Chapter 20 #2
He bowed once, deeply, and left the room without another word. His footsteps retreated down the corridor, and then up the stairs, growing fainter until they faded entirely into silence.
No one spoke for a long moment. The fire crackled in the grate, and the mantel clock ticked steadily, marking seconds that seemed to stretch into hours.
“Well.” Mrs Bennet's voice emerged small and bewildered, stripped of its usual nervous energy. “I suppose I must write to the Lucases and the Longs and tell them the wedding is cancelled. What am I to say? How does one explain such a thing?”
“We shall face it together, Mama.” Jane moved to sit beside her mother and took her hand. “We shall compose the letters as a family, and we shall weather whatever talk ensues. We have survived worse.”
“You have my full support as well,” Bingley added. “Whatever assistance I can render, you have only to ask.”
Mrs Bennet nodded vaguely, still appearing rather dazed. Jane helped her rise, murmuring something about rest and tisanes, and guided her toward the door. Bingley moved to follow them.
“Mr Bingley.” Elizabeth spoke before she could think better of it. “Have you news of Mr Darcy? Is he keeping well?”
Something flickered across Bingley's face, an expression Elizabeth could not quite read. He seemed on the verge of speaking, his lips parting as though words pressed behind them, but then he shook his head and his countenance smoothed into polite formality.
“Mr Darcy is keeping well, thank you for enquiring.”
He bowed briefly and followed Jane and Mrs Bennet from the room, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts and the dying fire and the documents still clutched against her chest.
She moved to the window and watched as Bingley emerged from the house and climbed into his waiting carriage.
The coachman flicked the reins, and the vehicle began its progress down the drive, wheels crunching upon the frozen gravel.
Elizabeth remained at the window, watching until the carriage reached the bend in the lane.
And then, to her considerable surprise, the carriage slowed, stopped, then turned in a wide arc upon the gravel and came rattling back toward the house.
The door flew open before the wheels had fully ceased their motion, and Bingley leapt down with more haste than grace. He strode toward the front door with an expression of fixed determination, and Elizabeth heard the knocker sound, heard Hill's startled greeting, heard rapid footsteps in the hall.
She emerged from the drawing room to find Bingley standing before her mother and sister in the entrance hall, his hat clutched in both hands, his cheeks flushed with something beyond the December cold.
“Mrs Bennet.” He spoke in a rush, the words tumbling over one another.
“I know my timing is dreadful. I know you have endured a terrible shock this morning and that propriety demands I wait for a more appropriate moment. But I have wasted too much time already, time I shall never forgive myself for, and I find I cannot bear another moment of uncertainty.”
Mrs Bennet blinked at him in bewilderment.
“I hold your daughter in the highest regard, madam,” Mr Bingley continued.
“Indeed, I have loved her since the first moment I beheld her at the Meryton assembly, and my feelings have only deepened in the months since, despite every obstacle and separation. I behaved abominably in quitting Hertfordshire as I did and in allowing myself to be persuaded away from her, and I have regretted it every day since.” His voice steadied.
“If Miss Bennet would still have me, despite everything, I should like to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her. I should like to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Silence filled the entrance hall. Elizabeth looked at her mother, at her sister, then at the man who stood before them with his heart laid bare.
Mrs Bennet opened her mouth, closed it, and then simply nodded.
Bingley seized Jane's hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. Jane's face glowed with a happiness so radiant it seemed to illuminate the dim hallway.
“I shall return tomorrow to discuss settlements,” Bingley said, releasing Jane's hand with evident reluctance. “And every day thereafter until you grow thoroughly sick of the sight of me.”
He bowed, cast one last adoring glance at Jane, and departed before anyone could formulate a reply. The front door closed behind him, and a moment later the carriage rattled away down the drive, this time without returning.
Elizabeth stood in the hallway, watching her mother stir from her stupor as new matrimonial schemes took root in her imagination.
The morning had brought devastation, the collapse of everything she had believed about her future and her security.
They were back where they had begun, with nothing resolved and much lost.
And yet, whatever darkness the morning had brought, here was light breaking through.
Elizabeth drew a breath and discovered that despite the uncertainty of her future and the shameful knowledge of how thoroughly she had been deceived, something very like hope had kindled in her chest.
No matter how bleak the horizon appeared, there was always the possibility of dawn.