The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  As the evening progressed, Bingley felt less inclined to stay because it seemed that the longer he did, the more cups of punch and wine he had to refuse, and he felt very guilty refusing anything. When he was quite sure he was thoroughly introduced to everyone in the room, he bowed and made his exit.

  His dormitory was relatively close by, and he had only a brisk walk home. Not at all inebriated, he felt confident that he had weathered the evening with considerable success and was in the midst of congratulating himself when he stepped into the common room and was greeted by the rush of a ball gown. It turned out to be a woman, a very familiar woman he did not quite recall the name of, having been introduced to her only briefly. She bumped into him, nearly knocking him from his feet before unapologetically disappearing out the door with all haste.

  Bingley barely had time to recover when he had to face the angry dorm master, who merely looked at Bingley with surprise, perhaps at his sudden appearance. “I suppose I should just let the harlot go,” he said with a sigh. “Do you know her, Mr. Bingley?”

  He correctly answered, “No.”

  “Good. Now if you will excuse me, there’s the matter of the student in Master Stuart’s room—”

  “What matter?” he asked out of curiosity.

  For whatever reason, perhaps because they were on exceedingly good terms, as Bingley was as well-behaved a gown as anyone could imagine, he said in passing, “A previous occupant seems to have given the lady a key to the common room, and she took liberties to bring her . . . gentleman here. You will help me drag him out?”

  “Of course,” he said, because the dorm master was old and, frankly, he was interested in a way that was totally inappropriate. Of course this woman was not a loose person, and she did not abscond with keys and impressionable University students. This was clearly a minor misunderstanding.

  Following the dorm master, Bingley was surprised to find Mr. Darcy in Mr. Stuart’s room. He wasn’t on the bed precisely—he was sitting on the floor next to the bed, his coat removed, his clothing very much askew, and muttering incoherently in a very drunken manner with a bottle in his hands.

  “I will take him,” Bingley immediately offered. “If he can stand.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No, but please, you must have other things to attend to,” he said. Unaccustomed as he was to lying, it was certainly necessary. He helped Darcy to his feet. The man could walk, but not on his own. “Mr. Darcy—”

  “Juliana—” Darcy said, and reached for his flask, which Bingley took from him and pocketed in his own waistcoat.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Where did she—”

  “Gone, and you’re the better for it. Let’s go,” he said, and without explaining himself further, he put one of Darcy’s arms over his shoulders and helped him leave the dormitory just as quickly as the woman in question. Because of the lateness of the hour, they were able to make a relatively peaceful journey, but Bingley felt compelled to not leave Mr. Darcy with the doorman. “Your quarters. The number?”

  “Juliana—ugh—Pemberley. I live in Pemberley.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. But in the dormitory.”

  “The dogs. Where are my dogs? Why can’t they find me? They know my scent. They’re hounds.”

  “Will you please point me in the right direction?”

  Darcy gestured, and they made it back to his sizeable quarters, which were empty, his manservant apparently dismissed for the evening. Bingley was greeted by two massive wolfhounds that nearly toppled them both. Bingley barely succeeded in getting Darcy past them and to his bed—or what he assumed was Darcy’s bed—as it seemed the most logical place to put a man who could barely stand. But Darcy would not lie down, despite his inebriation. He sat on the bed, his hair frazzled, and blinked several times. Bingley wasn’t entirely sure if he comprehended where he was or who Bingley was, but he didn’t toss him out.

  “I think—I think I have made a fool of myself,” Darcy mumbled. “No, no! The Darcy honour, man! The Darcy honour!”

  “I imagine it will survive, as nothing untoward occurred at the party itself,” Bingley said, meaning it to be a comfort, because he very much wished to take his leave and did not want to deal with a sobbing man.

  “I am lost,” Darcy mumbled, and keeled over. Bingley made a brief inspection to see if there were any more spirits about, and finding there were not, he thought it best to take his leave.

  “Good night, Mr. Darcy.” He bowed stiffly.

  “By God, good night indeed!” said Darcy, and Bingley exited.

  When he saw Darcy again, a week had passed, and it took him a moment to realise it was the same man. In full gown, with a glowering look of propriety and a stiff back, he was the very model of an ideal young man of wealth, and Bingley decided to treat him as such. He would not have engaged him at all had Darcy not done it himself when they saw each other walking across the quad.

  “Mr. Bingley,” Darcy said, and bowed briefly to him. Bingley merely tried to hide his surprise that he remembered his name. If he remembered anything else, he gave no indication, and Bingley wasn’t about to enlighten him. “I believe we met at the faculty soirée.”

  “We did, Mr. Darcy,” he said, and bowed.

  “Mr. Wentworth has told me much about you.”

  “All good things, I hope.”

  “Of course. Would you care to join me for lunch?”

  Bingley decided that he would.

  ***

  1803

  Not enough time had passed in eight years for Mr. Darcy to fully recover his demeanour—possibly because this was the first he had heard of the subject—because at various points in the narrative his face had gone bright red.

  “It seems . . . I am in your debt,” he finally stammered.

  “It has been many times repaid. After all, you were the one who pushed me back to Netherfield—”

  “Only after I had taken you from it—”

  “Let us call it even. Except, of course, in the matter of which I first enquired.”

  “Yes, yes.” Darcy was still visibly recovering, but he was recovering quickly, as he always did. “It is a very sensitive topic—” He paused, looking down the road. “And it seems I am saved.”

  “How—” but then Bingley saw no one coming down the road but the dreaded Mr. Collins. While he could usually not bear to think ill of anyone, at this moment, he was quite ready to pound Mr. Collins soundly with his walking stick merely for his sudden appearance.

  “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley,” the cleric said, bowing to them both more deeply than was strictly necessary. “I was looking for you as I thought to inquire if I may give a wedding toast? I know it is rather late, but I was withheld by Lady Catherine for some time—”

  Darcy explained very patiently and politely that they had already granted that honour to Mr Bennett, but thanked him very much for his time and gently suggested they return to Netherfield or Longbourn, for poor Mr. Collins looked positively exhausted.

  “You will answer my inquiries,” Bingley whispered to Darcy as they headed back.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Darcy said with a smile, having avoided his duty for a further time.

  Chapter 3

  The Walk

  Elizabeth Bennet, soon to be Elizabeth Darcy—a notion she could hardly believe herself—was becoming just a bit frustrated at her apparent inability to see the man to whom she had promised herself for the rest of her life. She did see him almost every night at Longbourn or Netherfield for dinner, but she had realised long ago that Darcy loathed public displays of affection and she was resigned to it, as he seemed to make up for it quite readily in the little privacy they managed on long walks during their engagement. Still waters did run deep, so deep that both of his passionate proposals came to her as complete surprises and yet could not have been delivered with more honesty and emotion, even if he had bungled it the first time with his own pride. While Jane and Mr. Bingley—no offence meant to them—see
med quite content to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, Elizabeth knew Darcy’s true intentions would only be revealed when they were alone, and so she was all the more in want to have some time with him before they were married. Not that she at all doubted that he loved her or that she loved him perhaps equally in return, but a woman could not help but be curious about her obsessively secretive betrothed.

  Georgiana’s appearance did something to calm her fears. The lovely Miss Darcy arrived at Netherfield for the wedding a few days before and was more than happy to spend as much time as possible with her future sister and sister-in-law. She had much more access to the Bennet sisters and their end-of-the-wedding preparations than her brother did. Completely without bidding, she was her brother’s best advocate, and her happiness at his happiness—and the obvious total innocence of her character—was a great testament to the private Mr. Darcy. She was not a sister singing praises to propose a match but an affectionate sibling who saw no reason not to express her feelings. Elizabeth felt she was more like Jane in personality—trusting and loving—and would make a terrific companion at Pemberley, for Elizabeth was already feeling the loss of no longer sharing a room with her beloved older sister, as she had all her life. If one knew nothing of Mr. Darcy but through Georgiana’s mouth, he was a candidate for sainthood.

  This diminished her worries but did not satisfy Elizabeth’s longing for time with Darcy, something she expressed to her sister, and Jane quickly admitted the same for her own beau, but there was nothing to be done. They were busy with dresses and flowers and preparations, and the men were busy with finances and their own costumes and greeting the many people coming in for the double ceremony. In fact, Elizabeth wondered if they would spend the duration of the honeymoon sleeping to recover from the exhausting process.

  But this was apparently not to be, or so they were about to be informed. The dresses had come in from London, and Elizabeth and the maid were checking the final fittings on Jane’s lovely dress when Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner burst in the room. More specifically, Mrs. Bennet burst in, and her sister followed her in a calming manner.

  “Jane, Lizzy,” her mother said with a certain gravity. “It is time.”

  Jane stared at her with a look of confused horror. Elizabeth decided just to be cautiously intrigued.

  “Come, let us sit,” Mrs. Bennet said, gesturing to the bed. “Be careful with your dress, Jane. You look so beautiful in it.”

  “Indeed,” said Mrs. Gardiner, who sat down in the rocking chair.

  They took their seats very properly, quite unclear of the situation. Surely if there were some bad news, it would have already been said at this point, and at a much louder volume.

  “Oh my dear daughters,” Mrs. Bennet said with her usual degree of melodrama, unintentional though it was, “you are so soon to be married.”

  “Yes, we are much aware,” Elizabeth said, deciding not to hold herself back, even if it elicited a look from Jane.

  “There is so much to tell you—about being married—and so little time. Oh, because of my nerves, I have put it off! I am quite an unsuitable mother!”

  When they had no reaction to this, the mellower Mrs. Gardiner decided to pick up the slack. “What we mean to say is, dearest nieces, if you are to be adequately prepared to be wives, that from which your maiden ears have been guarded must no longer remain so.”

  “Yes, yes!” Mrs. Bennet said, “lest you be taken totally unawares! That would be most unsatisfying to your husbands indeed!”

  Elizabeth realised her meaning first, but that didn’t make her feel one bit better about it.

  ***

  The carriage from Netherfield arrived earlier than dinner was ready, so a particularly frazzled couple decided to take a stroll. Darcy could account for his own countenance—it was becoming harder and harder to avoid Bingley entirely—but he could not understand what perturbed Elizabeth. At the very sight of their future husbands, Jane looked ready to bolt, her sister less so. The walk would do them all good. The walks always calmed her.

  “My dearest Elizabeth . . . ,” Darcy said finally when they were far out of view of the house and, he assumed, away from whatever was distressing her, because he couldn’t imagine something he had done—today, anyway. “I must inquire—”

  “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

  She said it so quickly and insistently, it was obviously a lie. Darcy just looked away and muttered, “Of course.”

  “You are also not in the most pleasing of moods.”

  “Have you ever known me to be so?”

  So, he had caught her. She had that look on her face, like she was developing a witticism with which to smite him but having a bit of trouble doing so. “If you tell me why you are distressed, I will tell you the same; for should we not exchange everything? Though honestly, we have only two days—”

  “No, you are perturbed, and I will not stand for it,” he said, thrusting his walking stick into the ground in an indignant manner that he knew she would find amusing. “You will tell me what has made you so upset that you can hardly stand the sight of me, as I can think of no untoward behaviour on my part . . . at least, not in the last few months. But perhaps I am mistaken, and I could not stand to be mistaken.”

  Again, she was looking for something to say. “It is not what you did . . . or will do. It is a womanly matter.”

  “Oh,” he said simply. It took him a moment to decide he did not entirely believe her. That wouldn’t give her reason to be nervous around him.

  “And you?”

  “And me?”

  “Yes, you. What has put you in such an ill mood?—though admittedly, not the most dour of moods I have ever seen you in.”

  “I perhaps shall take that as a compliment for the sake of argument.” Then he realised he still had to answer the question. “It is a gentlemanly matter.”

  “How clever an answer.”

  “It is the truth.”

  “Hmm,” Elizabeth said, looking off into the distance as they walked. “So we have learned nothing, because certainly I knew before this point that men and women kept things private from each other—though, I had hoped, not husbands and wives.”

  “When you are my wife, I will be happy to enlighten you. Before that, I do not think it would be proper, especially in the case of another man’s privacy.”

  “So Bingley is involved?”

  He stopped and shuddered. “I will admit that I sometimes wish I were betrothed to a less intelligent woman. Now, I cannot speak more on the subject!”

  “If he is going to mistreat my sister—”

  “He is not going to mistreat your sister. He has only the finest intentions. That is precisely the prob—” But he stopped himself, even if it was too late. “Perhaps we should turn before I further embarrass myself and Mr. Bingley’s confidence.”

  “Hardly! After such an admission, I am now obligated to admit my own personal shame,” she said, taking his hand for the first time that day, “though it is highly improper. I may burn your gentlemanly ears, and you may no longer wish such a wife.”

  “There is nothing I can think of that would make me wish you not to be my wife,” he said, and looked at her. Elizabeth was too innocent to actually have done something . . . untoward. Of that, he was positively sure.

  She seemed convinced enough to continue, “Today Jane and I had a most unpleasant conversation with our mother about . . . being wives.”

  Darcy’s mouth simply made an “oh”—he didn’t have to actually pronounce the word. It took him some time to get the courage up to ask, “And how was it unpleasant?”

  “Surely this must wait until we are married.”

  “On the contrary. If you are uneasy now, let me put the matter to rest. I will not stand to have you upset for any length of time, be it only two days.” He shrugged. “Besides, everyone else has made a hobby of asking me uncomfortable questions at every possible moment, so let at least one of them be my lovely betrothed.”r />
  “Mr. Bingley has—?”

  “No more talk of Mr. Bingley, please, for the sake of my . . . just about everything that could need steadying,” he said, trying to smile, but he knew he was mainly just blushing. “This is about you—and your mother.”

  “And my aunt, who fortunately provided some kind of balance, though her differing account was mainly . . . puzzling.” She leaned on his arm. “You know of what I speak. Please don’t make me say it.”

  “As you wish,” he said. “Your mother has finally told you about relations, and now you are terrified because she has made it seem a horrible experience. No doubt she said something about wifely duties and made it seem like a necessary evil.”

  “You know my mother uncommonly well, sir.”

  “Hardly. She is just repeating the same nonsense that your cousin will drone on and on about in church. That it is a duty you must endure with great suffering.” He sighed. “Elizabeth, the best thing I can think of to say is that if there was no fun to be had of it at all, the world would not be nearly so populated.”

  “And you are an expert on this—”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘expert’—” And he had to stop himself again. This time, he was ready to smack his own face just to keep his mouth shut. “Lizzy, you will forgive me—”

  “No, no, of course,” she said, though she had lost some composure. “I could not expect that you, who have been to University and travelled through Europe and are a man of great wealth and standing, have not—”

  “You don’t have to say it.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Elizabeth, I love you more than I have loved any woman I ever met, so much so that it seems I am incapable of keeping secrets from you, even when they would benefit both of us. You make a fool of a very proud man, so it must be love, for love makes fools of us all.”