Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (9 page)

“She is not. She will make a home with Hurts and Louisa. And she will not be welcomed at Netherfield until she makes a number of long-overdue apologies and pays off all her arrears of civility to Jane. And,” Bingley grimaced, “knowing her, she will seek to at least give that impression, while the purse strings are firmly in my grasp”.

Darcy very nearly stared. The married state was already proving of some benefit to Bingley, if it had given him the confidence to stand up to his domineering sister. For many years his friend had been treated as a child in leading strings by his two much older siblings – the unmarried one the most wilful and vocal of the two – and it was high time for that state of affairs to alter. It would do Bingley a world of good to finally assert his independence. And Darcy could not help owning that it might be a great deal more enjoyable for his friends, himself included, to visit him once Miss Bingley no longer ruled over his household. Having Miss Bennet’s sister as the lady of the house might be a welcome change indeed.

* * * *

Darcy’s opinion of Mrs Bingley, cautiously favourable already by comparison to the previous mistress of Netherfield, had no reason to diminish over the course of the couple’s visit. She was very mild and sweet, and unmistakably attached to her new husband. Her beautiful features lit up whenever he approached her, Darcy could not fail to notice, and when Bingley was detained in conversation with the others, her clear blue eyes followed him everywhere he went.

Experience had taught him that such displays of interest and affection were often feigned, but in this lady’s case what reason might she have had to feign them? She had already gained her place as Bingley’s wife and there was no further need to cajole or lure him. Nor was there any need for her to impress the other members of the party with signs of affection. Why should she feel inclined to put on a show for her dearest sister’s benefit, for his or Georgiana’s?

That Bingley was head over heels in love and blissfully happy was equally plain to see. A very cheerful man at all times, these days his bright disposition was almost incandescent, and he would use every opportunity to show his devotion to his wife or, when she was absent, to extol her virtues.

That evening was no exception. The ladies had retired to the music room after dinner, leaving them to their brandy and port – in effect leaving Darcy as the sole listener to yet another of Bingley’s besotted monologues.

“So, Darcy, when will you see sense and follow my example?” his friend asked, once his panegyric was mercifully concluded. “Whoever has inspired your proverbial reticence for the married state has done you a great disservice, my friend. I, for one, heartily recommend it.”

“Do you indeed? I had my doubts watching you over the last few days, but I thank you for clearing that issue,” Darcy affectionately teased and reached for his brandy.

Bingley laughed and drained his glass.

“I suppose other people’s happiness can be rather tedious. All I can say is that you should try it for yourself. And I beseech you, do yourself a favour and marry for affection. Well, if you have tired of my exhortations, I say we rejoin the ladies,” he suggested, and Darcy saw no reason to object.

They found them listening to Georgiana playing a very lively tune which took Bingley to his wife’s side directly, as though he needed more inducement. He turned to lightly cast over his shoulder:

“Pray oblige me, Darcy. I cannot waste this tempting opportunity of dancing to
The Barley Mow
.”

“This is unprecedented, and irregular as well. Are you seriously asking me to stand up with you?” Darcy drawled, but his friend was undaunted.

“Insufferable wretch,” he retorted pleasantly. “Need I spell it out that I was hoping you would partner Miss Bennet? We could use another couple and besides I do not see why you should be allowed to sit down and be entertained by other people’s antics,” Bingley added as he led his smilingly compliant wife to the floor.

Uncommonly compliant in his turn, at least to those who knew him well, Darcy walked to the lady’s sister.

“Would you do me this honour, Miss Bennet? I know Bingley of old and I can safely say that dissuading him from dancing is rarely an option, so I imagine we might have to join him.”

Her smile was rather perfunctory, but she stood.

“‘Tis no hardship for me, Sir. I dearly love to dance.”

“Which is more than I can say for Darcy,” his friend laughed. “As a habit he avoids it like the plague, so I suppose I should thank him for the condescension.”

“Should you not save your breath for the dance? I believe ‘tis rather sprightly,” the other retorted like for like, and offered his hand to his companion.

Thin warm fingers curled around his own, and he idly registered the novel sensation as they took their place. Of course. Dancing without gloves was as singular as impromptu romps in Pemberley’s music room after dinner. He had never danced at Pemberley in seven years, and never – there or elsewhere – at anything other than a formal ball. He had never danced with a young woman from his household either, nor with a partner who would look at the pianoforte, the floor, the other couple, anywhere in the room but him. Had they not told her, when she was taught to dance, that one was supposed to train one’s eyes on one’s partner? Or was that still an after-effect of Miss Bingley’s poison?

In all other respects the dancing master or whoever might have taught her had done the office well. She easily caught the steps, or perhaps she was more familiar with them than he, and she moved with unaffected ease, her dancing light and pleasing. Very graceful too, even more than her sister’s, so she need not blush for her performance. Yet blush she did, her rosy glow deepening into scarlet. On second thought, exertion might have been to blame. After all, it was a very sprightly dance indeed.

Without warning, the tempo increased still further when, arms linked behind the lady’s back and the other poised above their heads to form a wide circle between them, the couples were expected to whirl around in five fast spins, stop and clap the time, then repeat the figure after an exchange of partners.

They duly whirled and stopped to clap the time – only to see that, in careless disregard for the established pattern of the dance, Bingley omitted or disdained to relinquish his wife to Darcy. They were still spinning, faster and faster still, one arm around each other’s waist, the other raised to frame their faces. Eye to eye. Seemingly oblivious of the entire world around them.

Darcy’s momentary confusion gave way to an understanding smile. Across from him, Miss Bennet’s consciousness melted into a matching one, and they shared a light shrug and a glance of amused affection – for her sister, for his friend – before meeting in the middle for the last figure of the dance.

* * * *

The forthcoming days brought other amusements. Walks through the grounds, a few trips to Lambton, even archery one day when the weather was particularly fine, and often in the mornings the gentlemen would go out to shoot.

The evenings were spent in easy companionship. It could not be otherwise when Bingley was of the party, and Darcy was glad to note that his reservations about having Mrs Bingley for a guest while her sister was a paid companion had been for naught. Whether or not this would still hold true when they would be in larger company, with many more of his peers present, was difficult to tell. But for now Mrs Bingley’s addition was actually improving matters, for it was seemingly restoring Miss Bennet to her cheerful self.

‘Nay, not that,’
Darcy amended. She had never wanted cheer. Yet she was more at ease, more vivacious, as though the Bingleys – a connection between them all – were bridging the natural distance between her and the family she served.

It pleased him that, at least in their presence, her deep reserve around him appeared to have softened and the civil deference had been replaced by something akin to her former open manner. If anything, it would make for an easier transition to the future when, inevitably, she would quit his household to live with her sister and they would meet on a different, almost equal footing.

The matter was tentatively discussed over dinner a few evenings later and, to his satisfaction and Georgiana’s palpable relief, Miss Bennet informed them that she was in no great haste to leave while she was still needed.

“I am very happy here,” she smiled warmly at his sister, then her countenance lost some of its animation as she continued. “It cannot be so very long until you would have a companion in the mistress of this house, or you would require someone a great deal more experienced than I to guide you through the maze of social engagements. But until then, if you would have me, I would very much like us to remain just as we are.”

Georgiana voiced her unconcealed delight at the intelligence but predictably Mrs Bingley did not share the sentiment.

“Are you quite certain, Lizzy? I hope I need not tell you how happy you would make me if you changed your mind.”

At that, Bingley spoke up to warmly second her, but Miss Bennet leaned to press her sister’s hand.

“You know you cannot escape it, dearest Jane,” she teased. “Before long I shall be a fixture in your home, to teach your daughters to play their instruments very ill indeed. But until then I hope you will enjoy your marital bliss at leisure. Besides, you must have more than enough sisters in your care.”

“‘Tis not the same though, you must see that. They are not you,” Mrs Bingley affectionately emphasised. “And they would not live with us, not for a long time yet, if ever. Mamma has welcomed the suggestion of having her own home, a few doors down from our Aunt Phillips, which my dear husband was so kind to offer.”

‘Good for him,’
Darcy privately cheered. While his impecunious relations would likely be a burden on his purse, at least they would not be a burden in his home, nor impose themselves upon the rest of Bingley’s family and friends, himself included, when they were to visit. But perhaps Miss Bingley’s vitriolic letter was nothing but malicious exaggeration in Mrs Bennet’s case, just as it was with regard to her two eldest daughters. Could she have raised such charming young ladies if she was a low and vulgar sort?

Despite Mrs Bingley’s quiet entreaties, Miss Bennet remained unwilling to alter her decision of continuing as Georgiana’s companion. The vocal expressions of delight were left to his sister, but Darcy privately acknowledged himself equally gratified, and not just because he had been spared the trouble of finding a replacement. Truth be told, he was just as disinclined as Georgiana to trade Miss Bennet’s pleasing company for a dour Mrs Younge or someone of her ilk.

Despite Mrs Bingley’s disappointment, dinner finished on a happy note. There was no dancing in the music room – that particular disport was not repeated after the first night – but they played at cards instead, until the late hour claimed its dues and the ladies declared their readiness to retire. As for Bingley, he agreed to join his friend for a glass of port as soon as he had lit their candles so, bidding them good night, Darcy left him to the task and ambled to his study.

It was prepared for them – the fire lit, the decanters full – and, having poured himself a drink, Darcy walked up to his desk. Some letters of business were stacked into a neat pile in a corner and he selected and unfolded the uppermost, then leaning back, glass in one hand and the letter in the other, he set about to peruse it while he waited. The reply was not particularly urgent and he would not have the time to write it anyway until Bingley’s reappearance, but he reached for pen and paper nonetheless, to jot down a few salient points lest he should forget to touch upon them later.

By the time his glass was empty and the
aide-mémoire
might as well have been the final letter, it occurred to him that Bingley had changed his mind about joining him after all. He drew a fresh sheet, penned the letter in full, then folded and sealed it before standing up to cover the fire and put out the candles.

The sconces on the corridor gave sufficient light and he gained the main hall, only to discover that Bingley had not changed his mind, or at least had not retired yet, although doubtlessly he must have wished to. Still standing at the bottom of the stairs, he was holding his wife in a fierce embrace, her candle quite forgotten on a nearby table. Her bare arms glistened in the candlelight as she brought them up from around his neck to tangle her fingers in his hair. Eyes closed and cheeks aglow, she was responding to his kisses with feverish passion.

There was nothing to be done but retrace his steps so, very quietly, Darcy did just that. He returned to his study, vaguely discomfited at having witnessed the intimate scene. He did not relight the candles, but walked to the window to lean against the sill and gaze absentmindedly over the moonlit lawn.

So Bingley was blessed not only with a marriage of affection, but a passionate one as well. No wonder he was walking on clouds these days, the lucky devil. How many of their acquaintances could say the same?

From what he had observed, marriages in his circle were lukewarm affairs where, if affection stemmed at all, it ran no deeper than the placid attachment to a favourite spaniel. The passion was reserved for liaisons and illicit encounters that filled the scandal sheets and seasoned dull evenings in overcrowded parlours.

Darcy all but shuddered. The thought of such a marriage was abhorrent. On the other hand, he had never been so foolish as to expect passion. He had long settled that respect, calm affection and a commonality of interests formed the basis of a rewarding union.