Darcy punched his fist into his hand in frustration as he stepped into the sun. This was the third inn he had tried and they too had no rooms available. The militia, it seemed, had decided to stay in town well into spring and had kept the innkeepers of Meryton busy. What few rooms had remained were now taken by those streaming into town to attend the ball—the very same ball Darcy himself was in Hertfordshire to attend.
He had done his best to stay away, to heed what society determined was proper behaviour, but as the days drifted past he could stand the separation no longer: he had to see Elizabeth again. And Georgiana had secured the perfect excuse: A ball. A public ball, open to any and all who might wish to attend. It may cause more than one raised eyebrow, but Darcy knew it was an opportunity the likes of which may not come again.
He still did not quite know how Georgiana had come to possess such knowledge about the ball in Meryton—Darcy suspected it had come from Caroline Bingley and part of him wondered what purpose Caroline might have in sharing such information. Caroline rarely did anything that did not benefit herself, but perhaps he was too unkind in his assumptions. However it had occurred, all that mattered to him now was that he was present in Hertfordshire and ready to begin wooing Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Of course, he could not begin his quest until he had secured lodgings, and the task was proving far more difficult than Darcy had imagined. And the frustrations of such difficulties were beginning to show upon his face. He pretended not to notice the averted eyes and quickening paces of the people streaming past him on the street, but he knew his face must bear the unmistakeable signs of a thunderstorm within.
But he mustn’t give up hope yet, just because the King’s Stallion had no rooms did not mean that there were none to be had in the entire town. He still had one more inn at which to inquire. If the Stoker’s Arms had no room, well, then he would begin to fret. Until that time, however, he knew he must soften his face and seek out his lodgings with good humour. He turned to walk down the street, but ran headlong into a man walking towards him.
“Good heavens,” he said apologetically, as he nearly knocked the man to the ground. While he might have been of a height with Darcy, Darcy was far more solid and muscular than the other.
Straightening his jacket, Darcy was shocked to find that the man he had bumped to—who was now standing right before him—was none other than Charles Bingley! His discomfort immediately threatened to overwhelm him, for he and his friend had not mended their relationship since that heated meeting.
“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed, clearly shocked as well. “What are you doing here?”
Bingley adjusted his coat, and looked around as if to check to see if anyone else had witnessed their encounter. Darcy, too, adjusted his clothing and smoothed his hair. The air between them seemed fraught with an awkward, embarrassed tension. Darcy could not blame his friend for his surprise—after the weeks of silence between the two of them, Darcy’s presence in Meryton was certainly unexpected.
“You cannot have received my letter yet, could you? I only sent it yesterday,” Bingley continued, settling his gaze upon Darcy.
“Letter?” Darcy replied uncertainly. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t got anything from you in weeks.” Darcy saw his friend flush with embarrassment and immediately regretted his words. It had not been his intention to cause the man shame, but clearly, he had. “I apologise, Charles, I spoke without thinking. For you had every right to disregard my letters given my behaviour.”
“Yes, well,” Bingley said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I will not pretend that I did not need a few weeks to cool down and collect my thoughts. However, I have left things entirely too long—as my letter from yesterday would indicate. But you say you did not receive it? So what on earth are you doing here?”
“Well,” Darcy began to answer nervously, unsure of how he should respond. He would, of course, tell Charles the absolute truth. But to engage in such a conversation on the street would be far from his preference. “I have come to… reassert interest.”
Bingley chuckled knowingly.
“I might have guessed,” he said, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “You are not a man easily dissuaded. Now, tell me, where are you staying?”
“In truth, I feel a bit like the Christ child,” Darcy said nervously. He did not want Charles to think he was angling for an invitation. “For there is no room at the inn. The militia has filled this town’s inns to the bursting point.”
“Such blasphemy,” Bingley replied with a hearty laugh. “I am glad that I have run into you, for my letter contained an invitation to Netherfield.”
“Charles,” Darcy said, holding up his hands. “I do not wish to impose…”
“Nonsense,” Bingley answered. “What has passed between us is in the past. And now I wish to invite you to join me in my home, for I am certain that we will soon have plenty of reason to celebrate!”
“Celebrate?” Darcy questioned. He had an idea of what might be the cause for his friend’s upcoming felicity, but he did not want to make any assumptions. However, he smiled expectantly, waiting for Charles to answer his question.
“Yes,” Bingley said, turning and beginning to walk slowly. Darcy folded his hands behind his back and began to follow. “But first, I am in need of your advice.”
“My advice?” Darcy asked, confused. He did not feel as if he possessed any sort of wisdom or knowledge that might be helpful to his friend. However, he would do his best. Bingley continued to walk several more steps before answering.
“This is a difficult topic to broach,” he said with a nervous laugh. “How does one just come right out and say it?”
“Say what?” Darcy persisted, his curiously piqued.
“Marriage,” Bingley said quickly, as if needing to say the word before his courage failed.
“Marriage?” Darcy asked with a laugh. “So it would seem that things are going well with Miss Bennet.”
“Better than I ever could have imagined,” Bingley admitted, a silly smile on his face. “I am now, fully and permanently, convinced that I have loved Miss Jane Bennet since the moment I saw her and I will continue to love her until I cease to draw breath. And she loves me quite as deeply.”
“Congratulations, my dear friend,” Darcy said sincerely, clapping the man on the back. “But what advice could I possibly offer? You are far wiser in the ways of romance and love.”
“I will accept your compliment only because I do not wish to argue or beleaguer the point,” Bingley said with a laugh. “However, it isn’t love or romance that I struggle with. But courage.”
“Courage,” Darcy repeated, trying in vain to guess where Bingley was headed with his talk of bravery.
The men, on their walk, had passed the shops and homes of Meryton, and Bingley had paused in front of a pub—presumably where he had stabled his horse. They both stopped walking and stood still, apart from nervous shuffling of Charles’ feet—a habit the man had possessed ever since Darcy had known him.
“Yes, Darcy,” Bingley said, sounding exasperated. “I do not know if you can fathom this, but it is quite a scary thing to ask a woman for her hand. Let alone her father.”
Darcy forced a smile. Charles spoke the truth: It was a terrifying proposition to ask a woman to spend her life with you. Made even more so when that request was summarily rejected. Darcy’s heart clenched at the memory—even after so much time, the thoughts of that terrible day at Rosings sent spasms of pain through him. But Charles had no idea that such things had passed between Darcy and Elizabeth. He was simply seeking advice from a friend—something he had done many times before.
“I know you have never proposed,” Bingley continued. “Nor found a woman who would garner such interest from you. But I have and I need your help to do it right.”
This, Darcy found amusing in a morbid sense. For Charles would never have imagined saying such things if he had known the truth. Making his choice in an instant, Darcy decided he would tell his friend everything. It was time.
“My dear friend,” he said with a sad smile. “I am not sure you have ever uttered a sentence more fraught with inaccuracies.” Darcy was exceedingly amused to see Bingley’s confused face. “I am afraid I cannot help you with how to propose to a woman in a manner than elicits her acceptance. However, I can tell you how not to propose to a woman. For in this area, I am, disappointingly, an experienced expert.”