As he had known, Bingley was agreeable to the suggestion, though Darcy could detect a hint of melancholy still hovering about him. Bingley’s acquaintance with Fitzwilliam was not so profound as Darcy’s, but they knew enough of each other to have a good opinion, though Darcy would not call them friends.
“Of course, you may use Netherfield,” replied Bingley. “I shall be in town through the season, so it will be empty anyway.”
“Thank you, Bingley.” Fitzwilliam regarded his friend and then said: “If you will excuse me, I’m curious about why you are not using it yourself. From what Darcy has told me, it seems an excellent situation.”
“Caroline does not appreciate Meryton,” replied Bingley, though with a grimace and a shake of his head.
“Perhaps not, Bingley.” Fitzwilliam’s gaze was steady but not judgmental. “If you will pardon my saying it, your sister does not hold the lease—you do. Should your sister prefer town, she may stay with your sister and her husband.”
With a nod that indicated he did not wish to speak of it, Bingley said: “You are correct, but I am fixed in London for the moment.”
“I did not mean to pry.”
“Not at all,” replied Bingley, his good humor restored. “As you wish to recuperate in peace, I dare say the place is perfect for you. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, Bingley. I shall try not to tax your patience too much by overstaying my welcome.”
That evening, Darcy sat in his study, seeing nothing before him. It had occurred to him that Fitzwilliam might learn the reason for Bingley’s retreat from Hertfordshire. That was not a problem, he supposed, as there was nothing shameful about Bingley’s departure other than the lack of any visits to the neighbors to announce their absence. Darcy had suggested otherwise, but Miss Bingley, eager to show her contempt, had maintained it was unnecessary, considering how little she esteemed those who lived there.
As Miss Bingley was not the subject of his ruminations, Darcy allowed thoughts of her to fade in favor of what else Fitzwilliam might find in Hertfordshire. His cousin was a social man, comfortable in any society—if he could endure conditions in a regiment with equanimity, he would not find Meryton at all daunting, nor would he hide away at Netherfield. He would socialize, meet the neighbors, and that meant also meeting the Bennets.
In a small part of Darcy’s mind, hidden away from the light, his reasons for departing Meryton were as much for his own benefit as for Bingley’s. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had proved too tempting a diversion from duty, and Darcy had left in part to achieve distance from her.
How he felt about his cousin meeting her, Darcy could not say, though he was not pleased with the notion that Fitzwilliam might find her agreeable—to meet a woman who had intrigued him far too much for years to come as the wife of his cousin was not at all palatable. Then again, Darcy knew Fitzwilliam needed to pay some attention to money when he married, as he had jested for many years. Fitzwilliam would find her an interesting woman and even grow to esteem her, but he did not suppose his cousin would lose his heart to her.
Regardless of what happened, the die was cast, and Darcy did not mean to retrieve it only to cast it yet again. Darcy did not intend toreturn to Hertfordshire, and he had no interest in making any overtures to Miss Elizabeth. At least, that was what Darcy told himself as he sat alone in his study.
SALVATION ARRIVED ONEmorning in early December. The previous ten days had been trying for Elizabeth’s temper, rendering her unable to tolerate her mother’s company for even a few moments, leading to walks longer than the season allowed and solitude in her bedchamber. When she was in company, Mrs. Bennet spoke with unflagging vigor about her disappointment. Chief among these was, of course, Elizabeth’s refusal of Mr. Collins’s proposal.
“Mark my words, Lizzy Bennet,” her mother would say, her voice rising to an uncomfortable pitch, “if you take it into your head to refuse every offer of marriage you receive, you willnevermarry.”
Elizabeth had heard her say those exact words so many times that she began to dream them, which further soured her mood. It was silly, of course, for the only end for a woman who refused every offer of marriage was to remain unmarried, but Mrs. Bennet did not consider the futility of the statement, nor did she remember that Mr. Collins’s proposal was one, not many. Elizabeth understood her situation, knew that, despite the unkindness of Mr. Collins’s assertion that she may never receive another offer, it was not untrue. That was no reason for an intelligent woman to accept a man who would make her miserable, one to whom marriage would be a punishment she would need to endure every minute for the rest of her life.
When word arrived that Netherfield was once again occupied, Mrs. Bennet’s focus shifted away from her constant criticisms to delirious happiness that her dreams for her eldest daughter were not yet moribund. Elizabeth’s relief was profound, and her gratitude beyond words.
“Mr. Bingley has returned!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, almost insensible with relief and ecstasy. “I knew how it would be! I knew he could not leave Jane behind without a backward glance.”
“To the best of my knowledge,” replied Mr. Bennet as he read the newspaper, “we have no notion whether the resident at Netherfield ParkisMr. Bingley.”
“Who else would it be?” demanded Mrs. Bennet.
“I cannot say,” replied Mr. Bennet. “Yet I do not suppose we should put the cart before the horse until we know what the cart contains.”
Elizabeth thought this a reasonable suggestion, though she agreed with her mother that Mr. Bingley’s return was far more likely than anyothermember of that party enduring Netherfield again. It soon became a matter of renewed fretting for Mrs. Bennet, as whoever the new resident was, he did not visit Longbourn. As the situation persisted, Mrs. Bennet began to doubt her interpretation of the matter.
The Bennet family discovered the truth of the new resident only a few days after the mystery occupant’s arrival, though it was not what any of them suspected. The family was engaged to dine at the Gouldings’ estate, neighbors of longstanding. Several families in the district were present that evening, as was a man none of them had ever met.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and, while perhaps not strictly handsome, was a striking man, with an aristocratic bearing and an easy jovial manner. Though Elizabeth could not say why, she thought his features were distinctive in a curiously familiar way, with his dark, wavy hair, chiseled features, and blue eyes. The notion persisted for a few moments, though his name Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam meant nothing to her. The man was pleasant and easy in company, speaking and listening with no hint of hesitation, though Elizabeth noted that his eyes were often on the Bennets. A few moments before dinner, Elizabeth approached him, interested in learning more of this newcomer.
“Miss Elizabeth, was it not?” asked he, as she stood near him, ostensibly paying attention to another conversation, though hoping for some conversation with this man.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied she. “I must own that I am surprised to see you here. We were expecting Mr. Bingley, if anyone returned to Netherfield.”
The way the colonel looked at her showed his amusement. “It appears you possess a certain directness of manner, Miss Elizabeth—refreshing, I assure you. If only I could induce my regiment to follow your example.”
“It saves time,” was Elizabeth’s bland reply.
“Yes, I suppose it does. The truth is that Bingley is an acquaintance, and not one I know to any great extent. As I needed a place to convalesce for a few weeks and Darcy, who is my cousin, is an excellent friend of Bingley’s, he offered the use of his estate.”
