Chapter IV #2
“Mr. Bingley,” said Jane, curtseying in greeting. “We have been in London for some days now.”
“And you knew about their coming?” asked Mr. Bingley of his sister.
“I did,” confessed Miss Bingley without hesitation. “Perhaps I erred, but I thought Miss Bennet’s arrival tonight would be a wonderful surprise for you.”
The way Mr. Bingley regarded her, Elizabeth did not think he believed her. But he was a well-bred man—he declined to pursue the subject and turned back to Jane, meeting her in conversation.
“It is the same, yet different,” murmured Elizabeth after several moments of watching them. Miss Bingley, she noted, had moved away, though her eyes remained fixed, judging, adjusting.
“Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth?”
Having forgotten Mr. Darcy’s presence, she started just a little at his comment.
The gentleman, Elizabeth noted, was watching her with as much intensity as she had been watching Mr. Bingley.
That was not curious in itself—Mr. Darcy always appeared serious, to the extent that she had often wondered if he took any joy in life.
Though she considered evasion for the moment, something compelled Elizabeth to be more open with the gentleman than she had ever been before.
“Jane and Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, motioning to her sister and Jane’s erstwhile—present?—suitor. “I can see echoes of their behavior together from the autumn, but it is different at the same time.”
Mr. Darcy peered at the pair for several moments, watching their warm conversation, Mr. Bingley’s animation, Jane’s calm acceptance. Watching Mr. Darcy, she understood the exact moment when the gentleman appeared to understand her meaning.
“There is some measure of . . . restraint that I do not recall seeing before,” mused Mr. Darcy.
“That is not all,” said Elizabeth, “though you have captured the gist of what I am seeing.”
The way Mr. Darcy regarded her demanded explanation—Elizabeth did not hesitate to offer it.
“Mr. Bingley does not hide his emotions, Mr. Darcy,” explained Elizabeth. “When he admires a woman, it is easy to see it on his face.”
“You think he does not admire her anymore?” asked Mr. Darcy, trying to understand her meaning.
Elizabeth regarded them critically, then shook her head. “No, the admiration is still there. But there is in his manners a quality that approaches hesitation, and perhaps a trace of regret.”
“And Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy. He smiled at her and added: “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth, but you are more qualified to judge your sister’s conduct than I am.”
An arched brow came naturally to Elizabeth. “By that measure, are you not more qualified to judge Mr. Bingley?”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Darcy. “But Bingley is, as you say, an open book, while your sister may be even more reticent than I am myself.”
Surprised though she was that he would acknowledge it, Elizabeth nodded and turned her attention back to Jane.
The truth was that Elizabeth knew Jane better than anyone else in the world, but sometimes even she struggled to understand her sister.
Yet at present, Elizabeth saw much in Jane’s behavior, though interpretation was as always fraught with difficulty.
“Jane responds with her usual grace, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth at length. “At Netherfield, however, there was a quiet sense of . . . anticipation, I suppose, that now appears absent.”
“Anticipation?” asked Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth understood how that sounded, but she kept her response restrained. “I shall not say that Jane had any expectations of Mr. Bingley, but I know she considered him the most agreeable man of her acquaintance.”
Mr. Darcy pondered this for several moments, then he ventured: “It may be nothing more than the effects of two months of absence.”
“That is possible,” said Elizabeth. “But this is not the easy affection of Netherfield. Something has changed.”
“Miss Eliza!” said Miss Bingley as she approached. “Mr. Darcy.”
As Miss Bingley inspected them, the notion struck Elizabeth that she did not appreciate their position in proximity to each other, though she was uncertain why that would matter.
Elizabeth had never had anything but a contrary relationship with either Mr. Darcy or Miss Bingley, her current cordiality with the former notwithstanding.
Then she pushed any such considerations aside.
“It is like we are back at Netherfield, is it not?” asked Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth shared a look with Mr. Darcy and stifled a smile. Not knowing what Miss Bingley intended, Elizabeth decided on a reply that was a little more pointed than anything she had yet said.
“This is most interesting, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps their behavior appears the same as when you were in Hertfordshire, but I cannot ignore Mr. Bingley’s two-month absence. How can you account for it?”
“Nothing more than business in town,” said Miss Bingley, waving the comment away like it was an offensive odor.
“I have often heard the word business used as a remedy for everything requiring an explanation.” Elizabeth smiled a little to soften the comment. “My uncle often uses the word when he does not wish to clarify.”
Miss Bingley turned a look on her, one that more closely reflected their previous antagonism than the civility she had shown since her visit. “Do you accuse me of dissembling?”
“Not at all, Miss Bingley,” replied Elizabeth. “As I once told you, I speak as I find. It soothes my heart to see Jane so content in your brother’s company, but one cannot help but wonder.”
For several moments, Miss Bingley said nothing, her expression both introspective and a little censorious. When she spoke, she reached for sincerity—whether she achieved it was something Elizabeth could not quite say.
“Please trust me in this, Miss Eliza—Charles did come to London to see to business, and if he stayed longer than he wished, circumstances dictated it. I have nothing but my brother’s interests in mind, and from what I have seen, your sister is a large part of Charles’s happiness.”
Then with a nod, Miss Bingley stepped away, Elizabeth watching her as she retreated. On the other side of the room, Mr. Hurst called for a card table as he had often when she had stayed at Netherfield. She felt rather than saw Mr. Darcy lean closer.
“You do not believe her.”
As it was a statement rather than a question, Elizabeth treated it as such. “That is not it exactly, Mr. Darcy. Let us only say that I have not yet seen enough to convince me.”
Mr. Darcy chuckled under his breath. “Let us call a spade a spade, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth turned to him. “Tell me, Mr. Darcy—are you aware of the reason for Miss Bingley’s sudden interest in promoting my sister to your friend?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth, and I have no suspicions that I would care to share at this moment.”
The ensuing question was obvious. “But you have them.”
“Perhaps,” replied the gentleman, his shrug anything but nonchalant. “Should anything come to mind, I will not hesitate to share it with you.”
That was a surprise to be certain. “You will?”
The gentleman offered her a nod—one she did not think performative. “In doing so, I will serve two purposes. Bingley is my friend, Miss Elizabeth, and your sister is worthy of esteem. I would not stay quiet when I believe it is in their best interests to speak up.”
With those words, Mr. Darcy went away, Elizabeth watching him as he departed.
This Mr. Darcy was unlike anything she had known in Hertfordshire, different even from his behavior during their meeting at Bond Street.
Elizabeth was still wary of the gentleman, but somehow she had come to see him as strangely compelling.
When Miss Bingley made her first miscalculation, Elizabeth almost missed it. She could only blame her lack of discernment on her sister’s reticence, and the distractions present in a room full of people.
It had come innocuously enough. Miss Bingley contented herself in allowing Jane and Mr. Bingley to speak that evening, and even on those occasions when they drifted apart for a time, she did not take any overt action.
That they had occasionally separated from each other was noteworthy by itself, for they had so often joined in Hertfordshire that she did not think she had seen them apart more than a handful of times.
Elizabeth did her best to remain agreeable to all as she mingled with Miss Bingley’s friends.
In time she learned most were also known to Mr. Darcy, and they invariably appeared to esteem him.
Miss Bingley’s miscalculation came after an extended period when Jane had been speaking to another man in the room—Mr. Harrington.
The man was unremarkable so far as Elizabeth could see.
He was tall, passing handsome, engaging, yet his manners were unforced.
He stood next to Jane for a time, speaking with respect, but lacking intensity, expectation, and perhaps more importantly, without the history that complicated everything else in the room.
What set him apart was not brilliance, but steadiness—in a room full of tension and intention, that alone made him stand out.