“Who?” he said. “Bingley and Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, darling. What did you think of them at the ball last night?” she managed to say with a straight face, with Bingley laughing in the background.
“She’s . . . too tall for him. He needs a woman . . . very small.”
It was some time before they both recovered again enough to be serious. “Someone should talk to Miss Bingley.”
“What?” Bingley was horrified. “It is not going to be me. I have already tried.”
“But she despises me,” Elizabeth said. “And if we get Darcy to do it, he might propose to her or something.”
“I doubt very much it would hold up in court.”
“That is not the point, and you know it.” She turned to her husband. “Would you marry Miss Bingley?”
“What?” He blinked. “No! No . . . he’s a nice man, but no. I’m too tall for him.”
“If he remembers any of this, he’ll kill us both,” Bingley said. “Surely you realise this.”
“And surely you realise it will have been worth it all the same.”
***
The ride back to his townhouse was sobering enough for Bingley, partially attributed to the cold weather and the letter received from his courier before leaving the Darcys. The letter contained the usual reassurances from Jane of her good health and the importance of his giving his support to Darcy and Caroline, but they had planned (on account of her confinement) to all spend the fast-approaching Christmas in Chatton this year, and he honestly had no idea if it would come to be. Maddox had declared that Darcy would have to walk some length (or any length) on his own before the doctor would give his consent for him to ride in a carriage, and it would not be Christmas without the Darcys. And, of course, there was the scandalous storm brewing in Town, and Bingley was to be the manager of that. But rereading the letter only made him think of Jane, his beloved, suffering because of his own desire to produce an heir, and he could not be there for her without abandoning numerous obligations.
In fact, by the time he reached his front door and was greeted by the servants, his mood was positively dour, almost Darcy-like. As far as he was concerned, he had failed Jane as a husband, Darcy as a friend, and his sister on almost every level. If only Caroline were not being so reserved. He remembered the young Caroline and her tea parties where he was once allowed to sit as the “visiting baby” even though he was four, younger than she or Louisa. They intentionally paid no attention to him and played with their dolls instead, but he was happy to be at the tiny table. And now he was master of a grand table, and it brought him no happiness.
It was late afternoon and Caroline, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst were in the parlour. Mr. Hurst was not unconscious but on his way to being so, but the real surprise was that Louisa was talking to Caroline, not in idle conversation, but as one older woman giving advice to another. As if Louisa Hurst should be one to give marital advice! The idea positively infuriated Bingley. Was there no one who cared for his sister properly?
“Charles,” Miss Bingley said, breaking off their hushed conversation and rising to meet him. “I must inquire as to Mr. Darcy’s health.”
“He is better every day, though it may be a few more days before he is able to travel at all, much less to Chatton.”
“Are we to miss Christmas then?”
“I doubt we shall ‘miss Christmas,’ as it seems to happen every year despite anyone’s intentions,” he replied. “And I do think we shall be there in time. It is fortunate that it was planned for Chatton and not Pemberley this year.”
“Do you not suppose,” began Mrs. Hurst, “that we should ride on ahead, and the Darcys should follow with the doctor?”
“You may do as you please,” he said, deciding not to specify Caroline at this time. “I am going to stay with Darcy as long as I can with Jane’s health.”
“Charles,” Mrs. Hurst said, now rising, “I feel I must raise some objection to your actions over the past few days.”
Bingley, in no mood for this but sensing its necessity, merely crossed his arms and waited for her continuation.
“We have been sitting here, trying to avoid the scandal that surrounds our family, hoping and praying that Kincaid’s actions do not reach the ears of our social circles, and you, the master of this house, have spent more time at Darcy’s beck and call while he has his own staff of servants and a wife and a sister to attend to him!”
“May I remind you, Louisa,” he replied, “that it is the Darcys who are responsible for properly exposing Lord Kincaid or Sir Kincaid or whatever title is appropriate to him. And it is the Darcys who have suffered most from this, in terms of physical weathering. We owe them a great debt. Moreover, I cannot abandon him now.”
“So you would abandon your sister in favour of Mr. Darcy?”
Bingley coolly replied, “I believe Caroline is capable of speaking for herself on this matter.”
For indeed, Caroline had been silent. She had, to his knowledge, not spoken more than a few words since the whole matter had come out. Nor had she seen Dr. Maddox who was housed at the Darcys, who were not accepting visitors. Bingley towered over her—or more accurately, looked up at her with a very towering expression—and she finally did respond by turning her head and bursting into tears.
“This is it!” Mrs. Hurst shouted. “This is the shame you have brought upon our family.”
“Shame? It was not I who introduced her to Lord Kincaid!”
“He is not the issue. You married below your standing and so did Darcy. Did you think this would do nothing to Caroline’s prospects? That she would have to smile and beg for a good match?”
Bingley clenched his fists; his voice raised to a level it had never reached in this house before. “I will hear no more of prospects and good matches! Caroline may marry anyone she chooses, and I will support her . . . and him . . . provided that they bring each other happiness.”
Mrs. Hurst was horrified. “Our mother—”
“Our lovely mother, whom I love dearly to this day, is no longer the mistress of this house nor is my father the master. That generation has passed, and we are free to do as we see fit. I don’t know what nonsense was imparted to you by our mother before her passing, but I will say here and now as the master of this townhouse, the Bingley fortune, and Chatton, that my word is rule, and my rule is that siblings and children may marry according to their own desires. And if it means we are to be the laughingstock of London, I will say that we will just have to spend some time at Chatton until Town finds another family spectacle to obsess over.” He turned to Caroline and offered his arm. “Come, Caroline. I believe we have something to discuss.”
***
He took her to the drawing room and shut the door behind him, with instructions that they were not to be disturbed. He knew it was her favourite room in the house, as he often found her there reading or doing some embroidery when the Hursts were out travelling the country . . . how many lonely hours. He embraced her fully, and she did not reject it, weeping for some time into his shoulder while he patiently waited and said nothing. Which suitor was on her mind, which one would bring her to tears and not disgust, he was not fully sure, but he was willing to wager a guess. It was only after she had stopped sobbing and made many excuses—and attempts to escape the room, which his hold on her hand would not allow—did they finally sit on the sofa, brother and sister.
“What I said there was meant in all truthfulness,” he said. “Surely you know that by now. It is only that I cannot understand—” He shook his head. “I can understand what you have been through, what you believe is expected of you, but what I do not know is the last piece of the puzzle—how this business with the doctor came about.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He did not elaborate as to why. “I dare say it does.”
Caroline looked about, fiddling with her hands a bit before speaking. “He was here for some time, you understand, for Mr. Hurst’s treatments. And at some
point, I don’t remember, I was talking to Mr. Hurst, and I said something in French. And Mr. Hurst, being the ignorant oaf that he is, did not understand it, but it was Dr. Maddox, who was at that time I believe mixing the pot, who responded in perfect French. So I countered in Italian and he in German, and I replied the same. Finally he bested me in Latin, of which I have no understanding. I . . . cannot account for it. I must have been starved for conversation that was not with my sister . . .”
He said quietly, “You do not need to account for it.”
“And I decided to test his knowledge of the arts, of which he was very knowledgeable. He went to Cambridge when his family was of some fortune and studied literature extensively. Medicine he pursued only later. I have to say . . . except in financial matters, he bests even Darcy in letters, though he said he does not have much time to read and has trouble seeing the print when it is fine. I asked about eyeglasses and . . . I don’t know. I saw him every day for an hour while Mr. Hurst bathed—for the conversation. He was always so kind to me, even when I dismissed him. Some of the servants, I know, have this look in their eyes and despise their positions, but he was most obliging. After we began our routine, he seemed almost happy to arrive.”
“And this went without notice—I mean, to Louisa and Mr. Hurst?”
“We were rather secretive about it. I suppose because of propriety. He was there to attend Mr. Hurst’s gout; our conversations were merely an afterthought. Or, they had to be. There was no way . . .”
When she could not finish, he did, “For it to be otherwise. I understand. But he proposed to you all the same.”
“Yes. I cannot say that it did not take me by complete surprise, but there was no question in my answer, even without Kincaid in the picture, as this was a few days before. After that . . . seeing him here became a pain I did not expect.” She was crying again, not sobbing, but quiet tears were escaping her eyes. “Charles, do not say something stupid here.”
“Fine, I will say nothing I deem stupid. But clearly, we have a difference of opinion on the matter of what qualifies as ‘stupid.’ I will say, still, that I, Bingley of Chatton, would not look down on such a match and, in fact, would welcome it, if it would bring you happiness. But I do not know if so many years of social conditioning can be undone so easily. Darcy struggled with it for almost a year.”
“As did you.”
“No,” he said. “I was from the first moment in love with Jane. I was merely persuaded otherwise for a time because I knew not her feelings. But that is in the past, and I am in a very happy marriage, and I wish the same for you, no matter what imagined scandal it brings to us. In fact, I think it would be convenient to have a very good doctor in the family.”
“Charles!”
“I mean it, Caroline,” he said seriously. “Please, consider my words this time so I do not have to keep repeating them or employ someone else to do so.”
She looked away from him, giving him a dismissive sniffle. “Fine. That I will grant you. I will consider it.”
His face lit up. She must have caught that. “Very well.” He kissed her hand and finally let her go, disappearing upstairs in a rustle of jade silk.
***
The next step—literally—was to get Mr. Darcy on his feet. While he had enough servants to aid him in this endeavour, Bingley, of course, insisted on being on his right side as they brought him to his feet.
“I am not an invalid!” he insisted, frustrated at all of this protective attention, but despite his protests, he could barely keep to his feet, and only with two supports, and then he managed with one, making it all the way across the room. Dr. Maddox watched on with concentration.
“Well?” said an exhausted Darcy when he was sitting back in his armchair.
“When you can walk with a cane,” the doctor said, “I will consider a carriage.”
Darcy had not the energy to argue further. He sighed and leaned into his wife, who sat beside him and rubbed his lower back as a servant entered. “Miss Bingley wishes to see you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Very well,” he said. “Send her in.”
Of course, Dr. Maddox immediately fled the room. That did not save him, though, from encountering her in the hallway outside the door. “Miss Bingley.”
“Doctor,” she said formally, attempting to hide any emotion and thoroughly failing to do so. She entered and nodded to her brother who quickly left. “Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Bingley,” he said, and gave a look to Elizabeth, who took it as a sign that she might give them privacy. She kissed him on the head, curtseyed to Miss Bingley, and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley began, “words cannot express my appreciation for what you’ve done.”
“Perhaps if I’d known the outcome, I would have been less inclined to do it,” he said, attempting to straighten himself. “Of course, I’m saying this now because of my condition, which I’m told will be temporary, because Lord Kincaid had the decency to shoot me in my weak side. In a few weeks, I will of course say that I would have done it all the same.”
“For the Bingley family, which is of course your family now.”
“For you, Caroline,” he said. “You deserve happiness as much as anyone. Even before my suspicions were confirmed, I knew that he could not give it to you.”
“That is because you have a great deal of good sense.”
“As does your brother, despite conventional wisdom,” Darcy said. “Both your brothers, in fact.”
Caroline fiddled with her fingers. “Mr. Hurst gave no objection to Lord Kincaid.”
“But we are no longer talking of Lord Kincaid, I believe. Or at least, I am not.”
She smiled uncomfortably. “So there is to be yet another marriage conspiracy in our families?”
“It seems we are incapable of being married without them.”
Now she did really smile. “Thank you again, Darcy.”
“Anytime, Miss Bingley.” He offered his hand, and she kissed it. “Though I would prefer it to be only as often as absolutely necessary.”
***
The very next day, while Darcy was taking his enforced afternoon nap, Dr. Maddox found himself called very insistently to the Bingley townhouse. “Mr. Hurst is making a great complaint,” Bingley informed him, trying to keep a straight face while saying it as Elizabeth listened in on the other side of the door. “It’s probably nonsense, but you’d best see to it for all of our sakes, and Mr. Darcy is positively sick of all of this attention.”
Thus, Dr. Maddox could not invent an excuse to escape. He arrived at the Bingleys’ in the late afternoon, dallying for some bit (and unknowingly giving Bingley time to get there). His entrance was, of course, unannounced, but he did pass by Caroline and Mrs. Hurst in the parlour. Mrs. Hurst gave him a look that was positively scornful, but the expression of Miss Bingley made him weak in the knees, and it was some time before he was able to bring himself to climb the stairs.
Mr. Hurst was waiting for him in his room but said nothing as Dr. Maddox made his assessment and prepared his footbath. The wound was not exceptional but was suffering from some minor neglect. Once everything was prepared, Mr. Hurst dismissed him as usual, saying he could walk about the house if he wished, as long as he stayed within shouting distance.
Actually, Dr. Maddox wished very much to stay in the room, but that was not what he was told, so he exited and, of course, immediately encountered Caroline in the hall. “Miss Bingley,” he bowed, hoping to avoid her gaze.
“Charles sent me up for—something,” she said. “Doctor.” But they did not rush off in either direction; they stood there. Neither, it seemed, could bring himself or herself to leave. “And . . . and how are you, Daniel?” she said at last.
“Very well,” he said, his voice saying otherwise. “Mr. Darcy is recovering.”
“All thanks to your expertise, of course.”
He blushed. “I did what any decent doctor would do, Caroline.”
&nbs
p; “There are very few decent doctors in England,” she said. “But . . . I must be off . . . on my . . . errand.” And she curtseyed and left for her room.
Maddox took off his glasses and wiped his forehead. There he dallied for some time before putting them back on and following her down the corridor.
Chapter 10
Christmas at Chatton Hall
“Come in,” said Miss Bingley in a soft voice, not asking whom it was. The look on her face when he entered was indescribable, so filled with conflicting emotions, but that didn’t make her any less beautiful. She said nothing at his entrance or at his shutting the door behind him, which was most improper for two unmarried adults of opposite genders and a great deal of affection.
As his legs were so horribly wobbly, it was very easy to get to his knees. “Caroline—”
“Don’t do this,” she said, already in tears. “Please.”
“I know very well I can offer you next to nothing besides my paltry income, and that it is not very respectable to actually earn an income at all,” he said. “I know that our social positions are incomparable and that I cannot provide for the lifestyle to which you are not only accustomed but are deserving and that we shall be forever reliant on your brother. In fact, all things considered, all I have to offer you is my total and unconditional love and admiration.” He was very surprised, in fact, that he managed to keep his own voice mainly intact as he said it. “If that is not sufficient, then I will trouble you no longer. Ma se è abbastanza, Caroline Bingley, accettereste la mia mano in unione?” (But if it is, Caroline Bingley, will you accept my hand in marriage?)
“Sì,” she replied in the same language. “Oh Dio, sì!.” (Oh God, yes.)
There was barely a second before Charles Bingley burst in the room. “You had to do it in a language I don’t know! Now I will look like a fool if it wasn’t a yes. It was a yes, right?” He looked at both of their faces as Maddox stood up. “I dare say it was. Doctor, I believe you and I are to have a conversation?”
The Darcys and the Bingleys Page 25