Then Bingley hesitated, and Darcy was certain he understood the contents of his friend’s thoughts. “Fitzwilliam did not mention anyone of the neighborhood in his letter, did he?”
“The letter was so perfunctory as to be curt,” said Darcy, not wishing to speak of Miss Bennet to Bingley.
Bingley offered a slow nod, though he did not speak. Had Darcy the time to consider the matter at length, he might have wondered at Bingley’s continued quietude, his behavior indicative of enduring interest in Miss Bennet. As Darcy considered that matter closed, he pushed any such thoughts away. This journey to Netherfield was to be short—one day of travel, a day or two to deal with Wickham and ensure he was silenced for good, and then return to London. Darcy had no intention of meeting anyone from the community, least of all the Bennets. The reasons that had taken him from Hertfordshire, the wish to avoid the woman he found far too tempting, were still in force.
“Do you wish for my support?” asked Bingley, taking Darcy by surprise. “I know you are capable, but if you want my assistance, I should be happy to travel to Netherfield in your company.”
“That is unnecessary, Bingley,” said Darcy. “I can handle Wickham.”
“Very well,” said Bingley, shrugging as if the matter was of little consequence. “It is for the best anyway; we are for the north in a few days for a brief visit.”
Darcy regarded him, interested. “I was not aware you were planning to visit family.”
Bingley grimaced. “I little like travel in winter, but we have determined it has been too long since we were in our family’s company. We shall return before the end of March, or before that, if I know Caroline at all. She prefers to be in town during the season.”
Miss Bingley’s preferences were no mystery to Darcy and did not warrant a response. If Darcy knew anything about Miss Bingley, she would insist they return earlier, if only to put herself in his company again.
“As it is already late December, it hardly seems worthwhile to make the six-day journey to York.”
“Perhaps,” said Bingley with a shrug. “But I think a visit with family will do us good.”
Before Darcy could consider the probable reasons for Bingley’s statement, he spoke again. “Do you mean to be in town for the season?”
“Yes,” replied Darcy. “I shall attend as is my custom, though I cannot expect to enjoy it.”
“You know, Darcy,” said Bingley after watching him for a few moments, “if you married, you would have no more reason to loathethe season. After all, it is the attention of all the young debutantes that brings you the most grief.”
“And I shall marry when I have found a woman who interests me.”
“Then I will say nothing about how you will not find such a woman living in my house.”
Darcy nodded but did not speak. Though they had never spoken openly of the matter, Bingley was aware of Darcy’s lack of interest in Miss Bingley, though the woman in question refused to understand it herself.
“With your permission, I shall depart,” said Darcy. “And wish you a safe journey to the north.”
“Thank you, Darcy,” replied Bingley. “Godspeed.”
As Darcy departed from Bingley’s house, avoiding the sitting-room, the morrow’s departure for Hertfordshire consumed his thoughts. Though he could not know it, that day’s meeting with Bingley would have profound consequences for their future friendship.
AS HE HAD DESIGNED, Darcy departed early. Hertfordshire was no more than a morning journey from London, and Darcy wished to arrive by noon so that he could complete the business and then return to London at once. Before he departed, he said as much to Georgiana.
“It must be particular business to take you back to Hertfordshire with such short notice,” observed Georgiana as she watched him prepare for his departure. “Will you not share it with me?”
It was not Georgiana’s youth or her lingering low spirits that kept Darcy from explaining why he was bound for Hertfordshire. Georgiana had shown improvement in the past months, so much so that Darcy thought she could withstand Wickham, even if he were present before her. The real reason for his silence was her curiosity about the place. When he was there in the autumn, Darcy had made the mistake of mentioned some amusing anecdotes of Miss Elizabeth’s exchanges with Miss Bingley while there. That had led to Georgiana’s interest in Miss Elizabeth—for, as she pointed out, Darcy hadnevermentioned any other young woman in his letters, so there must be something special about Miss Elizabeth.
That was a subject Darcy did not wish to consider at length. Miss Elizabeth was, as he had confessed to himself, unlike any other woman of his acquaintance—Georgiana had not misunderstood his interest. As he had determined that any alliance with her was impossible, he did not want Georgiana tomisunderstand.
Georgiana said nothing further, other than to wish him a safe journey, and Darcy allowed the matter to rest, though it would not be correct to say the thought left him as the carriage made its way toward Meryton and Netherfield beyond. As Fitzwilliam had said nothing explicit, Darcy assumed Wickham had been engaged in his usual intrigues—had Wickham compromised some young woman of the neighborhood, Darcy was certain his cousin’s letter would have mentioned it.
The mess of thoughts disrupting Darcy’s equanimity was as exhausting as the travel itself, such that Darcy welcomed the sight of Meryton, the two miles to Netherfield passing swiftly. When the carriage stopped in front of the estate Darcy had abandoned a month earlier, he caught sight of Fitzwilliam standing on the stairs, leaning on a cane. His cousin, Darcy noted, did not grin or offer a witticism at his coming as he often did—this Fitzwilliam was dour, perhaps even a little accusatory.
“Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, his greeting as perfunctory as his face was grave. “It seems you made good time.”
“The roads are good for this time of year,” replied Darcy. “I expect you wish to speak with me at once—allow me to refresh myself, and I shall be at your disposal.”
“Then go to it,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “I shall await you in the sitting-room.”
Within ten minutes, Darcy descended the stairs again, his appearance repaired from the morning’s travel by his trusty man Snell, who had traveled with him. When he entered the room, he felt the weight of Fitzwilliam’s gaze on him, judging him, unless Darcy had no ability to read his cousin. Though he did not appreciate the sensation, he knew that speaking of it would be to provoke him. It was best to allow Fitzwilliam to state his opinion and then move past it.
