Page 180 of Near Pemberley

Bingley sat back slowly. His fingers closed around the arm of the chair, and he stared at the carpet before him as though the pattern might arrange his thoughts. “Move? I would never have thought of that.”

“In fact, you gave me the impetus to think of it.”

“Really?” Bingley straightened at once, surprise brightening his face. One hand lifted from the chair arm, as if he meant to point at himself, before he thought better of it.

“Yes.”

Bingley considered this. “And what will happen to their home?”

“Nothing, for the moment. Mr. Bennet – or even I – can keep an eye on it. Later, perhaps it can be rented. Ah, there is a thought. Yes, I will discuss it with Gardiner.”

Bingley tilted his head, his questioning look immediate.

“Mr. Gardiner, their London relation.”

“The one in trade?” Bingley asked, lifting one shoulder in a tentative shrug.

“Yes. I had to reevaluate my stance on people in trade. He is a very decent man.”

Darcy took a deep breath.

“Today I also visited Longbourn.”

Almost unconsciously, Bingley leaned forward. His hand, which had been moving against his knee, became still. “Oh? What for?”

“I called upon Mr. Bennet.”

Bingley frowned thoughtfully. “I see.”

“He gave his consent.”

“My congratulations – but…” He stopped, his brows drawing together. “Consent?”

Darcy’s smile broadened almost imperceptibly.

“For my marriage.”

Silence settled between them. Bingley blinked once, then again. His lips parted, but no sound emerged. “Your marriage? … You are to marry Miss Bennet?” He sprang from his seat so abruptly that the chair legs scraped against the floor.

“Miss Elizabeth has done me the honour of accepting my hand.”

For perhaps five seconds, Bingley did nothing except stare. Then his entire face lit with delight. He took one step towards Darcy, stopped, threw both hands outward, and laughed in pure astonishment. “Miss Elizabeth… Right. When? How? What are you saying?”

“I see I have succeeded in making you speechless.”

Bingley stepped back, raking one hand through his hair before letting it fall. “I scarcely know whether to congratulate you or her.”

“I recommend congratulating us both.”

“Why?” Bingley demanded.

“What kind of a question is that?”

Bingley paced two short steps towards the hearth and wheeled back, pointing at Darcy with incredulous emphasis. “You! Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley! You are getting married… and you are tying yourself to a family with… troubles.”

Darcy did not answer immediately. A quiet smile appeared. “I love her, Charles. I love her so completely that nothing matters.”

Bingley’s raised hand fell slowly to his side. The amusement faded from his face, replaced by wonder. “Nothing?”