Chapter XI
Frustration growing, Caroline Bingley stared at her sister, wondering when it had all fallen apart.
First, Louisa’s drunkard of a husband had left town without telling them where he went; then Charles had gone off, again saying nothing of his destination, and now the Darcys had retreated from the city when Caroline had hoped they might stay through the season.
Now she was left in the city with only her sister for company and the encroaching dread that something was amiss—horribly amiss.
Louisa, as was her wont, sat calmly and reflective, appearing to have little care for the calamity that Caroline was certain was about to befall them.
Caroline regarded her critically, noting the pretty features, though Caroline had never thought her sister held a candle to her own beauty.
Though Caroline had often wished for a more active conspirator, Louisa’s tendency to allow events to happen was a source of never-ending exasperation.
“Louisa,” said Caroline, struggling to maintain her even tone, “do you recall nothing about where Hurst went? Did he give no hint at all?”
The sigh with which her sister responded set Caroline’s teeth to grinding. “As I have already told you, Caroline,” replied Louisa, “Hurst said nothing to me. I can recall him dropping no hint of where he meant to go.”
“This is unacceptable,” said Caroline, spitting the words and rising to pace the room. “Hurst has gone—strange, when you consider his character—then Charles went away, and now the Darcys are gone.”
Interest piqued, Louisa looked up. “You did not mention this. When did they leave?”
“A day or two ago,” replied Caroline, her feet still carrying her back and forth in front of the sofa. “I stopped there yesterday, wondering if Mr. Darcy would have any knowledge of Charles’s movements, but the housekeeper informed me they had gone north.”
“That is not a surprise. Mr. Darcy never comes to London before he must—it is more surprising that he remained here for the Christmas season.”
A grunt was all Caroline allowed in response, concentrating as she was on trying to resolve this mystery. A notion formed in Caroline’s mind, but she did not wish to consider it. Charles could not have gone there, and Hurst would have no reason to visit the place they had left just a month before.
“Do you suppose they went into Suffolk?” asked Louisa after a few moments. “That bachelor friend of my husband’s, Mr. Martin, lives there. If Hurst went there, he might have asked our brother to join him.”
“If so, why did they cling to secrecy?” asked Caroline, more than half to herself. “It is not as if a stay with such a friend must be private—as Mr. Martin has no wife, we could not stay there even if we wished.”
“I do not always understand the reasons for my husband’s actions, Caroline. Hurst is usually predictable, but sometimes he surprises me.”
For some time after, the sisters debated and speculated, but they ended no closer to the truth than they were when they began.
Dinner came and went, and the atmosphere remained tense, though Louisa did not seem to feel it.
When Caroline went to her bedchamber, the nervous energy stayed with her.
The notion she had considered earlier returned, and Caroline determined to discover whether her intuition was correct.
She sat at the escritoire in her room, took out paper and pen, and began to write.
GEORGIANA DID NOT KNOW what to make of a young woman who disapproved of her brother, and William’s assertion of their improved amity did nothing to assuage her misgivings.
While she did not fall into the trap of assuming her elder brother was perfect, Georgiana was of the firm conviction that there were few better men than William.
If a woman could not see his fine qualities, what did that say of her—and was she good enough for him?
Had Georgiana been of a vengeful or stern temperament, she would have gone to Longbourn that day, determined to disapprove of Miss Elizabeth and her entire family.
As she was not, the most prominent emotion she felt was curiosity.
“So, this is your infamous sister, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth when William introduced them. “How pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy, for I have heard much of you, from a source no less trustworthy than Caroline Bingley herself!”
Though taken aback by Miss Elizabeth’s teasing demeanor, Georgiana soon warmed to her.
Miss Elizabeth was everything Georgiana was not—poised, confident, and vivacious, determined to make Georgiana welcome in her family’s home.
The other members of the family were not deficient, and Georgiana thought the younger girls, who had watched her with open speculative looks, would be great fun, but for some indefinable reason, she was drawn to Miss Elizabeth.
“Your celebrations are loud,” said Georgiana to Elizabeth, not long after they had arrived.
“Yes, that is true when a family of seven has six women.” Miss Elizabeth grinned, an infectious gesture. “Kitty and Lydia can create as much noise as the rest of my family combined.”
Georgiana peeked around Miss Elizabeth to look at the youngest Bennets, who were giggling not far away.
They had made a few attempts to draw Georgiana into their circle, but for the moment, she felt more comfortable with Miss Elizabeth.
The youngest Bennets were far too lively for Georgiana at this stage in her acquaintance with them.
“I must suppose that your family gatherings are quite different?” asked Miss Elizabeth, drawing Georgiana’s attention back to her.
“William and I are both of retiring natures,” said Georgiana. “But my uncle’s family is less reserved. Should you meet my cousin Anthony, you would find him a jovial man, not unlike Mr. Bingley.”
“Is this the uncle I have heard of?” asked Miss Elizabeth, curiosity lighting her eyes. “I understood from Miss Bingley that you have an uncle who is a peer.”
“Yes,” replied Georgiana. The topic was not uncomfortable like it would usually be, as Miss Elizabeth did not appear to be fishing for information. “My uncle is Jacob Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock.”
“Then they are beloved relations rather than merely important connections.”
Nothing Miss Elizabeth might have said could tell Georgiana more about her character than that simple statement.
The Miss Bingleys of the world were always probing, their goal to secure an introduction to her illustrious relations.
Miss Elizabeth, however, recognized what they were to Georgiana, her manner giving no hint of covetous desire to claim them as her own connections.
“They are the closest relations we have.”
“Then they are important,” said Miss Elizabeth. “My family is also small, though it does not appear that way. My father has no siblings and only a distant cousin, and my mother has a brother and a sister.”
They spoke for some time after about their extended families, Miss Elizabeth listening with interest when Georgiana related tales of her titled relations and reciprocating by speaking of her aunt and uncle.
While some might be ashamed to speak of connections in trade, Miss Elizabeth spoke of her uncle with the greatest affection, as if he and his wife were excellent people. Georgiana suspected they were.
That was when Georgiana knew. Miss Elizabeth was as she appeared—no pretensions, no false pride—only a woman who knew her place in the world and would not apologize for it.
Georgiana determined to do all she could to promote her brother’s suit—Miss Elizabeth would make an excellent sister and confidante, and she knew William would be happy with her as a wife.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the room, a very different conversation was happening, one that Jane Bennet did not wish to have, but knew it was necessary.
Never one to put herself forward, Jane was not certain how to raise the subject with Mr. Bingley, though she had promised herself—had promised Elizabeth—that she would do it.
The question was how. As she was not as assertive as Elizabeth, she hesitated longer before speaking, searched for the best words long after Elizabeth would have spoken her piece.
Jane did not think Elizabeth’s manner was better than her own, for all that it worked for her.
For Jane, it was more important to say what she meant so she did not provoke misunderstanding.
That day, Mr. Bingley acted in much the same way as he usually did. The man was gregarious, interesting, maddeningly handsome, magnetic in a way Jane had never experienced with any other man. He also appeared little inclined to talk about the past or explain his absence.
After sitting with him for perhaps fifteen minutes, Jane was forced to acknowledge that there was no easy way to bring up the subject, and to wait for Mr. Bingley to do it would do nothing.
To Mr. Bingley, his being back was all that mattered.
If she wanted to receive the explanation and assurances she craved, Jane knew she would have to adopt a little of Elizabeth’s boldness.
It was difficult for her to do, but she knew she could not proceed as they were.
“Mr. Bingley,” said Jane into a moment of silence when he was distracted by something else in the room, “though I am loath to speak of uncomfortable matters, we cannot proceed until we discuss the reasons for your recent absence.”
The color drained from Mr. Bingley’s face, but he did not shirk. “Of course, Miss Bennet,” said he, seeming contrite and abashed all at once. “I should have spoken of it myself. What would you like to know?”
“The reason you went to London without a word and did not return,” replied Jane, feeling like Elizabeth at that moment. “Please do not omit any outside influence you experienced, for it is relevant to the subject.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Mr. Bingley, “though I would not blame others. I do understand my culpability.”