Page 19 of A Most Favourable Match

“Well, I would never excuse ill manners and deliberate rudeness on account of any fortune,” Elizabeth said firmly. “If Mr Darcy attempts to influence his friend away from Jane, on account only of his own prejudices, I shall not stand for it.”

“I told you that you were romantic, my dear Elizabeth,” Charlotte reminded her. “Even if you do not seek it for yourself, you want the fairy tale for Jane, don’t you?”

“Oh, I suppose I do,” Elizabeth admitted with a sigh. “Yes, you are right. Jane is so sweet and kind, and yet so amenable and easily disheartened. I do want the best of everything for her, and I am determined that she should have it, in spite of herself. Anyway, I have given my report. Now it is your turn.”

“Lord Grantchester and Jane, you mean? Iwatched them carefully and find I can say nothing with any certainty. As you say, anything might be hiding behind Jane’s sweet reserve and Lord Grantchester’s perfect manners and social polish. I cannot determine that they love one another, or that they do not. I still do not think it really matters, however.”

“On that, we must continue to differ,” Elizabeth responded. “I believe it would matter a great deal to Jane. Ah well, I suppose the year ahead must work everything out in its own way, even if you and I must be content with imperfect understanding for now.”

“My observations of Lord Grantchester and Jane did increase my understanding in one regard, however,” added Charlotte thoughtfully, after they had walked a little further. “I am now quite certain of the feelings of at least one person at this garden party, and I wonder whether you have seen it too.”

“What did you notice?” enquired Elizabeth, hoping that neither Lydia nor Kitty had made too unseemly a display of their enthusiasm for Lord Keeble’s company.

“Charles Bingley only has eyes for Jane,” Charlotte said softly.

Biting her lip at the knowledge that such feelings could bring only pain, Elizabeth nodded in reply.

Chapter 8

“I think it a cursed shame,” Charles Bingley said in distinctly heated tones, as he strode with Darcy through the woodland near Netherfield Park. “It is beyond me how he could do it. Beyond me!”

While Darcy’s legs were longer, today Bingley easily kept pace, driven by the force of his present feelings. Darcy had hoped that taking his friend out of the house and covering a few miles of countryside might burn out some of the indignation that Bingley had been expressing since yesterday afternoon’s garden party. Unfortunately, it appeared that the fresh air had only fanned the flames of emotion higher.

“Then it seems we shall be a shooting party of only three tomorrow without Grantchester and Keeble,” Darcy observed factually, trying not to be drawn into the same conversation yet again. “Less fuss and more birds for our guns, even if Hurst does require an extra attendant to keep his barrel pointing in the right direction.”

“I do not care about the shooting party,” Bingley declared almost angrily. “I am talking about Grantchester abandoning his fiancée and returning to London soeasily and with so indefinite a plan of return.”

“I should hardly call Miss Bennet ‘abandoned’,” Darcy demurred, thinking darkly that it would be better for everyone if she were.

“Well, I should. If I were ever betrothed to a young lady like Miss Jane Bennet, I should want to be by her side every single day that I could manage. I would not be hurrying back to London to gad about at balls and suppers while my bride-to-be languishes in the countryside.”

“Is she languishing?” Darcy queried in a tone of detached politeness, still hoping to discourage this line of thinking with well-mannered disinterest. “Her naturally shy manner makes that hard to determine, I would have thought.”

Bingley, however, was not really listening and ploughed straight ahead, as though Darcy had not spoken. “And I certainly could not wait a whole year for the wedding,” his friend insisted stoutly. “That is beyond my comprehension when there are no obstacles to the marriage. What on earth can Grantchester be thinking?”

“If you cannot discern that for yourself, then it is not my place to tell you,” Darcy replied with deliberate vagueness.

He toyed with the idea of suggesting that perhaps Miss Bingley or Mrs Hurst might better enlighten their brother on what Lord Grantchester might be thinking, but stopped himself. It was becoming clear to Darcy that Bingley’s interest in Miss Bennet was somethingmore than a passing fancy and perhaps closer to full-blown infatuation.

If Bingley’s spirit was riled too highly on Miss Bennet’s behalf, the result could be unpredictable and unpleasant for all concerned. For now, it was better to soothe and distract him.

“You and Lord Grantchester are very different men, in your situations, your upbringing and your personalities,” Darcy said. “Perhaps you would do best to set your mind on other things and not dwell on Grantchester’s business.”

“You mean that he is descended from an old and noble family, I suppose, and so accustomed to having everything his own way that he cannot see his good fortune in marrying such an angel? I dare say he cannot help it, but it galls me, Darcy. It really does.”

“I know it does,” Darcy said, trying to balance understanding and sternness. “Still, everything in this matter is beyond either your understanding or your influence, and likely mine too in many respects. Let us not continue to work ourselves up like two old spinsters with a slight piece of village gossip.”

Finally, Bingley sighed and nodded his agreement. They soon emerged from the woodland and took a path back across a broad meadow. If Bingley could not throw off his melancholy mood, Darcy was increasingly inclined to suggest removing back to London. Remaining in Miss Bennet’s vicinity could only make his friend’s situation more painful.

“I know you are right, Darcy,” Bingley concededthen. “Yet every time I think of Miss Bennet being so abandoned, it goads me back into this temper…”

“Let us talk of other things,” Darcy interrupted, leading the conversation away. “How are the gun dogs?”

“Yes, I went to the kennels yesterday evening and I…Ah, look over there, Darcy. Isn’t that her sister? Should we go over to her, do you think?”

Darcy had to suppress a groan as he followed Bingley’s line of sight and saw the sprightly figure of Elizabeth Bennet moving along a parallel path towards the woodland some small distance from them. A chestnut curl had escaped from her coiffure and danced free in the wind, unrestrained by the bonnet presently hanging down her back, and she walked with natural energy and grace that matched the day’s pleasant but breezy weather.

Of all the women in the neighbourhood, why must they encounter Elizabeth Bennet at this moment? Not only did it make it impossible to shift Bingley’s attention from Jane Bennet, but it brought back to Darcy all kinds of complicated feelings from their contretemps at the garden party. Unwanted interest, vexation, and a peculiar admiration warred within him all over again.