Chapter XV
London settled in the days after the ball that clarified everything.
Or perhaps it was not London that changed—only one small corner of society altered.
To those unacquainted with the Bennet sisters or the Bingley siblings and their concerns, it was much as it ever was, an endless succession of events that left fatigue in its wake.
As it was by now early May, Elizabeth could not say the season had any particular charms remaining.
It was a novel experience, one treasured for all it had taught her, but now that the situation with Mr. Bingley had resolved, she longed for a return to the paths of her father’s estate.
That these seasons in London might become a common feature in her life was something Elizabeth did not misunderstand, but as she was far from accepting Mr. Darcy, and the gentleman would not offer for her for some time yet—if he did at all—she was content to allow such considerations to rest for the moment.
“Perhaps the time is at hand when you should return to Longbourn,” said Mrs. Gardiner, glowing with contentment for the outcome that had left them both undamaged. “London can be a bit much for the uninitiated.”
“Oh, I think we have been initiated, Aunt,” replied Elizabeth. “In fact, our initiation has been quite thorough to say the least.”
“Perhaps that is the truth,” agreed their aunt. “Yet I do not believe you will be unhappy to leave the city behind.”
“I am quite content with the prospect of returning home,” said Jane.
“Between us, you are most changed, Jane,” said Elizabeth, not exactly a tease.
“How so, Lizzy?” asked Jane, curious rather than suspicious.
“You are . . . lighter somehow,” replied Elizabeth, trying to put what she saw into words. “It is not only relief—”
“Though that must be part of it,” interrupted Mrs. Gardiner, laughing.
“Yes, I suppose it must,” agreed Elizabeth. “More than that, however, I suspect it is from the absence of uncertainty.”
Elizabeth reached out and grasped her sister’s hand with a wide smile. “When we came to London, we did not understand the situation, though we knew something was not quite right. Now that we have an answer and there is no more reason to hope, you have become freer, unburdened by expectations.”
“Removing that weight from anyone would affect them,” observed Mrs. Gardiner.
“That is my point. Jane had to adopt a stance that does not come naturally to her—now that is no longer necessary, the urgency that once drove every interaction has dissipated.”
“And I am the happier for it,” said Jane.
Later that same day, a visitor arrived at Gracechurch Street, one unexpected, though Elizabeth knew she should have at least considered the possibility.
When the housekeeper entered the room, following her was Miss Whitcombe, appearing determined and a little apprehensive all at once.
Mrs. Gardiner welcomed her warmly, invited her to sit, and soon they were visiting with cups of tea and biscuits from the kitchen.
Then Miss Whitcombe turned, gathered her courage, and addressed Jane.
“Miss Bennet, I wish to thank you for not turning the situation with Mr. Bingley into a contest.”
Jane was unsurprised by the sentiment. “Not at all, Miss Whitcombe. Mr. Bingley was yours long before I made his acquaintance.”
“And yet,” persisted she, “I suspect you would have been a formidable foe if you had wished it. I am more grateful than I can say that you did not.”
Mrs. Gardiner regarded her with compassion. “I sense there is something more that you are not saying. If you do not wish to speak of it, we shall not ask, but should you wish to unburden yourself on sympathetic ears, we will listen.”
Unable to meet their eyes, Miss Whitcombe looked down at her hands, her fingers clasping and unclasping, worrying at each other in her agitation.
When she looked up again, the shine in her eyes told the story of her emotions, even if she shed no tears.
The sight of them seemed to break a dam, for she began to speak.
“I have loved Mr. Bingley for years.”
For several moments after the confession, she said nothing else as she continued to struggle with emotion.
“Since before he left for Cambridge.” Miss Whitcombe looked up, the words now flowing. “He was so kind and attentive and thoughtful that I expected, with the certainty of a young girl, that he would return a man. That he would return for me.
“It did not turn out that way—or not that exactly.”
“Miss Bingley’s intervention,” suggested Elizabeth.
Miss Whitcombe smiled, though it was a pitiful gesture at best. “That was part of it, of course. When he left university, he had gained the perspective of an adult, and with that came the demands of his new maturity. Still, he had time for me, and I allowed myself to hope as I had never allowed before.”
The smile had a warmer quality, one forged in the fires of long uncertainty. “Then his attentions became warmer, and our union seemed inevitable. But Caroline . . .”
She shook her head, the pleasure draining into something more brittle. “Caroline visited my father’s house one day, and she informed me in no uncertain terms that Mr. Bingley would not choose me—he was meant for something better, and Caroline meant to ensure he chose it.”
“That was not her choice to make,” said Jane, ever compassionate, but now carrying a hint of indignation.
“No, it was not,” said Miss Whitcombe. “I tried to dismiss it as the action of a protective sister, but then he began to pay attention to other ladies of society, and I doubted. It was some time before I realized Caroline was directing him, hoping he would find one of them agreeable. It is difficult to watch the man you love divide his attention.”
“I think I can understand something of it,” said Jane.
When Miss Whitcombe looked up sharply, Jane smiled and shook her head.
“No, I shall not claim that I was in love with Mr. Bingley. However, I did consider him the most amiable man of my acquaintance, and perhaps I might have fancied myself in love. Thus, I can comprehend a small part of your pain, even though I knew something was amiss when we came to London.”
Miss Whitcombe nodded. “When he left for Hertfordshire, I lived in fear that he would find someone, and Caroline would divert him. Then he returned unexpectedly, and my heart rose in hope.”
“And then Jane came to town,” said Elizabeth, understanding the cruel circumstances in which she had found herself.
“Yes,” said Miss Whitcombe. “It was fortunate that we came across each other at that party, as I took some measure of you. What I found told me that you were not here intent on capturing Mr. Bingley, that there was still some hope for my situation.”
“Miss Whitcombe,” said Jane, speaking with a timbre that suggested both sincerity and resolve, “I want you to know that I would never draw a man in under false pretenses. Even if you did not exist and Mr. Bingley was free to choose, I wish to be chosen, not a default he returns to because there is no one else. If Miss Bingley had succeeded and Mr. Bingley proposed to me, he might have regretted that choice in the years to come. I will not live like that.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she nodded. “Thank you for possessing that integrity, Miss Bennet.”
“Has Mr. Bingley declared himself?” asked Mrs. Gardiner.
“No, he has not,” said Miss Whitcombe. “But we have spoken, and I know his intentions.”
“Then we offer our warmest congratulations,” said Jane.
“Thank you,” said she again. “I hope we shall remain friends in the years to come.”
Jane laughed and fixed Elizabeth with a teasing grin. “Unless I am mistaken, I believe that is unavoidable. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are excellent friends.”
Miss Whitcombe’s eyes widened. “Mr. Darcy is courting you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“He is not,” replied Elizabeth. “Yet his intentions, like Mr. Bingley’s, are not hidden from me. I have no notion if he will offer for me or if we even suit, but the possibility is one that I would not have imagined only a few months ago.”
“Then I wish you luck,” said Miss Whitcombe. “I should be happy to count you a friend, and even more if you are married to my future husband’s dearest friend.”
“Perhaps, then, we should dispense with all this tedious formality,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, I should like that.”
“We see much less of the Bingleys now,” said Miss Elizabeth to Darcy one night about a week after Bingley’s choice, as he was coming to think of it.
It was another ball, one given by someone unknown to the Bennet sisters—a highborn friend of Darcy’s, one of the few he could tolerate.
The Bingleys were not in attendance that evening.
Though Miss Bingley claimed membership in the highest echelons of society, some would not accept her, even on Darcy’s not inconsiderable recommendation.
To those people, the Bennets were acceptable because of their gentle birth, but they were tolerated, not welcomed, though their pretty faces would ensure them a steady stream of men eager to dance.
“Does the lack of Miss Bingley’s society provoke particular pangs, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Darcy as he moved past her in the dance they were sharing.
“Not at all,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “Though Miss Bingley has been civil since we came to London, I always detected an undercurrent of . . .” She paused and gave a helpless smile. “It is not something I can define with an exact word, but perhaps necessity or resignation?”
“That would describe Miss Bingley exactly, Miss Elizabeth,” agreed Darcy. “While I would not call her conniving, she knows how to play the game as well as anyone in London, and she is adept at hiding her true feelings.”