35. A Public Comeuppance
A Public Comeuppance
“What did you say?” Startled, Miss Bingley looked at him closely. Again, her hand neared his sleeve. He took another step back and crossed his arms as a barrier against any further intrusion on his person.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet will soon be known to you and those outside of her close friends and our families as Mrs Darcy.”
“But-but… No, that is not possible—”
His lips quirked in mocking smile. “I thought so at one time as well, but I am a fortunate man to have gained her good opinion and her affection.” He paused, watching as Miss Bingley’s expression shifted from shock to despair.
“Elizabeth is a lady of great understanding, and it is through her that I was made aware of the transgressions committed upon the reputation of my sister.”
Her mouth agape, Miss Bingley appeared almost eager to pursue what she clearly misconstrued as fresh ammunition against her enemy. “What offences has Miss Eliza committed against your dear sister?”
Pray, give me patience. “None. You have. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is all that is good.”
“I do not understand.”
Her keen gaze, so obvious and telling in its distaste for Elizabeth, nearly made him roll his eyes. “I am surprised you do not, Miss Bingley, for it was your letters to Miss Bennet that led to the felicitous result of my earning her sister’s hand in marriage.”
“I wrote no such words! Encourage your connexion to Miss Eliza? I bear no responsibility for such a terrible state of affairs. I would never wish to see you entrapped into such an ill-suited marriage!”
“Of course you would not wish to see the happiness of an attachment between myself and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but I assure you, no finer, more suitable lady could ever be Mrs Darcy.”
He had spoken calmly, quietly, so as not to be overheard, but Darcy feared Miss Bingley’s pale, astonished expression and unnervingly bulging eyes might beckon others to come see to her health. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, wondering if Elizabeth would soon find them.
“Now, now,” he said to Miss Bingley, tilting his head as though sympathetic to her confusion.
“I congratulate you, for I believe you might consider yourself a matchmaker of sorts. The letters you wrote to Miss Bennet, letters meant to separate her from your brother, have led to another betrothal. Miss Bennet is happily engaged to Mr Gilbert Catesby, an old friend of mine.”
Miss Bingley regained her power of speech. “Miss Bennet is to marry?”
“Yes. They will wed in a month or so and enjoy the summer at his estate in Faversham before returning to his house in Marylebone.”
Darcy had never thought himself cruel, but watching the rapid succession of emotions flit across the lady’s face was wonderfully satisfying.
“I suspect this news is quite distressing to you,” he said. “To spare you greater discomfort, and as I am sure you desire, there need be no further connexion between us.”
“No, no, that is not my desire,” she gasped, her eyes wide and round in shock. “Charles is your friend, we are friends!”
“He is my friend, but thanks in part to your actions, he will never be my brother. Those I will gain after my wedding, when my family party grows to include four sisters as well as an aunt and uncle and young cousins who live near Cheapside.” Darcy watched as Miss Bingley’s expression went slack with the realisation that Elizabeth’s ‘lowly’ relations had pre-eminence over her.
Usually, he would offer his arm or a chair to any other lady appearing so distressed, but with her, he knew far better than to chance any encouragement or sympathy.
“We are friends of long-standing.” She directed a tremulous smile at him before darting a look at the trio of ladies still watching them curiously.
He was unaffected by her performance. “Friendship has its roots in trust. I am a man who is slow to trust, yet when I do, I trust fully.” He felt exhausted by her and the time spent on a conversation she would undoubtedly twist to her own advantage.
“I believe I must be plain, Miss Bingley. I will not tolerate disrespect to my sister, to my future wife, or to her family. If you think to undermine Elizabeth in society, insult her family amongst the ton, or speak disparagingly of our marriage, I warn you now to think better of it. What you may think a victory in a brief moment of wit would be to your detriment.”
“You would give up our friendship for-for her?”
“He already has,” came a warm voice.
Elizabeth’s arm slipped into his as she greeted Miss Bingley.
“Mr Darcy is all that is kind and forbearing, and in choosing to marry me, he is content with losing whichever friends and relations do not support our union or take care to protect our sisters.” She paused, as if waiting for Miss Bingley to protest that she had meant well, and in what Darcy could only think admirable, Elizabeth allowed the woman a final chance at redemption.
Instead, Miss Bingley merely gaped, as if the picture before her was too astonishing—or abhorrent—to comprehend.
In that amiably polite tone he now recognised as dismissive, Elizabeth said, “It has been an age since we were last in company. I hope you and your family have been well.”
Miss Bingley managed a nod, which Elizabeth acknowledged with an arch smile.
Swelling with expectant pride, Darcy patted her hand as she continued.
“The last my family had heard of you came in your letters to Jane, in which you speculated on the future happiness all would enjoy when Mr Bingley and Miss Darcy were betrothed. How absurd we are, projecting our own hopes on others, who evidently have their own private desires.”
Miss Bingley startled, her alabaster skin turning an impossible shade of white. She looked between them.
“My sisters take pleasure in playing music or remaking bonnets. You enjoy conjecture and gossip and framing your hopes as facts. Suppose such a thing was done to your family, and an innocent conversation was thought by a witness to be part of an assignation between a wealthy young man and an innocent maid new to the household? A conversation which occurred because the girl was filling the role of a lady’s maid who had been injured by her employer, an employer who had thrown a hairbrush in a fit of jealous fury?
Imagine if that story, all of it true, spread throughout town? ”
“It is difficult indeed,” Miss Bingley cried. “It is distressing. One does not know what to think.”
“I beg your pardon. One knows exactly what to think.”
Darcy smiled at Elizabeth’s set-down, an expression that seemed a beacon to the curious spectators clearly wishing to speak to him and learn the identity of the handsome lady on his arm.
Miss Bingley’s lips trembled, and her pale complexion took on a greenish tint. Darcy thought she might even swoon. As he led Elizabeth through the crowds, he glimpsed Miss Bingley’s ghastly feathered hairpiece bobbing away into the distant hall.