Chapter IX #3
The conversation proceeded much as Elizabeth had expected.
Miss Whitcombe carried herself with a quiet confidence, listened well, and spoke easily and without affectation—nothing she did indicated a dependence on others’ approval.
Her manners were pleasant, though not polished to perfection like Miss Bingley would demand, but natural and sincere.
There was nothing in her that invited criticism—only the absence of the refinement that Miss Bingley prized above all else.
The alteration of their discourse came as a result of Mrs. Abernathy’s insistence that she have her share of the conversation.
The woman was as loud as Mrs. Bennet, and almost as reserved, which was to say not at all.
They had been engaged in conversation for some few moments, when the voice of the matron interrupted them.
“Miss Whitcombe, how are you getting on of late? Did you visit the modiste as I suggested?”
Though she gave no sign of it, her response suggested to the observant onlooker that Miss Whitcombe had ample experience with Mrs. Abernathy and knew how to handle her.
“Not yet, Mrs. Abernathy, though I plan to soon.”
“That is excellent, my dear. Now that you are among society’s elite, you must dress the part. You will be so divine in your new gowns that others must take notice; I dare say Mr. Bingley’s eyes will pop out of his head!”
Mrs. Abernathy turned back to the group of matrons with whom she was conversing, as if she had not just outdone Mrs. Bennet at her finest, and Miss Whitcombe turned her attention back to Jane. Something must have shown in Jane’s face, for her next question disarmed them.
“Are you acquainted with Mr. Bingley, Miss Bennet?”
The question was not accusatory—it was interested, as if the notion pleased her. And Elizabeth understood at once; Miss Whitcombe knew nothing of Miss Bingley’s attempt to set Jane up as a direct rival for Mr. Bingley’s affections. Jane also seemed to sense this, as her response was measured.
“Yes, we are. Mr. Bingley’s leased estate in Hertfordshire neighbors our father’s estate.”
Even this did nothing to pierce her sense of serenity. “I hope you enjoyed their company.”
“We did,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Bingley is an amiable gentleman, but I am certain you already know this.”
“Yes, I do,” said Miss Whitcombe. Though the evidence was small, Elizabeth noted a slight smile lighting her features and brightening her eyes.
“I have known the Bingleys for years. When we were girls, Caroline and I often played together. My father’s business and the elder Mr. Bingley’s often intersected. ”
She shrugged and added: “I do not see as much of Caroline of late, but Mr. Bingley is a consistent visitor to my father’s home.”
What struck Elizabeth most was that Miss Whitcombe did not speak with bitterness or nostalgia.
It was factual and nothing more, and it spoke volumes about her character and even more about her position in Mr. Bingley’s life.
Even if Elizabeth had been inclined to dislike or disapprove of Miss Whitcombe, she was not certain she could have.
“What do you think, Lizzy?” asked Jane after another caught Miss Whitcombe’s attention.
“I think she is an estimable young lady, Jane,” said Elizabeth. “It seems this connection that Miss Bingley seems so desperate to dispense with is of longer duration than we had expected.”
“With that, I cannot but agree,” said Jane.
Elizabeth regarded her sister, wondering what she was thinking. Jane appeared to interpret it, for she touched Elizabeth’s hand with affection.
“It changes nothing, Lizzy. If anything, this encounter firms my resolve.”
A playful thought came to her, and Elizabeth spoke without thinking. “Would you contest Mr. Bingley’s affection if Miss Whitcombe was ill-tempered, warty, or supercilious?”
A laugh was Jane’s response. “We shall never know, dear sister, for she is none of these things.”
Jane sobered. “The shape is better known to us now. Caroline did not overlook Clara—she seeks to leave her behind.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It is not a new attachment—it is a return.”
“Mr. Darcy did say that Mr. Bingley always returns to that which suits him best.”
Pleased with her sister, Elizabeth drew her in for an embrace. “You are handling this with the aplomb worthy of a queen, Jane. I could not be prouder if I tried.”
“Not at all, Lizzy. Now that I have seen Miss Whitcombe, I have nothing left to resent and no uncertainty as to the propriety of my course. If Mr. Bingley chooses her, she will be a fortunate woman, and I shall congratulate them both.”
“That is for the best,” agreed Elizabeth. “Now all we need to do is find you a replacement for Mr. Bingley. Do you suppose Mr. Harrington will do?”
“Stop it, Lizzy!” exclaimed Jane.
Elizabeth laughed and pulled her close again. “No, sister dearest, I shall not. After all, you teased me about Mr. Darcy—turnabout is fair play.”
“So long as you do not overdo it, I am content.”
“I shall not,” said Elizabeth. “But I will enjoy it, nonetheless.”