Coming Soon: Kindly Meant Interference
Darcy moved to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He had not intended to imbibe, but he knew not how else he might endure the remainder of his game of billiards. Charles Bingley was quite drunk - not on spirits, but on the smiles and pretty blushes of a willowy blonde, which was ever so much worse. He lounged on the sofa a few feet away, completely unaware that it was his turn to attempt a shot in their game.
“But I cannot believe you found none of the local ladies to your taste, Darcy.” Bingley shook his head with affectionate befuddlement. And then, he sat up straighter as they both heard a woman’s voice.
Darcy stiffened and froze in place as he listened with abject horror to the voice of Caroline Bingley declare her certainty that he had come to Netherfield to court her. Bingley clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle a laugh, kicking up his knees with hilarity. As Miss Bingley’s words struck fear into his heart, Bingley leaned over one side of the sofa and pointed to a ventilation grate set into the baseboard. Apparently, the superior sisters had gone into the library to eavesdrop on the gentlemen.
As Darcy moved closer, perversely wishing to hear every avaricious word, Bingley tapped Darcy on the arm, and with great exaggeration mouthed the words say no. He gestured with a hand across his neck and urged Darcy to speak.
The two gentlemen had long since addressed Miss Bingley’s evident desire to become the next mistress of Pemberley. More than a year ago, Darcy had finally summoned up the courage to tell his friend that he would never marry Miss Bingley; Bingley was not the least bit resentful of it, and apologized profusely for his sister’s apparent expectations. Neither of them had dared inform Miss Bingley that her hopes were in vain, rather preferring to wait for her to give up on waiting around for Darcy, and pursue an easier prospect.
But Miss Bingley had proven tenaciously single-minded, and was running the risk of missing out on any other opportunity to wed. Darcy had no reason not to wish her well-settled with somebody - she was not unattractive, and some impoverished baronet who favored style over substance would be glad to wed her and pocket her dowry. He knew that the longer she remained fixated on himself, the more likely she was to resort to desperate measures, especially now that they were residing under the same roof.
As Darcy pondered this horrific possibility, Bingley continued to gesture at him with great animation, his hands pressed together as if begging while he mouthed please, for my sake.
Perhaps there was some merit in the idea of simply allowing the lady to hear from his own lips that he would not offer for her, but he could hardly say so out of the blue. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a helpless wave of his hands, and somehow Bingley understood this.
“I say, Darcy, perhaps if I pay court to Miss Bennet, you may follow suit and finally take Caroline to wife.”
Bingley had certainly given him an opening, and Darcy winced at the indignity of such play-acting as he contrived some reasonable reply. After another flap of his smirking friend’s arms, Darcy cleared his throat and spoke. “I shall always consider you as like a brother to me, though I should no more wish to wed your sister than you should like to wait for my own to grow up. I wish you well in courting Miss Bennet, if you are seriously considering it. I, too, desire a match based on ardent admiration and regard, and if that were possible with your sister I would have discovered as much by now.”
Bingley’s mouth fell open, and then he grinned at Darcy. “I say, you are a romantic! Ha! Capital! But alas, no, Caroline is nothing of the kind. I believe she thinks only of Pemberley.”
Darcy frowned. He wished to put an end to Miss Bingley’s designs, but not to wound her. “I do not fault her for cherishing more material considerations. She will always be welcome at Pemberley - more so, I should think, if she were to put aside her ambitions for any matches between our two families. Indeed, when I do marry, I should hope to find her a sincere friend to Mrs. Darcy, whomever she may be - only in this way shall a connection to the Darcys of Pemberley ever be an advantage to your sister.”
Bingley nodded approvingly at Darcy’s rather long speech. ”I suppose the future Mrs. Darcy is not likely to be found in Meryton, eh?”
“Hardly,” Darcy drawled. He glanced down at the grate; it had gone silent on the other side, but he had no doubt that Miss Bingley was still listening. He had spoken the truth, and done so for the best, but beyond an awareness of their incompatibility, he did not overtly dislike Miss Bingley. Wishing to soften the blow, he sighed and said, “I must choose wisely. The future Mrs. Darcy is sure to inspire a great deal of envy amongst the ton, exposing her to such scrutiny as would test the mettle even of a gentleman or nobleman’s daughter.”
“I have rather the opposite problem,” Bingley said, moving away from his position on the sofa at last, to pour himself a brandy and return his attention to their abandoned game of billiards.
Darcy never liked to see Bingley so down on himself for his connections to trade. “In this respect, your Miss Bennet may prove a prudent match,” he said thoughtfully, glancing again at the grate. If Miss Bingley was still listening, she would do well to take these words to heart, too, and abandon the notion of her brother marrying Georgiana someday.
Bingley smiled hopefully. “Then I have your approval?”
“I am far from encouraging you to propose tomorrow. But by all means, you should endeavor to become better acquainted with her. She is a gentleman’s daughter, and will understand what is expected of her in the running of a household, when you decide to purchase an estate of your own. Her family may not be wealthy, but you have no need of that, and it would be no real impediment if she were to have few connections in society, for your own amiable manners have always recommended you.”
For a moment Darcy rather envied the rhapsodic expression of his friend. Though Bingley has called him a romantic, Darcy had never been in love, or anything near it. Bingley had for many years experienced a near-constant succession of infatuations, and seemed on the verge of another. The light in his eyes when he spoke of Miss Bennet was no different than the ardor he had expressed half a dozen times before, but Darcy wondered if his, with his friend now in possession of an estate and resolved to better himself, this new attachment might grow into something more.
Darcy found that he would very much like to see his friend in love in earnest, and, to his mortification, a small part of him cherished that same hope for himself.
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