Chapter 18
“Good day, Mr. Bennet. Are you well?”
Bennet looked up from his desk at Mr. Jones, who had been surreptitiously summoned to Longbourn by one of the stable boys and brought in through the servant’s entrance.
The master of Longbourn moaned softly and gestured toward the seat across from him, “In truth, Mr. Jones, I am feeling rather poorly, but I suppose that is my own fault.”
The apothecary sat down as indicated and quirked a puzzled eyebrow, “Would you care to explain, sir?”
“I have decided that I have been drinking too much.”
Jones managed to keep the surprise off of his face, “Yes?”
“I assume you concur?” Bennet asked drily.
“It is well known that you have been drinking substantially more since you lost your son,” the medical man stated carefully.
The master of Longbourn inclined his head, “Yes, precisely. Ever since Matthew died, I have attempted to keep myself in a haze of at least mild drunkenness. It has been far easier to be inebriated than to feel the pain of loss and guilt and rage and sorrow.”
He stood up and wandered to the window to gaze out of the window, “It was cowardly, of course, and unfair to my wife and daughters, but I could not find it in myself to care.”
“And now you do?”
“Yes, because of the death of Mr. Collins and the breaking of the entail,” he explained, turning to face Jones. “But I find myself in difficulties. While I am energized at the prospect of Longbourn remaining in our immediate family, I find myself longing for wine to the point that I am currently sick and dizzy.”
“Your body has grown used to alcohol, and thus abstaining is uncomfortable.”
“How long will this last?” Bennet demanded irritably.
“I do not know. It depends on your personal physiology and how much you have been drinking.”
“I have been drinking more or less steadily from the moment I get up to when I fall asleep in a drunken stupor. Well, I suppose I am in for an uncomfortable few days unless you have some medicine which would alleviate the symptoms.”
Jones shook his head slowly, “I could prescribe laudanum, Mr. Bennet, but that too is addictive. However, I do not believe it is in your best interests to quit alcohol abruptly.”
Bennet sank down into his seat, his eyes drawn magnetically to the bottle of wine sitting on his desk, “Why not?”
“I think you do not have the personality for such discomfort, Mr. Bennet, as you have never struck me as a particularly determined man. I fear that in the throes of intense and painful withdrawal, you will decide the process is too unpleasant and give up entirely.”
His patient’s lips quirked wryly, “I suppose there is truth enough in that, regrettably. I have always tended to take the smoother and wider path of ease.”
“Yes,” Jones agreed, thankful that his words had not provoked indignation. “You are, however, an intelligent man. Reduce your alcohol intake slowly, perhaps by two glasses a day. Start today by writing down when you drink and how much. Tomorrow, work on waiting between glasses of wine, and reduce your intake. Continue on each day in such a manner. Remember your ultimate goal is to function well physically and emotionally without drink.”
“Very well,” Bennet replied, pressing a slightly shaking hand to his head. “I hoped it would be an easy process, but I suppose I do not deserve a painless experience when I permitted myself to fall into long term drunkenness. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Jones.”
“I would suggest you speak to your man Hill, giving him permission to assist you in this endeavor. It may be that in the latter parts of the day, you will still be sufficiently inebriated to lose track of how much wine you have consumed, and Hill can assist you in staying on track.”
“That is good advice, sir. Hill is a long-term and faithful servant and I trust him implicitly.”
Jones stood up and after a moment of hesitation, spoke again, “Mr. Bennet, I would also suggest speaking with Mr. Allen. You may find spiritual counsel of assistance during this process.”
Bennet tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment and nodded, “Thank you. That is an excellent idea.”
/
“Lizzy?”
“Yes, Jane?” Elizabeth inquired, looking thoughtfully through her garments. They would be shifting from full to half mourning in the next few days and while she had only recently put off her lavender and gray after the death of Matthew, she needed to be certain that at least one half mourning dress was well pressed and tidy. The Lucases had invited the Bennets to a party and all but Lydia and Mr. Bennet planned to attend.
“I am not certain that I ought to inherit Longbourn.”
Elizabeth turned in bewilderment, “Of what are you speaking? Of course you must inherit!”
“Why?”
“You are the eldest and five times more beautiful than the rest of us. With Longbourn as your dowry, you are very eligible. You will make an excellent match, which will be a help to all of us.”
“But you are the one who truly understands how to administer an estate. You ought to inherit Longbourn.”
“Jane, my darling sister, no! You have such a kindly disposition and will be a wonderful wife and mother. You deserve all good things. I will not repine if I never marry, but I believe you would be most unhappy. Besides, I know you will support us when Father passes away.”
“Of course I will, Lizzy, but I still think Father should choose you as his heiress.”
“Father will do what he likes, I suppose,” Elizabeth pointed out soothingly. “Now, what do you plan to wear to the party at the Lucases?”
/
“Charles?”
“Yes, Caroline?”
“May I speak to you?”
Bingley suppressed a groan of frustration. It was already 11 o’ clock in the morning, and he had woken up late, eaten a hasty breakfast, and then settled down in his office for a long discussion with his steward. Of course, such interactions were important. He was now master of an estate, and it was vital that he attend to the welfare of the land and the tenants. Darcy said so, and of course Darcy was right.
But he did not want to work today. He wanted to curl up next to the fire in his sitting room and dream about the lovely and gracious Miss Bennet. The full mourning period for Mr. Collins was nearly completed, and he knew the Bennets were planning to attend a dance party at Lucas Lodge in a few short days. He would be there as well and could hardly wait.
“Come into my office,” he suggested to his sister, who was wearing a rather odd expression on her face.
They walked in together, and Bingley sank into the chair he had so recently vacated, whereas Caroline sat in a much more comfortable chair near the now faltering fire.
“I can have a servant build up the fire,” he offered.
“It is not necessary,” she replied in a strangely blank tone. “I have a question for you, and I wish for a truthful answer.”
Immediately all of his instincts for self-preservation rose to the fore, and he poured himself a hasty cup of brandy. When Caroline started asking questions, it was best to be well prepared for verbal fireworks.
“Yes?” he asked cautiously, taking a sip.
“Do you think there is any chance that Mr. Darcy will make me an offer?”
He stared at her in bewilderment, and then stared down into his cup. Did he really dare tell her the truth? She would not like it.
“No, he will not,” he finally declared, throwing caution to the winds.
“Why not?”
Her voice was controlled, but there was a tautness in her expression, like a feral kitten ready to spit and claw at some offending dog.
Bingley fortified himself with another drink before answering carefully, “Caroline, you are a wonderful woman; accomplished, beautiful, and wealthy. But Darcy can have his pick of women like you, and many of those women are also far better connected than we Bingleys. Darcy also enjoys the country more than Town, and I do not believe you and he would be a good match in that regard, as you enjoy society so much. You would find Pemberley dreary year round, and I expect Darcy will spend literally years on end at Pemberley once he is ... well, married and a father to children.”
That was, perhaps, a slight exaggeration, but perhaps it would mitigate the pain of his words.
To his surprise and uneasiness, Caroline merely turned back to the fire and stared into it for a long minute. He heard soft snuffling and realized, with horror, that she was crying. Crying! How long had it been since Caroline cried? The last time he remembered truly genuine sorrow was when her favorite dog had died when she was seven years old …
“I am sorry, Caroline,” he said, rising to his feet and approaching to clumsily pat her on the arm. “I am sorry.”
She wiped her face and turned to him, her face wet but her eyes suddenly blazing, “Why did you not tell me long ago, Charles? Why did you allow me to waste so much of my life pursuing a man who has no interest in me?”
Bingley compressed his lips tightly, “I did not think you would believe me.”
Caroline’s face twisted in anger and distress, “I suppose that is true. It was my own ambition that so blinded me to what was obvious enough. As Louisa said only last night, if Darcy wished to marry me, he would have done so in the past.”
“Louisa?”’ Bingley asked in astonishment. Louisa never confronted their sister.
“Yes, and she thinks you should marry Miss Jane Bennet,” Caroline commented, rising to her feet. “And while I think you could do better, I find I do not care much. Perhaps she is right. I will leave in the morning.”
“Leave?” he repeated in confusion.
“Yes, leave, for London,” his sister explained patiently, as if he was a small child. “I have wasted far too much time in this pathetic backwater. I must return to London for the rest of the season so that I can find a husband.”
“Er, Caroline, you cannot live alone …”
“I will hire a companion,” she replied indifferently. “I will need access to more of my dowry; arrange for that if you will, Charles. I will spend the rest of my day writing letters to various acquaintances so that I can begin garnering invitations to balls and assemblies.”
“I need a hostess here at Netherfield ...”
“Louisa can do that,” his younger sister declared, rising to her feet, wiping her face with a handkerchief and sailing out of the office.
Bingley was left staring at her retreating back. On the one hand, was it not so like Caroline to display complete indifference to his need for a hostess? On the other hand, he quite relished the thought of his termagant of a sister departing for the city. He would do nothing to stop her. In fact, he would write that letter to his man of business immediately.