Chapter XIV #2
“Perhaps the beginning would be a good place to start,” said Jane. “At least, that is what Lizzy always says.”
Elizabeth looked up when she heard her voice, but she said nothing. Though such a comment would have provoked mirth from the gentleman not long ago, the experiences of the past weeks seemed to have tamed his spirits if only a little.
“Very well, the beginning. As you know something of my origins, I shall leave that out. Of most interest to you must be my history with Miss Whitcombe.”
“We have pieced together some of it, and Miss Whitcombe made a few comments.”
“Of course, she did,” murmured Mr. Bingley.
“Our fathers were friends, Miss Bennet. The Whitcombes are from the north, a town near to the one in which my father raised me. During my childhood, I remember nothing of not knowing Miss Whitcombe, though I am told that our families did not become friends until I was four.”
“Miss Whitcombe is younger?” asked Jane.
“By two years,” agreed Mr. Bingley. “My first memories start when I was about six, and by then, she was a pixie of a child, always following me about when we were together. You can imagine what I, as a six-year-old boy, thought of that.”
“Yes, Mr. Bingley, I can.”
With a smile and a nod, he continued. “Mr. Whitcombe moved his business to London when I was about eight, but even then our families stayed in contact. When I was eleven, my father secured a place for me at Eton, then I attended Cambridge where I first made Darcy’s acquaintance.
I saw little of Miss Whitcombe in those years. ”
“But she remained in your heart and mind,” said Jane.
She received a wry smile for her trouble.
“No, Miss Bennet, I would not have you suppose that ours has been some mythical story of star-crossed lovers finding each other. Starting in my university years, I saw her more frequently—she often visited family in the north, and by that time, my family had established a presence in London. I am . . . unable to describe that time adequately, as she was always in the back of my mind, though I believe I yet had no concept of my affection for her.”
It appeared this interview was costing Mr. Bingley something; though Jane did not think he was lacking in seriousness, he was far more comfortable being the jovial gentleman.
Furthermore, there was a hesitance in his manner, as if he thought Jane far more affected by his defection than she was.
Before he left, Jane determined to ensure he understood she was well.
“It was not until after my graduation that matters altered,” continued Mr. Bingley.
“Since I left Cambridge, and more particularly since Louisa and Hurst married, we have made our home in London, only returning to the north for occasional visits. Since Mr. Whitcombe’s estate is not far distant, it was natural that we should be in their company often.
“Caroline, however, did not appreciate my growing closeness with her, and she advised me against giving her consequence. Then about two years ago she began directing me toward other young ladies of whom she approved.”
Mr. Bingley shook his head with regret. “It was not until after Netherfield that I understood what she was doing. As I am certain you have noticed, I am naturally open and gregarious—Caroline introduced me to her friends, and my character took over.”
“But something always held you back,” said Jane. “Miss Whitcombe.”
With a smile and a nod, he said: “Yes, though I had not the wit to understand what was happening.
Last summer, I began to suspect, and I lost interest in offering anything more than basic civility to anyone to whom Caroline introduced me.
Miss Whitcombe was there, always patient, always gracious and kind.
That was the first time I understood what I was feeling.
“Then Caroline suggested that I should be about the business of finding an estate.”
The pattern was obvious, as were Miss Bingley’s motives. “She could not distract you with other women, so she fell back on your desire to purchase an estate.”
“You see clearly,” said Mr. Bingley softly.
“That is exactly what happened, though Caroline will not confess it. Darcy had been advising me for some time that I should begin learning estate management, and he advised me to lease for a time as the market was strong for leased estates, offering experience in exchange for not having ultimate responsibility.”
Mr. Bingley shifted in his chair, uncrossing his legs then crossing them in the other direction. “By that time, I was half thinking about Miss Whitcombe as a potential bride. Her father owns his estate and has no heir—it is almost certain that he will pass it to his daughter.”
“And it will become her husband’s property.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Bingley. “Darcy’s advice seemed good, so my man of business made inquiries, and I took the lease at Netherfield.”
Mr. Bingley uncrossed his legs and sat forward, his eyes meeting Jane’s, an intensity in them Jane would have attributed to Mr. Darcy.
“I want you to know, Miss Bennet, that I cared for you at Netherfield. Nothing we shared was feigned on my part.”
“Yet you were not free,” murmured Jane.
A grimace, then Mr. Bingley shook his head. “As usual, I let my enthusiasm get the better of me, and my behavior toward you was far too open.”
“Then you returned to London to distance yourself from me?”
“No,” replied Mr. Bingley. “I needed to return to London on a matter of business. Two days later, Darcy and my family returned to London, and Caroline persuaded me to stay in London for the winter. I do not believe she understood at the time, but I had already seen Miss Whitcombe and did not protest.” Mr. Bingley shook his head.
“There are two things I regret—that I behaved in such an open manner with you and that I did not take my leave.
“Caroline, of course, understood the danger at once, but rather than push for a return to Netherfield, she tried again to introduce me to other ladies. When that did not work—”
“She drew Lizzy and me to London,” finished Jane.
Appearing a little shamefaced, Mr. Bingley said: “When I saw you, I was confused—I had truly esteemed you.”
“Yet you were much more careful,” said Jane.
“I was. I had no choice, for I would not give you hope where there was none.”
Jane nodded, but she was curious about something. “Do not concern yourself for my welfare, Mr. Bingley, for I do not consider myself used. I am curious about one thing—was last night when you chose in Miss Whitcombe’s favor?”
The question seemed to take him aback, but he pondered it for several moments before he replied. “Perhaps the conscious choice, yes, but I do not think the outcome was in doubt since I saw Miss Whitcombe again after returning from Hertfordshire.”
“Then I hope you will accept my fondest wishes for your happiness,” said Jane with all the sincerity she possessed. “I do not regret what passed between us, Mr. Bingley. But I no longer mistake it for anything other than what it was.”
“You are far more understanding than I deserve,” said Mr. Bingley.
Jane could not help but laugh. “If you asked Lizzy, I am certain she would agree with you. Then again, she has always been my most ardent supporter.”
Mr. Bingley’s eyes found Elizabeth, and Jane noted her sister’s attention was on her book, her lips curved in a slight smile. That alone told her that Lizzy could hear something of their conversation, and agreed with Jane’s assessment.
“I apologize, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley, turning back to her. “Not for choosing Miss Whitcombe—what I feel for her is not new. I apologize for placing you in a situation of expectation without certainty.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane, knowing she should not absolve him of wrongdoing, even though she now understood it was for the best that it ended this way.
“I believe I have also learned something from this. Kindness and affection are not the same as constancy—you offered me the former, but you could not grant me the latter. Miss Whitcombe has your constancy, and she is a fortunate woman. I also deserve it with a man who will offer it to me.”
“There is no one more deserving,” was Mr. Bingley’s simple reply.
For a few moments more they spoke, but the important points were acknowledged and understood. When Mr. Bingley rose to depart, he bowed over her hand, then turned to Elizabeth, some of his joviality returned.
“Unless I am mistaken, you are Miss Bennet’s ardent defender. I trust you will maintain that role and run off those who are unworthy of your sister’s attention.”
Elizabeth, as her wont, laughed at his sally. “Of course, I shall, Mr. Bingley. Should matters proceed as I suspect they will, I hope we will remain friends.”
The gentleman’s irrepressible grin now appeared affixed to his face again. “Should matters proceed as I suspect, we shall remain friends, Miss Elizabeth. Unless you send my friend away, that is.”
Elizabeth shook her finger at him. “That is enough, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy has improved in essentials, but there is still much more that I must know about him before we may proceed.”
“Learn what you must, Miss Elizabeth,” replied he. “Darcy is the best of men—should you allow him, he will make it his life’s mission to ensure you are happy.”
“We shall see, Mr. Bingley.”
Mrs. Gardiner returned to the room, hearing voices, and after a few moments, Mr. Bingley went away, leaving the three women together. The moment he left the room, she turned to Jane.
“Well, Jane? Has he satisfied your curiosity?”
“More than satisfied, Aunt,” replied Jane.
“Excellent. Now you must tell us all about it, for I am afire with curiosity.”
Laughing, Jane did just that.