Pride and Prescience

Twenty-One

Mr. Morris wants a commitment, and I can’t say I blame him. It will cost a fortune to repair the fire damage.” Bingley descended the stairs more quickly than he had in almost a se’ennight. Darcy took the brisk gait as a happy sign that his friend had fully recovered from his recent accidents.

“Yes, but it does not have to be your fortune,” Darcy replied. “You planned to quit Netherfield soon anyway. A long-term lease is not in your best interest.”

“He asks for three years. Perhaps I can talk him into a twelvemonth.” They rounded the banister and headed toward the billiard room.

“Even if you can persuade Mr. Morris to accept a shorter term, why subject yourself and Jane to the noise and discomfort of a house under repair? Have you given my proposal further consideration?”

“I have. But who knows when the right estate will present itself for purchase? Meanwhile, we can’t just move into Pemberley with you indefinitely.”

“Why not? We certainly have the space. And our wives would be delighted.” Darcy longed to be home. Not since before his parents’ deaths had Pemberley held such expectation of domestic felicity as it did now that Elizabeth would be returning with him. Adding Bingley and Jane to the family party created a still happier prospect.

“But Caroline seems no closer to recovery.”

He sobered. “Yes, there is that.” The same fire that motivated his invitation to Bingley made him reluctant to extend the invitation to the Parrishes. He felt compassion for Caroline and sympathy for her husband. But until she either recovered or was absolved of all suspicion in his own mind of having caused the Netherfield fire, he would not risk her setting Pemberley ablaze as well. “How does the sale of Mont Joyau proceed? Might Parrish purchase an estate here in England soon?”

“I don’t know. I suspect the situation with Caroline has distracted him from other matters.”

They reached the billiards room, where Darcy had intended to press his case over a friendly game. They found the table already in use, however, by Mr. Hurst and Mr. Kendall. Bingley apologized for their intrusion, whereupon Mr. Hurst assured them that the match was nearing conclusion.

“Your shot, Hurst,” Kendall prompted.

As Hurst leaned over the table and slid the cue between his fingers, his hand trembled. The shot slipped, sending the white ball straight into a pocket without touching the other two.

Kendall made no attempt to suppress his smug smile. He potted the red ball on his next shot. “Game over.”

Hurst’s face lost some of its color. “Come — let’s play again. Same stakes.”

“Perhaps later. These gentlemen wait for the table.”

Hurst glanced from Kendall to them and back. “Of course.” With still-unsteady hands, he replaced the cue on the wall rack. “It is nearly dinnertime anyway.” He passed Mrs. Nicholls in the doorway.

“Mr. Bingley, sir? Mrs. Bingley wishes to see you. She’s in the dining room instructing the staff on Christmas preparations.”

“Thank you, Nicholls. Tell her I’ll be there directly.” He turned to Darcy. “I can’t imagine this taking long.”

“I’ll wait.”

Kendall chuckled as the door closed behind Bingley. “You pups obviously haven’t been married long. When a woman wants to discuss holiday preparations, plan to devote your whole afternoon to it. But don’t expect to see any of your suggestions actually adopted.”

“Thank you for the marital advice.”

He gestured toward the table. “He’ll be a while. Shall we have a game of carambole in the meantime?”

Unable to quickly devise a polite excuse, Darcy agreed. He did, however, decline Kendall’s suggestion to “make things interesting” with a wager. He suspected the only safe bet involving Kendall was that the man cheated at billiards the same way he cheated in business.

Kendall positioned the balls. “Married life treating you well, Darcy? It’s been what — over a fortnight now?”

“Twenty days.”

“Ha! Still counting each day, are you? Your lady must be keeping you well satisfied.”

Darcy stared, shocked that even Kendall would display such vulgarity as to allude to the intimacy he shared with Elizabeth. That he indeed enjoyed a state of connubial bliss beyond his bachelor imaginings was beside the point.

Kendall lined up his opening shot. “Parrish, on the other hand, probably regrets his choice of a wife. That woman is one cold fish.”

Though he was inclined to agree, Darcy felt called upon to defend his friend’s sister. “I think you criticize her unfairly because of another young lady’s disappointed hopes.”

“If you speak of my daughter, the only person suffering disappointment is Frederick Parrish. I don’t regret for a moment discouraging his addresses toward her.”

“I understood it was he who cried off.”

“Hmmph. So he’d like everyone to believe.”

Darcy leaned on his cue stick as Kendall attempted the next shot. “You harbored some objection to Mr. Parrish?”

“The rake was far too forward. Hadn’t even declared himself, and he asks her for a lock of her hair!” Kendall missed the shot. “Made me wonder what else he might be asking her for. I demanded its return and told the whelp to go sniff around some other girl’s skirts. He certainly lost no time finding a replacement. An inferior one, but she seems to suit his purposes.”

Darcy regretted ever having agreed to the game, wishing he had chosen rudeness over subjecting himself to Kendall’s conversation. Juliet’s father was probably just trying to save face, to preserve his daughter’s reputation by injuring Parrish’s. By claiming for himself the responsibility of ending the courtship, Kendall could prevent other potential suitors from pondering what faults Juliet possessed that had caused Parrish to reject her. But why the defensive father felt the need to harangue Darcy over the business, he knew not.

As Darcy prepared to take his turn, a muffled cough issued from the other side of the door. “Come in, Bingley. You will not disturb my shot.”

The door remained shut. Kendall opened it and stuck his head into the hall. “No one here.” He shrugged. “Must have been a passing servant.”

Must have been. Darcy wished it had signaled the arrival of anyone else in the household — anyone with an errand requiring him to abandon this game. But unfortunately, no convenient rescue appeared forthcoming. He leaned forward and made the shot.

“I suppose you consider Parrish a good catch for Bingley’s sister.” Kendall’s statement seemed timed to distract Darcy, but he nevertheless scored. “What do you think of him?”

Darcy really hadn’t given Parrish much thought at all. Since his engagement to Elizabeth, his own affairs had been foremost in his mind, with the Bingley family’s recent troubles occupying the rest of his attention. Whether Parrish had been too ardent a suitor with Miss Kendall neither concerned nor interested him. Though the American might exhibit a little less polish when compared to his English counterparts, overall his conduct had been what Darcy would expect of a gentleman. Which is more than he could say for Kendall, and why he had no inclination to discuss his perceptions of Caroline’s husband with him.

“I am pleased to know him.”

“You might change your mind upon closer acquaintance.”

First marital guidance, now social counsel. Darcy had heard as much of the man’s smug blather as he could tolerate for one afternoon. “Is there some point you wish to make, Mr. Kendall?”

They were interrupted by the entrance of the very person under discussion. Mr. Parrish popped into the room. “Darcy, I just saw Mr. Morris arrive. I thought Bingley might wish you to join them.”

Bingley probably did, but Darcy would seize upon the opportunity to escape Kendall regardless. “Thank you, Mr. Parrish. He comes to discuss plans for demolition work in the east wing. Have you and Mrs. Parrish retrieved all that you care to from your former chamber?”

“I believe so.”

“If not, have the servants do it today. Morris may choose to begin as early as tomorrow.”

Kendall observed their exchange with quiet interest. Darcy replaced his cue stick on the rack.

“Do you concede?” Kendall asked.

“The game is yours.” Though he had been winning, Darcy was happy to forfeit the victory along with Kendall’s company. Had he accepted Kendall’s proposal of a wager, he would have gladly relinquished that, too.

“How about you, Parrish? Care to play?”

Parrish appeared even less inclined to subject himself to Kendall’s society than Darcy. “Billiards is not my forte.”

“No, you excel at other games, don’t you?”

Parrish stared at him a long moment. “Yes, I do,” he said finally.

They left Kendall in the billiards room alone. “My courtship with Juliet is ended,” Parrish said to Darcy as they walked. “I’ve married someone else. I wish Mr. Kendall and his daughter would just reconcile themselves to that.”

Darcy thought of the wrath he himself had incurred when he’d disregarded someone else’s unofficial “understanding” and chosen to marry Elizabeth over his cousin Anne. His aunt, Lady Catherine, was still so affronted that, despite Mr. Collins’s speculations to the contrary, he doubted she’d forgive him to the end of her days.

Hell hath no fury like the parent of a woman scorned.

Elizabeth retraced her steps, trying to recall where she’d left her bonnet. She had brought it with her when she came downstairs that morning in anticipation of taking a walk directly after breakfast. Jane, however, had distracted her by soliciting an opinion of the garland that had just been hung on the staircase in the hall. One end of it drooped drunkenly, its tail dangling to drape a suit of armor in an evergreen boa.

“Is it very noticeable?” Jane had asked. “The servants have been working so hard to put the house back in order. I hate to criticize them about Yuletide decorations.”

“Jane — it’s noticeable.”

Then it had been on to the parlor, where holly hung so thick that its pointed leaves threatened to draw blood from all who entered. “I said I thought a little holly might be nice. ..”

“Apparently, a little more is nicer still. I hope you made no similar suggestion about mistletoe, or we’re all in trouble.”

Jane’s eyes had grown wide. “I have not yet seen the drawing room!”

They had found that room converted into a bower capable of staining even Cupid’s cheek with a blush. Now, as thick clouds gathered and threatened to cut short her walk, Elizabeth headed back there in hopes of finding the door frames clear and her bonnet lying in the only remaining place she could think to look for it.

She heard Professor Randolph’s voice coming from the room and recalled that this was his usual meeting time with Mrs. Parrish and her husband. She opened the door quietly, intending to duck in, retrieve her bonnet, and exit without disturbing them. When she entered the room, however, she stopped suddenly.

Randolph and Caroline were alone. And they were engaged in no ordinary interview.