Chapter 23 Returning to Meryton #3
From his vantage point on horseback, Bingley had ample leisure to observe the carriage and, through the window, the soft outline of Jane’s profile.
He corrected himself sternly—he ought to refer to her as Miss Bennet, not Jane, even though his heart refused such formality.
Still, his thoughts about that lady were far from easy.
Since meeting her again in London, uncertainty had plagued him, particularly since she could be both cold and warm, varying greatly between the two.
At the Netherfield ball, he had sensed some change—a reserve, a quiet withdrawal that had made her seem almost a stranger.
At first he had persuaded himself it was his imagination, that her gentleness rendered her less demonstrative than most. Yet in London, he had not been able to shake the notion that she was deliberately holding herself apart, perhaps even nursing resentment towards him.
She remained so composed, so perfectly serene, that her true feelings were impossible to read.
Did she welcome his attentions—or merely endure them out of kindness?
Her smiles were gentle but not always warm; her words polite, yet rarely touched with tenderness.
She was, in every way, the opposite of her younger sister.
No one could doubt that Miss Elizabeth adored Darcy; the light in her eyes when she looked at him spoke volumes.
How Bingley longed for even the smallest hint that Miss Bennet’s heart reflected his own.
Darcy’s reassurances had comforted him for a time, insisting that Miss Bennet’s reserve was born of temperament, not indifference, and that her feelings might be far deeper than she allowed to show.
Yet lately, Darcy had grown unaccountably reticent on the subject—guarded, even—and Bingley’s confidence, once so certain, had begun to waver.
Casting another glance towards the carriage, Bingley caught a fleeting glimpse of her as she bent towards her sisters, speaking to them without animation.
His heart leapt as it always did when he saw her, only for doubt to follow swiftly after.
If only she would look at him with the same unguarded warmth she once had—before her stay at Netherfield, when he had been so certain of her regard.
She had been ill then, and he had seen her less than he wished, yet something in her manner had changed by the time the Bennet sisters departed from his home.
Even at the ball, although she had danced with him and smiled, a reserve had lingered that he could not quite name.
He tried to excuse it. He had been away too long, entangled in Caroline’s latest improprieties and the disagreeable task of arranging to release her dowry to her control.
He had always meant to return, to speak plainly to Miss Bennet, but the business had kept him in town longer than he intended.
When they had met again in London, she had been so distant, so cool, that courage had failed him.
Perhaps she had every reason to think ill of him—or perhaps, and the thought pained him intensely—she had simply ceased to care for him.
Darcy had advised him to be forthright—to speak and settle the matter so there was no longer any miscommunication between them—but Bingley hesitated.
He feared hearing a truth he might not wish to hear.
Still, as he watched the faint movement of her hand lifting the curtain from the window, he felt resolve stirring.
Better to know, even if the answer wounded him, than to live forever uncertain.
He was obliged to remain in Hertfordshire for another month at the least, and he would not wish for either of them to be made uncomfortable by the other’s presence.
If he could learn her mind—if she could look at him once more with warmth—then perhaps he could be at peace.
The afternoon before, he had spoken with Darcy, pacing before the fire in his friend’s study, struggling to put his unease into words. Darcy had listened with his usual calm reserve before offering what counsel he could, being careful not to betray any confidences from his intended.
“Miss Bennet will not make her feelings plain unless you speak to her,” Darcy had said quietly.
“Her manner may be gentle, but that does not make her indifferent. She is a gentleman’s daughter, and her reserve reflects both her nature and her good sense.
I suspect she guards her feelings carefully, unwilling to invite her mother’s interference or public notice.
Not all ladies conduct themselves as your sister does—with such forward, almost proprietorial eagerness, behaviour of which I have long disapproved, as you well know. ”
He paused, considering how much more to reveal.
“Elizabeth and I have spoken of it, and though she cannot say precisely what her sister feels, she believes Miss Bennet to be… uncertain regarding the reason for your attentions and your fickle behaviour in the past. It appears that your own sister implied an engagement between you and my sister, but Elizabeth has since corrected that falsehood. Even so, she fears that Miss Bingley has planted seeds of doubt in Miss Bennet’s mind—doubts which, I am afraid, have taken root. ”
He had paused then, his tone firm but not unkind.
“You must speak to her, Bingley. At the very least, make your intentions clear—whether you mean to offer marriage or not. But do not continue in this state of ambiguity. Such uncertainty serves neither of you and will only cause pain the longer it endures.”
Bingley had tried to take the advice to heart, but doubt continued to cling to him.
What if she had never truly cared for him?
What if her kindness had been nothing more than gratitude for his attention?
Darcy’s assurances had always steadied him before, but lately his friend had grown guarded and less willing to offer advice.
Now, as the horses trotted along the dusty road, Bingley felt the weight of that counsel pressing upon him.
He knew Darcy was right—he always was—but courage was harder won than wisdom.
To bare his heart was to risk its breaking.
Yet to remain silent would be worse still, for it would mean losing her without ever knowing if she might have chosen him.
He was determined to act soon—but not yet. Another day or two, he decided, would make no great difference, particularly if he was to be rejected.
On Sunday, the Netherfield party was expected to dine at Longbourn after the service where the first banns for Miss Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were to be read.
It seemed to him unwise to risk unsettling that happy occasion. If Miss Bennet were to reject him, he would rather not cloud his friend’s day with his own disappointment.
Thus resolved, Bingley realised he had fallen behind the rest of the party, his horse having taken advantage of his distraction to slow its pace.
They were now on the final stage of their journey and would reach Longbourn within the half hour.
Nudging his horse forward, he quickened his pace and drew up beside Darcy.
“I have been wondering,” he began, “whether I ought not to go directly to Netherfield instead of accompanying the rest of you to Longbourn. Mrs Bennet will be quite effusive if I arrive with you, and, at present, I am not certain I have the fortitude for it—particularly when I remain uncertain of Miss Bennet’s sentiments towards me.
Indeed,” he added with a wry smile, “I am not entirely sure there is a relationship to speak of.”
Darcy turned towards him with a faint frown. “You do not intend to pursue her after all?”
“No!” Bingley cried, his vehemence earning a startled glance from the ladies in the carriage.
His cheeks flushed, and he lowered his voice.
“No, that is not it in the least. I mean to follow your advice and speak to Miss Bennet, but not until Monday. We cannot stay long at Longbourn today, and I would spare both Miss Bennet and myself from Mrs Bennet’s enthusiasm—particularly if my attentions are unwelcome.
Perhaps I presume too much, but knowing how her mother tends to behave, I thought it best to avoid unnecessary embarrassment. ”
Darcy nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at his friend’s flustered manner.
“You may do as you wish, of course,” he said after a brief pause, “but I cannot help thinking your caution misplaced. Miss Bennet is already uncertain of your feelings, and if you fail to see her safely home, she may take it as proof that her doubts were justified.” His smile turned wry, even as his tone remained kind.
“For a man so determined to avoid embarrassment, you seem remarkably willing to invite misunderstanding.”
Bingley flushed at the gentle rebuke, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh.
“Then I suppose I had better keep to the original plan,” he admitted.
“With you there, Mrs Bennet will hardly notice me in her excitement, and the younger girls will no doubt be fluttering around the good colonel. Perhaps, in all that distraction, I might find a quiet moment to speak with Miss Bennet—only a hint of my interest, nothing so bold as a declaration.” He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Darcy.
“I would not presume too much… but perhaps she might be encouraged to hope if she wishes to.”
Again, Darcy nodded, and the two men rode in companionable silence for the remainder of the journey to Longbourn.
When they arrived, Bingley’s predictions proved true.
Mrs Bennet was in such raptures over the return of her soon-to-be son that the other gentlemen were almost entirely forgotten.
Lydia and Kitty, meanwhile, were beside themselves with delight at receiving an officer in their home after so long a ban against all men in red coats.
They hovered near Colonel Fitzwilliam, speaking over one another with all the exuberance of youth, scarcely giving him time to answer before asking another question.
Fortunately, he seemed more amused than offended by their forwardness.
Mr Bennet was glad to receive his most sensible daughters home again; still, Elizabeth soon excused herself to rescue her intended from her mother’s inquisitive enthusiasm, leaving Mary to converse with their father.
That left Jane rather alone—precisely what Bingley had hoped for.
His pulse quickened as he surveyed the scene around him.
It was time, at last, to see whether her smile still held any warmth for him.