Chapter 19
Collins, Jane, and Lydia sat in the library—the former on one side of the desk and the latter two opposite—embroiled in discussion of the rumour that, by now, had made its way to Collins.
Confused by all that her sister had accused the honourable Charles Bingley of doing, Jane said, “It seems odd that Mr. Bingley would behave as you suggest, for anyone who knows him would say he is the consummate gentleman. Are you certain everything unfolded just as you said, Lydia? It is not too late to clear up any misunderstanding.”
“La! Jane, you are determined to believe that just because Mr. Bingley did not love you as much as you would have liked that he cannot possibly be in love with me.”
Collins stared at his wife. “What is she saying?”
“Tell him, Jane. Tell him how everyone in the neighbourhood was certain Mr. Bingley was going to make you an offer of marriage, but he did not. No—he left with nary a word. He did not care enough for you to say goodbye. Now he prefers me, and you are jealous.” Lydia poked her tongue at her wounded eldest sister. “So, there!”
Collins stared at the sisters, his face red and his fists gripping the arms of the chair. “I have heard all I will hear from you, young lady. Leave—now! I shall decide what is to be done to salvage this wretched situation.”
“What can possibly be wretched about a wedding? Oh, how I adore weddings. And I shall have a lovely wedding trousseau.”
Collins bolted from his chair. “Leave!”
Lydia’s mouth gaped. It took a moment to fashion an apt response. “You dare speak to me in that tone, when I shall be so very rich and all you have to look forward to is this old place.”
He looked as if he were about to jump over the desk to rid himself of Lydia’s presence. Standing, she said, “Oh, I shall leave. And fear not, Jane, for I shall be certain to invite you and your husband to all my fine balls, even if he is so very unpleasant.”
Jane stood to take her leave soon after Lydia quit the room. Collins had other ideas.
“Is there any truth at all to what she said—about Bingley and you?”
“I am afraid her assertions are not without cause.”
He released a disgusted breath. “I suppose that explains a great deal.”
“Now, surely you do not think me jealous of Lydia.”
“Do I believe you are jealous because she has trapped that fool? Preposterous!”
Jane did not know that she would describe Bingley in such unflattering terms, but rather than hone in on the affront, she said, “So, you doubt Lydia’s version of the story as well?”
“Whether I believe her is of little consequence. The fact of the matter is there is the perception of wrongdoing on Bingley’s part. There is only one way to remedy the situation.”
Jane approached her husband, who by now was facing away from her and staring out the window.
“He must marry her,” said he.
“Earlier, you said Lydia’s outburst explains a great deal. Whatever did you mean?”
“It explains why the man looks at you the way he does—with little to no concern whether anyone notices him.”
He turned to face her; Jane lowered her eyes. Collins placed his hand under her chin and directed her gaze to meet his. “Surely you are no stranger to the way he feels.”
Jane said, “Pray, tell me that what Lydia said about my feelings for Mr. Bingley and what you now suppose as his lingering feelings for me have no bearing on your good opinion of me.”
Collins took her hand in his. “No, of course not, my dear, for there is nothing in the world anyone might say to me that would change the way I feel about you—about us. We both have our own past. What is important is what we make of our present and our future—together.”
Darcy and Bingley stood when Mr. Geoffrey Collins stormed into the room. From the looks of him, he was armed for battle.
“Mr. Bingley, it is good of you to see me, but I would, however—” he looked at Darcy and then back at Bingley, “prefer a private audience with you.”
“What can you have to say to me that my friend should not be privy to?”
“Surely you can be at no loss to understand why I am here. Gossip of what occurred under this roof is spreading.”
Bingley crossed his arms. “I will marry her.”
“It is good to know that you are reasonable.”
“As I see it, I have no choice, and from this moment on, I shall not speak ill of the woman who is to be my wife.”
“Good, I would rather you did not. You will understand there are certain arrangements that must be made, and I will be the one to oversee them in Mr. Bennet’s stead.”
“I shall leave it to whoever is most interested in that sort of thing to work out the details of the wedding; however, as far as the marriage settlement is concerned, Darcy and I have already hammered an agreement. The details have been dispatched to my solicitor in town. You will find my offer reasonable; however, it is not negotiable.”
Collins looked at Darcy. “It seems your friend is well-rehearsed.”
“This has nothing to do with me,” said Darcy.
“Please—it is always about you.”
“The truth is that we all have a stake in this little game, do we not? As we shall all be family, we might as well make the best of it,” said Darcy.
“I would hardly say this scandal is merely a game. It is a very serious matter.”
“If you knew young Lydia half as well as you think you do, you would know precisely what I mean. But it matters not. The material point is that Bingley has offered to do what is expected of him.”
Later that day, Bingley set off for Longbourn to call on Miss Lydia.
How he wished instead that he could summon up the past as he trudged the pathway that led to the Bennets’ door.
He imagined himself striding along with a spring in his step.
He imagined a bright, happy smile on his face as he informed the lady of the manor that he wished to have a private audience with Miss Bennet.
He even imagined the words he would say to explain away his lapse in judgement for ever having left her side all those months ago when he was first in Hertfordshire, how he had been a complete and unmitigated fool for not following his heart.
How his life had been a torment during their long separation, and how he wished for nothing more than to offer her his hand in marriage.
All this he imagined himself uttering on bended knee and gazing up into a pair of the most angelic eyes he had ever seen.
He imagined those eyes glistening with tears of joy.
Her answer would be yes … yes, I will marry you, Charles, for there is not another man in the world for me, but you.
Stark reality pierced Bingley’s blissful musings as he considered those very words.
The harsh fact was that there was another man for his Jane: her husband, Geoffrey Collins.
Only an act of God would change that. Bingley’s heart sank in his chest. By then it will be too late.
I shall be married to her silly sister, Miss Lydia.
His countenance coloured with contrition.
Not that I would wish to see my Jane a widow even for an instant, for she truly deserves the happiness she seems to have found.
As for her sister, I must teach myself to stop thinking of her as the witless girl that she is, and I must start to revere her as my future wife.
Upon entering the paddock and surrendering his horse to a servant, Charles lumbered on with the feeling of this being the longest distance he had ever walked when, in reality, the stairs leading to the front door were but a stone’s throw away.
Sorrow accompanied those last steps of the way.
Here he was, a young man in the prime of his life, suffering feelings akin to losing everything.
Darcy had offered to accompany him in a show of moral support, but Charles had declined, thinking this was something he truly needed to do alone. The truth is he wanted as few people as possible to bear witness to what surely would be a spectacle. Heaven knows how Mrs. Bennet will carry on.
Of course, the Bennet household reaction would be nothing in comparison to Caroline’s once she learned what he had done—that he had actually offered his hand to Lydia.
He recalled how disgusted she had been all those months ago when they first came to Netherfield Park and everyone suffered the general expectation that he was to be married within months to the eldest Bennet daughter.
How livid she was after hearing Mrs. Bennet speculate aloud that there was to be a wedding at Netherfield Park in three months.
Caroline had been so distraught over the prospect of such an alliance between the two families that she would not rest until they took their leave of Hertfordshire within hours of the ball; the ball he had given at Miss Lydia’s request, but as far as he was concerned, in Jane’s honour.
By now, Bingley had reached the door. He just stood there, frozen, faced with the certainty that, once he crossed the threshold, life as he knew it would never be the same again. There is no turning back now.
Moments later, Bingley was standing in the parlour, his eyes fixed upon Jane and filled with unspoken apology. Without looking away, he swallowed. “Mrs. Bennet, I wish to have a private audience … with Miss Bennet.”
“Miss Bennet? You mean to say you wish to have a private audience with Mary?” Her loud, shrieking voice revived his senses.
He shook his head and cleared his throat. Finally, he tore his eyes away from Jane’s. “I wish to have a private audience with—” Bingley swallowed hard, “with Miss Lydia.”
Mrs. Bennet immediately stood to clear the room of everyone save her favourite daughter and her soon to be son-in-law.
The spring in Mrs. Bennet’s step was just as he had imagined it would have been had he offered for Jane as he ought to have done.
However, it was not Jane who raced to his side and attached herself to his arm.
His Jane would never have displayed such a lack of decorum.
It was not Jane with whom he would henceforth and forever more be associated or whose name would be mentioned when the book was written on the happiest day of his life, and it was not Jane whom he would take to the marriage bed and make his wife, and the sooner he taught himself to accept those truths, the better it would be for him.
The better it would be for the future Mrs. Lydia Bingley, and the better it would be for everyone concerned.