Chapter 7 #2
“I do not disapprove of Miss Abernathy. Indeed I do not know her. But…there have been…events set in motion, initiated by you, even if you have not chosen to think of them.”
Bingley’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean? Pray do not speak in four syllable words, Darcy. I have had too many tankards already to parse you out.”
“Let us go back to your rooms,” Darcy suggested in a manner that sounded more like an order. “I fear we need to have a very unhappy conversation.”
It was but minutes to go between their club and the rooms Bingley kept at the Albany and yet it felt like an eternity.
The men were silent, Bingley having evidently comprehended that Darcy was in an uncommonly ill humour.
Little did Bingley know that not only was Darcy not pleased, but that he felt the burgeoning cold fury of a man who has believed better of someone for a very long time and suspected he was about to receive the proof that he was wrong to do so.
He had long believed Bingley to be very different from his sisters; perhaps he was not, but merely hid it better.
“Shall I have my man bring us tea?” Bingley asked uncertainly once they had entered his dwelling.
“Certainly.”
Then came more waiting while the tea was procured and poured and the two men settled into the chairs by Bingley’s unlit fireplace. Darcy took a long drink of what was very excellent tea while Bingley just dragged a spoon absently round his own cup.
“In Kent,” Darcy began, “I was fortunate to spend several weeks in the company of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“I trust you found her well?”
“In fact, she was considerably less happy than I had previously known her to be.” He looked steadily at Bingley. “It seems there was a great deal more to the story of you and her sister than I was aware of.”
Bingley’s gaze did not waver. He had always been excessively artless and open, but for the first time, he appeared as a man with something to hide. “I am not sure what you mean.”
“I am speaking of what happened at your ball last November.”
“Dancing, drinking, cards…it was the usual sort of affair. I thought it went off rather well.”
“It did, but not for everyone.”
Bingley shook his head. “I am afraid I do not follow you.”
“Jane Bennet is with child,” said Darcy bluntly.
Bingley again began to stir his tea. “Has she married, then?”
“Bingley!”
“What do you charge me with?” Bingley demanded, a flush of ire suddenly on his complexion. “Because that is a very serious accusation and even for you I shall not countenance—”
“I did not come here to make accusations. I came to give you the opportunity to do what honour requires.”
“It is true that I once fancied myself in love with Miss Bennet, but to suggest that I have had any sort of…that there has been anything between us of the nature you are implying…”
Darcy stared at him unrelentingly, uttering not a syllable. Bingley returned a faintly indignant but equally unmoving gaze. The silence stretched between them and provoked truth in a way that argument likely could not have.
“A few kisses,” Bingley said finally. “I will grant you that. Some kisses and perhaps—”
“I am not asking for an accounting of the details,” Darcy said coldly. “What happened that night is clear; as I said before, I am only here to present to you the opportunity to do what is right.”
“I did nothing wrong,” Bingley insisted. “Nothing that you yourself would not have done.”
Darcy sat back in his chair, staring at his friend. Bingley was lying, and he knew it. Either that or he was so drunk that night that he had forgotten what he had done.
“You did not whisper promises of fidelity to her? Suggest that you should be married by Christmas?”
“No,” Bingley said his eyes wide and guileless. “Not at all.”
“Did not take her to your bedchamber?”
Bingley laughed in a forced way. “Of course not.” He then leant forwards. “It is just as you warned me! She is trying to entrap me! I could not have imagined it of her—it must be to her mother’s credit.”
For several long moments, Darcy could only stare at his friend. “I hardly know what to say,” he murmured, more to himself than to Bingley.
“What you should say, what you ought to say, is to apologise for such an accusation! You march me over here like the headmaster about to take me to task and all under a grievous misapprehension!”
To this bit of nonsense, Darcy did not respond.
His mind had begun to race. Someone was lying or else grievously mistaken.
Not Elizabeth; Elizabeth’s word he did not doubt.
If she believed her sister was with child, then it was because she had been told thus.
Would Miss Bennet concoct such a story? Thus risking her own ruination?
No, he decided, she would not. It would be utterly absurd to take such a risk.
His eyes turned back to Bingley. Bingley was the one who stood to gain the most from making these accusations into falsehoods. It had to be Bingley who was not admitting to the truth.
“Are you certain that things did not happen…that perhaps you do not recollect? The lady is with child, Bingley. I doubt she would contrive such a tale, not with her own good name, and that of her family, in jeopardy.”
Bingley threw up his hands. “I do not know what to tell you, Darcy, but I will decidedly say that I did not father a child by Miss Bennet and I refuse to take responsibility for another man’s bastard, no matter how fond I was once of the mother.”
“Do you mean to say that you have no feeling remaining for Miss Bennet?” Darcy pressed.
Bingley closed his eyes briefly. “She will forever remain in my memory as a sweet-tempered and amiable young woman, but if anything, this winter has taught me that I am nowise ready to be a husband. I am three-and-twenty! I have scarcely begun to enjoy society!”
“And is it Miss Abernathy who has taught you so?” Darcy raised one brow, and somehow Bingley understood it as a signal to treat the whole of the matter as a joke.
“She has,” he owned. “As did Lady Elaine before her, and once Miss Jennings. Even Hurst’s cousin, the lovely Miss Abigail—”
“I perfectly comprehend you.” Darcy raised one hand to stop the recitation. He studied Bingley carefully for one minute before saying, “Very well, then. I believe I must go back to Miss Elizabeth and explain that there has been some misunderstanding.”
“Do give her my regards,” said Bingley.