by Webb, Brenda
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Longbourn
Mr. Bennet’s Study
Charles Bingley was beginning to perspire under the steady, unsmiling gaze of Jane’s father. Mr. Bennet watched him much as a predator would study its prey.
It was bad enough that the man had taken Jane directly home after discovering them in the woods and ordered him back to Netherfield to await his summons, but he had not sent for him the rest of that day.
Finally, late in the afternoon of the next day, a note arrived ordering him to appear at Longbourn. And after obeying the directive, Bingley had been shown into the study and made to sit in a chair in front of Mr. Bennet’s desk for almost an hour before the gentleman actually entered the room. Moreover, after taking his seat behind said desk, his host had stared at him for the next several minutes without a single word passing his lips.
As for the Master of Longbourn, he was having a grand old time and finding it increasingly difficult to keep a scowl on his face. Bingley had gone pale and was squirming in his chair in a display of nerves that almost rivalled those of his wife at her worst. In fact, he had the impression that Jane’s suitor might bolt from the room at any moment, and since Mr. Bingley had acted so recklessly, he cared little if he prolonged the man’s misery. Unfortunately, to do that would prolong Jane’s suffering as well. Despite his instructions for her to wait in the parlour while he met with Bingley, he could hear her soft footsteps pacing the hallway outside. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to give her some relief.
“Mr. Bingley, do you wish to tell me the meaning of the audacious display of horsemanship—worthy of a circus performer, I might add—that occurred in my rose garden yesterday? Have you gone completely mad?”
Charles instantly coloured, faltering just a bit in his resolve. At the time he had not considered what her family would think of his exploits, wishing only to remove Jane from Mr. Lucas’ reach.
“I… I did not mean for things to get out of hand.”
“Oh? And did you stop to think that you might have injured my daughter?”
“No, sir.” Charles’ composure faltered as his head swung slowly back and forth. “I would never purposely do anything to hurt her. I expected to find Miss Bennet alone. I intended to ask permission to court her, but… but that was not what happened.”
“Obviously.”
“I was thoroughly engaged in trying to think of how to ask Jane—Miss Bennet— to accept my suit, but when I rode around the trees and there he was courting my… my…”
“Your?”
“The woman I love.”
“And your love for my daughter provoked your inventiveness?”
“I honestly do not know what came over me. All of a sudden, I found myself racing towards her with the express intent of saving her from that cad.”
“Cad? Mr. Lucas is a cad?”
“In my eyes he is.”
“And though you made a spectacle of yourself and compromised my daughter, you do not consider yourself a cad?”
Bingley blinked several times before coming to his senses. Rising to the occasion, he squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.
“No, sir, I am not!”
“Then why did you leave Meryton without declaring your intentions towards Jane and stayed away these many weeks without a word? Was that letter your sister sent not meant to crush her hopes?”
Mr. Bennet had always thought that Caroline Bingley might have embellished the letter in a bid to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane, and though he was not sure why, he had always had faith in the man.
“My sister’s letter?” Bingley mumbled, his mien darkening. “Caroline was to send a letter explaining why I had to leave so suddenly.”
“After you left, Jane was so despondent that when her mother learned that Miss Bingley had sent a letter, she demanded to see it. After reading the contents, she believed that Jane’s affections had been trifled with, so she brought it to me.”
Mr. Bennet reached into his top drawer and removed the missive, tossing it across the desk. Charles picked it up to read.
Dear Miss Bennet,
I am sorry that we must cancel our dinner invitation. By the time you read this, we shall be on our way to London, as my brother has been summoned by Mr. Darcy to come immediately. It seems his sister, Georgiana, is returning to London, and he wishes Charles to be there to greet her. We are all looking forward to renewing our friendship with Miss Darcy, who is a lady of the finest calibre. Charles is not sure at this point when, or if, we shall return to Netherfield.
Yours truly,
Caroline Bingley
“That is preposterous! I was not summoned to greet Darcy’s sister. My heavens! She is only a child—fourteen years old!”
Charles stood and began murmuring under his breath as he paced. “I shall banish her to Scarborough! Yes! That is exactly what I shall do with that meddling—” Then he caught himself. “Darcy sent for me because my livelihood was in danger of collapsing, and he and my solicitor felt that I had to take charge of the situation. Had I been certain that I was not going to lose my mercantile business, I would gladly have declared myself to Miss Bennet before I left. As it was, I feared that all I could honestly offer her at the time was my name. I was not sure if I would have the means of supporting a wife if things continued as they were.”
“What events occurred, Mr. Bingley?”
“It was reported that one of my shipments of goods had been lost at sea three months ago, supposedly during a storm. It was a substantial loss. Darcy and I felt that something was amiss, so he helped me to find a solicitor to investigate. While I was here, I got word that another of my ships had suffered a similar fate, so I was forced to take immediate action. Though I have investments in many other areas thanks to Darcy, I cannot afford to lose my mercantile business.”
“Mr. Darcy is your advisor then?”
“He is my friend. And he is very knowledgeable in the ways of business, so, yes, he does advise me.”
“What would he advise you to do in light of the spectacular display of last evening?
The corners of Charles’ lips lifted in a small smile. “I believe he would tell me to declare myself and ask for Miss Bennet’s hand in marriage.”
“No courtship?”
“No. He would say that I should quiet the gossip certain to arise and wed as quickly as possible.”
For a long moment, Mr. Bennet studied the man who would become his son, savouring the fact that he had been proven correct about Mr. Bingley’s character. He offered him a small smile.
“If Jane agrees, you shall have your wedding in two months. I think that is sufficient time to satisfy the tittle-tattle of Meryton and Mrs. Bennet’s desire to plan wedding.”
Charles jumped to his feet, grabbed Mr. Bennet’s hand and began to pump it. “Thank you! Thank you, sir! You shall not regret this!”
Mr. Bennet carefully extracted his hand from the excited young man, eager to urge him from the room and return to his solitude. “Make sure that I do not. Now, I think there is a young lady just outside the door who is eager to learn that I have not eaten you for dinner.”
Bingley knocked a stack of books off the edge of Mr. Bennet’s desk in his eagerness to get to Jane and began trying to pick them up.
“Shoo!” Mr. Bennet cried, waving his hand in exasperation. “I shall see to that later. Go find Jane!”
Right after the door slammed behind Bingley, Mr. Bennet heard Jane’s sweet voice exclaiming how happy she was, and then he held his breath waiting for her mother’s reaction. Shortly, loud cries came from the direction of the parlour.
“Oh, Mr. Bingley! I told Mr. Bennet that you would return to claim her! And I always said Jane was not so beautiful for nothing! Whatever was that dolt Mr. Lucas thinking, trying to insinuate himself into our family? Now, where is Hill? Hill? Oh, there you are! We must begin to plan…”
His wife’s voice trailed off the further she moved in the other direction, and Mr. Bennet ch
uckled to himself as he laid his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. If he were lucky, his wife would be so caught up in gowns, ribbons and planning a wedding breakfast that he would have many peaceful days locked away in his study. All of a sudden, one eye flew open.
Gowns? Ribbons? The breakfast? There will be no end to her spending!
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Ramsgate
Gatesbridge Manor
The Dining Room
Lizzy was not fortunate enough to avoid John Wilkens altogether during her stay in Ramsgate; after all, it was his home. In fact, the morning after their arrival when Alfreda knocked on her door and asked if she was ready to break her fast, they made their way downstairs only to encounter the gentleman who was already in the dining room. He was eating and looked at her with an odd expression—one that Elizabeth could not interpret. And as she and Alfreda took their places at the table, he began to speak.
“Miss Bennet. It was kind of you to accompany Alfreda from London. I am also pleased that you shall have the opportunity to see the estate for yourself. Hopefully, being here, you will more readily comprehend the enormous expectations of anyone who aspires to fulfil the role of mistress. It is not to be taken lightly.”
He did not look as though he was delighted to have her in his home. In fact, Wilkens looked cross. Elizabeth ignored him as she continued to butter a piece of toast. After all, what could she say that would not make him angry?
She was not impressed with this dark, forbidding house or its dour occupants who, if she was an accurate judge, seemed not to own an ounce of happiness. Gatesbridge Manor seemed to suck the very life out of her, and Elizabeth had no desire to be its mistress. She had not been able to fall asleep the night before, even though she was tired and the bed was adequate. Eventually she had opened the heavy curtains and allowed the full moon to lighten the interior which had lessened her anxiety. Still, she could not shake the feeling that evil resided under this roof. Only recollecting that the book Fitzwilliam had given her was in her bag brought her a measure of peace, and she had retrieved it and read until she fell asleep.
Her ruminations were interrupted by a question directed to Alfreda. “What do you intend today in the way of entertainment for Miss Bennet?” It was obvious from Wilkens’ tone of voice that he was not at all worried about Alfreda’s plans to amuse her.
Alfreda had blanched when Elizabeth ignored her brother’s overture about a mistress for Gatesbridge, but she tried to sound enthusiastic now in her response. “We shall visit the shops of Ramsgate and the artist’s shops along the beach and later picnic in the park. Then, if we have time, I shall take her by Hawthorne Hall and introduce her to Aunt Violet so that she will not feel like a stranger during the birthday dinner.”
Wilkens’ furrowed brow did not smooth as he considered her answer. “Just make sure that you do not go near the older section of town. That area is not safe for men, much less women. And be home in time for dinner. I have several meetings at my club this week, but I hope to be home in time to dine with you every night.” He fixed a stony gaze on Alfreda. “Do you understand?”
Alfreda had an idea why her brother did not want them in that area of Ramsgate. Once, she had accidentally overheard him and his friends talking when she had passed his study and the door was left ajar. There was raucous talk of loose women housed in the brothel near their club, and she was certain that she heard her brother boast of visiting someone named Sally, who he referred to as his mistress. At the time, she had dismissed it as utter nonsense—surely a trick of her mind. Over the subsequent months, though, she had begun to wonder if it were not true, as his habits and temper had changed. He stayed away for days without informing her of his whereabouts and, more often than not, one of his friends would bring him home drunk.
Once when she confronted him with his dissolute ways, he had turned violent, squeezing her arms with such force that she had had dark bruises for weeks. And he had begun locking her in her room whenever she did not obey his orders swiftly enough. Fearing that only marriage to a good woman would save him, Alfreda had prayed that he would marry and that the responsibilities of a family would turn him around. But, after several of this year’s debutants had spurned his suit and left him embarrassed, he had gotten worse. Elizabeth seemed to be her last hope.
“Yes, Brother. I understand completely.”
Wilkens excused himself soon after and quit the manor with the pretext of business to see after. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief at his departure and remembered what she had wanted to ask Alfreda.
“Whatever happened to Mrs. Armstrong? I have not seen her since we arrived. Is she not going to break her fast with us?”
Alfreda looked apologetic. “She… she and Brother do not see eye-to-eye on certain things. So when he is here, she resides with her sister in Ramsgate. However, should I desire to travel a good distance, she will be called upon again to accompany me.”
At Elizabeth’s look of incredulity she continued. “In all honesty, she is very happy with the arrangement.” Then appearing overly eager to change the conversation, she continued, “Are you ready to see the sights of Ramsgate? I cannot wait to show you the beaches and the shops along them. I especially love the art gallery.”
Elizabeth nodded. Though she was not satisfied with the explanation of Mrs. Armstrong’s disappearance, she would, however, agree to anything rather than occupy this dreary place all day.
“Yes. I love to walk; the long trip was so confining. Besides, staying indoors when the sun is shining is not my idea of amusement.”
“You are so lively, Elizabeth! You make me want to walk about too!”
“Then, perhaps we should leave the carriage at one of the businesses along the beach and see what we can discover by walking!”
“Indeed! I think that is a wonderful idea!”
Soon after, Elizabeth and Alfreda were aboard one of Wilkens’ carriages and headed in the direction of the shops along the sea.
~~~*~~~
Chapter 20
London
Grantham Townhouse
Dismissing the maid with a wave of her hand, Gisela Darcy stormed into her sitting room in a state of agitation. It would be another hour before her escort arrived, and she despised having too much time on her hands. Looking every inch a woman of substance with her elegantly styled hair and the costliest of satin gowns, she took note of herself in the mirror over the hearth, fingering her jewels as she studied her reflection. She had particularly chosen these diamonds and precious stones, worth thousands of pounds, to impress those she met tonight but privately she wondered if any of it mattered. Pouring another glass of brandy, she settled on a nearby settee and steeled herself against another round of melancholy. Lately it seemed to overwhelm her whenever she was left to her own devices, so she began an analysis of the room to occupy her mind.
She had inherited this richly furnished townhouse, filled with every imaginable comfort, from her first husband, Lord Stanley Grantham. And as Gisela studied the surroundings, she recalled having had most of the house refurbished as a new bride. That included this charming sitting room, wallpapered in delicate blue and yellow flowers and various types of greenery. She had simply adored it when it was first completed. Even the royal blue, antique settee with the matching tufted stool, both presents from Stanley, had pleased her for a brief period of time. She sighed, taking a deep swallow of the amber liquor. Such was her life—nothing had ever satisfied for long.
Despite every possible advantage, Gisela had lately come to the conclusion that she was miserable. And though the outward signs of wealth might make her the envy of most, she felt as poor as a beggar within. None of these things had brought her lasting happiness. Even Lord Attenborough, who would be here in a short while to escort her to yet another soirée, no longer amused her. She took a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily. Where had her life gone wrong?
Her earliest recollections of being entirely content were of childhoo
d. As an only child, her parents had devoted themselves to her happiness. Had it all begun to change when her father, Lord Jackson Montgomery, began to spoil her in earnest? With no little guilt, she remembered flattering him in order to gain whatever she desired, and she reckoned that she could not have been more than ten at the time. It had been a game to get him to agree to her wishes over her mother’s objections.
Or had life begun to crumble when she had entered into the loveless marriage with Lord Grantham? There had been other opportunities for advantageous alliances, some with men a good deal younger and more handsome, but she had been determined to marry the suitor with the most wealth, even insisting that her father discuss with her each candidate’s worth. And after marrying Grantham for his riches, Gisela had fulfilled her every fantasy with his tacit approval, though it was carried out behind his back.
Then, when Grantham had finally expired, she slipped into the worst kind of decadence—running through a string of lovers, single and married alike, without any concern that the affairs were public knowledge. In fact, she revelled in flaunting her liaisons. It was no wonder that by the time she had set her cap for Fitzwilliam Darcy, she lived completely under the delusion that she could have him. Persuading herself that she could make him love her had been her greatest folly. Fraudulently she had managed to acquire his name, but he detested her and all of England was cognisant of it, making her a laughingstock.
The remnants of her seared conscience whispered, Why keep him locked in this unholy alliance when you know he will never yield? Would it not be better for both of you if you grant him a divorce without contest?
Still ambivalent, Gisela reached for the unsigned letter on a nearby table. Left on her doorstep that morning, it had driven home the foolishness of trying to keep him bound to her. From the delicate handwriting, it was obviously written by a woman, and from the contents, it was clear that whoever had written it was jealous of her husband’s interest in another. Gisela had received anonymous notes and letters since her marriage, all meant to cause trouble, but this one held a detail that immediately caught her attention. She had heard the name mentioned before. It was the woman John Wilkens had escorted at the Trousdale’s dinner party—Elizabeth Bennet!