“Bingley sent . . .” Darcy began again, but Fitz sighed heavily. Darcy moved directly to the point. “As the host, I knew Bingley could not be away long. He was interested in a woman from a neighboring estate. I thought he was going to ask me whether he ought to propose, so I went right away. I meant to advise him that he should think before he offered. Lovely girl, but a terrible family, no fortune, no sign of any particular regard.”
Fitz’s face was drawn up into a half-scowl. “The important bits alone, please.”
Darcy knew Fitz would never ask about the details of Bingley’s love life. He was not certain how he himself had become entangled in it, come to that. “I stepped into the library as he requested, and Miss Bingley threw herself at me.”
Fitz nodded. “Not surprised, really, though to make the attempt during her own ball was rather brazen. How did she do it?”
A snorting laugh escaped from Darcy before he could stop it. “No, Fitz. She literally threw herself at me. Nearly knocked me over.”
Fitz looked at him incredulously for a moment before breaking into laughter. Darcy chuckled along with him, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. Fitz rose and poured them both a glass of port.
“I had thought her to possess more self-restraint than to become a flying bird of paradise,” he said, handing a glass to Darcy. “But then, she is unusually fond of feathers.”
Darcy snorted. “I too had supposed her to possess a modicum more subtlety,” he admitted. “But the part that really cuts is that Bingley knew. Came in on cue, played the outraged brother, threatened a duel. I played right into his hands.” He ought to be accustomed to the pain of betrayal, but each time it wounded him anew. He set the glass aside. Fitz might be accustomed to port at all hours, but it was too early for him.
“So the pretty boy thought to challenge you?” Fitz asked. Judging by the grin on his face, he was highly amused. “I presume he has not seen you fence. Or shoot, for that matter.”
Distracted from his darker thoughts, Darcy waved a hand. “He knows I would never consent to a duel. He used that knowledge to puff himself up without fear of any real consequence.” He set his glass down without drinking.
“You might not consent to meet him,” Fitz said ominously, “but I would not be averse.”
Darcy shook his head. “It is all right. Bingley is not worth the trouble.” Intellectually, he knew this, but this depression of spirits would not disappear because he wished it. “At least Bingley has shown his colors. He is not a patient man and it will cost him dearly with someone. But it need not be me.”
Fitz sat, took a deep drink, and set the glass on the table next to him. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, and for once, he appeared penitent. “I am sorry, Darce. When I met him at the club last year, he was cheerful and good-natured. I encouraged your acquaintance with the man, and he turned out no different than the rest.”
Darcy shook his head. “It is not your fault. We had, I thought, a steady sort of friendship, but I should have known. Nobody is that amiable all the time.” He watched Fitz finish his port in three gulps and reach for the second glass. “It is not natural.”
“How did you leave it?” Fitz asked quietly. “Were you planning to have Mother launch a campaign?”
“Indeed. You may be a colonel, but your mother ought to have been a general,” Darcy replied, his spirits not entirely restored but certainly improving.
Fitz just nodded slowly.
“I would have her make it known to her set that I have dissolved all ties with the Bingleys,” Darcy said. “They should be invited nowhere on my behalf. I need it done quickly, as I do not know when the Bingleys will journey to town nor the story they will tell when they arrive.”
Fitz nodded and sipped at his port. “Now tell me the interesting part. How did you extricate yourself?”
“I threatened Miss Bingley with the sheep farm.” Darcy grinned, and Fitz raised his eyebrows.
“Your great-uncle’s little estate in Scotland?”
“Precisely. She was suitably horrified. I shall have no more trouble from her.” But her brother . . . Darcy paused to think about Miss Elizabeth. Truly, things might have gone a good deal worse had she not supported his story. Bingley might have been more insistent without another witness in the room. He might not have persisted in calling Darcy out, but he would have done what he could to draw a crowd. Darcy would have refused to be caught in any case, but it might have become uncomfortable. Miss Elizabeth was too well thought of in Meryton for Bingley to spin such a tale—most of the local gentry would have questioned Bingley’s story if it conflicted with hers.
No doubt Miss Elizabeth would claim she had come to his rescue. The corners of Darcy’s mouth turned up. He supposed she had.
She had been exquisite. No dramatics, no hysteria, just the simple facts. Mr. Darcy is not at fault. I witnessed the entire scene. Mr. Darcy made Miss Bingley no offer. Mr. Bingley, I must point out that both doors were open until you closed them.
She and Fitz both possessed a sharp wit and a protective nature. He had seen it in Miss Elizabeth’s determination to tend to her sister when she was ill at Netherfield, when she had held her own against Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst without trampling upon good manners, even when she had upbraided him about Wickham. He suspected Miss Elizabeth and Fitz would get on well.
Darcy knew it took courage to stand up to him. He was probably the wealthiest man Miss Elizabeth had ever met, yet she had defended a lieutenant in the local militia who could offer her nothing. Darcy recalled that he had even stupidly pronounced himself to possess a resentful character one night when she had stayed at Netherfield. She had every reason to be wary of him. No, courage was something Miss Elizabeth Bennet had in abundance.
Fitz shuffled his feet and stood. He lifted the decanter and tipped it slightly towards Darcy, who shook his head.
When Miss Elizabeth learned she had been in error about Wickham, she accepted her culpability and made amends. She had boldly revealed her presence in the library to speak in his defense mere moments after he had slighted her a second time and she had done it when she did not even like him. Even though her sister had hopes in regard to Bingley. Even though it might do Miss Elizabeth’s own reputation harm. She acted—always, as far as he knew—not in her own interests or for her own comfort, but to do what was right.
He could trust a woman like that.
“What has you smiling after all this?”Fitz asked impatiently.