A Continued Affection

Part 15

Dinner had been merry and enjoyable, far more so than Darcy had anticipated and he rather repented of so often having eschewed eating at home in favour of dining on bread and cheese in his study, or at his club, or the homes of his friends. Admittedly, the meal was rendered all the more enjoyable by the presence of friends, which observation, once made, could not be forgotten.

"Here, Darcy, do not be stingy," Bingley remarked, with a grin, as the gentlemen retired to take brandy and talk for a few moments after dinner. His friend went straight for the decanter, taking full advantage of Darcy's hospitality in pouring first himself and then Egerton a healthy measure. Both Mr Gardiner and Mr Bennet had been served first and had settled themselves before a chess set, embarking on an idle game and allowing the younger men to talk amongst themselves.

"You are the embodiment of generosity," Darcy grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. "Particularly with someone else's goods."

"Thank you." Bingley beamed, taking the criticism for a compliment in a way that only he could manage to do, and prompting both Darcy and Egerton to smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go and observe the chess game." He waggled his eyebrows at Darcy and crossed the room, leaving Darcy and Egerton alone.

"I wager he goes to endear himself to Mr Bennet," Mr Egerton remarked, nursing his drink and allowing the merest hint of a smile to play about his lips. "Or am I mistaken in sensing something of a connection between him and the eldest Miss Bennet?"

"Not mistaken in the slightest," Darcy congratulated him. "More perceptive than most."

Egerton nodded, his stance unchanged, but his smile betraying some pleasure at having deduced the situation correctly.

"And what do you make of his chances?"

Darcy did not reply straight away, considering the question carefully. He glanced over at the chess table, seeing how deliberately Charles Bingley attempted to flatter and cajole Mr Bennet to his side, and how Mr Bennet pretended to ignore him. Pretence was all it was, though, for Darcy could tell that he liked the simple good-humour of Charles Bingley and would not refuse him as a son-in-law.

"I suppose he will succeed," he remarked, with a sigh. "He is one of those charmed fellows who fortune inevitably smiles upon and grants whatever he wishes with very little opposition."

Egerton let out a grim little laugh, taking a sip of his drink.

"Not like you or I, you mean?"

Darcy looked at him, then, curious as to what his observant friend had recognised in him, but resisting the impulse to ask. Egerton sighed, draining the contents of his glass and reaching out carefully to rest it on the edge of the table he leant against.

"Do you care for another?" Darcy asked, poised to refill their glasses.

"No, no," Egerton insisted. "I shall not be too eager to drink my fill of brandy. It will serve me ill to speak too freely, urged on by brandy and bluster."

"I should like to see such a thing," Darcy said, with a dry smile. "I have never known you anything but reserved and sensible of the feelings of others."

"A magnanimous assertion, if entirely untrue." Egerton chuckled. "I have not forgotten the dreadful idiot I made of myself upon our first meeting Darcy, and still count myself a little in your debt for ever believing George Wickham was you." He frowned. "Or that you were he...the matter is of confusion to me, still."

"Wickham is of confusion to me, also," Darcy confessed, massaging the lines on his forehead with his free hand. "I confess I do not begin to understand his motives any more, other than to think him an advocate of chaos, powered only by self-interest." He paused, wondering whether to share with Egerton the latest piece of intelligence he had learned of Wickham's whereabouts. He had explained to Georgiana the role Wickham had played in Egerton's misfortune, downplaying his intent, suggesting it was an accident, rather than design, that had left the gentleman beside him blind, and she had wound her hand around his, promising that the name George Wickham would not pass her lips that evening, or any other, in Egerton's hearing. He was decided, then, and swallowed the impulse to speak of him, instead seeking to change the subject, abruptly and completely.

"I am surprised you do not follow in Bingley's way," he observed, reaching for his brandy decanter and refilling both his glass and Egerton's, before pressing the glass into his free hand. "I should have thought you, too, sought to get Mr Bennet onside."

"Oh?" Egerton laughed, obediently taking a sip of his drink. "And why is that?"

"Well, for Miss Mary's sake," Darcy continued, noticing, as he spoke, the way the colour drained from his friend's face. "I'm sorry, I thought it was agreed..."

"Agreed?" Egerton's voice was bitter, his laugh little more than a cough. "You do not see the absurdity of my situation? How could I propose marriage to any young lady with this infirmity? It would be condemning her to a life of isolation -"

"Yes, you are isolated indeed, dining with friends and with two sisters who care for you..." Darcy had intended the rejoinder to jolt his friend from the melancholy that had stolen over him, but he realised, as he spoke, that it was perhaps taking a liberty to speak so freely. He did not know Egerton's true condition, and how often had he, too, thought his present situation limited his future?

"I do not dispute my good fortune, in some aspects," Egerton said, quietly nursing his drink. "But to marry...to willingly entrap another into my dreary future would not be a kindness. Mr Bennet would see as much: he would refuse me before I even asked, if I dared to ask. And as for Mary..."

He trailed off and Darcy saw genuine pain register on his features.

"I dare not ask," he repeated, scarcely more than a whisper.

Darcy looked to the chess game and, ascertaining that his other three guests were suitably occupied and unlikely to overhear them, he laid a hand on Egerton's arm.

"It is decidedly too warm this close to the fire. Come, take a walk with me to the window, will you?"

The two men walked slowly, Darcy ensuring that his friend could lean on him and not suffer any obstacle in their way until they reached the cool of the window nearest the door. They were safe, now, to speak as they wished, and Darcy seized the opportunity, knowing they would have perhaps only a few moments before they were accused of being secretive, or summoned back to join the ladies.

"Egerton, I shall say this once and then not speak of it again, so you may disregard me if you wish. It is merely this: as someone who has observed your interactions with Miss Mary Bennet on several occasions, I am not sure that I have ever witnessed such an affection. It is not the immediate, all-consuming admiration of my friend Bingley, such that even you might have noticed it, but there is a depth of feeling that lurks somewhere beneath. I do not know Miss Mary well and cannot think to speak for her, but I am a brother of a sister, as you are, and as such will say that, were such a man as you to come to me and ask for Georgiana's hand, and were she as evidently in love with you as Miss Mary seems to be, I would not for one moment think of giving any answer other than yes." He clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, a warm gesture of encouragement. "You must not let your infirmity - if you truly still think of it as such - keep you from future happiness. I will not let you. By all means, make other excuses, but if all that keeps you from asking for Miss Mary's hand is your eyes, then that is foolishness. Speak now, while the opportunity is still open to you." His voice fell as he recalled his own wasted chances. "Providence rarely allows us a second chance at love."