Page 58 of A Practical Man
We hunted the next morning with Bingley and Hurst, while Mr Johnson, who did not even pretend to be a sporting man, read various journals to which he subscribed.
Upon returning to my room, Carsten stood by in the usual manner as I washed and changed clothes, but as we went about this mundane ritual, I began to notice that he was looking at me closely. Having no need to exercise finesse with him, I asked, “To what do I owe your peculiar scrutiny?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“You know well enough what I mean. Do I have spots on my face?”
His expression shifted from professional politeness to resignation, and he said matter-of-factly, “You seem a bit worn, Mr Darcy, and Iamconcerned since you were so very lately…well?—”
“Nearly dead?”
“If you must say it so plainly, then yes. I fear you risk a relapse if you do not get proper rest, sir.”
“You know I never sleep well in a strange bed,” I said evasively.
While I did not have to admit anything tohim, I did have to admit to myself that I was not so spry I could leap off a sick bed and expect to climb mountains. Iwastired, and so I went to the library, and upon the pretence of reading, I sat sleepily over a book. Just as I was about to close my eyes, however, Fitzwilliam came into the room.
He looked at me appraisingly. “It seems to me the juice has been squeezed from this orange, Darcy.”
“Whenever you speak in metaphor, I become uneasy. Please tell me you did not come to convince me to escape with you to the tavern in Meryton.”
“In your condition?” he scoffed. “You are still a touch hollow-eyed, Cousin. I am only saying I have skated over thin ice andnotfallen in, but perhaps it is time to call quits.”
I had seen the effects of a souring house party before, and I knew from experience that almost as a tower made of cards falls, the gathering collapses. I had not, however, expected it to happen so soon or that the first to defect would be my more sociable cousin.
“Another metaphor? Now I am downright anxious. By chance do you refer to how very close you are to repeating Bingley’s mistake with Miss Bennet and her family? What did she say to you to cause you to blink?”
“Nothing! Only I have gone as far as is prudent. And as foryourcause, clearly you are not of a mind to put yourself forwards.”
If only he knew just how far forwards I had been nudged by the lady who was my ‘cause’, I thought he might not be so smug. Choosing not to be baited into revealing more than I wished, I merely asked when he planned to leave and received a vague reply that it would be sooner than later. I then returned half-heartedly to my book while Fitzwilliam went to the escritoire in the corner of the room and wrote a letter, and we would have satthere in silence for much longer had we not been interrupted by our host.
Miss Johnson had developed a cold, Bingley said in accents of apology, and her mother wished for her to be seen by their personal physician in London. We expressed our concern, which was admittedly not great. He, however, decried the risk of travel to his lady, though he conceded it was beyond his right to prevail against the family’s determination to go. He left unsaid the primary issue, which was that Mrs Johnson could not hide her developing dislike of his sister, and she would leave regardless of the transparency of her excuse.
Perhaps conscious of the urgent need to demonstrate to his affianced and her family that his alliance tothemfar outpaced his loyalty to his sister, Bingley sheepishly confessed his plans to abandon the country, adding a heartfelt plea for understanding.
“Forgive me, Darcy,” he said. “But I feel I should show my concern.”
“Of course you should go,” I replied as I closed my book. “When Miss Johnson is well enough for callers, send me a note. Georgiana will be anxious to visit her.”
“I myself had already planned to go,” Fitzwilliam said as further assurance this news was not unwelcome. “My period of leave is not generous this time of year. In fact,” he said as he looked at his watch, “I should tell Donaldson to pack my things.”
With visible relief, Bingley’s smile returned. He invited Fitzwilliam to travel with him, and this being agreeable to my cousin, he said, “In that case, we can visit my neighbours in the morning to say farewell and leave directly thereafter.” Almost coldly, he added, “My sisters will close the house, since they are to visit Hurst’s relations in Sussex.”
Had he banished his sister for bad behaviour?The answer to that question was of little interest since my desperation for a nap had been replaced by the urgency I suddenly felt to acton my own behalf before we were forced to leave Hertfordshire prematurely.
After Fitzwilliam went upstairs, I sent a note to Keller to bring my carriage around to the back entrance in half an hour, and we struck off down the less frequented—and less visible—lane to Longbourn. It had been scurrilous to exclude Georgiana from a visit with her friend, but I had justified this as reasonable given the nature of my errand.
Upon arrival, I applied to the housekeeper for a word with Mr Bennet. As I waited to be shown in to see him, I could not help overhearing Lydia Bennet from the landing at the top of the stair.
“Never mind, Mama,” she called behind her. “It is only Mr Darcy come to visit Papa.”
Mr Bennet received me with equal indifference, compounded by a look of unwelcome surprise. After a most cursory greeting, he motioned me to a chair.
“Well, sir? To what do I owe the honour of a visit?”
“I have come to ask your permission to court your second daughter, Elizabeth.”
He looked sceptically at my face, and I strove to keep my expression as neutral as I could while he considered his reply.
