“Your sister,” Darcy spat, not even slowing down.
“Caroline?”
At Bingley’s amazed tone, Darcy stopped and spun around. “Of course Caroline! Don’t be an imbecile!”
“So—sorry…of course Caroline. What…? Oh God, I am afraid to ask.”
“She has gone too far, Charles. I cannot stand for it nor subject Elizabeth or myself to her actions any longer. I am leaving for the inn at Meryton.” He whirled away and resumed his frenzied pace. The urge to vacate Netherfield was nearly as severe as the roiling hunger to physically assault Caroline.
“Wait! You must tell me what happened Darcy! I have the right to know.”
Again, Darcy pulled up short and wheeled about. Not hesitating, he explained what happened in the library, a smattering of curse words and highly unflattering verbiage embellishing the concise recounting. When he was done, Charles looked ill. He also looked very angry and determined.
“It is past time to deal with my sister. Go to your room, Darcy, and stay put. I refuse to allow you to leave.”
Darcy’s brows rose at his friend’s blunt command. He could not readily recall Bingley ever speaking in such a harsh tone—to anyone—and especially not to him. In fact, no one ordered Darcy of Pemberley in such a way! The oddity and vague humor of it went a long way toward defusing his violent energy.
Nodding once, Darcy did as commanded. An hour and two calming glasses of wine later, Darcy answered Bingley’s knock.
“Caroline is packing her bags and within the hour will be on her way to Bath. Louisa and Hurst can deal with her, not that Hurst will pay her any heed.”
Darcy handed Bingley a glass of wine. “I suspect he will thank you for giving Mrs. Hurst a companion. Frees him to pursue preferred activities.”
“Caroline will swiftly drown her disappointments in shopping. A lot can be purchased between now and the end of November. Maybe there is a merchant selling character and decency.”
“If there is, be sure to tell me and I will find a way to get Lady Catherine to Bath.”
Chapter Ten
Shivering from the Heat
Two mornings later, the topic of Caroline Bingley’s exodus remained a popular one—at least to Mrs. Bennet, who for the third time since sitting down with the Longbourn family for breakfast expressed her opinion on the matter.
“Miss Bingley just suddenly decided to join her sister in Bath? How odd!”
“They are close, Mama. It makes perfect sense Miss Bingley would miss their companionship.” Jane swiveled her gaze to Lizzy. “Goodness knows I will suffer the same when Lizzy is in faraway Derbyshire.”
“Oh! Do not remind me!” Lizzy accented her dramatic wail with a slap of butter onto the muffin in her hand. “Of course, with so many fine carriages at our disposal, visiting will be effortless. Is that not so, Papa?”
Mr. Bennet’s dry retort emanated from behind a newspaper. “I daresay a sturdy, padded coach, as Mr. Darcy owns, drawn by a superlative team of horses will float down the road covering the distance in half the space of time.”
“There, you see, Jane? Neither of us shall have a chance to suffer. In a blink, the winter will pass and one of us will call upon the other.”
“Besides, you will have your husbands to allay any suffering.” Kitty’s innuendo made Jane blush and Lizzy laugh.
“I do hope you said nothing to offend her, Jane.”
“Who, Mama?”
“Why Miss Bingley, of course! Is that not what we are talking about?”
“I was under the impression we were talking about sturdy carriages and distracting husbands.” Lizzy winked at Jane, who was still rosy cheeked. “Either subject is preferable to Caroline Bingley as far as I am concerned.”
“I agree with Lizzy,” Kitty piped in. “She was most unpleasant. You will not admit it, Jane, but I am not marrying her brother, so can speak my mind. Good riddance, I say.”
Mrs. Bennet set her teacup onto the saucer with a sharp clink. “It would not serve your interests to speak harshly of Miss Bingley to Mr. Bingley, Jane. Remember that!”
“Judging by how besotted the two gentlemen are with our eldest daughters, you can rest easy, my dear.” All eyes turned to the newspaper shielding Mr. Bennet’s face. “My guess is that commentary on the personality of Miss Bingley would delight Mr. Darcy and not be vigorously denied by Mr. Bingley.”
“A man’s affections are fickle, Mr. Bennet, and should never be tested.” Mr. Bennet lowered the paper an inch and peered at his wife. Mrs. Bennet paid him no mind, her attention equally divided between her eggs and her daughters. “Remember that, girls. Always strive to flatter and be the peacemaker in your marriage. If Miss Bingley’s abrupt departure is in any way the result of unpleasantness, then you must immediately make amends!”
Jane was staring at her toast. Feeling guilty for no reason, Lizzy wagered, so she kicked Jane under the table while turning a sweet smile toward her mother. “Mama, you have nothing to fret about. Jane especially and me, to the best of my capability, were polite to Miss Bingley at all times. Besides, there is no proof that her departure was abrupt, simply that we did not hear of it until afterward. She was bored to tears at Netherfield, that much is certain, and Bath is, by all accounts, much more exciting than Meryton.”
“If I had the means to visit Bath, I would hasten there as well.” Mary’s bland tone drew everyone’s attention, even Mr. Bennet, who folded the newspaper. “I read an interesting book about the natural springs and walking trails. A sight to behold.”
“I quite agree with Mary, although I do not think Miss Bingley apt to climb rocks or traverse wooded trails. It is doubtful she will do anything more strenuous than strolling through the Pump Room and local shops.” Lizzy’s speculation earned an agreeing grunt from Mr. Bennet, a giggle from Kitty, nods from Mary and Mrs. Bennet, and a smile and snicker from Jane, who rapidly hid both behind her napkin. Not giving her mother a chance to prolong the topic, Lizzy rushed on. “At the present, I can find no fault in the desire to forego a nature walk for the rigors of battling crowds on a merchant street. For probably the first time in my life, shopping has a great appeal.”
Lizzy grinned at her father. Mr. Bennet answered with a groan and unfolded his newspaper. Jane quickly washed down her toast with a swallow of hot tea, wincing at the discomfort but jumping on Lizzy’s hint.
“Oh yes! We did not hear the rest of our Aunt Gardiner’s letter, Mama! They have returned to Town, but when are we to join them?”
As expected, wedding planning was a sure distraction. “My sister Gardiner requested several days for them to settle in after being away and to prepare for your visit. She suggested the twenty-fourth. Not that it matters to me, since I will be staying here.”
Mrs. Bennet’s woeful sigh and drooping shoulders momentarily had the desired affect. Lizzy felt a sharp stab of pity render her breathless, and Jane looked on the edge of bursting into tears! The nagging for their father to escort them to London had finally resulted in his assent. Mrs. Bennet had complained loudly—contrary to her recent motherly advice to be the peacemaker—and was only placated when Lizzy and Jane cleverly heaped upon her a mountain of “important wedding arrangements” to handle while they were gone. Happily feeling essential, Mrs. Bennet reverted to the intermittent doleful expressions and pathetic sighs. It was fast becoming the main reason the two brides-to-be were eager to get to London.
Luckily, before either capitulated and begged her to come instead, Mr. Bennet spoke from behind the paper. “The twenty-fourth will not do. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are joining the fox hunt, remember? We will leave on the twenty-fifth. I’ll write Gardiner.” And with that, the matter was decided.
* * *
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were perfectly agreeable to leave for London on the twenty-fifth. Of course, they were perfectly agreeable to just about anything, as long as it occupied the time stretching until their wedding day—or to be more accurate, their wedding night. Not that either of
the gentleman were indifferent to the necessary plans for the ceremony and surrounding celebration with friends and family. When asked, they sincerely proclaimed a desire for their nuptials to be special and even expressed the occasional opinion on the food or decorations. If pointedly questioned, however, they would admit that the night they consummated their marriages was far more important. Unlike the wedding day, where the discussions were open and seemed to involve half of Meryton, Darcy and Bingley separately arranged their wedding nights with only the basic information related to anyone. The following conversation while riding to Longbourn two days before the fox hunt was one of the few.
“Bingley, I talked to Mr. Bennet last evening about my wish to depart with Elizabeth as soon as possible after the wedding breakfast.”
“Oh, are you planning to make directly for Pemberley then? Or London?”
“Pemberley, although not in one shot. That would be impossible. Nor do I wish to spend my wedding night in a carriage.”
“Understandable.”
“I am making alternative arrangements but wanted you to know that we shall not infringe upon your hospitality at Netherfield.”
“Much appreciated.”
“Furthermore, I will ensure my wedding guests return to London. Your guests are up to you to manage.”
Bingley nodded, his eyes forward on the trail as they had been all through the short exchange, as were Darcy’s eyes. And that was the end of the discussion touching on sleeping arrangements with their new brides.
Darcy was unsure how comfortable Bingley might normally be in openly talking about matters of sexuality. The reason for his lacking knowledge on Bingley’s attitude toward the topic was Darcy’s reticence when it came to divulging private thoughts. Intimacy was not the only personal topic Darcy hesitated to speak of, but was the last area he would ever willingly blather about. Thus, if Bingley were the type to engage in ribald humor or bragging about conquests—and Darcy doubted Bingley was—he would have to do it with another man.
Some said that airing one’s thoughts or feelings with another person, even a stranger, could alleviate one’s angst. To Darcy, the concept of talking to a stranger about a personal topic was unfathomable, but on a handful of instances, he had gained relief or perspective by sharing with his father, cousin Richard, or other close friends. Daily his assurance grew that Elizabeth would be a truly complete confidante in time. He longed for this more than he had previously imagined he would with a wife. Furthermore, he was surprised to recognize how fervently he prayed for their communion to include candor in the bedroom.
Anticipating such a future was glorious. In the present, he needed to maintain a tight rein on his passions. Chatting with Bingley, or anyone, about male-female intimacy would surely be counterproductive. It was also best to approach the honeymoon with a focus on the logistical aspects, rather than solely the privacy of the inn or size of the bed.
Keeping the finer details secret from Elizabeth helped maintain his self-restraint and sanity. Plus, it was fun, as he discovered that afternoon when the couples enjoyed their habitual afternoon stroll.
“Papa tells me you plan to abscond with your new wife seconds after I recite my vows.”
“Not quite.” Darcy contested, frowning. Briefly he wondered why he bothered to speak privately with Mr. Bennet at all when the older gentleman apparently enlightened Elizabeth anyway.
“Then I shall be allowed to eat first? That is a relief! I would hate to be famished to the point of fainting from lacking energy minutes after we arrive at our destination.”
Elizabeth’s arch tone and smirk tied his tongue for a couple seconds. God knows he could imagine nothing worse than her weak or sleepy on their wedding night! Did she seriously fear the same? And if she was referring specifically to intimacy, could he resist the sudden urge to lower her to the grassy ground beside the trail, crush his body over hers, and kiss until they were forced apart to breathe?
Speaking despite the tightness in his chest and throat, Darcy charged, “If Mr. Bennet said I wished to depart seconds after the wedding, he was exaggerating my words for humorous effect.”
“Shocking! I cannot envision Papa ever doing such a thing!”
“Indeed, quite a surprise.” He matched her feigned amazement, and then they both laughed. Less tense after a joke, Darcy assured, “What I did say is that we would leave after the wedding breakfast and a reasonable time for congratulations and farewells.”
“So by this vague statement I can deduce we are not spending our wedding night at Netherfield?”
“You are remarkably astute, Miss Elizabeth.” He squeezed her arm and grinned.
“Thank you. I try to keep my brilliance in check so as not to astonish too greatly. So, are we heading in a northerly or southerly direction?”
“One of those two, yes. With perhaps a bit of east or west added in.”
“That narrows it down considerably!”
“If I give too much away, your astounding brilliance will be left unchallenged. I would hate to be the bringer of such disappointment.”
At that, she playfully punched him in the arm. “I am getting the distinct impression you mean to keep our honeymoon a surprise.”
“I shall repeat: you are remarkably astute.”
Further cajoling was answered with similar evasiveness. Darcy enjoyed the game that would continue to be played up to the minute they entered the carriage on their wedding afternoon. Elizabeth’s liveliness and love of laughter frequently provided the diversion necessary when his love, or frank lust, threatened to get the better of him—when, that is, her utter adorableness was not enhancing his passion. Truthfully, as marvelous as it was to be with her, Darcy struggled daily against the tightening coil of wanting her. Not much he could do to rectify the matter other than pray for time to speed by and God to grant him superhuman control.
* * *
The night before the fox hunt passed in much the same way as every night had during the week since Mr. Darcy’s return from London. With Caroline Bingley gone and most of the citizens of Meryton and the nearby communities already acquainted with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley—the news of the Bennet daughter’s joint engagement not the prime topic of gossip anymore—dinner was enjoyed at Longbourn with only the Bennet family.
Mr. Darcy assured Lizzy that dining in a semiformal manner with cuisine flavorful if simple in preparation was satisfying, and no longer quite as strange and discomfiting as initially. She felt she knew him adequately to believe his claim. He certainly ate heartily. Lizzy was amazed that a man who dined delicately with regulated pacing could ingest so much food. The relaxed manner of conversation the Bennet family enjoyed while eating would likely never be his preference. Lizzy accepted this as one example of how different their upbringings. Since she would soon be leaving her home for Pemberley, learning to dwell in his world meant dining in a higher style, among many other things. Until then, it was a relief to witness her betrothed loosen enough to intermittently engage in light banter and not appear continually startled by the rambling flow of conversation.
After dinner, the couples strolled outside as they typically did. Kitty joined them with her puppy, the small animal impervious to the chilly air as he dashed from person to person. His tail wagged in a blur of motion and yips were ongoing unless he paused for a welcome pet or was stifled by a stick in his mouth. The latter was tossed by whomever he ran to, including Mr. Darcy. Lizzy marveled at his overt pleasure in interacting with the dog he had paid scant attention to thus far.
“I did not suspect you were one to cavort with dogs, William. Do you have pets at Pemberley?”
“Not pets precisely.” He threw the slimy stick into the darkness, smiling as the puppy launched bravely into the shadows. “My mother had a corgi when I was young. She was a gift from Lady Catherine, who has several of them. She lived to a ripe age. The corgi, that is, although one can presume the same will be true for my aunt. As Wordsworth wrote, building on Defoe, ‘The good die first, and
they whose hearts are dry as summer dust burn to the socket.’”
Lizzy snickered, partly from the humor of his comment and partly because it still shocked her when he jested even remotely crudely.
Darcy continued, “Who can resist playing with a young animal? As with children, they have such lightness and innocence. I suppose adults see it as an opportunity, however brief, to revisit a time when life was endless play and joy.” He bent to retrieve the stick, bestowed a quick scratch behind the dog’s ears, and tossed the stick further away. “Animals are not kept inside the manor on a regular basis. My mother’s corgi was the only one. Georgiana has had two or three cats over the years. They never wished to stay indoors for long though and soon joined the mousers roaming the property.”
“So you were not a fortunate youth, with young animals to share your innocence and lightness.”
“I did not say that. Remember, I tended to spend large portions of my days, then and now, in the stable complex. I never managed to entice a foal to fetch a tossed stick, but they are quite playful. The gamekeeper compound was my second favored place. Mr. Burr is Pemberley’s head gamekeeper. He is a remarkable man with an affinity for any animal species, as is Mrs. Burr, for that matter. They raise the mastiffs, who guard the estate, and the hunting hounds. Dogs are vital assets. While not exactly pets, with breeding comes multiple litters of puppies for an active boy to cavort with.”
They chatted about animals for a while longer, the others joining the conversation with amusing reminiscences from their childhoods, but sooner than desired, the cooling night air drove them inside. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were already in sedate repose in the parlor. Mary “entertained” on the pianoforte, thankfully located in the room across the corridor.
Mrs. Bennet jumped up to fuss over the gentlemen, as she inevitably did no matter how often they assured her they were in need of nothing. Before either man could sit, tumblers of brandy were thrust into their hands. Darcy accepted the glass with a kind thanks and incline of his head. Mrs. Bennet flushed and spluttered, but Darcy turned away to acknowledge Mr. Bennet, where he hunched in a corner chair.