Chapter 26 Harsh Realisations #2
Bingley paused again, evidently deciding honesty was his safest course.
“In her jealousy, Caroline conceived of a scheme intended to compromise Darcy and force his hand. It was a foolish notion—for he would sooner have left her to ruin than offer for her—but she nonetheless attempted it. She contrived to ‘fall’ into his lap while in the library at Netherfield, and did so in my full view. I would not have compelled him to marry her, of course, but seeing how far she was willing to go to obtain her desires, I realised it was necessary to separate them. As I needed Darcy to remain to instruct me in the management of the estate, I sent her to my family in Scarborough.”
“And what,” Mr Bennet asked, his tone still mild though his brow arched, “have you done to prevent your sister from deliberately ruining my daughters while in town? Even from Scarborough she might write to her friends in London—speaking ill of Lizzy or of Jane in hopes of discouraging Mr Darcy or yourself from fulfilling your intentions, particularly if she learns of your friend’s engagement to my Lizzy. ”
Bingley blanched, then swallowed hard. “I confess I had not considered preventing her from writing letters,” he admitted.
“She is with my aunt and uncle, and although I apprised them of the situation, it never occurred to me to restrict her correspondence. We heard no gossip while we were in town last week, and I am sure Darcy’s aunt, the countess, would have told us if she had. ”
“I wonder what she has written to Jane,” Mr Bennet mused.
Bingley blinked in confusion. “She has written to Miss Bennet?”
“I thought I heard it mentioned,” Mr Bennet said with a shrug.
“I am almost certain Jane has received several letters of late from the same person, one I did not recognise, but I cannot recall seeing her send any replies. Not that I generally monitor my daughters’ correspondence—unless I am given a reason to do so. ”
“I must ask Miss Bennet,” Bingley said, half-rising from his chair, “and learn what, if anything, my sister has said. That could explain why she has seemed less warm towards me since the ball—and why she looked so surprised when I asked to call upon her.” He sat back down as if waiting for permission to depart.
Mr Bennet merely inclined his head towards his companion, watching him carefully as he concealed his satisfaction behind the rim of his glass.
It seemed the young man possessed some sense after all; he merely required a firm push to employ it.
Idly, he wondered whether Jane and Bingley were indeed well matched; their temperaments appeared so alike that neither might ever urge the other to act.
Still, he had seen the man show flickers of courage before and hoped that with time, he might mature into a man who would be worthy of his eldest daughter.
“I suggest you do so,” Mr Bennet said after a moment, watching as Bingley debated whether to stay or bolt from the room. Darcy, he reflected, would have already gone—without so much as a by your leave—had he thought Elizabeth in distress, but Bingley was not made of such decisive stuff.
“I give you permission to call,” he added, waiting until the young man was nearly at the door.
“But nothing more at present. I would have you remain at Netherfield for several months while you learn to manage the estate, calling on Jane perhaps two or three times a week. While Mr Darcy stays with you, I expect you may call somewhat more often, but after the wedding, fewer visits will be proper. When you believe yourself ready to pursue a deeper attachment, you may speak with me again—and I insist it be before you speak to Jane. I know she has reached her majority and does not require my consent, but I cannot imagine she would wish you to act without my blessing.”
Bingley, who had turned back at Mr Bennet’s first words, met the older gentleman’s steady gaze and nodded. Then, with a look of dawning resolution, he left the room to seek out Jane.
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said as he entered the room and took the seat beside her.
He had meant to sound calm but heard instead the strain in his voice.
Too late, he realised that every movement he made was being quietly observed by those sitting in the room.
A brief pause in conversation, a curious glance from one sister, and the barely concealed smile from Mrs Bennet told him that his unease had not gone unnoticed.
“Might we all go for a walk?” Miss Elizabeth suggested, her voice carrying just enough to still her mother’s rising exclamation.
Whatever Mrs Bennet had meant to say was lost to a pursed-lipped silence, and Bingley had the distinct impression that Miss Elizabeth’s proposal was as much for his benefit as for Miss Bennet’s.
At once, four of the five Bennet sisters rose to fetch their things.
Miss Mary alone remained seated, giving Miss Elizabeth a glance Bingley could not interpret before declaring that she would stay behind to keep their mother company.
He hoped she might succeed in restraining Mrs Bennet’s enthusiasm, even though he doubted anyone truly could.
Given the way he had entered the room, Mrs Bennet was likely already composing wedding toasts in her mind.
She would have to be disappointed, however—for what he needed to say was not what she would wish to hear.
Moreover, he had clearly heard the unconcealed message from Mr Bennet that he was not precisely approved as a suitor for the man’s eldest daughter at present.
The gentlemen soon joined the ladies in the garden, each with his hat and coat that had been made ready nearly as soon as they entered the passage by the ever efficient housekeeper.
As he had done frequently in recent days, Colonel Fitzwilliam offered his arm to the two youngest Miss Bennets and launched into one of his familiar accounts of military life.
From where he stood beside Miss Bennet, Bingley caught fragments of the tale—something about the hardships endured by soldiers and, with particular relish, their long-suffering wives.
The colonel, Bingley noted with faint amusement, never failed to add that the regular army was far better paid than the militia.
He wondered if Darcy or Miss Elizabeth had said something to the colonel to encourage these tales, or if the colonel picked up on his own that the young girls needed a lesson on how unwise it would be to connect themselves to an officer.
Taking a steadying breath, Bingley offered Miss Bennet his arm, which trembled slightly as she placed her hand upon it, her touch as light as a feather.
He was acutely aware of Darcy and Miss Elizabeth lingering nearby—close enough to observe, yet not near enough to overhear—and found himself absurdly grateful for their discretion.
Heaven knew he could not have endured witnesses to the conversation he was about to attempt.
“Your father has given permission for me to call on you,” he began after a few uneasy moments, “but he also mentioned something else I thought I ought to ask about.”
“Yes, Mr Bingley?” Miss Bennet’s voice was gentle, but she glanced up at him only briefly before her gaze fell again to the path.
Bingley swallowed. “He said you have been receiving letters from my sister. I wondered—well, that is, I feared—she might have caused you to be… uncertain of my intentions.” The words came faster as he spoke.
“I know I was away longer than I intended and that Darcy returned without me, and when we met again in London you seemed—different. Not exactly unhappy, but not quite so pleased to see me as you once were. I thought perhaps I had done something to offend.”
He paused, waiting to see if she would speak, but when she did not, he continued on.
“In truth, I felt something change even before that—soon after my sister left Netherfield, when you were still recovering from your illness. I began to wonder if I had imagined your kindness, if I had read more into your manner than was truly there. Darcy—dash it all, even he was no help!—refused to advise me, and I have been entirely at a loss ever since.”
He stopped abruptly, realising he had spoken far too quickly—and at far too great a length.
Miss Bennet’s cheeks were delicately flushed, her gaze fixed on the gravel before them, and he had the dreadful sense that he had somehow made matters worse by speaking at all.
His stomach sank. He had wanted to reassure her, and instead he had likely confirmed every foolish notion she held about his uncertainty.
“One afternoon at Netherfield,” Miss Bennet began, her voice scarcely above a whisper, “your sister came into my room while Lizzy was out. She woke me from my sleep, and after apologising for intruding, she began to speak of you. Amongst other things, she told me of your many flirtations in town—how you flitted from lady to lady, paying them attention for no more than a week before seeking another.”
Bingley felt the colour drain from his face.
Flirtations? He did not think his behaviour had warranted the accusation, yet hearing it said aloud filled him with shame all the same.
He had not been constant to any lady, but only because none had appealed to him for very long and none as Miss Bennet had.
“She implied that they all resembled me,” Miss Bennet continued, her tone still quiet but steadying, “and hinted, rather bluntly, that I had kept your notice only because there was no one better available. Then she warned me it would come to nothing since you were practically promised to Miss Darcy—waiting only, she said, for her to come out before offering for her.”
A strangled sound escaped him before he could stop it. “Promised—? To Miss Darcy—?” he began, but she raised her eyes, and something in the wounded softness of her expression silenced him.