The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

S everal times—by which he meant closer to several dozen—Darcy asked himself what was happening between himself and Elizabeth. It was nearly impossible to remember what he had thought when he saw her at the assembly and spoke those fateful words. At present, no matter what he was doing or where he was, he was reminded of her again and again. Miss Bingley had made a remark about longing to be in London and attending ‘truly elegant entertainments’, and he had spent the next interlude reflecting on everything Elizabeth had said about being in town and her opinions of the city. He compared her sentiments to his own: both preferred the country, though her feelings were stronger than his. He supposed that might change when— if —he showed her his London, if she was able to experience it the way he did rather than from the more modest way her aunt and uncle lived. Strolling on the terrace at Netherfield one morning, he had heard a bird sing—a robin, he guessed—which brought to mind the conversations they had had about the environs of Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, which had led to speaking about travel.

Was it possible that he was falling in love with her, that she was the lady he had been waiting for, the one who would be his life’s companion? Was it possible to deny what his heart already knew to be true?

I must think about this rationally . He was not a man who acted in haste, and as much as part of him wanted to tell her of his burgeoning affection, he knew it would be better to wait a little longer. They should be friends for more than a brief time before such things were spoken of; if Bingley said that he intended to tell Miss Bennet that he was in love with her, Darcy would advise caution solely based on their short acquaintance, and the couple had not had to overcome the same initial dislike he and Elizabeth had. Although, really, had he ever disliked her? He had not appreciated her willingness to dismiss his so-called apology at the church, but in retrospect, she had been correct, and he had come to value the lesson she had imparted that day.

Entering the house after his visit to Meryton, Darcy was glad he had gone—not only because he had seen Elizabeth and her father but because he had escaped the busyness at Netherfield. Servants were rushing back and forth, carrying pieces of furniture or cleaning tools. One young girl almost ran into him as he made his way to the stairs; she looked mortified and apologised, saying, “The mistress says we are to clean the green parlour again. It weren’t done good enough.”

Miss Bingley appeared and scolded the girl, who scurried away. Darcy planned to seek her out later and give her a coin in recompense; he did not like the harsh tone with which his hostess had spoken to her.

“It is impossible to find good help in the country,” Miss Bingley complained. She tucked her hand around his arm and led him towards the large drawing room the family preferred, apparently unconcerned that he had been going in another direction. “You must tell me how you deal with it at Pemberley.”

“We seldom have any problems. My butler and housekeeper do an excellent job guiding the younger servants and teaching them to do their work properly, and I support them however I might.” His hopes that she had taken his meaning were dashed by her next words.

“Ah, but that is what comes with being in a superior neighbourhood. I am glad, truly I am, that Charles took Netherfield. He can have the satisfaction of knowing he fulfilled my father’s wishes, and it was agreeable to go to St Albans. I do not even dislike Meryton. A few of the people are…acceptable, I suppose. But between us, I look forward to my brother quitting the place and finding an estate elsewhere.”

To his surprise, rather than enter the drawing room, she continued past it, he assumed to extend their walk. He knew she had once hoped that their connexion would be more than that of friends, but he had believed—and mostly still did—that she understood that he did not view her with particular interest. Still, knowing what her wishes had been, he was uneasy being alone with her for so long and listening to her confidences .

“Should we not join the others?” he said. “Is your brother in the drawing room? There is something?—”

“In a minute or two. I must beg your indulgence, Mr Darcy. It is so refreshing to speak to someone other than Louisa, and Charles refuses to admit I am right. I know you will understand my sentiments. You are so discerning that you are bound to agree with me.” She gave him no time to respond before continuing. “I shall be very glad when the ball is behind us. It is such a lot of work, so many details to see to, and no one to help at all! I thought Louisa was going to, but everything has to be decided by me. I ask for her opinion, and she says she does not know, what do I think. I request that she sees to this or that little thing, and if I am fortunate, she does not refuse, but then she leaves it half undone or done so poorly that I end up having to correct it.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he murmured when she paused and looked at him expectantly.

“You are most kind. To be sure, Louisa is a willing assistant, and if I tell her exactly what I want, I can trust her to see to it.” With a great sigh, she repeated, “I shall be glad once the ball is over!”

Not sure how else to escape the awkward conversation, Darcy claimed a desperate need for a drink, and they made their way to the drawing room. Before entering, Miss Bingley excused herself, promising to join him shortly. Opening the door, Darcy heard Mrs Hurst speaking to her husband, who was the only other occupant.

“I shall strangle Caroline if she does not stop all her useless fussing about and changing her mind every other minute, and if she does not stop treating me like a child. I know more about arranging parties than she does, but will she listen to me? Of course not! She knows better than anyone else.”

Darcy deliberately made enough noise to alert the couple to his presence; he acted as though he had not overheard, but he was not sure they believed it. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he took a seat, and they sat in silence. Bingley and Miss Bingley walked into the room at almost the same moment.

“Darcy, I am glad you are back,” Bingley called. “Glad, too, that it has not rained again. I thought you were wrong to risk it, but, well.”

Bingley laughed. It sounded a bit false and too hearty, which Darcy better understood a couple of minutes later. His friend served his sisters and brother-in-law drinks, then sat next to him, leant close, and whispered, “If you care for me at all, make an excuse for us to leave the room and go elsewhere, just the two of us.”

Naturally, Darcy did as requested, and they made their way to the library. As he had before, he regarded the mostly empty shelves with dismay and contemplated presenting Bingley with a collection of books as his thanks for having him to stay and his honesty in pointing out how tiresome he was becoming.

“Thank you!” Bingley said as he dropped onto a sofa. “You are a good friend, Darcy.”

Darcy chuckled and took a place across from him. “If telling your relations a small lie is all it takes…”

“I am sorry. I know how little you like to deceive anyone, but I believe the good you did to my sanity makes up for it. Caroline and Louisa’s behaviour is intolerable! I am happy for you that you took yourself away from it for a while. If only I had gone with you! I am serious. Do not be surprised if you find me running through the house without a stitch of clothing on. Thank God the ball is tomorrow. If I had known what they would be like, I would not have insisted on it.”

“What has happened?”

“My sisters are, in true sisterly fashion, constantly in one dispute or another and over the most ridiculous things.” His brow furrowed. “Do you suppose the Miss Bennets squabble as much as Louisa and Caroline do? I spoke as if all sisters are like mine, but that cannot be.”

Seeing the question was not rhetorical, Darcy said, “I understand Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia do, but they just as quickly get over their differences. It is impossible to imagine Miss Bennet arguing with anyone.”

Bingley smiled at the mention of the lady he admired. “No, she would not. She is the loveliest, most gentle lady I have ever met.” He fell silent and only continued when Darcy pointedly cleared his throat. “My sisters, however, are spirited, to use a polite word. They insist everything must be perfect for tomorrow evening, yet they feel the effort will be wasted on the people of this neighbourhood—given they are too unfashionable to know the difference between a well-managed ball and a poorly managed one. They have both said as much, yet they go on to assure me that they no longer hate Meryton or think meanly of its residents.” He rolled his eyes. “Even worse, they keep complaining to me that the other is not only doing nothing to help but is actually making the task more difficult.”

“What you need is a wife,” Darcy said, in part to see how his friend would respond. “Then balls and all other amusements would be her responsibility and hers alone.” He did not add that Bingley might need to remind his sisters of that, especially Miss Bingley who seemed fond of calling herself Netherfield’s mistress, based on the number of times he had heard her say it.

As expected, Bingley’s expression softened, and he once again smiled to himself, quietly muttering, “That is not a bad notion.”

Darcy left him to his reveries for a moment, after which he told Bingley about seeing Mr Bennet and Elizabeth in Meryton.

“I am glad to see that whole…business so happily concluded,” Bingley said. “Furthermore, I have thought that you have been in a better mood of late—other than the day we saw Wickham, which is understandable. Am I mistaken?” Darcy shook his head, and Bingley asked, “Is there any particular reason?”

When Darcy only shrugged, Bingley shook his finger at him, and to forestall further questions, Darcy said, “Let us not speculate, if you please. How long do you think we can safely seclude ourselves in here?”