Chapter 9 #2
Bingley was exhausted by the necessary tasks of the previous weeks; he was still grieving heavily as he executed her estate, seeing to the disposal of her house and her modest fortune.
It had largely been divided between himself and his sisters, but he found no joy in the increase in his own wealth, coming as it did from the loss of their beloved aunt.
It was but a fresh layer of sorrow on an existing layer of dejection.
Netherfield lurked in his mind, and the lovely Miss Jane Bennet haunted him.
Bingley was aware that he tumbled into love quite easily, and out of it almost as easily.
But his infatuation with Miss Bennet was not fading with time or distance.
He still thought of her with wistful longing.
He found himself daydreaming of her sweet smiles and kind, gentle words.
Her beautiful face and graceful figure filled his dreams, and any time Caroline grew especially snide in her comments about those around her, he could not help contrasting her speech to that of Miss Bennet, who was never disagreeable.
If someone had asked him to design an ideal wife, she would be much akin to Miss Bennet.
The greatest change that he would make would be that his ideal wife would love him for himself, rather than be pressured into an amiable but loveless marriage to escape her family’s penury.
His heart ached for Miss Bennet, who would be consigned to the hedgerows after her father’s death, but he would be foolish to sacrifice his own desires for a union of mutual love and affection in order to preserve the Bennets from want.
But oh, how he wished it could have been different!
His introspection was broken as they jolted to a halt before Pemberley’s imposing front facade.
Servants moved forward to take the horses and open the carriage door.
Bingley stepped down and shook out his shoulders gratefully before turning to hand out each of his sisters in turn.
Caroline smoothed her dress and pelisse and looked around appreciatively.
Bingley donned his hat and turned as a liveried footman marched smartly up to them and bowed.
“Mr. Bingley?” the young man asked.
“Yes,” he replied with a nod.
“Please, will you and your party accompany me to Mrs. Reynolds? Your rooms are ready.”
“Thank you,” Bingley said as a number of other footmen hurried over to carry the family’s luggage.
“Bingley!”
Bingley looked up and grinned at the sight of Fitzwilliam Darcy, who was hurrying down the steps.
“Good morning, Darcy,” he said, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Welcome to Pemberley,” Darcy replied before turning to the others. “Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, Mr. Hurst. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline said, looking up into her host’s face with a warm smile. “It is truly wonderful to see you again.”
“I am pleased to have you here as well,” Darcy said and then turned to Bingley. “I know you doubtless wish to refresh yourself, but I acquired a new horse recently and hope that you are willing to take a few minutes to look her over before you enter the house.”
Bingley’s brow rose in confusion, but he was always an amiable man. “Of course. I could use some time to stretch my legs after sitting so long!”
“Perhaps we could enjoy tea together in the drawing room in an hour?” Darcy suggested, turning toward the Hursts and Miss Bingley.
“That would be delightful,” Caroline cooed.
Darcy bowed and started to walk in the direction of the stables, and Bingley fell in beside him while the other three climbed the steps to the great door.
The two men were silent until they reached the stables, whereupon Darcy made his way to the tack room. A stable boy was rubbing oil into a saddle and looked up in astonishment at the sight of his master.
“Jeb, Mr. Bingley and I need a few minutes of privacy.”
“Of course, sir,” the young man replied, and after carefully setting down his oil and wiping his hands off, he hurried out of the room.
Bingley was now both bemused and concerned. “Darcy? Is something wrong?”
Darcy sighed and ran his hand over his forehead. “Not wrong, exactly, but I wanted to tell you ... well, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is currently residing at Pemberley.”
Bingley stared at his friend in wonder. “Miss Elizabeth? Why?”
“To be concise, she journeyed to Kent last spring to visit her friend, Mrs. Collins, wife of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s rector.
She struck up a friendship with my cousins, Richard and Anne Fitzwilliam, though this was before their marriage, of course.
Anne wished for a friend to keep her company here and invited Miss Bennet to come along.
I did not know ... that is, I encouraged them to bring whomever they pleased, but I had no idea that it was Miss Bennet who would be chosen .
.. I fear I am not explaining myself well. ”
Bingley’s thoughts had, of course, shifted to Jane Bennet, but his friend’s unaccustomed stuttering provoked a look of wonder. “Darcy, do you still despise Miss Elizabeth?”
Darcy shook his head hastily and said, “No, no, of course not. Indeed, I did not even realize until a few months ago that she overheard my insult at the assembly in Meryton. She is, without a doubt, a most estimable lady. I was merely ... well, Bingley, the truth is that I worry that her presence here will be painful to you.”
“Because of Jane Bennet?”
Darcy blew out a breath and sighed. “The lady is now Mrs. Jane Russell, Bingley. She married a tradesman a few weeks ago.”
Bingley’s head snapped back as if he had been punched, and he felt all the air leave his lungs in a gigantic whoosh.
A full minute passed in silence, with Darcy opening his mouth and then closing it.
“She is wed?” Bingley finally asked through numb lips.
“Yes, she is,” Darcy replied, his tone heavy with sympathy.
Bingley looked around for a chair, found a stool, and sat down on it, his legs weak.
“I appreciate your warning, Darcy,” he said after two silent minutes. “I would have embarrassed myself if I had not … well, yes. You were obviously correct; Miss Bennet did not truly care for me.”
“I agree, and I am sorry.”
Bingley stared out the window at the trees.
Only an hour ago, the beautiful foliage had lifted his spirits.
Now, the loveliness of the outdoors only displayed, in sharp contrast, the depression of his spirits.
He had, he realized, still been madly in love with Jane Bennet.
And now she was out of his reach forever.