Chapter VII
Deliberate was the only term Elizabeth could use to describe the events of the ensuing days and the dinner that capped it. Though Miss Bingley had made no comment, given no visible sign she thought her designs were in danger of failure, her behavior made that clear without the need to say anything.
When they were together in company, Caroline was full of comments about how well her brother looked with Jane, how wonderful it was that they had reunited.
If anyone said something contrary to this design, she did not snap or become angry, but the discontent was there in her eyes, leading her to pivot in order to maintain the story she had been telling.
And every time Mr. Bingley’s attention wandered, or Jane spoke to another, Elizabeth could see her watching, assessing the best way to move them back to her preferred narrative.
“Yes, Lizzy, I can see what Caroline is doing,” said Jane on one occasion after a morning visit. “She is not subtle, you know.”
“No, I cannot suppose she is,” agreed Elizabeth. “I assume you mean to do nothing about it?”
Jane’s smile was reassuring. “Caroline may push as much as she wishes, but Mr. Bingley and I must cooperate.”
Elizabeth regarded her sister seriously. “And you have decided that you will not.”
“No, Lizzy, I have decided nothing,” replied Jane. “Should Mr. Bingley choose in my favor and demonstrate it such that I cannot misunderstand, I shall respond accordingly.”
There was something Jane was not saying, and Elizabeth thought she knew what it was. “Yet you have not decided in his favor. Something has changed, Jane—you are no longer enamored with Mr. Bingley.”
“You make me sound like an infatuated girl, Lizzy,” said Jane with a smile.
“Anything but that, Sister dearest,” replied Elizabeth. “I only remember the months after Mr. Bingley’s departure, how you pined for his presence.”
“Perhaps I did, Lizzy,” agreed Jane. “Yet I have learned something of what it means to esteem a man and what I wish in return since then.”
“Yes, my darling sister,” said Elizabeth, kissing Jane’s cheek. “I dare say you have.”
The dinner party to which Miss Bingley invited them was promised to be an intimate affair. “A few friends, nothing more,” said she with a note of cheerful anticipation that was more than a little forced. “We shall be a small party, yet merry all the same.”
Elizabeth could not help but glance at Jane, but her sister did not return it, instead assuring Miss Bingley that they would, of course, attend. For her part, Elizabeth said nothing, allowing Jane to be the mouthpiece between them.
On the night in question, the Bennet sisters arrived at Mr. Bingley’s house—Miss Bingley had not included the Gardiners in her invitation—to his sister’s excessive welcome.
There were, Elizabeth noted, perhaps a dozen people in attendance, all friends of Miss Bingley and her brother, Mr. Darcy being one of their number.
One of those present, she noticed, was Mr. Harrington, a surprise given how Miss Bingley had looked on the man with asperity the last time she had seen him with Jane.
For a time before the call to dinner, the diners exchanged conversation typical to such occasions—polite, sometimes animated, but with little depth.
Though Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy often and exchanged a few words with him, they did not stand together, the gentleman preferring to observe the company.
She even chanced to have a conversation of more substance with Mr. Harrington.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said he, his attention on her though Elizabeth detected more than a few glances about the room, most of which were directed at her elder sister. “I might say it is a surprise to see you here, though we both know that is not true.”
Amused by his observation, Elizabeth said: “If you will forgive me, my presence is less of a surprise than yours.”
The gentleman accepted the point—other than an acknowledging nod, he made no reply. With a mind toward testing him, Elizabeth commented again.
“In truth, I might have thought you were the last person Miss Bingley would invite to such an evening.”
The man turned, his full attention on her. “And why is that so?”
“Perhaps I should keep my own counsel.”
“I assure you, there is no reason to do so.” Mr. Harrington nodded, though Elizabeth noted his eyes were on Jane. “No one who has seen Miss Bingley of late can doubt her wishes.”
“Your own have not been as unconcealed,” said Elizabeth, “but they are marked, nonetheless.”
Mr. Harrington smiled. “Your openness is refreshing, Miss Elizabeth,” replied he.
“My mother laments it,” said Elizabeth, offering a laugh. “She claims men are not interested in an intelligent woman.”
“That is a common enough opinion,” agreed he.
“Is it one you share?”
“As I said,” murmured Mr. Harrington, “delightfully direct. No, Miss Elizabeth, I do not subscribe to it—I much prefer a woman with whom I can converse and not find myself bored to tears.”
“And you do not get this often?” teased Elizabeth.
“Much less than you might think.”
The call to dinner came at that moment, which was when the spectacle began. The moment the housekeeper entered, the tantalizing scents of dinner following her, Miss Bingley turned, her face alight with a calculated sort of pleasure, and addressed the room.
“Tonight we shall not stand on ceremony. Let us proceed to the dining-room in whatever fashion is pleasing.”
Then, contradicting her own words, she turned to Jane. “Of course, you must enter with Charles. It is so wonderful to see you together.”
Jane, composed and gracious, accepted Mr. Bingley’s arm and allowed him to direct her to the dining-room. Though Miss Bingley watched them go with apparent pleasure, she was less satisfied when Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth and offered his arm.
“Shall you dine with me, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, laying her hand lightly on his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”
Darcy glanced around the dining-room, noting those present, their interactions, the subtle glances that told the story of the evening.
Or perhaps told part of the story, Darcy supposed.
In one way, Miss Bingley’s machinations had succeeded—those with whom she surrounded herself appeared to have accepted Miss Bennet’s place by Bingley’s side, and Darcy had even heard some talk of an engagement.
Whether she was as successful with the principals was less certain.
Bingley, Darcy had noted, was as genial as ever, speaking with Miss Bennet, showing the animation that was so visible a part of his character.
When Miss Bingley had forced them together, Bingley had not refused to offer his arm to Miss Bennet, and Darcy supposed his sister had given him little choice.
Knowing Bingley as well as he did, Darcy had seen the slight tightening around his mouth, the narrowed eyes, the almost imperceptible glance at Miss Bennet.
Were Darcy to guess, he thought his friend had been asking for permission.
It was uncertain how much of this Miss Bingley saw, whether she knew her stratagems hung on a knife’s edge.
Bingley could go either way, or so Darcy judged, though what the other direction was he was uncertain.
Darcy knew that Miss Bingley was not blind—she was a perceptive woman, for all that she did not always give the appearance of it.
For one so adept, however, she displayed a shocking tendency to believe what she wanted to believe.
What he could not decide was what she believed at that moment.
One point Darcy had noticed was her distraction, which had led her to discount the other danger she had not yet seen, though to call it danger was to overstep the mark.
Whether through confidence or because she had not yet seen it, Darcy’s interactions with Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire had been of less consequence than they were now, but had provoked greater asperity.
Darcy was uncertain, but he suspected that if she had any notion that her chosen conquest was slipping away, she would focus much of her attention on Darcy and allow Bingley to do as he would.
Laughter at the end of the table caught Darcy’s attention, drawing his eyes back to Bingley and Miss Bennet.
Bingley was grinning; no doubt the witticism had been his, while Miss Bennet’s eyes were shining, though in some way he could not quite define, she was not committing herself.
A glance at the other end of the table showed that Miss Bingley was pleased with herself, as if one laugh was tantamount to an engagement.
When Darcy turned back to look at his friend, he caught sight of Miss Elizabeth, watching him with some speculation. The notion occurred to him that he might learn something of Miss Bennet’s thoughts, but before he could speak, Miss Elizabeth addressed him.
“I must say that London is interesting, Mr. Darcy.”
Tucking his previous thought away for future reference, Darcy allowed his curiosity to show. “In what way, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Because being here seems to complicate matters that were far simpler in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy considered this, sipping from his soup bowl. “Perhaps you are correct, but I will say that simplicity is not always clarity.”
“Oh?” asked she in a tone that suggested a wealth of meaning.
“What may be straightforward in one setting may be incomplete in another.”
The intelligence shining from her eyes told Darcy that she had not misunderstood his implication. “Yes, I must agree, Mr. Darcy. In this instance, it seems that there were matters afoot in London of which we knew nothing.”
“That appears to be the case, though I will stress that I remain unaware of the exact nature of those matters to this day.”