by Leenie Brown
Jane shook her head. “I most decidedly have not! What of you? Mr. Bingley’s charms are hard to ignore.”
“His are not the charms I wish to claim,” assured Mary Ellen. “Must men be so slow to act?” she asked with a sigh. “I should have thought they would have grown at least a little uneasy and ill-tempered, but both still act the part of the perfect gentleman. There has not been a huff or a cross word. It is quite remarkable.”
Jane agreed that things were not progressing as they wished. “How long shall we continue before we declare defeat?”
“Defeat?” Mary Ellen laughed. “I shall not quit the field without my colonel! However, we may need to adjust tactics.” She ran a finger over the fine lace that the sales woman had brought out. “Two more days? Can we endure until Sunday?” She lifted the lace. “This is lovely, is it not?”
“It is,” agreed Jane. “I think it would look very lovely on my blue fichu.”
“Sunday?” Mary Ellen asked.
Jane sighed and nodded. “I believe, I can endure for that long.”
“What will happen on Sunday?” asked Lydia, who had joined them to look at the lace.
“Nothing,” said Jane. She attempted to smile and act as if she was not concealing anything, but the blush that stained her cheeks was all the encouragement Lydia needed.
“It is something,” Lydia tipped her head to the side and studied her eldest sister.
“Truly,” said Mary Ellen. “It is of little significance.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “If it were of little significance, none would seek to hide it — particularly Jane.” She crossed her arms and waited as if expecting an answer or retort of some sort.
Jane fidgeted and lowered her eyes.
“Very well. I know people do not trust me.”
The sadness in Lydia’s soft voice caused Jane to look up, and when she did, she saw that the expression on Lydia’s face as she turned away matched the tone in her voice. Jane’s heart could not bear to be the cause. “It is not that,” she said.
“It is always that,” Lydia returned. “Lydia is too stupid and foolish to be trusted.” She shrugged. “I had hoped, perhaps, that…” She shook her head. “It does not signify. Everyone is entitled to their own little secrets.”
“We do not think you stupid or foolish,” said Mary Ellen.
Lydia’s head cocked to the side again, and she gave Jane a questioning look.
“I am sorry, Lydia, but you have not always been wise,” said Jane, accepting her parcel of lace and turning to leave with Mary Ellen.
“You have not always been wise either,” said Lydia, following Jane out of the store.
“Pardon me?” Jane asked in surprise. Lydia said harsh things to Elizabeth but rarely to Jane.
“Forgive me, Mary Ellen,” said Lydia before turning to Jane. “You should be married to Mr. Bingley, and had you fluttered your eyes or allowed your hand to brush past his when passing, instead of being so entirely proper, he would not have been able to stay away from Netherfield. You are beautiful, but you are…” her shoulders rose high and fell sharply as she drew and released a breath. “You are bland. It is like having a ball gown in the perfect shade of blue — like the midnight sky.” She turned to Mary Ellen. “Blue is lovely on Jane, much like red is on you.” She turned back to Jane. “Instead of wearing that gown and being the most sought after, you have hung it in the wardrobe and rarely wear it — and when you do, you hide it under a wrap of gray.”
“He left,” said Jane. “It was his choice.”
“Perhaps,” said Lydia, “but did you give him reason to return?” Lydia shook her head. “Again, I must apologize, Mary Ellen,” she said before continuing. “Do you really wish to marry Captain Harris?” Lydia did not allow for Jane to answer. “It would be a sin, really, if you did. His colouring does not match yours at all, and he is a gossip.” Lydia shook her head again. “No, you must marry Mr. Bingley, and Mary Ellen must marry Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Jane’s brows furrowed, and her mouth dropped open slightly.
Mary Ellen sighed and rolled her eyes. “That is precisely what we are attempting to arrange.”
“It does not look like it.” Lydia’s eyes were wide with astonishment.
“We are attempting to make them jealous,” Mary Ellen admitted in a whisper.
“Then, you are doing it wrong,” said Lydia. “You are giving your full attention to the other gentleman when you should flirt a bit with the object of your interest and then turn away from him. Entice and retreat.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Entice and retreat?” repeated Mary Ellen.
Lydia nodded. “Precisely, but if it does not work, tell me, and I shall arrange it all. It is really not so very difficult to get a gentleman to come up to scratch,” she paused for a moment, “well, most of them. I did think for a time that Marcus was not going to comply.” She smiled as she saw him approaching. “But, thankfully, he did.” She was about to flounce off to greet him when a thought stopped her short, and she turned with a very serious look on her face. “But not until he was told he should. That might be the answer.”
Jane snatched Lydia’s arm. “Please, do not say anything.”
Lydia patted Jane’s hand. “I can keep secrets, you know. I am actually very good at it.”
Jane gave her sister a thankful smile and released her arm.
“Were you successful?” Bingley asked as he approached.
Lydia gave Jane a meaningful look as she tipped her head in Mr. Bingley’s direction.
Jane smiled and heartily admitted that the trip had been well worth the effort. “I found a lovely piece of lace to go on the collar of my blue fichu.” As she spoke, Jane placed a hand on the side of her neck and ran her fingers lightly along where the collar might lay, stopping and resting her hand just at the base of her throat. Then, turning from Mr. Bingley to Captain Harris, she opened her parcel to show him, and only him, the contents. She bit her lip and glanced toward Lydia who winked and smiled.
Bingley knew that he now wished to squeeze every last ounce of breath from Harris. The man’s eyes had only momentarily dropped to inspect the lace before returning to look where Jane’s hand lay — or was Harris looking a bit lower?
Bingley clenched his teeth together firmly and forced himself to smile and turn to Mary Ellen to inquire about her success. As he did so, he offered her his arm and with a small word of excuse, drew her away from the group, an action that to his delight was not missed by Jane. He must be more direct with his attentions to Mary Ellen if he was going to cause Jane to forget Harris. He congratulated Mary Ellen on her fine choices and declared that he was certain no other lady of his acquaintance had quite such good taste in trimmings.
“I say, Bingley,” said Richard, “I had not taken you for such a dandy.”
Bingley raised a brow at the brusqueness of Richard’s tone. “I am not. It is just that I have been schooled in all the finer things of fashion by my overly zealous sisters.”
“You should have joined the militia,” replied Richard with a laugh. “You can be assured there is very little talk of the finer points of fashion among the men.”
“Your men never notice what the ladies are wearing?” Mary Ellen fluttered her lashes and feigned a look of innocence.
Richard laughed again. “I did not say that, Miss Dobney. They are not without excellent powers of observation, but their discussion never delves into the latest colour or the particular style of sleeve.”
Mary Ellen leaned into Bingley’s arm. “Then, I am fortunate to have found a gentleman of such refined talents.” She again fluttered her lashes before turning to smile up at Bingley.
“Yes, very fortunate,” Richard ground out. “If only we could all be as superior as Bingley.”
“Indeed,” said Mary Ellen.
“It is not a refinement I have sought. It is rather a serendipitous result of the hours of torture I have endured listening to my sisters on the subject.” Bingl
ey looked questioningly at Richard. Why was that gentleman so gruff? This was the plan they had contrived. He, Bingley, was to play the part of a smitten swain, but it was only a part — and yet, Richard was acting very much like a jealous beau. Bingley opened his mouth to add a comment about the number of times one or the other of his sisters had placed projects before him and asked his opinion, only to tell him where he had gone wrong. However, before he could utter a sound, he clamped it closed again and shifted his body away from Mary Ellen.
Well, this was a fine kettle of fish, he thought to himself as he watched Richard warily and Harris with contempt while the group walked down the street, stopping here and there for an exploration of one shop or another. Much to Bingley’s relief, it was finally suggested that they gather the few things they needed for a small al fresco meal. This was quickly done — Mrs. Abbot and Mrs. Gardiner being very proficient in organizing and orchestrating such tasks. Before long, the party was gathering at a small grove they had passed on the trip earlier that day.
“Why did you not tell me?” Bingley whispered as he and Richard spread blankets on the ground.
“Tell you what?” demanded Richard.
Bingley accepted the gratitude of Mrs. Abbot for having done such a fine job of preparing a place to sit, and then, with a nod of his head, removed himself and Richard a distance away from the others. “Why did you not tell me you cared for Miss Dobney?’
Richard blinked. “Why should I tell you that?”
“Because it is true!”
Richard’s brows furrowed and his lower lip protruded slightly as he frowned and shook his head.
Bingley chuckled. “You do not like her?” There was disbelief in his voice. “Then why did you act as if you wished to see my head on a pike when we were in Lambton?”
Richard shrugged. “I do not know.”
Bingley shook his head and chuckled once again. “I think I should ride with Darcy on our return.”
“You mustn’t,” said Richard. “Our objective will not be met if you do.”
Bingley sighed. “No, it will not. However, I am rather more concerned about your jealousy than I am hers. She may break my heart, but she will not run it through as you might.”
“I would do no such thing,” scoffed Richard. “I am only disagreeable due to the warmth of the day.”
Bingley’s brows rose in disbelief. The day was warm but not without a cooling breeze. “Very well, I shall continue as we have, but if you find that it is not just the weather making you cross, you have only to say so.” He paused before turning back to take his place with the picnickers. “Have you seen any indication that our plan is working?” he asked.
Richard shrugged. “Miss Bennet is watching us. I dare say that is something, is it not?”
Bingley was not certain it was, but he allowed it to be. As the day ended, Bingley still could not tell whether their machinations were working or not. The one thing of which he was certain was that he disliked Captain Harris immensely, and it was on this thought that he was dwelling later as he and Richard rode to Kympton to find a place other than the game room at Pemberley to wash away the aggravating mental dust of the day.
Chapter 4
As the Saturday sun climbed over the horizon, Bingley once again found himself slumped in a chair at Pemberley instead of in his bed. At least this time, he had made it to his room before succumbing to inebriated sleep. He squinted at the sun and cursed his throbbing head. Frustrated or not, feeling like this in the morning was not worth the short period of memory loss that alcohol provided.
“Never again,” he declared to the room before flopping face first onto his bed and enjoying another hour and a half of sleep before his man came to begin the process of making him presentable.
After enduring the raised brow and unspoken reproach of his valet, as well as the loud rebuke of stiff muscles and a sore head as he dressed, Bingley entered the breakfast room, gathered a piece of dry toast and a cup of tea without milk, then took a seat near Darcy and across from Richard.
“How can you eat so much?” Bingley’s face pinched into a look of revulsion at the eggs, ham, and rolls that were mounded up on Richard’s plate.
“I did not drink as much as you did.” Richard nodded at Bingley’s sparse breakfast. “Only took eating two of those breakfasts to teach me when I should stop.” He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork and lifted it to his mouth.
Bingley turned his eyes away. He could not even witness the eating of so much food without his stomach roiling.
“This is twice in a week,” commented Darcy with raised brows.
“Yes, I can count,” snapped Bingley before apologizing for his short temper. “My head is beyond sore,” he explained.
“I find a good bit of fresh air and a nap are conducive to speeding recovery,” said Richard. “And water — you should drink plenty of water.”
Bingley raised his cup. “Will this do?”
“Aye,” said Richard, “but water is better. Take a flask with you when you go for a walk.”
Bingley did as Richard suggested. He took a flask of water with him when he went for a long ramble — through the gardens and out into the fields and woods. The breeze of the morning felt good, and he drew great deep breaths to try to clear his mind.
Coming to a stream, he removed his boots and outer clothing and slipped into the cool water. Then, finding a pleasant spot in the sun, he lay down to dry out ─ first his front and then his back. The sun warmed him and attempted to lull him into sleep, but having sustained more than one sunburn in his youth, he knew better than to allow himself to surrender to the desire to sleep until he had redressed and taken a seat under the shade of a tree. Then, he cocked his hat over his eyes and was soon buzzing like a large angry bee.
Such a time of relaxation and refreshment as this morning had provided was just the thing to clear his head of most of the effects of last night’s indulgence. It had also given him time to ponder his situation, and on his return to Pemberley, he came to the conclusion that games were not what was needed. He would, at his first opportunity, call on Miss Bennet, declare his love, and beg her acceptance. At least, then, he would know one way or the other where he stood. This shifting between hope and despair might be tolerable for some men, but not for Bingley. He liked things decided. It was why he listened to advice from those he trusted and often followed their leading.
“It looks like your walk has improved your countenance.” Richard sat near the entrance to the garden. He motioned for Bingley to sit. “I think we should end our campaign.”
Bingley smiled. “I would agree. I find that I do not like being a dress.”
Richard laughed heartily at the comment. “I find I do not like your being a dress either.”
“So you have come to realize that I was right about your feelings for Miss Dobney?” Bingley could not help his smirk.
“I have come to the conclusion that it is not entirely impossible that I was feeling jealous. I will admit to nothing further.”
Bingley shrugged. He understood the reticence of speaking of feelings. It was not an entirely comfortable thing to do, even for someone like himself who was not so squeamish about such things as other gentlemen, such as Richard, were. “I am going to speak to Miss Bennet as soon as I find an opportunity to do so.”
Richard cocked his head to the side. “Forming your line and marching into battle rather than scouting about the edges?”
Bingley nodded. “Something of that nature.”
“It is probably best.” Richard rose from his seat. “Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are expected in about an hour, according to Darcy.”
“Harris is to leave with you when you leave Derbyshire, is he not?” Bingley cut a sidelong glance at Richard, who nodded, as they walked. Harris was an ever present annoyance that Bingley would gladly see gone. “Is it not possible to send him back to Brighton early?”
Richard laughed. “I have no reason to do so.”
Bing
ley sighed. “That is unfortunate.”
And it was unfortunate indeed, for that very gentleman happened to be the one that brought Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth to Pemberley. It was also Harris who took Jane’s arm as they strolled around the garden, and it was Harris who claimed the seat next to Jane when they all finally paused for a rest. And it was also Harris who was now monopolizing the conversation.
“It is a lovely day, is it not?” Harris asked as they sat in the shadow cast by Pemberley across the side garden at this time of day.
It was the consensus that it was indeed a fine day — for the weather was pleasant. However, for two of the party, the day was not so fine as it could have been. Bingley was in general annoyed by the presence of Harris and, in specific, irked by Harris’s attentions to Jane.
That lady was also not best pleased by the presence of Captain Harris. For, upon their return to Willow Hall yesterday, Jane had confessed to Elizabeth that she could no longer bear the guilt of playing one gentleman against the other. The techniques that Lydia had mentioned were seeming to work as Mr. Bingley did look put out, but she feared Captain Harris was beginning to think there was a greater attachment on her part than there was. And so, she sat now wishing to dissuade that particular gentleman while longing to know if she had any hope with Mr. Bingley. The frustration of the situation was enough to cause her smile to fade and to keep her rather silent.
This change in Jane’s usually cheerful countenance did not go unnoticed by Mr. Bingley. What could be the cause of her silence and sad expression, he did not know, but seeing her so saddened his heart and made him long for a great wind to sweep away all the others so that he might speak to her in private.
“The summers here are rather pleasant,” Harris was saying, “but there is nothing like a sea breeze on a warm day. When I was a child, my father would often take us to the sea for the summer. Ramsgate was his favoured spot. You have been there, have you not, Mr. Darcy?”