Chapter 5
Sitting Room
The Gardiners’ Home
Gracechurch Street
The trim, tidy maid entered the sitting room, bobbed a curtsey, and said, “A Mr. Bingley has come to call on Miss Bennet.”
Jane, who was bending over some needlework, sat up immediately, her fingers losing their grip on her needle, which fell onto the floor.
Her aunt looked at her niece with concern and said, “Do you wish to see Mr. Bingley, Jane?”
Jane hesitated. She had entirely given up hope that she would see Mr. Bingley again and wondered if she could survive the heartbreak of encountering him if he was only calling to bid her a permanent farewell. On the other hand, she still loved the man, and if there was any prospect at all of a happy conclusion to their fractured courtship, how could she say no?
“Very much,” she said, reaching down to retrieve her needle, which she carefully placed in her sewing basket.
A long minute ground past, and she had to remind herself to breathe, so anxious was her anticipation at seeing once again the gentleman she loved and who had abandoned her.
The door opened, and the maid entered with Charles Bingley, his garments slightly askew, his eyes intent, his expression vaguely piteous.
“Mr. Bingley,” the maid announced and then retreated out of the room.
Bingley gazed at Jane, who gazed back, and then, to her utter astonishment, the visitor fell to his knees before her.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in a trembling tone. “I beg for your forgiveness for my dreadful behavior of the last half year. I loved you last autumn and love you today, but I was convinced by my family that you did not care for me in return. Given the entail on Longbourn, I was afraid you would feel you had to accept an offer of marriage, and I could not bear a marriage of convenience. I was a coward and a fool, and I hereby wish to grovel at your feet.”
He lowered his head a little more, and Jane, while shocked, found herself smiling ecstatically.
“Mr. Bingley,” she said, leaning forward to touch her love’s shoulder.
He lifted his head, and she said, “Please do stand up, sir.”
He did so, and she rose as well, gracefully, elegantly, joyfully.
“You love me?” she demanded when they were face to face.
“With all my heart and soul and mind and strength,” Bingley vowed.
Her eyes glowed with joy, and her smile turned into a veritable beam of delight.
“I love you too, Mr. Bingley,” she said with a hint of shyness.
“You do? Will you ... Oh, Miss Bennet, can you ever forgive me for leaving you in such a way? I know I was stupid, and...”
“I do forgive you,” Jane interrupted.
Tears formed in his eyes, and he reached out his hands to take hers. “In that case, Miss Bennet, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”
“I will,” she choked out, and tears slipped down her face, tears of incredulous jubilation. How could it be that only an hour ago, she had been alone and sad?
He pulled her close, and their lips met, tentatively, and then passionately, though only twenty seconds passed before a feminine voice said, rather sharply, “Mr. Bingley!”
He pulled away with difficulty and turned a contrite countenance on Mrs. Gardiner, who was gazing on the newly engaged couple with a mixture of pleasure and disapproval.
“Jane,” the lady of the house said, turning her face to her niece. “Would you kindly introduce your betrothed to me?”
Jane blushed rosily. “Of course. Aunt, Mr. Charles Bingley. Mr... Charles, my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.”
Bingley bowed deeply and said, “I suppose I ought to apologize for such a display, but I am so happy that I cannot quite manage it. It is wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Gardiner.”
“I am very pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Bingley. Now, do sit down, and I will call for tea, and you can speak more with your fiancée.”
Jane, hearing this, thought she might faint in her euphoria. She was, after all the loneliness and grief and sorrow of the last months, now engaged to Charles Bingley.
***
Hurst House
London
Two Days Later
Louisa let the warmth of the fire and the inanity of her sister's words washed over her as she savored the taste of the buttered crumpet on her tongue. Her sitting room was not the finest in London, but it was comfortable, and she liked it. She took a sip of tea, leaned back in her chair, and made a sound of agreement as Caroline paused for a few seconds to sip her tea. She might as well have saved her breath, for all the notice her strong-willed younger sister took of her.
"He will propose to me any day now, I am certain of it," Caroline declared and took a satisfied bite of cherry tart.
"Doubtless," Louisa murmured. In fact, she doubted it very much, but she had learned the hard way that Caroline did not welcome her dissent – and doubly so when Mr. Darcy and Pemberley were the subjects under discussion.
The door opened with more force than usual, and both women looked up, startled, as their brother strode in, looking entirely displeased.
“Charles!” Miss Bingley exclaimed, rolling to her feet and turning an expectant eye to the empty door behind her brother. “Is Mr. Darcy here as well?”
“He is not,” Bingley replied, shutting the door and marching over to glare into his younger sister’s face. “I do not think he will ever call at Hurst House again, nor will you be invited to Darcy House.”
Louisa cast an alarmed look at her sister, who said, “What on earth are you talking about, Charles? Why would Mr. Darcy…?”
“Because Mr. Darcy is my friend, and after today, I am not certain when I will see you again. He told me, you see, of Miss Bennet’s arrival in Town in January, and her calling upon you, and your decision to cut the acquaintance. I am incredibly angry with you both. Very, very angry.”
Louisa, who had been watching in alarm, drew back a little and said feebly, “Charles, surely…”
“Of course we did!” Caroline said indignantly. “Mr. Darcy agrees with us that Jane Bennet is not worthy of being your bride. We were merely doing what needed to be done.”
At these words, Charles turned such a ferocious look on Caroline that she actually fell backwards onto her chair, her eyes flared with shock.
“Darcy thought that Miss Bennet did not truly care for me,” he said evenly. “He learned recently that he was wrong. Two days ago, I called on Jane at her uncle’s home in Cheapside and asked her to marry me.”
“No!” Caroline and Louisa cried out in unison.
“She accepted me!” Charles continued, raising his voice. “I rode to Longbourn yesterday and asked for her father’s blessing, which he gave me. We will be married next month, and neither of you is invited.”
He turned on his heel and marched away, leaving his sisters pale with horror.
At the door, he stopped, spun dramatically, and said, “Louisa, I will no longer be supporting you and Hurst at all. Caroline, I will be releasing your dowry into your care. I am marrying Jane and will focus on our marriage.”
With that, he stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
***
The Pig in the Poke Pub and Inn
Wickham took another bite of ham and potatoes and chewed appreciatively. The food at the Pig in the Poke truly was fine. His was a good life; an easy, comfortable position in the militia, good company in his fellow officers – none of them as handsome or charming as he – as well as in the comely serving wenches here at the inn. All of them had been openly flattered by his skillful attentions and showed a delightful propensity to return his flirtations.
He took a draught of ale and laughed at the banter between Pratt and Denny. Cheerful fellows, these, and good for shared conversation over a meal and a game of cards or dice after. Sally, the maid, came to refill their tankards, and Wickham winked up at her. She giggled and sashayed away, and he watched her go appreciatively. It was convenient that he was among the officers quartered on the upper floor of the inn itself. Any day now, he would convince one of the servant girls to creep up the servants' stairs after the household was asleep and slip into his room and his bed.
Caught in this pleasant daydream, Wickham took no notice of the main door of the pub opening until the other officers looked behind him.
“It is Colonel Forster,” Captain Denny said, rising to his feet.
Wickham swallowed the rest of his ale, stood up, and turned around with a respectful expression on his face.
He was met with a sharp uppercut to the jaw, which knocked him backwards onto the table.
For a moment, the pain blinded him, but when it had subsided a little, his watering eyes focused on the face of the man standing across from him.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” he ground out, tottering painfully to an erect position. “What was that for?”
“Oh, any number of things, old friend,” the colonel replied with angry eyes and a terrifyingly broad smile. “But we can talk about those issues later. For now, you are under arrest for indebtedness.”
Wickham blinked in astonishment and then turned mutely toward Forster who was, he noticed, looking positively fierce.
“Colonel Forster,” he began feebly, “I do not understand...”
“It is simple enough, Wickham,” Forster replied coldly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived here two hours ago armed with enough debt receipts to keep you in Marshalsea for the rest of your life. As if that were not enough, I have just finished visiting the local merchants in Meryton, and you owe far more than any of the other officers. Given Colonel Fitzwilliam’s description of your antecedents and your history of running up debt, you obviously have no intention of paying off either your old or new debts. Thus, I have no choice but to remand you into the colonel’s custody.”
Wickham turned a horrified look on his old enemy, whose grin grew even more frighteningly feral, and then looked helpless at Denny.
“Captain,” he croaked, “would you be willing to lend me some money?”
Denny, who had been watching with an open mouth, directed an uncertain look at his commanding officer and asked, “May I inquire as to how much would be needed to help Wickham stay out of prison?”
“Two hundred and thirty-five pounds,” Forster said coldly, which caused the other officers to exclaim in wonder.
“And that is only what my cousin Darcy was able to lay his hands on quickly,” Richard Fitzwilliam said helpfully. “Wickham has many more hundreds of pounds of debt receipts in Derbyshire, at Pemberley. But certainly, you are welcome to pay off all of his debts, although I suspect it will be an abundance of years, or never, before Wickham repays you.”
There were more gasps, and then Lieutenant Pratt said, “But Colonel Forster, while our friend might have run up debts, that is hardly his fault given how poorly Darcy treated him! Wickham was the godson of Mr. Darcy’s father and was meant for the church! If…”
“I have seen the document wherein Lieutenant Wickham signed away all rights to the living for the princely sum of three thousand pounds,” Forster interrupted, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Moreover, I recommend, Lieutenant, that you avoid gossiping about Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”
Wickham found himself the recipient of four sets of angry eyes, and said feebly, “I should have been given more, much more. The living…”
He trailed off as Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and grasped him hard by the arm. “Enough, Wickham. We are all tired of your lies and deception. Come along; your prison cell awaits!”