Bennet fawning over Bingley, with the willing and enthusiastic assistance of her sister, Mrs Philips. Darcy expected the women to beg, even bribe, Bingley to propose to Miss Bennet within the month. Then there were the younger Miss Bennets. He had paid them no attention at the assembly, but observing them was unavoidable at the party, given how few people were present. Miss Mary looked like she wished she was anywhere else, and the behaviour of the other two was nothing short of perplexing; having to bear witness to it made his head ache. One minute they had been laughing and chatting animatedly with the few unattached men present, and the next, they had been whispering urgently to each other, Miss Catherine apparently battling tears and Miss Lydia a desire to scream. Darcy believed the cause was Mr Bennet, who had spent the time they were in the drawing room flitting between his daughters and wife in what appeared to be an attempt to make them behave with decorum. At the table, he had occasionally said one of their names, sending them severe looks and once or twice pointing a reproving gaze at Miss Lydia.

Darcy wished him luck; it would take a great deal of effort to make the Bennets a family worth knowing.

Apart from the eldest two Miss Bennets . You can say nothing against them.

He looked about the dark carriage, wondering where the thought had come from. But no one had spoken, and with reluctance, he had to admit it was true. Miss Bennet seemed like the usual sort of pretty but bland lady one commonly met, and as for Miss Elizabeth… Darcy still did not know what to think of her. He had felt a desire—very slight, he assured himself—to speak to her, but when he had twice attempted to act on it by joining in her conversation with others, it had been impossible. She had avoided him all evening, walking away if he was near and not even doing him the courtesy of looking at him when she greeted him. Mr Bennet had glared at him repeatedly, and in the end, Darcy had only spoken briefly to a few gentlemen and otherwise to the Bingleys and Hursts .

When they reached Netherfield, Bingley said, “Darcy, would you give me a few minutes before you retire?”

Darcy nodded and followed his friend to the library. Surveying its sparsely filled shelves, he said, “If you decide to remain here longer than a few months or even a year, you really should begin to build a collection.”

Bingley sighed heavily. He stood by a table holding several decanters and glasses and, without asking whether Darcy would like a drink, poured wine for both of them. As he gave Darcy his, he said, “Should I bother enquiring whether you found the dinner party agreeable?”

The only reason Darcy did not scoff was because he was taking a sip of wine. “The meal itself was very good. I applaud Mrs Bennet for employing a much better cook than I had expected. I have little to say of the company.”

“And I am sure everyone present was well aware of that.”

Shocked at the harshness of the words from his usually mild-mannered friend, Darcy flinched. “I-I do not?—”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Bingley interjected. He regarded Darcy for a moment, then sighed yet again and fell into an armchair; Darcy took a place across from him.

“You know how important being here is to me,” Bingley said. “My father charged me with securing an estate, improving my family’s social position, and he very much wanted me to establish a connexion to Hertfordshire. ”

“Because your mother was born and raised near St Albans.”

“Exactly. I want to be accepted here.” He spoke each word distinctly, and Darcy regarded him, seeing signs of anger and frustration that surprised him.

“I am sure you will be. You cannot be worried?—”

“I am worried how people will view me.”

Darcy furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Because of you !” While Darcy stared at him in astonishment, Bingley took several breaths and shook his head before continuing. “I suppose I ought to be relieved you did not insult anyone this evening—not in words at least—but, Darcy, do you not understand what people think of you? How little they?—”

“What do I care about such people?” He quickly swallowed the last of his wine; it tasted sour. He stood, and Bingley did likewise.

“My point exactly! When did you become so intolerant? They are not the most fashionable people, perhaps, but they are good and honest folk and have welcomed us into their society. Already you have given the Bennets—my nearest neighbours—reasons to dislike you, and you have been little better with anyone else. Do you not understand that they will wonder at me because of your behaviour? I introduced you as one of my dearest friends! Even Hurst was more polite than you were tonight!”

“I shall depart in the morning.” Darcy walked towards the door, but his steps faltered at Bingley’s next question.

“What has happened? You have never been particularly comfortable in company, but since the summer, your mood has blackened.”

“It is nothing,” Darcy managed to say despite how tight his jaw had become. If he were to confide the truth about Ramsgate to anyone, it would be Bingley, but he could not. He and his family had vowed not to divulge it. Even more to the point, to speak the words, to see Bingley’s horror and sympathy and listen to his condolences, would be impossible.

“You are not obligated to tell me, and I do not know that it matters to the situation. Leave if you wish, but if you do, Darcy, I do not believe our friendship will survive.”

It felt like an anvil had settled in his stomach; he turned to face Bingley, who ran his hands over his face before speaking further.

“I heard many people talk of you—tonight, on Sunday, at the assembly. They did not say anything to me directly, but I heard their whispers and saw their discomfort when I drew near. From what I understand, it was you insulting Miss Elizabeth that truly turned everyone against you, although your manner before that infamous moment had already made them question what sort of man you were. You have done nothing to improve their initial impression.”

“What do you expect me to do about it? What is it that you want me to do or say?” Have you already decided you agree with them, that I am no longer worthy of being your friend? There were not many gentlemen Darcy considered genuine friends. He had many acquaintances, but with the exception of his cousins Bramwell and Fitzwilliam, he was not close to any of them—apart from Bingley.

“I want you to show them the Fitzwilliam Darcy I know—or perhaps I ought to say knew . The gentleman who is a loving brother, trustworthy nephew and cousin, kind and generous to his servants, and who can be the most excellent friend, albeit one few would call lively. I want them to see that I am a good judge of character and that they can like and trust me because my friend and my family are pleasant, decent people. I want to stop having to be the only one who is making an effort to be accepted.”

Few people ever dared speak to Darcy in such a manner. His father had, of course; what parent did not have occasion to reprimand their children? Currently, only his uncle the earl believed he had the right to, along with his aunt Lady Catherine, who corrected everyone she met if they did not do as she demanded. That Bingley of all people was so upset by his behaviour shamed Darcy. He wanted to argue that he had been a good friend; it had been he who had assisted in finding Netherfield and securing a favourable lease, he who had agreed to spend a month—at least—here to offer whatever guidance Bingley needed.

But did any of that excuse disappointing his friend as he evidently had? Twice in a week, two different gentlemen had told him his behaviour was not what it should be. Darcy did not particularly care about Mr Bennet’s opinion, but Bingley was another matter entirely. And what would his beloved mother or father think, were either still living? If he was honest with himself, he would have to acknowledge that he had allowed his sour mood—which had nothing to do with the people of Hertfordshire—to make him feel a deep disdain for them. To be sure, there were some people he genuinely would never like, but did they not deserve his civility, regardless?

Miss Elizabeth does. I could have simply reminded Bingley how little I like to dance, or said I had a large, painful blister on my heel. In reality, the metaphorical blister that affected him was on his heart. Good Lord, how I wish I had made an excuse not to go to that damn assembly, or even told Bingley that I was not fit for company! He had thought it before, but at present, and perhaps for the first time, he fully admitted the truth. He had let his unhappiness cause him to act rashly and to wound a young lady for no reason apart from the unlikely possibility that she would take his request for a set to indicate he was attracted to her. It was badly done, but he was not prepared to admit it aloud.

Bingley’s voice pulled him from his reflections. “If you are gone in the morning, then you are gone, and I suppose we might speak eventually. We are sure to end up at the club or some party at the same time. If you are still here…”

Darcy waited patiently while Bingley looked towards the window, the view hidden by thick brocade curtains. “We go to Lane Park on Friday. Mrs Best was kind enough to invite us to her soirée, and I…hope you will treat those people as they deserve. I do not expect you to befriend them, but they are now my neighbours, the families I shall spend my time with wh ile I am here, and I would like to be on good terms with them.”

“I under?—”

“I am going to my apartment. Good night.”

Bingley left the room without even glancing in his direction again. Darcy returned to his seat and remained there for some time, considering everything that had happened and what he would do next.