An Unequalled Affection

Part 2

"A ball? You promised them a ball, Charles! You might have consulted me before doing so, as the majority of the organising will fall to me, as it always does. Who, pray, do you mean to invite...?"

The promise of a ball might have been enough to distract Caroline but the other three occupants of the Netherfield carriage seemed to pay her only the dimmest degree of attention, their thoughts all roaming elsewhere.

Darcy focused on the window, watching the pretty Hertfordshire scenery roll past as they made the short, easy journey from Longbourn to Netherfield. He could not help but remember the last look Elizabeth Bennet had shot him, her dark eyes bright with feeling. He had failed her already, he knew, by allowing things to escalate as far as they had. A duel! And one he was now bound to be part of. He sighed, rubbing at the heavy creases on his forehead and wondering if he might yet manage to call the whole thing off. He could work on Bingley, he was sure, persuade him out of such a course.

But Bingley was not the one who instigated it, his conscience reminded him, and his brows sank further into a frown. When had he ever been able to persuade Richard of anything he did not wish to do? And what is to say he will even care to see me? He could not forget the disappointment, the bitterness, the betrayal in Richard's eyes, any more than he could forget Elizabeth's fearful, hopeful gaze.

"Even now, I do not think you are listening to a single word I say!" Caroline's voice grew shrill, and obediently Darcy, as well as his sister and her brother turned to look at her, their silent acknowledgement proof enough that she was right.

"'Tis only a ball, Caro," Bingley ventured at last, with a faint smile. "And it is not certain we shall even hold it. I only said perhaps."

"To say anything at all is to commit us, you know that!" Caroline bristled. "And to say it to Lydia Bennet! The news will be all over Meryton before nightfall!"

"Aye, and what does that matter?" Bingley's smile grew cruel. "Our return was not some secret!"

Darcy frowned, wondering just how to account for the change in his friend's character. Bingley had always been light-hearted - he had not the care nor hesitation that Darcy favoured, often to his detriment. But he seemed almost to relish in the chaos his return had caused. It was as if he meant to prove something, and Richard Fitzwilliam was to be the perfect foil.

"I think a ball would be a charming thing!"

This was Georgiana, who seemed determined, even now, to play peacemaker. She smiled brightly at Charles, who seemed not to notice.

"It is kind of you to suggest such a thing, for it will be the perfect opportunity to meet people and make friends." She turned to Caroline, silencing any complaint with the offer of assistance. "And I do so enjoy organising things, Miss Bingley, you must allow me to help you in any way I can."

"Oh." Caroline's frown fell, but even with this most generous of suggestions she could not allow her brother to entirely escape censure. "Well, that is kind of you, Georgiana, dear, but I still maintain that Charles might have mentioned it to us before declaring it aloud in front of Lydia Bennet."

Charles hid his face behind his hand, but not quick enough to prevent Darcy from seeing his eyes roll in amused irritation. He was startled, for he could scarcely recall ever seeing Charles so openly dismissive where Caroline was concerned. He might complain about her and tease her but to be so openly derisive, in company, was another recent change in his friend's demeanour.

"I wonder if you will visit the stables with me, Bingley, when we reach Netherfield." It was the first place Darcy could think of that would be entirely inhospitable to the ladies and, it seemed, this was a correct assumption, for both Caroline and Georgiana turned to one another, immediately discussing the cheerier topic of what one might wear to a ball if one was to be forced to host one.

Before long, the carriage rolled to a stop and after helping the ladies down and into the house, Darcy turned towards the stables, pausing at the last moment to redirect Bingley, who seemed to have entirely forgotten Darcy's suggestion and was more than a little irritated to be reminded of it.

"The stables, Darcy? Now?" Bingley frowned, tugging at the crease in his sleeve that had appeared when Darcy had caught hold of him. "What can be so very important it must be discussed immediately? I know even less about horses than you do, so -"

"I do not wish to speak to you about horses," Darcy muttered, striving to keep his annoyance in check but finding himself surprisingly lacking in the patience that was usually endless when it came to his friend. "We must discuss tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Bingley's eyebrows lifted, then settled into the same nonchalant expression he favoured of late. "Ah, yes. Tomorrow." He shrugged his thin shoulders. "Well, I am not entirely well-versed in duelling, but I think we have said all we need to say already. You and I shall meet Colonel Fitzwilliam and whichever of his lackeys he presses into service -"

"You mean to go ahead with it, then?" Darcy's voice was sharp, and he glanced over his shoulder, conscious that they had not yet reached the sanctuary of the stables and fearing his words might carry to the ears of either man's sister. "You have not seen sense?"

"Seen sense?" Bingley scoffed. "What sense? Fitzwilliam called me out. T'would be cowardly to refuse him." His smile slipped, replaced by a grim expression Darcy could never yet recall seeing on his friend's merry features. "Do you mean to suggest I am cowardly, Darcy?"

"I mean to suggest fighting a duel is foolish, particularly against one infinitely better equipped than you -"

"Ah, I am not a coward but a fool." Bingley's voice grew serious, and the sound of it chilled Darcy to the bone. "Well, do not hold back. We are friends. Tell me what you think." He kicked bitterly at a stone that lined their path.

"We are friends," Darcy reminded him. "If I caution you at all it is because I do not care to see you come to harm."

"And what about your cousin?" Bingley's head lifted, turning all of a sudden to meet Darcy's gaze. "Do you care what harm may come to him?"