Chapter 13
He ought to have been pleased with his future prospects.
Thanks to the success of his exhibition, he might confidently expect to receive another, and to sell paintings enough to keep him busy for months.
The funds they would bring in would soon allow him to select a more comfortable apartment.
He would not be a rich man, not unless his popularity spread beyond England or the price Londoners expected to pay for art increased significantly, but he would have a competence, which was all he had ever wanted.
It ought to have been an ideal beginning to the new year.
He had recognition, and even the beginnings of fame.
He had the assurance that he could paint as much as he wished, and that those paintings would bring him enough to live in comfort.
If he planned on speaking to his father at all, he could have told him that all his doomsaying had been in vain. He had, in fact, made it as an artist.
But in the beautiful early morning light of the first of February, when Thom quickly dressed and stood before his easel, he found he did not wish to paint at all.
The only vision that would come to mind was that of Caroline Bingley, and he could neither paint her for himself, nor even imagine painting her to sell to the viscount.
Everything in him rebelled at the idea, highly practical though it would have been.
Every attempt to think of something else came to nothing. He half-thought of painting a simple still life. But no — it would have been merely mechanical, with nothing more than technique behind it. He could not make himself do it.
He would have a distraction, then, if he could not have his work.
Hurriedly, Thom put on his boots and greatcoat and set out for the banks of the Thames.
If he was lucky in nothing else, he might at least rejoice in having an ideal distraction.
It was the first day of the Frost Fair, which ought to provide at least some amusement, and perhaps the inspiration for a new painting.
He could hardly miss it — not when the last Frost Fair had been before his birth, and the next might not come until he was an old man.
Thom felt rather pleased with himself upon first setting out and hailing a driver to take him to the fair. Here, too, was another benefit of success — in a marked change from his years of careful frugality, he need not worry about the cost of a hackney coach.
His satisfaction soon took a dent upon arriving and seeing the busy scene.
All London seemed to have turned out to order hot drinks and play games on the ice, and while it would indeed provide capital inspiration for a painting, if he could only bring himself to paint it, it would hardly be the chance for quiet reflection that, perhaps unwisely, he had envisioned.
Still, there was nothing to be done but to make the best of it.
Thom set out walking briskly across the ice, only to find that he would be due for still less solitude than he imagined.
Quite without his awareness, he had become little short of a public figure, and friends, clients, and acquaintances seemed to hail him every fifty paces.
To recognise Edwards standing in line at a wine stall was a considerable relief. The two friends hurried to meet each other and exchange greetings and good wishes for the new year.
“You are popular today,” Edwards observed with a laugh, after seeing how many glances and murmured comments they were receiving. “How happy you must be, for I think you will be kept in commissions now until we have another new year!”
Thom gave his best effort at a laugh and a cheerful assent, but judging by Edwards’s surprised glance, it could not have been entirely convincing. Thankfully, his friend did not press him.
“Ah, look there!” Edwards remarked, neatly changing the subject. “Now, there is someone to whom we really must offer a greeting, for I believe she is largely responsible for your success.”
His heart lurching, Thom turned to look where his friend was indicating, though he hardly knew why: he already knew who he would see. Indeed, Caroline Bingley was there, and at the point of noticing them in return.
Edwards was already hurrying towards her.
Thom was strangely glad of it, for it freed him from the need to choose whether he ought to do so himself — whether he ought to do what was undoubtedly best for her, and stay away, or follow both courtesy to an acquaintance and his inclination to be by her side at once.
The mystery of what Miss Bingley would be doing alone was quickly solved, for her brother and Mrs Bingley were standing together by a stall not fifty paces away.
“Forgive my rudeness in not calling my brother and sister-in-law to greet you,” Caroline said quickly, after the first greetings had been exchanged.
“They are both so kind and careful of everyone else’s feelings that I have only just now convinced them that a married couple may walk a few paces together without including a third, and not be considered entirely lost to civilised conduct.
If we call them back, Jane and my poor brother will berate themselves for their selfishness and will not take another step in privacy until I know not when. ”
Edwards laughed, praised Miss Bingley for her courtesy towards her brother and sister-in-law, and promised that he would take on the task of protecting her from boredom to the best of his ability.
Caroline replied as wittily as ever, but Thom could not help noticing with mingled hope and alarm that even as she spoke with Edwards, her eyes repeatedly met his own.
“Now, as I have promised to be entertaining,” Edwards was remarking cheerfully, “I think we ought to have a little gossip, for I have heard the most tremendous story! But perhaps Miss Bingley will tell it, for it is really much nearer her story than mine.”
Though Thom managed to keep his countenance, it was a close thing. He had attempted to reconcile himself to the near inevitability of Caroline becoming engaged to the viscount; had, in fact, told himself he was reconciled to it.
All in an instant, he learned nothing could be farther from the truth.
He could only watch, sick at heart, as Caroline gave an elegant little laugh and a still more elegant rejoinder.
“Now, Mr Edwards, what is this? Certainly, you must say what you have in mind when you have been the one to introduce the topic.”
“Oh, must I!” He laughed heartily. “You are certain you do not wish to tell it? I should not wish to usurp a story that more properly should be your own.”
“No, indeed. I am sure I do not have the least idea of what you are speaking.”
Edwards turned to him with a chuckle. “I had not thought Miss Bingley to be so shy a lady, had you, North?”
“No, I had not,” Thom managed. He thought he had carried it off tolerably well. Certainly, Edwards did not seem to have noticed anything, although Caroline was looking at him with perhaps more than mere politeness.
“Well, then, I shall tell all,” Edwards said, evidently pleased to be the one to raise so significant a topic.
“Please do,” Caroline invited with a tolerant smile. Thom braced himself, for he must be prepared to listen with every evidence of amusement and congratulate Miss Bingley with every sign of sincerity.
“It happened on Christmas Eve itself, did it not, Miss Bingley?” Edwards began brightly.
“The Countess of Matlock was giving a rather charming salon. Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy were there, of course, being her nephew and her niece. Well, I am told Miss Bingley was at Darcy House that afternoon, were you not?”
“Indeed I was,” Miss Bingley acknowledged. “I see now what story you intend to tell, though I cannot imagine how news of it has spread!”
For his part, Thom was utterly at a loss. How such a beginning might lead to news of her engagement was quite beyond him. Certainly the viscount could not have come to Darcy House — not with Mrs Darcy in her confinement and receiving no visitors outside her own family.
“How could it not, Miss Bingley!” Edwards exclaimed. “I shall tell you what I have heard, and you may put me right where the gossips have erred. I am told that you were with Mrs Darcy when it became evident that she was soon to be delivered of her child.”
“Indeed I was,” Caroline acknowledged.
“Then you did indeed send word to Mrs Bingley, and to Mr Darcy at the countess’s party?”
“I did so,” she replied. “It was my fault my sister-in-law was not already there, for she had always intended to be with her sister when the time came. And as for Mr Darcy, he would never have forgiven me had I not sent word.”
Edwards laughed aloud. “I can well believe it, given what happened next! All London is talking of it. When the servant reached Mr Darcy and told him the news, he left the party straightaway, without bidding farewell to his host and without collecting his hat, his coat — or his sister!”
Caroline hid a laugh under her hand, not very successfully.
“It is true, I am afraid. But though Mr Darcy was dreadfully sorry to have forgotten Miss Darcy, it was not of much matter. Colonel Fitzwilliam, her cousin and other guardian, was present, and he returned Miss Darcy to Darcy House — along with Mr Darcy’s coat and hat. ”
The three shared a hearty chuckle at the thought of the proud, stern Mr Darcy so entirely overcome.
Having calmed herself, Caroline turned back to Edwards with a smile. “But you have not yet said the most important part. Mrs Darcy is delivered of a son, a fine little boy, and mother and child are both doing well.”
“How right you are, Miss Bingley,” Edwards agreed. “Indeed, that is the most important part.”