Prologue
Charles Bingley felt considerably freer on the first of September than he had at any time the previous month. As a matter of fact, he felt more truly free than he had been since his father died months and months ago.
His somewhat troublesome elder sister had married a good man—and Bingley had not even had to move a muscle to broker the match.
His more troublesome younger sister had not married, and surely would never marry, because—according to his intelligent friends and several doctors—she was unstable, not fit for society…
he hated to admit it, but they claimed she was mad.
Of course, Caroline’s mad behaviour had spoiled his life for almost an entire fortnight.
But now that things were arranged for Caroline’s care—far enough from him that he had an excellent excuse to only infrequently visit her—now he could concentrate on winning the hand of the beautiful Miss Jane Bennet.
Sitting back in his comfortable carriage, Bingley closed his eyes and pictured the statuesque lady he so greatly esteemed.
Her figure was elegant and her movements graceful; her hair was smooth and golden; her eyes were crystal blue and guileless; her smile was easy to elicit yet tremulous; best of all, her skin was silky and creamy and warm, and it had a delicious tendency to become even warmer as it took on a rosy glow almost every time he spoke to her.
Thinking of his angel, Bingley fell asleep.
He woke up to the sensation of the carriage experiencing a sharp vertical jolt.
Then he felt a distinct swaying from side-to-side.
Within moments, the movement of the carriage became smoother again, and a footman called an apology to his master, explaining that the wheel had hit a deep rut in the road.
But Bingley was not thinking about the road or wheels or ruts; he was contemplating the dream that had been interrupted when he had been jolted awake. In his dream, he was not kissing Jane. Instead, he was in a full-body clench with her beautiful and passionate sister.
With Darcy’s Elizabeth!
Of course, Elizabeth was a beautiful lady, too—not his usual “angel” sort of beauty, but still very lovely. In the past, Bingley had always preferred ethereal blonde ladies, but Elizabeth’s vivacity and her more rounded, yet still slim, figure made her even more attractive than Jane.
All of that said, Bingley was still stunned to be having that sort of dream about Miss Elizabeth!
After all Darcy had done for him, and for so many years, such a dream was quite the betrayal.
Bingley knew that he was approximately a million levels below Darcy in status, and yet Darcy had befriended him years ago.
Still a youth himself, Darcy had stood with him against the bullies at Eton.
More recently, Darcy had been there for him when his father had died.
He had helped him learn about estate management.
He had been extremely supportive when it came to all the drama Caroline had wrought.
Bingley closed his eyes again, deliberately picturing Jane once more. The rhythmic sound of wheels turning and the steady sounds of hoofbeats, and especially the gentle sway of the carriage, lulled him to sleep once more.
The carriage made a wide turn, and Bingley woke up suddenly as his legs swung into contact with his huge basket of food.
Looking out one of the carriage windows, Bingley realised that the carriage had turned off the main road, which meant that he was nearing Meryton.
He eagerly sat up and got out the paper packet of lamb shoulders and the bottle of ginger beer.
But all of his happiness that he would soon reach Netherfield Park, all of his hunger for the delicacies and the sweets still remaining in the basket—none of that could block out the images of the dream from which he had just woken.
In the dream, Jane sat on one side of him, her eyes downcast and her smile demure.
On the other side of him, Elizabeth sat.
When he looked her way, she dazzled him with a smile as she looked him straight in the eyes.
Her bold glance called to him. But the dream Bingley manfully turned away from Elizabeth, back towards Jane, and he asked her, “How are you feeling, Miss Bennet?” Dream Jane murmured, “I feel well, I thank you, sir.”
And then…and then dream Elizabeth chuckled and spoke up, and of course he was forced to turn back to her as she said, “If you were to ask me how I feel, I would answer that I feel with the sensory nerves in my hands…and the sensory nerves in many other places as well.”
And then dream Elizabeth transformed into dream Lizzy, whose chest rose and fell in quick, ragged breaths and whose hands reached out to him, touching him in the most arousing way a woman could touch a man.
Bingley shook his head, as if he could shake the memories of his dreams out by way of his ears.
But a part of him rose up, not with the illogic of dreams—because the real Elizabeth Bennet would definitely never act the way his dream version behaved—but with actual logical comparisons.
Elizabeth Bennet was willing to sing and play the pianoforte, and Jane Bennet was not.
He had seen Elizabeth Bennet kiss Darcy two times, when they apparently thought nobody was looking, and Jane Bennet had shuddered away from even his attempts to remove her glove or to kiss her wrist just above it.
The truth was, he found the physical body of Jane Bennet entirely pleasing, completely enthralling—but her reticent personality and her unwillingness to partake of even the tiniest “liberty” left him cold. He could not, he finally acknowledged to himself, pursue Jane.
Damn.
Of course, he could not pursue Elizabeth, either. She was taken. Darcy had swooped her up months ago, in London, and of course no man of his acquaintance could compete with Darcy.
The carriage rolled on towards Netherfield, but even as Bingley approached his leased estate, he contemplated leaving it.
He would not go back to London—the city practically closed down every summer, its hot stickiness sending folks scurrying to the countryside, to fresher air and to opportunities for shooting and, eventually, fox hunting.
He had been invited to several house parties… .
Or— Suddenly Bingley realised he could remain at Netherfield, after all, and invite people to his own house party! Caroline would of course not be his hostess, but Louisa was much better behaved, he thought, now that she was married.
Yes! He could send out invitations, and he could work especially hard to ensure that some of the people who came were young ladies.
Bingley felt another surge of gratitude towards Darcy. His friend had been somewhat tiresome in his repeated advice to not raise Jane’s expectations, to not use the word courtship, and to not propose unless and until he was certain of his own feelings, and Jane’s as well.
Darcy, being Darcy, had been right, and Bingley was so glad that he had listened to and followed that advice.
Having done so, even reluctantly, he would not have to fight his way free from an attachment.
He had only to find new ways to enjoy Netherfield, plus of course a new angel that could supplant the Bennet sisters in his dreams and, hopefully, in his waking arms.