The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

“If you really believed that, I do not think you would have travelled to Pemberley to chat about your sister’s romantic travails.”

  “You are so judgmental. You always see the worst in everyone.”

  “This is precisely why you called on me.”

  Bingley could not deny it. “Then do me this favour, please.”

  “Do you wish me to meet him or merely investigate him?”

  “As you see fit. Though he does relish himself an accomplished fencer if that makes any difference.”

  Darcy did not acknowledge that it did. “You realise we will have to stop at Chatton and tell our wives of this scheme.”

  “I didn’t want to trouble Jane,” Bingley said. “But I suppose it would look suspicious if we both suddenly return to Town.”

  “Precisely.”

  ***

  Jane Bingley’s second confinement was considerably different from her first for a host of reasons. While reclined at home in Chatton, her “isolation” seemed anything but—with two toddlers, a host of nervous servants, and the prospect of her parents and sisters arriving in a few days. When Bingley was finally convinced to travel to London, because Jane felt he needed a breather more than she did, she was very content to be alone with Elizabeth, who often held Miss Georgiana in her arms while they watched young Geoffrey attempt to pull up on the furniture of the sitting room.

  “He will not be still,” Elizabeth said. “I think we’ve given up on the matter.”

  “From your side, surely,” Jane observed, as they watched him try to stand again. He could get to his feet, but only with aid, and was not quite ready to walk. “He will be disappearing for long morning walks in no time. Oh, Lizzy, you will have to bundle him up so he doesn’t catch cold!”

  “Now you sound like Mama.”

  “But you will do it all the same.”

  Elizabeth found she could not contradict her. As willing as she was to let Geoffrey explore the ground, she kept a very careful eye on his available territory, and many of the sharper edges of their furniture had been wrapped in blankets. She was smiling at this memory when she noticed Georgie was trying to escape her grasp and climb onto her mother’s sizeable belly. Every time Elizabeth experienced any anxiety that she herself was not again expectant, she merely looked at the fact that Jane had ballooned to a whale and felt a small, very selfish pang of comfort. Had they both been this large before, and she was merely imagining things? Or was her sister even bigger this time around?

  The question was not asked. Instead, Jane’s lady-maid entered and interrupted them. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth made a quick dive for her son, lest he be stepped on by either gentleman as they strode into the room. As she took him into her arms, she nearly crashed into her husband, who as usual strode so confidently into the room that he needed his athletic agility to prevent himself from colliding with whatever was in his path. He made a brief bow to Jane as he took Geoffrey from Elizabeth’s arms. “Mrs. Bingley.”

  “Mr. Darcy, Charles! How was Town?” Jane said as her own husband quickly joined her and gave her a sitting hug, certainly not requiring her to rise in his presence. “You settled your business I assume?”

  “Actually, no,” he said. “It seems I must return, if you would permit it.”

  “If I would permit it?”

  “I mean, considering—”

  “Charles,” she said patiently, “I am two months away. Are you planning to go to the Continent or something?”

  “No. No, of course not. The matter is . . .” he hesitated. “Darcy, do you want to explain it?”

  Darcy looked positively infuriated that all eyes were suddenly on him, which made him uncomfortable, even in the most comfortable of social situations. “Why should I explain it? She’s your sister!”

  “Explain what?” Elizabeth said.

  “She’s your sister, too!”

  “Only by marriage!”

  “Are we talking about Miss Bingley?” Jane interrupted.

  “Bingley, this is your problem and you must explain it!”

  “You should not phrase it like that!”

  “Then tell me precisely how I am to phrase it!” Darcy said with as much stature as he could muster with a babbling infant tugging at his cravat.

  “Someone had better phrase whatever it is you mean to say correctly and soon,” Elizabeth said with her hands on her hips, “Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy looked in terror at his wife and then at Bingley who finally spit it out. “It seems Caroline is to be affianced to a Scottish earl. She . . . requested my return to Town to give my consent. She failed to mention that that was the pressing ‘matter of business’ in the letter.”

  Caroline Bingley did not, actually, need his consent, but no one felt compelled to mention that. Charles Bingley Junior was now the master of the Bingley family and estate upon his father’s death and had further elevated his status by getting married and settling in a sizeable manor in the country. Just being a man, despite a younger brother, gave him social status over his sisters, and that Miss Bingley had seen fit to ask for his opinion on the matter was a quiet nod to this.

  “And?” Jane finally saw fit to ask.

  “And what?”

  “Did you give your consent?”

  Bingley frowned and looked at Darcy. “No. Not yet.”

  “And on what grounds did you find him so objectionable?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, backing her sister up. “If I may be so bold, if Miss Bingley has found nothing wanting in him as a potential husband, then I am having trouble imagining your objection.”

  “Does he have excessive warts or something?” Jane asked.

  “Is he a fortune hunter?

  “A gambler?”

  “Is he Mr. Wickham in disguise?”

  Bingley sighed and slumped onto the couch by his wife’s side. “He is none of those things. He is the most eligible bachelor, in fact, and a man of some fortune as well as minor aristocracy. And my sister has given every indication of finding him as dashing and handsome as anyone who lives in Derbyshire and owns Pemberley.”

  “I heard that,” Darcy said.

  “So your objection was?” Jane pressed, now thoroughly confused as she balanced Georgie on her stomach.

  “I have no idea.”

  This was met with considerable silence, broken first by the young Mr. Darcy suddenly and incoherently babbling, something that had increased considerably as of late. Real words were sure to follow.

  “Exactly,” Darcy said, as if his son made perfect sense. “Well, we must be off to Town. Good-bye, darling.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, um, I’ve, uh, asked Darcy to come and . . .” Bingley played with his hands. “Well . . . perhaps Darcy should explain.”

  “As I have little idea as to why I am to accompany you and am going along because you asked so politely, please, Bingley, do explain—for everyone,” Darcy replied.

  Jane laughed. “Yes, I can safely say we are all thoroughly confused.”

  “Well, um.” Charles managed to buy himself some time by taking Georgie into his arms and balancing her on his knee. “I do hate to think ill of anyone, but there is something about this man—his name is James Kincaid—that, well, bothers me. But I can’t rightly put my finger on it. Perhaps I am just being overprotective of my last sister, but . . . I have asked Darcy to help . . . check his credentials and judge his character.” He added, “Besides, he is uncommonly good at talking Bingleys out of marr—”

  “Bingley, I see we must prepare for our journey, before your foot is more firmly inserted into your mouth,” Darcy said, before anyone could even start to be mad at him. “Elizabeth, I will be only a few days—” But when he turned to her, she was giving him eyes of fury anyway. “What? He said it!”

  “So you are just going to hightail it to London, then,” Elizabeth said, taking Geoffrey from him, “leaving the women and children behind?”

  “I assumed that you would not w
ish to leave Chatton at the present time. Did I assume incorrectly?”

  “Lizzy,” Jane said kindly, “do not assume that just because I am temporarily rendered an invalid—”

  “Darling, you are not an invalid,” Bingley said.

  “Did something happen to your eyesight in Town?” she said, and turned back to her sister. “I am serious, Lizzy. You are not bound my side. You know our family will be here within the week, and between them and the servants I will hardly get enough rest as it is. You need not worry for me. You need only worry for Charles, who will find himself suffering a horrible accident if he ever renders me this way again.” She rolled her head over to him but gave no indication if she meant it or not.

  “Perhaps we should give them a moment,” Darcy said quietly; his wife agreed, and they took to the hallway and closed the door behind them. “Lizzy, do be serious, you may accompany me to Town if you wish, but it is hardly necessary, and I would think you more inclined to remain with your sister.”

  After a moment, she answered, “You are correct in your assumptions. I am simply taken by surprise by the whole matter.”

  “I do not properly understand it either,” he readily admitted. “Perhaps he thinks I will see some flaw he does not. Perhaps he does not have confidence in his perceptions.”

  “So? Surely this ‘Lord Kincaid’ may have some flaw, but if Miss Bingley is willing enough to marry him, it must be of no consequence. I am inclined to let a woman trust her instincts.”

  “As am I. But Elizabeth, this is the first time I have ever heard Bingley object to anyone—ever. Surely there is something here that he cannot express, or if not, then he shall see it out, and they will be happily married. But I cannot so easily dismiss his fears without seeing to the matter myself, and he has asked—practically begged—me to do so. Should I not be obliging?”

  She patted his arm affectionately. “My darling husband, always the sentinel for all people good and just—even, apparently, Miss Bingley.”

  He said with a smirk, “Yes, apparently. Obviously, this matter must be concluded quickly if she is so intent to marry him, so I will be gone but a few days, perhaps a week. And I will write.”

  “And you will miss my mother’s visit, or part of it.”

  “That loss I will have to suffer,” he said, and kissed her then his son on the cheek. “You are not to speak until I return, for I promised myself to hear your first words.”

  “Baa!” said Geoffrey, and flailed his arms at his father.

  “Someone is overdue for a nap,” Elizabeth said, and fortunately for timing, Bingley emerged from the parlour.

  “Should we be off, then?” he said, donning his hat. “I must try to be in Town by nightfall, two days hence.”

  “Nightfall? Two days hence?”

  “I . . . may have not told my sisters I was going all the way to Derbyshire,” he admitted, and bowed. “Mrs. Darcy, we will return with great haste, I assure you.”

  “I am assured,” she said, and received another good-bye kiss from her husband before they both disappeared out the front doors. She returned quickly to Jane, who was handing little Georgiana off to a nurse. “It seems we are to be barefoot and pregnant wives indeed.”

  “I will not be barefoot,” Jane said. Her feet were on a foot stand, clothed in slippers. “My feet are cold enough as they are.” This sent them both giggling, as Elizabeth rejoined her sister in her usual position beside her. “So, was Mr. Darcy particularly revelatory about their trip?”

  “I think he is as flummoxed as we are and Mr. Bingley is. No one can account for this conspiracy to save Miss Bingley from the horrible state of marriage, though I do take comfort in the amusing irony.”

  “I will take any comfort that is offered me,” Jane said. “And when my husband returns, if I have grown any larger, I will take great comfort in wringing his neck.”

  Chapter 2

  The Man from the North

  It was a long trip to Town, and Darcy was no fan of small talk so he got right to the inquisition. Six days prior, Bingley had returned to his townhouse, apparently to immediately be received not by his steward but by Miss Bingley, who explained that she had recently met the earl in question at the opera during intermission, and he had offered to take her up to his private box. The Bingleys held their own regular box; that she would have been a fool not to accept did not have to be mentioned by either party, including the pair in the carriage on an uncomfortable ride in the late season weather. The earl had just returned from Australia and was still settling his new accounts, but he was most eager to see the opera performed in England again, as he was a regular during his time in Town. He was no great lover of his homeland, considering himself more of an Englishman than a Scotsman (like many lowlanders), and had missed all things properly English in Australia. Miss Bingley then went on to give the earl’s academic credentials, which didn’t surprise Darcy in the least, though he made no vocal note of it as Bingley went on. Lord Kincaid, the earl of a small estate and lands near the border of England and Scotland, was well versed in the modern languages, quite good at cards, and even a match for Mr. Hurst at chess. (Darcy was surprised to learn that Mr. Hurst excelled at anything, but this he also kept to himself.) His lodgings, though elegant, seemed dreadfully empty, and so he often dined at the Bingley townhouse, at least in the few short weeks before he proposed. Caroline said she found him most pleasing, and he would make an excellent husband, but she wanted her brother’s consent, of course.

  “I, of course, said it was his business to ask me for her hand, if that is to be the procedure,” Bingley explained. “And before he could do this—for this was just an hour after my arrival, and he was not due again for some time—I enquired of Louisa, and she spoke of nothing but praises for this Scottish gentleman. Even Mr. Hurst, who may rival you in xenophobia—”

  “I never said I disliked the Scots,” Darcy interrupted.

  “Darcy, I know you have travelled the Continent, admired the ruins of ancient Greece, and seen the Arch of Titus and St. Peter’s Cathedral. Tell me, have you, with a great estate in the north of England, ever been to Scotland?”

  “No,” Darcy said.

  The point made, Bingley wisely moved on. “Even Mr. Hurst could find no fault in him and praised his accent, which he found ‘very English.’ Anyway, the earl in question quickly arrived for dinner, and we were introduced and made some conversation. I asked about his trip to Australia, and he gave me a mild travelogue and said if I was ever in want of a greater fortune, I should travel there myself. Then after dinner, he came with me into my study and asked for her hand.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “The usual way, I suppose. I’m sorry not to be of help here, but my only experience was my own, and the only thing I really remember about facing Mr. Bennet was I could barely hear him with the pounding in my ears. How I acted I cannot properly recall. Anyway, it was a perfectly pleasant but formal affair.”

  “And your response?”

  “You know my response. Do not tease me.”

  “I mean, what was the precise reason you gave for refusing your consent? If you gave a reason at all. You were not obligated to.”

  Bingley squirmed in his seat. “I said though I wished Caroline happy, I simply wanted to know him better, as she was my beloved sister. I may have blundered into some speech about that. I can’t recall the precise words, but I begged of him a week’s time to know him better, and he conceded and said his love for her would not diminish in a week’s time.”

  “Noble indeed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you speak to Miss Bingley,” Darcy asked, “after Lord Kincaid’s proposal?”

  “Yes.” Bingley turned away uncomfortably and looked instead at the passing landscape. “Yes.”

  “Bingley, if I’m going to have to worm every last detail from you, then this will be a long trip.”

  Bingley sighed and gave in. “She inquired as to the reason for my refusal. I said I merely
needed to know the man who was to be my brother better.”

  “Did she know you were stalling?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  There was a pause.

  “I also asked—if she loved him.”

  “And her reply?”

  He did not attempt to imitate his sister’s haughty accent. Perhaps at that moment in time, she had not had one. “She asked if it made any difference.”

  Darcy settled back in the coach seat. “So she does not.”

  “I confess I have always found Caroline very hard to read . . . when she wishes to be, at least. She knows it is an advantageous or at least equal match, and she has been . . . well, since your marriage, I would venture to guess that she has probably felt some desperation.”

  It was probably true. Miss Bingley was thirty, had a younger brother married, and had spent most of her time on a futile endeavour during her prime years, so her prospects were dwindling. But was Lord Kincaid not a good prospect? He was nobility, and he was rich and, by Bingley’s accounts at least, good-looking. (Bingley was known for being overboard in his estimations of people’s good qualities, and so Darcy decided he would judge this Kincaid for himself, but if Caroline Bingley was happy, it would be hard to find fault in this man, truly.)

  Darcy confessed the last bit of his musings out loud to Bingley, who merely shrugged as they approached London and the road became busier. It was a great relief to finally arrive at Darcy’s townhouse. “So then, dinner?”

  “At seven, yes. I will tell them you are here on business, of course.” He added with more seriousness, “Thank you, Darcy.”

  Darcy had no comment. He merely exited the coach and opened his front door. No message had been sent forth to prepare for his arrival, so the butler was surprised to see him. “Mr. Darcy!”

  He nodded, and apparently the outburst was enough to make it to wherever Georgiana was present because she quickly burst into the hallway and ran to embrace her brother in the doorway. “Brother!” She kissed him on the cheek. “I was not expecting you.”

  “I was not expecting myself,” he said, and did not explain. “Everything is well. I will be in Town only a few days on some business with the Bingleys.”