Chapter Seventeen #2
Miss Bingley’s laugh was a short, sharp thing. “As if your father would bestir himself from his library. It is widely known he is lackadaisical concerning his daughters’ virtue.”
“Caroline!” Bingley exclaimed. “Stop this shameful discussion at once.” He turned to Jane, his expression collapsing into one of mortification. “Miss Bennet, my deepest apologies for my sister’s behaviour.”
Miss Bingley snorted and muttered, “I only voiced what everyone thought.”
“Be that as it may, your words were unpardonably rude. Please wait for me in your room.”
“May I remind you, brother, of our dreams and goals?” Her voice dropped, acquiring a new and private edge. “Move past this destructive obsession.”
“You may rest assured I have them foremost in my thoughts. Now, leave, before you say something truly unforgivable.”
Miss Bingley turned without a word and withdrew, her eyes passing over Jane as if she was nothing more than a piece of furniture.
“Miss Bennet, I cannot apologise enough for my sister’s conduct.”
Mr. Bingley motioned Jane back to her seat, then positioned his chair uncomfortably close before reaching for her hand. She drew back instinctively and fiddled with her gloves to keep him from gaining purchase of her fingers.
“Mr. Bingley, I am uncomfortable with your attention. Please allow more distance between us.” Her voice remained steady despite the rapid flutter of her heart.
His brow furrowed. “Indeed? You once found my nearness agreeable.”
“Indeed, I did — in the past. Circumstances have altered for us both, and I find this closeness inappropriate.”
With visible reluctance, he shifted his chair away.
“Why such formality, Miss Bennet? Do you not recall our Hertfordshire days as pleasant?” he asked with a childish pout she once might have found endearing.
“You, sir, have been gone from Meryton since November last. Those you leave behind do not remain stagnant while you live your life in another part of the country.” His eyes widened at her chastisement, but he remained silent.
“I must inform you that, while I enjoyed your company last autumn, I am now betrothed to another gentleman.”
“Betrothed!” The word exploded from his lips like a gunshot.
“Yes, and we are on our way to visit family, to finalise the wedding arrangements.”
“And yet you find yourself alone with me.” His expression became pensive.
Calculating. The charming smile that had once captivated Hertfordshire society transformed into something predatory.
“What would the earl say if he knew you had been placed in such an… unseemly situation? Alone with a gentleman for whom you secretly yearned?”
What did he know? She could not, no… she would not let him unsettle her with vague threats.
“Mr. Bingley!” Jane rose to her full height. “You censured your sister’s rude behaviour, while forgetting to examine your own reflection. I bid you good day.”
As she turned to leave, he caught her from behind and, with surprising strength, twisted her around with fingers that would surely leave bruises on her arms. He forcibly pressed his mouth against hers, the taste of stale tobacco on his tongue revolting her.
“I presume you have no plans of leaving today, sir,” came the deep, measured voice of Jane’s beloved from the doorway, “for I will meet you at dawn, at a place of your choosing.”
Jane wrenched away from Mr. Bingley and ran to Mr. Morgan, allowing him to wrap one arm around her slender shoulders while she sobbed into his chest.
“I have insulted Miss Bennet’s honour, and demand that we marry,” Mr. Bingley said, ignoring the challenge which had been laid at his feet.
“You cannot marry a woman who is betrothed to another, insulted or not. Now, choose your weapon of choice and find someone to be your second.”
“I shall not duel you.”
“Then you declare your honour as forfeit.”
“I do not.”
“You cannot have it both ways,” Mr. Morgan said, ignoring the scoundrel’s look of astonishment.
“Either you are a coward, seeing as you will not meet me on a field of honour after attacking a gentlewoman in a public inn, or a rake in the first order, also because you attacked a gentlewoman in a public inn. Which shall it be? Coward or rake?”
“I took nothing that was not offered!” he blustered. “From the very moment Miss Bennet and I were introduced in Meryton, she has thrown herself at me. Everyone knew she wanted to marry me, and today, she all but asked me to kiss her.”
“Is that true, my dearest Miss Manners?” Mr. Morgan asked softly, glancing down at his betrothed.
“No, and you know the reasons why,” she replied, returning his gaze of deep love.
It was at that moment that Uncle Edward entered the room.
“Well, Morgan, the horses and carriages are ready to depart; we just need to round up our ladies and be off.”
“We may be delayed by a day,” Mr. Morgan said calmly. “I came across this gentleman insulting Jane, and called him out. He has yet to decide if he is a coward or a rake.”
Uncle Edward turned a gimlet eye in the direction of Mr. Bingley.
“Is he aware that you hold the fencing title at Cambridge, and the only person to defeat you more than once was Mr. Darcy?” Bingley’s eyes widened at the same time his face turned the colour of chalk. “Or, that you are a crack shot, on par with a military sharpshooter?”
“We had not gotten that far in our discussion, and I will concede that Darcy has out-fenced me more times than I care to admit.”
Jane suppressed a smile at their seemingly harmless chatter; fully aware it sent a shiver down Mr. Bingley’s spine.
She had neither pity nor sympathy for the fortune-hunting rake.
Gentleman was a title she resolutely refused to bestow on him.
Her attention drifted to one of the room’s doorways, where Elizabeth and Aunt Madeline entered arm in arm, laughter bubbling between them like freshly uncorked champagne.
They paused midsentence, smiles fading at the sight of so many furrowed brows and pressed lips.
“Why do you all look as though someone has died?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes sweeping the room. Only then did Jane notice the vacant space beside the chipped sideboard where Mr. Bingley had stood.
“Our so-called gentleman has made his escape,” Uncle Edward observed dryly.
Mr. Morgan’s mouth tightened into a stern line. “Hardly unexpected from one who merely masquerades as one.”
Jane remained silent, but the lift of her chin conveyed her agreement.
A soft clearing of Elizabeth’s throat drew her attention back to her sister, who was eyeing Mr. Morgan’s arm, still curved protectively around Jane’s shoulders, with impish amusement.
Warmth rose in Jane’s cheeks, and she stepped out from his embrace, smoothed her gown, and folded her gloved hands demurely as she met Elizabeth’s teasing gaze with composed defiance.
“Uncle,” Jane began, her normally serene brow creased with concern. “Just before Mr. Morgan arrived, Mr. Bingley let slip a curious remark. He wondered how the earl would react upon learning I had been caught in an indecent position.”
“You suspect he is aware of your father’s new title?”
“Indeed. The presence of both him and his sister at this remote establishment cannot be coincidental, especially when they were known to be in Bath not a fortnight ago.” She paced a few steps, then turned. “Why would they take this route to Scarborough?”
“Gossip in Bath may lack the flair of London’s salons, but it travels swiftly enough. The Bennet connection to the earldom was hardly a state secret, and fortune-hunters leave no whisper unturned, especially when the prize is worth the pursuit.”
“I believe I know how they learned of our status.” Four pairs of eyes turned to Elizabeth. “Do you recall when Mrs. Hurst and Miss Grantley encountered us while shopping?”
“Of course!” Jane exclaimed. “Miss Grantley addressed us by our honorifics, and from that one greeting alone, the whole of Father’s inheritance had to be explained.”
“Mrs. Hurst must have written to her sister the very minute she returned home.”
Jane tilted her head, a small crease forming between her brows as she turned the thought over.
“I do not believe she did, because Miss Bingley’s manner towards me was entirely unchanged.
Had she known of Papa’s title, the temptation to ingratiate herself would have proven quite irresistible.
I suspect that Mrs. Hurst wrote to her brother alone, and he chose to keep his own counsel.
For what purpose, I cannot fathom.” Her gaze moved to the vacant space by the sideboard.
“In any case, I am twice grateful for Mr. Morgan’s timely arrival.
Another moment and I should have been obliged to sacrifice my new reticule. ”
“How so?” Aunt Madeline asked.
“I have a volume of sonnets in it, to read in the carriage. The spine is quite solid, and that alone would have made a most gratifying impression on Mr. Bingley’s nose.”
“Brava, Jane!” Lizzy cried. “I confess I am almost sorry the occasion did not arise. However, should the sonnets have failed, there was always the remedy Charlotte Lucas once prescribed.”
“Which was?” Mr. Morgan asked, with the air of a man carefully weighing whether he truly wished to know.
A faint warmth crept into Jane’s cheeks and spread to the tips of her ears. “It involves a rather decisive upward motion of the foot, and or knee.”
“Ah.” The single syllable hung in the air as he turned away slightly, the movement of his shoulders betraying silent laughter.
“On that note,” Uncle Edward said, his face also taking on a ruddy hue, “I believe we should take our leave.”
As the party moved towards the door, Mr. Morgan fell into step beside Jane, close enough that his voice reached only her. “I shall take great care,” he murmured, “never to find myself on the wrong side of your good opinion.”