Enamoured

An excerpt from Jessie Lewis's new book, coming July 6

Darcy arrived at Hurst’s house ten minutes early and chose to continue to the end of the street and stroll around Grosvenor Square before coming back to knock at the door. Anything to avoid prolonging his visit.

Hurst had asked him to call. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley wished to speak to him about their brother, apparently. It had surprised Darcy to learn that Bingley was not staying with them as he usually did, but since there was no topic he was less inclined to discuss than his errant friend, he had disregarded the anomaly. He might have disregarded the summons, too, except that, inexplicably, despite knowing he would never see her again, he was still deeply concerned for Elizabeth’s reputation. If there was any chance that Bingley’s sisters suspected something that might expose the Bennets to scandal, he should like to know.

He knew not what he would be able to tell them; he had not seen his friend since they left Netherfield. The day after the ball, he had informed Bingley of his ill-timed obtrusion into the library. Bingley had made a feeble attempt to justify himself: he had admired Jane Bennet but had not believed she returned the sentiment; Mrs Bennet had been uncommonly encouraging and was, he was adamant, as handsome as any of her daughters; he had drunk too much and regretted it profoundly. The only point on which they had agreed was that Bingley must leave Hertfordshire without delay. He had since gone to ground, and Darcy had avoided any place he thought he might be. He did not like to think of their friendship as permanently at an end, for Bingley was an old and valued acquaintance whose usually impeccable character ought not to be wholly eclipsed by a single error of judgment—but it was one hell of an error!

“It is a pleasure to see you again after so long,” Mrs Hurst began when he was shown into the drawing room. “One can scarcely believe it is six weeks since we were at Netherfield together. Would you like some tea? A slice of cake?”

“No, thank you. I cannot stay long.”

His refusal seemed to fluster her; her smile faltered, and she looked anxiously at her sister, who took up the conversation.

“If you are in a hurry, I shall come directly to the point. Have you seen my brother lately?”

“I am afraid not.”

“I feared as much. Neither have we. As you have no doubt gathered, he has declined Louisa’s kind hospitality in favour of hotels or other friends’ houses. And he has been avoiding us.”

“He has repeatedly cancelled or outright refused our dinner arrangements, though his excuses are always vague,” Mrs Hurst put in. “He is never where he says he will be—he keeps moving about between lodgings, so our letters are returned unread. We have no idea where he is presently staying.”

Miss Bingley shook her head sorrowfully. “It is not in Charles’s nature to be secretive, and we cannot help but wonder at the reason for it.”

Guilt, Darcy had to assume. “I comprehend your disquiet, but I am not sure what can be done. Bingley is his own man.”

“That is just the thing,” Miss Bingley replied. “Charles is so often not his own man where stronger convictions prevail. He is used to conceding to the advice and example of his friends.” She paused and regarded him meaningfully. “He has certainly always had a stronger dependence on your judgment than his own. Without your guidance these past weeks, he seems to have…lost his way.”

“I hope, madam, you do not mean to lay the blame for his conduct to my charge. I am no more his keeper than you are.”

Miss Bingley let out a strained laugh. “You mistake my meaning, sir. I—we only meant that you have always been able to direct him so easily. We thought you might have more success than us in discovering the reason for his present behaviour and drawing him back before his reputation suffers.”

Darcy bristled at the implication that he led Bingley by the nose. “If that is true, then my continuing to direct him would only worsen his dependence. I am sorry. I have no wish to involve myself in this.” Seeing their disappointment, he added, “I cannot imagine he is involved in anything especially worrisome.”

After a quick glance at her sister, Miss Bingley shifted forwards to the edge of her seat, her hands clasped together in her lap and her head tilted as though she was about to break the news that someone had died. “I have had a letter. From Jane Bennet. She has come to town—”

“And has expressed the hope of seeing us during her stay,” Mrs Hurst interrupted. “We can safely assume that by ‘us’ she means Charles. It is a calculated and vulgar scheme to entrap him.”

“Indeed, it is,” Miss Bingley agreed. “And we cannot overlook the possibility that it has succeeded. We fear this may be the reason Charles is being so secretive—because he is courting Jane Bennet.”

“I sincerely hope he is not!” Darcy exclaimed, appalled by the very idea of Bingley taking up with the woman whose mother he had already—

He pushed himself out of his chair and stalked to the window. As he glared at the street below, contemplating that, with behaviour such as this, it was becoming harder and harder to see how he and Bingley could ever recover their friendship, a carriage pulled up outside. He watched a young lady step down from it and pause to speak to someone still inside before turning to approach Hurst’s front door.

“You have a visitor.”

The woman stepped back to peer up at the house, and Darcy straightened his spine in alarm.

“It is Miss Bennet.”

As Elizabeth searches London for her elusive mother, she encounters Mr Darcy hunting for Mr Bingley. Combining forces, they become the darlings of the Season, but in trying to evade an imagined romance without creating a scandal, can their mutually unrequited love conquer all?