Chapter Fourteen
I t did not take Charles Bingley long, upon entering the card room, to locate Miss Bennet. It felt as though his whole being momentarily lurched and then stilled. She did not notice him, for she had her eyes on her cards, and he halted where he stood in the doorway to drink in the sight of her .
She looked every bit as angelic as she had when he saw her last and he had been holding her hand in the dance. It had, he realised, with a brief flash of insight, been a period of interminable misery for him since he had left Netherfield.
Why had he remained in London? Caroline had ordered him here and there as an escort, suggesting numerous young ladies that he ought to dance with, but not one of them had made him feel the way Jane Bennet did when she was near, or when shyly smiling at something he had said to make her laugh. He tried to remember what his sisters and Darcy had said to him the morning after the ball, when he had been so peacefully happy in his intentions to call upon Mr. Bennet at Netherfield. They had not seen any particular expression of regard for him in her demeanour, apparently, and he certainly did not want to make so sweet a young lady miserable unintentionally. Darcy had seemed to think she might accept him to please her family — that had been the clincher of the whole interview, the argument that made him pause. He might be head over heels in love with her, but would his regard for her be a burdensome horror if he declared himself ?
It was true, he had thought, that the very idea of such a woman becoming his wife was a unlikely one. He had little to recommend himself — in his own eyes, he had nothing really that would appeal to Jane Bennet. She was not the sort to marry a man for riches or for connections. Such an angel deserved the very best of men, one with acumen as well as the physique to complement her beauty. He was well enough, he had thought, but certainly not anywhere near her equivalent. No — he, Charles Bingley, might adore her, but entrap her into a life with him he could not .
All these rational and reasonable arguments abruptly disappeared when he laid eyes on her bent head. She wore white that evening and he was sure she had never looked lovelier — a ringlet rested elegantly on her shoulder, and Bingley, for a mad moment, wished he might rush over to lift it to his lips in tribute .
A shout went up as Miss Bennet said something softly, almost apologetically, and the other players at the table laid down their cards. There were onlookers who clapped or smiled their approval, and one fellow called out, “Miss Bennet triumphs yet again! A pair of queens! Do sit down for another game, Miss Bennet — perhaps one of us will end your winning streak. You cannot deny us the opportunity.”
Bingley's feet carried him closer to the table. He wanted to hear her voice, and was rewarded .
“Perhaps one more, Mr. Fitzroy — but I have promised a dance to Lord Cranshaw later on and I should not wish to keep him waiting.”
“Cranshaw's a lucky dog,” said a man softly, a little way behind Bingley, who turned to see who had spoken. A young gentleman he did not know had addressed his companion, who looked similar enough to be his sister or close relation .
She replied, “Miss Elizabeth says they knew each other years ago, before he succeeded his father.”
“Bad business that, well — I'm glad for Cranshaw, capital fellow, and he deserves her if he can touch her heart, not that I can tell if she likes him or not.”
“Mama says a true lady ought not wear her heart on her sleeve — she even said Miss Bennet was an excellent example of refined restraint.” The young lady did not appear to resent her mother's praise of another young lady .
Her brother was sympathetic. “Scolding you over your dance with Sutton, was she, Hetty?”
“Hush, Paul; Mr. Sutton is coming over and will hear you. I am not so great a fool as you think me — it is only that I enjoyed myself tremendously. If Miss Bennet were not so good natured I am sure I would be green with envy, but I do not believe she ever had a bad thought about anyone in her life. She is a wonder with cards. ”
Mr. Sutton approached the table and sat down in one of the empty chairs, one that afforded a good view of Miss Bennet's face .
“Your sister, Miss Bennet, has laid a challenge at my feet. I must play cards against you and if I am to bring any delight to her, I suspect my task is to lose to you very badly. Might I beg the opportunity?”
Jane smiled. “Elizabeth takes great pleasure in teasing, Mr. Sutton. I am happy to play against you, sir, but do not, I beg you, feel as though my sister will think less of you if you win. What would you like to play, sir?”
“I could not possibly make that decision, Miss Bennet,” said he gallantly. “It must be the choice of the lady.”
Miss Bennet hesitated and then said, “I have not played vingt-et-un for a few days. Should you care for that?”
He bowed from his seat and offered her the deck that he had, with expert fingers, been making up from the previous hands .
Jane shook her head and spoke gently. “I am sure, sir, that you will shuffle the deck with far greater skill than I. I like to play the game but alas, I have a clumsy way with shuffling — you would think me a mere novice.”
Mr. Sutton's answering laugh sounded genuine to Bingley's ears, and it made him swallow convulsively. He saw another gentleman come near as though to sit down and, acting upon impulse, hastily hurried across to sit down at Miss Bennet's left .
She turned politely to greet the newcomer to the game and the colour drained from her face. For a long moment it seemed that she was unable to speak a word. Bingley could only stare at her — any thought of a polite greeting had fled when their eyes met .
It was in that moment he realised how wrong he had been. How wrong they had all been. There was a world of feeling in Jane Bennet's eyes. Her breathing had become laboured, her fingers convulsed, and if he was not very much mistaken, in another moment she might very well shed a tear .
Mr. Sutton shuffled the cards, seemingly unheeding, and welcomed another three players to the table. Vaguely Bingley heard him remark that they had made up to six and could therefore begin. The others at the table spoke briefly while Charles Bingley's heart threatened to make itself heard above the din of the card room .
“Miss Bennet,” he stammered, “how…how delightful it is to see you once more.”
He saw her strain to collect herself and wished he might somehow help her find her composure. She did so hate to feel she had made herself noticeable in some way. Jane Bennet had told him that, he recalled, one evening at Netherfield. It had been a clue that he had missed, when she softly said that she dreaded the judgement of others above all things. Softly. Everything she said had been soft.
She managed to nod and form the semblance of a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Bingley.” Her voice sounded a little hoarse and she paused to clear her throat, her hands now clenched in her lap as though to force them to stop trembling. “I had not…had not expected to see you so suddenly, sir.”
Mr. Sutton dealt the cards and Bingley pulled his share a little closer to him with little thought. He addressed Jane once more. “I should very much like an opportunity to speak with you, Miss Bennet, and…and to explain why it is I have…” he broke off, and then spoke in a rush, “I did not know you were in town, Miss Bennet, or I should have called upon you straight away .”
A frown of confusion crossed her face and Miss Bennet looked away in order to arrange the cards before her. Bingley saw it as her way of distracting herself from the shock of seeing him again so suddenly. The shame of having left her threatened to engulf him.
“It is your turn, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Sutton smiled, his eyes watchful .
Jane waved her hand over her cards and he crisply dealt her another card. She glanced at it.
“I will keep them. Forgive my distraction, Mr. Sutton — had we agreed on the stakes?”
The smile did not leave the dealer's face as he casually responded, “Indeed, I beg your pardon; you must not have heard, Miss Bennet. We agreed that two hundred ought to be the stake — I trust that suits? Your reputation, Miss Bennet, meant that we all felt the game should be much more exciting if we did not set a maximum.”
It was Bingley's turn to frown, interpreting the slowness of Miss Bennet's nod as shock. Two hundred pounds to the Longbourn estate was a significant loss if the game did not go Miss Bennet's way. She looked down at her cards once more. He saw her shoulders straighten and her gaze, where it had been tinged with shock, now cleared and became intent .
Miss Bennet quietly addressed the other players. “Had I been paying better attention I should not have agreed, but that is my error. Let us continue, although I should like it known that it is my principle never to play where I cannot pay. If I lose, Mr. Sutton, it is likely I will leave the table after a round.”
Mr. Sutton nodded and dealt another card to Mr. Bingley at his request. “Do you keep to the same rule, sir? Mr. Bingley, is it not? You must by all means bow out with Miss Bennet if the terms of our little game are beyond you.”
There was little else to be done than for Mr. Bingley to answer pleasantly that he hoped he should still be solvent by the time the evening was done .
Mr. Sutton smiled again, this time with a glimmer of anticipation .
“Mr. Bingley,” said Jane Bennet, “I hope we will be able to speak properly later on. I…I do not know if you have seen that my sister Elizabeth is here. I am sure she will want to see you, sir. She always likes to renew an acquaintance and…but for now, I had better turn my attention to the game.”
Charles Bingley was not an accomplished card player at the best of times. He was easily distracted and played for the enjoyment of the company rather than for any great satisfaction in the entertainment. He often lost, but engaged in cards infrequently enough that it made little difference to his expenditure. When he lost the first round to Miss Bennet, he laughed lightly and felt only pleasure that she should have been the victor. She turned to him when it was her turn to deal and asked him if he would not leave the table to find her sister .
“Miss Bennet,” he replied earnestly, “I have no greater desire at present than to sit beside you here — if you will permit it.” Miss Bennet looked as though she might reply, but was forestalled.
“There's a good fellow, Bingley,” said the man to Sutton's right. “Daresay that was just the ill luck of an opening round. If we continue to play you will likely take the next round. Good of you to not be discouraged, sir. ”
This gentleman, who went by the soubriquet of Apollo Raikes, was known to be as rich as a Nabob — he was a devotee of Faro ordinarily. It was fortunate that he could afford to indulge his interest often .
When Mr. Sutton won the next round, Raikes laughed and declared it great sport. “And not a slow-top amongst us. Look about, Miss Bennet — we are gathering quite an audience.”
Jane Bennet narrowly won the round after that, with the man on the other side of her declaring he had needed only another court card to have prevailed. She smiled politely at that before turning once again to the gentleman beside her .
“Mr. Bingley, I am sure that Lizzy would be so distressed to have missed seeing you again, sir, and my aunt is here also — I think she may have been watching the dancing. You must not think you must stay, sir.”
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley, feeling Mr. Sutton's mocking eyes upon him and brushing off the knowledge that he had lost three rounds already, “I am enjoying sitting here enormously. Do not send me away, I beg you.”
Jane nodded and once more turned her attention to the table. She watched with great concentration as each card was turned, and when the play came to her, quietly requested another card until she was satisfied .
Nine rounds passed and by the time the players commenced the tenth, a hushed crowd had formed. Whispers had reached parts of the ballroom that the play in the card room had become deeply, deeply interesting .
“It is between Miss Bennet and Sutton, the others have lost nearly every round between them — two thousand down for each of them by my reckoning.”
“Nay, more; Sutton took a double in a vingt-un d'emblée in that sixth round. Thought Miss Bennet might look as though she were in a muddle then, but she has taken the last three mighty coolly. She'll have a fortune, mark my words.”
“It is outrageous,” said Mrs. Lambeth sourly, leaning over with her eyeglasses to see better, “but mark my words, everyone will be speaking of it for weeks to come. Weeks .”
“Bingley will be rolled up if he don't decide to throw in his hand. His sister will ring a peal over his head. I do not envy the man that.”
Mr. Sutton, like Miss Bennet, was intent upon the game. In an otherwise dull evening, he was having some of the excitement that he craved. Ordinarily speaking, he preferred to gamble amongst his own kind in a club — certainly not with a young woman who looked the very picture of innocence and beauty. It was an added amusement that the young man beside her resisted her every encouragement to quit. Sutton had not missed their interplay and if he was not very much mistaken, Miss Bennet remained in the game solely to protect Mr. Charles Bingley, who made his choices as a man wildly guessing the direction in which he should go. There was opportunity here to add further interest .
The other players bowed out. Even Raikes muttered that if he did not cease and find himself a drink he would find himself in the River Tick. Charles Bingley did not seem to register the amount the others wrote on vowels before handing them to Miss Bennet. He remained where he was — at Miss Bennet's side.
“I wonder, Miss Bennet,” said Sutton, “if you might like to make this last round a little more enjoyable. You have played masterfully, madam, and I salute you, I really do. What say you, Miss Bennet, and Mr. Bingley, to a new wager? The stakes are the sum of total winnings thus far and if you win this round, I shall bow out with as much grace as every other conquest of yours. I think that I must win this round, however — it is about my turn, judging by the fall of the cards so far.”
Miss Bennet stilled and looked at the vowels in her hand. Arithmetic did not appear to pose a difficulty for her. She quickly came to the sum and said, “There are ten thousand pounds here, Mr. Sutton! ”
Feeling as though the cards must turn in his favour eventually, and seeing Mr. Sutton's contemptuous gaze upon him and Miss Bennet, Bingley assented with very little thought. He could think of little else but that he was once again beside the woman he loved.
“I am content with that, and I declare that the very next cards I turn will almost certainly be a ten and an ace. I have not had an ace this entire game, after all.”
Jane Bennet appeared to be calculating something. Before Mr. Bingley had spoken, most people in the room were laying wagers between them that she would surely shake her lovely head. Whispers intensified and the atmosphere in the room was heavy with excitement.
A fortune had been won and a fortune could very well be lost.