Jane frowned. “I am not certain that is at all proper, Lizzy.”
“You may be correct. But at least we would know.”
LATE THAT EVENING—MUCHlater than when he left Longbourn—Hurst sat in the study at Netherfield nursing a brandy and staring into the writhing flames. It was nothing less than brooding, an activity in which Hurst rarely engaged. He was notDarcy, after all.
Hurst, despite the impression he gave to the world, was not a man unable to observe—in truth, he was far more observant about the world than any of his family or friends suspected. Hewas also more self-aware than anyone thought. The truth about Gerald Hurst was that he was a man who knew what he liked and did not concern himself with what others thought.
The memory of a particular evening at Netherfield the previous autumn rose in Hurst’s mind, and he almost smiled. It was after Jane Bennet had become ill at Netherfield and her sister, Elizabeth, joined her at the estate to play nursemaid. That evening, seated near Miss Elizabeth, she had attempted to make conversation with him, the subject of which escaped his memory. Somehow, the subject had changed to food, and when she had expressed her preference for plain dishes rather than a ragout, Hurst had responded, though again, he could not remember what he said. What remained vivid in his mind was how Miss Elizabeth had turned away from him, convinced he had nothing to say to her after she had expressed such an unfashionable opinion. In reality, Hurst had been tweaking her nose, and she had decided at once that he was a bore.
That last was akin to the truth, and Hurst could admit it himself. So long as he had good food, smooth brandy, a hunt or a deck of cards, he could be happy just about anywhere—simple tastes for a simple man. If others branded him a bore for his preferences, it was nothing to Hurst; he liked what he liked and did not give three straws for anyone else’s opinion. It was a fair trade in his mind—he did not judge others for their passions and asked for nothing more than the courtesy of the same lack of judgment. If they took it into their heads to do so, that was their problem.
Another facet of his character was a strict adherence to his own concerns and a desire to stay out of the business of others. This had served him in good stead over the years, for by avoiding such entanglements, he kept his life simple, which was what he liked. Louisa and Caroline were ever embroiled in some intrigueconcerning their brother, but Hurst kept away, wishing to know as little as possible of their machinations.
Now, however, he found himself caught in an unpleasant dilemma. Though Hurst considered himself aloof from his wife and sister’s intrigues, that did not mean that he was unaware of them. The situation in question, their efforts to remove their brother from Miss Bennet’s influence, schemes predicated on untruth, were now before him, leaving him wondering what he should do.
Under ordinary circumstances, he would not have considered involving himself. Something about this situation bothered him, though whether it was Caroline’s lies, Bingley’s dejected silence, or Miss Bennet’s palpable sadness, he could not say. Perhaps it was a combination of all three factors. Whatever it was, Hurst was contemplating the possibility of involving himself in another’s affairs, something he did but rarely.
Helping Bingley would solve some problems but create others. Though Bingley had often seemed like a callow youth, ensnared by a pretty face, Hurst sensed something different about this situation. Bingley’s interest in a woman almost always seemed to die by the end of the first dance, yet his interest in Miss Bennet had lasted for three full months. Miss Bennet, Hurst knew, did not possess the standing in society that Bingley’s sisters wished for his wife, nor did she possess much of a dowry to tempt a man like Bingley. Yet, if Bingley chose to ignore the lack of dowry that was his business and no one else’s, and as Miss Bennetwasa gentleman’s daughter, marriage to her would satisfy his need to marry a gentlewoman who would give him some legitimacy.
That would not be enough for Caroline, of course, for Caroline wished him to marry an heiress, the daughter of a peer, if she could manage it. That was, of course, absurd, for no woman boasting such a position in society would deign to allowBingley to so much as kiss her hand. To be clear, Caroline and Louisa wouldnotappreciate any hint of bringing Miss Bennet’s true feelings to Bingley’s attention, though, as usual, Caroline would rant and rave, while Louisa would accept it sooner than her sister might wish. Besides, the deceit sat ill with Hurst, and Caroline’s concern for her own wishes rather than her brother’s was nothing short of selfishness.
Though Hurst would never confess it to anyone, Miss Bennet’s plight tugged at his heart. It was clear she was unhappy, though it was not in her character to display that unhappiness to anyone who looked. Her sorrow was quieter, hidden from the casual observer. Couple that with his knowledge of Bingley’s similar straits, and Hurst could justify interfering on behalf of a good woman and of his brother by marriage. Then Bingley could choose his own path and not concern himself with his sisters.
The other aspect of this drama was, of course, George Wickham, of whom Hurst knew little other than what Darcy had said. Darcy was close-mouthed at the best of times, but the little he mentioned about Wickham was enough to raise Hurst’s hackles. Miss Elizabeth had thought well of the officer, though his behavior at Lucas Lodge had been enough to render her cautious. From what Darcy had insinuated, the danger to Miss Elizabeth was just a part of the danger to the entire neighborhood.
Hurst had caught glimpses of Darcy’s interest in Miss Elizabeth, never enough to be certain, more like whispers, not intent, but fascination. Darcy was not a warm man, and he rarely paid attention to any young woman if he could avoid it. It was not that he had focused his attention on her, but the way they had spoken, that sportive, complex way that made them feel like the only people in the conversation, suggested he looked on MissElizabeth as more than just a simple miss in a small country society.
The notion brought a full grin to Hurst’s lips. Not only would it amuse him to see an impertinent country girl reel Darcy in like a fish on a hook, but Caroline’s screams when she learned of her failure would be almost satisfying. That was, perhaps, not a commendable stance, but Hurst could not repent of it. Caroline was nearly insufferable most of the time, her ill humors and ambition to climb the ladder of society quite nauseating. If she had any chance at all with Darcy, Hurst might act differently, but he had seen Darcy’s lack of interest in her from the first moments of their acquaintance. It would do her no harm to have her confidence bruised—she may even learn something from the experience and might just set her sights lower where she had some chance of success.
Darcy’s suspected preference for Miss Elizabeth was a simple way to draw him back to Hertfordshire—Hurst suspected that a letter with even the suggestion that Wickham was paying attention to Miss Elizabeth would send Darcy calling for his carriage. A similar letter to Bingley, revealing Miss Bennet’s state and with just a suggestion of his sisters’ intrigues, would do the same for Bingley. The trick was to put it in Bingley’s hands rather than Caroline’s—if she intercepted it, Bingley would never receive it—she would also learn the truth of Hurst’s whereabouts. Hurst was enjoying his freedom too much to allow Caroline to ruin it. Fortunately, Bingley’s butler was a man who would understand the need to keep it from Caroline.
With that decided, Hurst pulled out some sheets of paper and a pen, beginning to compose his letters at once. Now that there was no question of what he would do, there was no point waiting, and every need for haste, considering Miss Bennet’s possible retreat to London. Perhaps Hurst might even derive some amusement from the affair.
Chapter IV
Enjoy London though she did, Caroline Bingley could not help but feel unease, and this had happened when it all had been proceeding so well. At the end of November, after hosting the ball for those ridiculous people in Hertfordshire, they had followed him to London, eager to prevent his return—and the near-disastrous temptation that Miss Jane Bennet represented. The success of that endeavor should have set her mind at ease; somehow, it did not.
It started with Charles. Caroline was well acquainted with her brother’s character, and she knew how to manage him subtly so that he moved in whatever direction best served their family’s rise in society. Charles was not shallow, but he had so often had his head turned by a pretty face that Caroline had never considered his distraction with Miss Bennet to be anything out of the ordinary. When Caroline had convinced him to remain in London, she had been certain he would forget about Miss Bennet and look forward to the next pretty face.
Yet now, more than a month after departing from Hertfordshire, he remained in depressed spirits, his demeanor that of a man filled with regret. This, of course, made it even more imperative that they keep him away, for Jane Bennet, though a good sort of girl, was not a woman who would raise the Bingleys’ consequence in society. Her connections alone might be the death of their ambitions toward high society, for Mrs. Bennet would make them a laughingstock, and her daughters were little better. Charles might regret the loss of Miss Bennet, but when he found a more suitable woman to marry, Caroline knew he would thank her for helping him see the truth.
The problem with Charles was vexing, but not insurmountable, so long as they kept him in London. The issuewith Mr. Darcy was far more perplexing, but Caroline knew she could afford to practice patience for the moment. That the Darcys had not returned to Pemberley was a surprise, for Caroline knew he preferred his country estate, and she could not blame him, having seen the place herself. As he had stayed for the Christmas season in London, she had hoped he would be more in evidence so she could continue her campaign to capture his attention. Mr. Darcy, however, had not seen fit to oblige—his silence was deafening, though not to Charles, with whom he remained in frequent contact.
The last problem was not a problem so much as a mystery. It too involved a gentleman, though one for whom Caroline had little respect. The truth of that matter was beyond her ability to fathom, and after a significant amount of time trying to puzzle through it, she turned to Louisa, though she had already asked this question several times.
“Are you certain you do not know where Hurst is?”
It was clear that her repeated questions on the subject were beginning to irk her sister. “As I have already told you, Caroline,” replied Louisa, her exaggerated patience provoking Caroline’s vexation in response, “he left the city without saying where he was going.”
“That is extraordinary, Louisa. What man goes away and says nothing to his wife of his destination, or when he means to return?”
The way Louisa looked at her made Caroline’s hair stand on end, though her reply was the same as it had been a dozen times since Hurst had gone away. “I do not think men tell their wives about everything they do. Hurst told Charles where he was going—that was all he thought necessary.”
Vexing though it was, the whereabouts of her sister’s husband was not a matter of supreme importance, so Caroline let the subject drop in favor of other matters more pressing.
“What do you suppose we should do about Charles?”
“I cannot say,” replied Louisa. “This preference for Miss Bennet has survived more than a month apart.”
