The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  She scoffed at him. “When did you become such a romantic? Oh yes, when you fell in love with Eliza Bennet’s eyes.”

  “I will not deny it, though she is my wife, Miss Bingley,” he said, not matching her tone but nearing it. This was the game they always played, even now when he didn’t feel compelled to play it. “If we are to be so honest, then let us be honest. Even though marriage between us was never truly in question no matter how much you may have desired it, I am now Bingley’s brother, and you are my sister, so I have some affection for you, of the kind where I am concerned about your future happiness. Maybe I will not chase down suitors with a sword as everyone seems to be implying I will do with Georgiana, but that does not mean I am completely without an opinion on the issue.”

  “But you would not have been had Charles not come to you.”

  “It is irrelevant. I simply wouldn’t have known until someone had told me as I live in Derbyshire and you in Town. And so Bingley came to tell me, and I knew and decided of my own wit to observe the matter myself. After all, if you are so intent on the match, this man is to be my brother-in-law and so I must have an interest in at least meeting him.”

  “But you will not deny that you have been looking at him with a most critical eye,” she said.

  “Miss Bingley, if you are so observant of my character, surely you know that I look at everyone with a most critical eye.” He added, “Even Dr. Maddox.”

  She apparently decided to give this no proper response no matter how many emotions registered on her face, so he decided to let it pass without further comment. She looked exhausted, as if this was as much a strain on her as it was on everyone else. He recalled the many sleepless nights during his own courtship, both the unhappy and the happy bits. Why should it not be the same for her? Finally, in a soft, strange voice unlike anything he had previously heard from her, she said, “We would not have made a good couple.”

  “No,” he said, his own voice gentle. “We are too good for this sort of verbal sparring. But it does keep one’s wits about one. We are better as brother and sister.”

  “Then do me a brotherly favour,” she said, “and tell Bingley to grant his consent.”

  “If you ask him properly,” he said, “in a way that conveys that you are in love with James Kincaid, he will surely grant it.”

  Again she did not respond. She huffed instead, like an angered peacock puffing up her feathers, and stormed out. She nearly slammed into Bingley, finally on his way to his appointment with Darcy. Smiling and oblivious, Bingley said, “What did I miss?”

  Darcy slapped himself on the forehead and groaned.

  ***

  “Yes, married,” said a now thoroughly confused Lord William Kincaid. “His wife lives in a house in the north. She is a Highlander after all. But I refuse to be a gossip about my family’s matters if you are merely here to discuss the country.”

  “And as you probably have already surmised,” Mr. Bennet began, “we are not, though we did give our true names. Mrs. Darcy is my daughter, and I am not Mr. Darcy’s steward, though he does know we are here.”

  Elizabeth curtseyed deeply, “My lord, we apologise for the situation, but the matter is apparently more grave than we thought. Your brother—if we are correct in assuming it is the same man, or you have other older brothers who went to Australia to seek a fortune—”

  “Of which I do not—”

  “Is newly returned to London and claims to have made a great fortune there and is to be affianced to my sister by marriage, whose name I will not mention for her reputation. My husband and her brother were suspicious of the arrangement and are now investigating his connections, but since my husband’s estate is further north than they are right now, I decided to make some investigations here myself as to who this man was.”

  “And I, being an old man with little chance for amusement and not willing to see my daughter off to the north unaccompanied, joined her,” Mr. Bennet said, bowing to the earl.

  The earl sputtered for a few moments before speaking as he took it in. “Well . . . well, I don’t know what to say, except that you should cancel the engagement as quickly as possible. I doubt very highly of his supposed fortune. In his limited correspondences with Fiona and me, he not only refused to come home but continued to draw on Fiona’s inheritance, which is considerable. She even attempted to request a divorce, but he refused—repeatedly.” He shrugged. “If he is so in love with your sister, now I suppose . . .”

  “We do not know if he is in love,” Elizabeth interrupted, “but the entire matter is extremely distasteful. I am sorry, but we know nothing of your brother’s character and must judge him only on what you have told us, and if what you have told us is true, then he is intending to be a bigamist.”

  Lord Kincaid straightened and said with authority, “I would not doubt it, if he thought he could get away with it. And with the complex differences between Scottish and English marriage laws, perhaps he could. But I do know my brother’s character, and I will stop myself and say only there is a reason our father chose me to inherit over James, and that you must do everything to stop this engagement to your sister.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “I suppose the best way to confront him is for me to go down there myself, but would it be too late?”

  “Frankly, I have no idea,” Elizabeth said. “But I would not bother you with the task, as my husband is a most loyal protector of even his extended family and would be happy to sort the matter out. Perhaps you have some proof that the marriage to Lady Kincaid still stands?”

  “Yes, in fact, I do,” he said. “After all, she’s been trying to obtain a divorce, so all of these documents were made ready and even duplicated. I have copies here myself that I would be more than happy to loan to you. He has already put Fiona through so much trouble; I will not see it happen to another woman. It is outright dishonourable, and we Scots do not stand for dishonour to the family or the clan.” He called out to a servant and gave the necessary instructions for the documents to be located. “I can give you Fiona’s address, but she is some distance north, and if you wish to speak with her, I feel you will just lose time. You may wish a correspondence, but that is at your discretion. Now, to put it quickly, is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Darcy?”

  She had already considered it. “Can you perhaps loan me a horse?”

  “Lizzy!” Mr. Bennet interrupted, dropping all formal pretences. “You cannot seriously be proposing—”

  “My own husband taught me to ride, and it will be quicker even than the post,” she said. “And I would not trust such important documents to a courier, especially over borders. I will not push myself excessively, Papa, but someone must get to Town with the documents.”

  “It should not be you.”

  “And it will not be you,” she said.

  “I would ride myself,” Lord Kincaid said, “but I do not know the way. I confess I have never been to England. But I could ride with you for your safety.”

  “You put yourself out, my lord.”

  “This is my brother and my responsibility.”

  He reminded Elizabeth quite a bit of a Scottish Darcy. The very memory brought her warm thoughts when otherwise all she could think of was disaster. “No, I will not allow it. You may follow in a proper carriage if you wish and see that the matter is carried out, but I will go, and I will go at the speed at which I choose.”

  “I can see there is no arguing with you, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “There never is,” said Mr. Bennet.

  “I will prepare the horse and the necessary supplies. Mr. Bennet, you will accompany me in the carriage?”

  “Only if you promise to drop him off along the way,” Elizabeth said, “at an estate called Chatton.” She turned to her immediately questioning father. “Papa, you cannot go all the way to Town right now, and Jane must be told by someone with the calmness to do it properly. Besides, you despise travelling.”

  Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I cannot—well, I cannot convince
you that your plan is madness and a danger to your health. All for the sake of Miss Bingley?”

  “She is my sister-in-law.”

  “At this moment I wish she were not. But I see there is no convincing you otherwise. There never is.” Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Lord Kincaid, thank you for your hospitality and all of your aid.”

  “Most gladly given, however unhappy the circumstances. Sealbh math dhuit.” He added, “It means good luck, Mrs. Darcy. You will need it.”

  ***

  Before entering, Bingley steeled himself with a shot of whiskey. It was not his custom, but it was not enough to make him drunk (after all, he was not Darcy), and he needed the reinforcement. Not only was Caroline smarter, older, and taller than he, but she was as intimidating a woman as there ever could be, and all past attempts to verbally spar with her had ended in disaster.

  Still, he had no other recourse. He knocked on her door. “Caroline?”

  “Come in,” she said, her voice entirely composed. When he entered, her posture made it very clear that, though she was perfectly dressed and this was merely her dressing chamber, he was invading her personal space. “I suppose Darcy told you everything.”

  “Very little, in fact. The rest was left to my imagination,” he said. “If you feel slighted by him for his actions these past days, you must excuse Darcy. He is only acting on my behalf since I requested his help in this matter.”

  “In this matter,” Caroline scoffed. “You can marry a country girl of no fortune, but when I find a suitable match, it becomes a matter that involves even the master of Pemberley.”

  “That is not the point—”

  “It is the point,” she said, stepping toward him. “You rely on him for every basic decision, Charles. It is pathetic.”

  No, he would not be cowed. He was Charles Bingley Junior and the master of the Bingley fortunes. He was a member of the landed class, even if he was untitled. He was a man of stature, and he had every right to do as his conscience required. “That is not the case at all. I did not like Lord Kincaid from the start, and so I did what any good businessman would do—what our father was so good at to the point of raising us to a high position such as our own—to find an expert and delegate authority. Darcy is better at looking into the sordid pasts of people than I am, and so I called on him. I practically had to drag him here, if you must know, but he did it as a favour to me and to you despite his own instincts.”

  “Because of what? What do you find so lacking in James?”

  That was, of course, the question he could not answer properly, so he had to invent something. “He appears out of nowhere with no established property and no connections in Town and pays in cash for his lodging. If he made a fortune in Australia that is wonderful for him, but no one has seen a pence of it. I cannot help but, with your inheritance, to be suspicious. More importantly, I know very well you do not love him, and that is my greatest concern.”

  “You make many assumptions about my feelings, Charles.”

  He fumed. “I am not the idiot you plainly believe me to be. Your affection for him derives from his own charms and perhaps his fluency in Italian but has no solid foundation.”

  “This is what you believe?”

  “You have yet to deny it.”

  At least Caroline seemed to recognise his determination. She took an unthinking step back. “What do you expect from me? Am I to continue to be the unmarried spinster, the laugh of all of Town?”

  “You are being dramatic.”

  “In a few years I will not be!” she said, her voice unintentionally betraying emotion, something it rarely did. “I am thirty years old. I live off your fortune. Lord Kincaid is likely to be my last serious prospect for a good match.”

  He considered before answering. “Caroline, surely you have noticed that both Darcy and I would argue with you for what constitutes a ‘good match.’”

  “And you are both men with fortunes. The situation is entirely different.”

  He sighed. “To see you happy, I would gladly pay for your marriage to the Town’s poorest pauper and buy him a great estate in Derbyshire.”

  To this, she had no proper response.

  It seemed Bingley’s responsibility, after some moments of awkward silence, to continue the conversation. “Caroline,” he said formally, his hands behind his back, “I can’t imagine . . . well, yes, I can imagine . . . where it was drilled into you that you must marry a man of at least equal, preferably greater, fortune to be a woman of any worth. You are a Bingley and must stand up to the name that father created. But he created that name out of smoke and hard work and clever business manoeuvres. And now our beloved father is gone and no longer makes the family policy on marriage. And since it falls to my shoulders, I will reiterate my stance: you may marry whomever you like, provided he is not a fortune hunter and you are truly in love with him—be he pauper, parish priest, or dare I say doctor.”

  Miss Bingley had turned away to the window. At this, she spun back around. “How dare you—”

  “I am not blind, even if my stay here has been of short duration. But on this matter, I will remain silent. It is for you and he to decide. I will withhold my blessing on this Lord Kincaid until you fall in love with him or he proves to be a fortune hunter—whichever comes first. However long that may take, I shall gladly wait it out to see you happy in your marriage. And it cannot be more than a few days.”

  “That or it will have to be much longer. Am I mistaken, or is Jane not in confinement?”

  This threw him off; it was her intention. “Yes, and I must be out within the week. But if Lord Kincaid is exactly who he says he is, he is most welcome to join us at Chatton for as long as he wishes. Until then, we shall wait.”

  “Because that is what you are good at,” she said, “waiting.”

  He could take no more of this. It was either that or he had said everything he desired to say, and so the conversation was allowed to end. He signalled this by placing his hand on the door handle. “I hope you will consider what I said, because there is only one thing I will not stand for, and it is to see you unhappy in marriage.”

  She did not respond as he left.

  ***

  Darcy had one comfort in the days that passed and one anticipated comfort. The actual comfort was his sister, who with Elizabeth’s good influence had begun to emerge as the confident young woman he had always hoped she would be, and she almost delighted in their little trips to bankers and the Gardiners, trying to account for Kincaid’s mysterious wealth. Her light treatment of it put him at ease. This was also his first long trip to Town since her coming out, and he was glad to see that she was not being assaulted by suitors on a daily basis, though she did have her social calls, mainly among female friends. She was not the homebody he was, and it suited her greatly, he decided.

  The second thing was the correspondences from Jane Bingley, meant to comfort him. They, of course, had the opposite effect. Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet were somewhere in Scotland; even though Jane was quick to assure him, in writing him directly, that they were expected home at any moment, this was the first time since their marriage that Elizabeth was out of his reach, and it made him moody and anxious. He was also taking measure to avoid the Bingley house after his confrontation with Miss Bingley, as he felt he had not the energy for it with all of the things he was busy doing on her behalf, and that gave him only more time to fret.

  Several days passed before a formal meeting with Mr. Gardiner settled at least one matter. With the accounts—or what they could muster of them—spread out before them in his uncle’s study, they took in the measure of the matter. This time, Bingley was present.

  “So there we have it,” Mr. Gardiner said. “Not only do we have no proof of any fortune currently here or in transfer from Australia, but we have several loans made on unknown credit at banks of questionable standing, which presumably he has used to pay for his lodgings and other expenses. All I could find with all of my contacts and some very improper qu
estioning on my part—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gardiner,” Bingley bowed to him.

  “—was that over the last few years he had money come from somewhere in Scotland, somewhere in the Highlands, where he must have some account because it is not from his estate in the lowlands.”

  “So,” Darcy said, “no damning evidence but a lack of the fortune he claims to have.”

  “It is very troubling,” said Bingley, staring at the materials. “If he could produce any evidence of his own fortune, I would happily disregard all of this information.”

  “And yet, he will not,” reminded Darcy.

  “But I cannot toss him out based on this. You know that,” Bingley said. When it came to money matters, they were all very calm men. “I could talk to Caroline—”

  “She will dismiss it,” Darcy said. “Or she may not. I don’t know. The thing to do is confront the earl.”

  “I cannot in all good conscience condemn a man who on paper has done nothing wrong!” Bingley said.

  “But you cannot give him what he wants either,” said Mr. Gardiner.

  Bingley frowned and played with a handkerchief for some time. The only thing to break him from his deep concentration was the handkerchief that he tore in half. Fortunately, the air was too serious, and no one laughed. “There is one other thing—Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” Darcy deadpanned.

  “I mean to say she has gone to investigate his reputation in his home. Either she is returning now with news or—though I am wont to say it—something has happened to her—which is also news that may help decide the matter.”

  “I am glad you view my wife’s safety in regards to Miss Bingley’s situation!”

  “Am I going to have to call someone to keep you from throttling each other?” Mr. Gardiner asked in all seriousness. “Because you’re both stout young men, and I don’t think I could do it.”