Miss Bingley Requests

by Judy McCrosky

  ‘I, too,’ said Mr Darcy, lowering the book he had been reading, ‘would like to hear your version.’

  Charles smiled at his friend. ‘Are you so much more elderly than I that you cannot remember?’

  ‘No, what I fear is that you will forget that my advanced age requires you to treat me with respect. I fear I will not be portrayed in such a manner as I deserve.’ He stated this with utmost seriousness.

  Charles and Georgiana were not fooled, though, and they both broke into laughter. Mr Darcy laughed also. Caroline joined them, even though she had not been a part of the conversation, simply because it made her happy to see Mr Darcy laugh.

  Her embroidery held no allurement this evening, and the book she’d selected to read because Mr Darcy had recently finished it, was very dull indeed. ‘I will offer my support to Miss Darcy,’ she said, ‘and join my voice to hers so that we may hear your story, Charles.’

  Looking about, Charles shrugged. ‘How can I refuse, when I am surrounded by so many eager faces? But are you all so certain you wish to hear such a dull tale?’

  ‘It is not dull at all,’ Caroline said. ‘Nor is it so long as to be wearisome. We have spent more time discussing whether you should tell it than the telling will take.’

  He held up his hands in good-natured surrender. ‘Very well!’ Taking a sip from his tumbler of brandy, he began. ‘Once upon a time, dear ones, there was a university and at the university there were two young men.’

  ‘Only two?’ Georgiana asked in a pretended wondering tone. ‘They must have received a great deal of attention, indeed, from all the professors.’

  Charles frowned at her. ‘How can I proceed if there are all these interruptions?’

  ‘There has been only one interruption, so far,’ Mr Darcy pointed out, helpfully.

  ‘I am merely preparing for those that are to come.’ With great dignity, Charles looked from one face to another, until everyone assumed his desired mien of attentiveness.

  ‘There were other young men there also, but as they do not figure largely in this story, for brevity’s sake I have chosen to ignore them.’ He paused, as if expecting another interruption, but no one said anything.

  ‘We will,’ he continued, ‘refer to one young man as Charles, and the other as Darcy.’

  ‘That is something I don’t understand,’ Georgiana said. ‘Why, Mr Bingley, are you referred to by your Christian name by your family and friends, while my brother is called by our last name by almost all of our intimate acquaintances?’ Turning to her brother, she added, ‘Our cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, calls you Fitz, does he not?’

  ‘He does,’ Mr Darcy said, ‘but for most people, Fitzwilliam is too much of a mouthful. And since our mother’s family was the Fitzwilliam family, it confuses some people, who don’t know whether my appellation as Fitzwilliam refers to my first or last name. Our cousin uses the shortened name Fitz in part because of this confusion.’

  Charles, who had sat through this conversation with admirable patience, now interjected, ‘It is because he is Darcy. Look at him.’ They all did. ‘His name suits him and he suits the name.’

  The others continued to study Mr Darcy, and Caroline thought she could understand what Charles meant. The name Darcy was elegant, handsome, refined, just as the man was.

  ‘May I continue?’ Charles asked. ‘The young man hitherto referred to as Charles, had a very good impression of himself. He was the first in his family to receive higher education, and since he had done well during all levels of his schooling, he assumed university would be no different. He spent his first few days in a confused daze for there were a great many students there—’

  ‘The young men who shall not be mentioned?’ Caroline asked.

  He ignored her. ‘There were also a great many rooms, most of which were intended for different purposes, and Charles found it difficult to find the correct room for the correct purpose at the correct time. He muddled through, with increasing success, but he still had no opportunity to shine.’

  ‘And he wanted to shine?’ Georgiana asked.

  He nodded. ‘Charles wanted to show the entire world that even though he did not stem from a family of scholars, he was worthy of being a member of the university. One day, perhaps a little under a fortnight of his arrival, he arrived in a room at the correct time but discovered it was the wrong room for his purpose. Instead of a seminar on the ancient philosophers, there was something entirely different going on.’ He paused, for suspense, and his audience did not disappoint him, for they remained silent, awaiting his next words.

  ‘At the front of the room two men stood, facing an audience of perhaps a dozen others. One man was speaking, without a single interruption, I might add. He talked about the war with France and Napoleon.’ He turned to the women present. ‘I shall leave out the details, because no doubt they deal more thoroughly with the issue of war and how it is carried out than you would wish to hear. Suffice it to say that his argument for the way Britain had treated Napoleon was compelling. By the time this man finished speaking, I was convinced that everything Great Britain had done for the past many years was exactly what had been required, and that our leadership was inspired and infallible.

  ‘The event was not over then, even though the audience, with me joining in, had applauded enthusiastically. I discovered it was then the turn of the other man standing at the front to speak. He was a tall fellow, with dark wavy hair. He appeared relaxed, and I assumed he would comment on the brilliance of the other fellow’s talk. When he began I took a chair at the back of the room, instead of leaving to find my seminar. I would have been unpardonably late, in any case.’

  ‘The other man was my brother!’ Georgiana exclaimed.

  ‘He was indeed.’ Charles smiled. ‘He spoke on the opposite side of the issue, on how wrongheaded Britain’s treatment of Napoleon had been and how events might have differed, and lives been spared, had we taken a different tack.’

  He turned again to the two women. ‘As I discovered at the end of the session, the people present were members of the debating club. I had never heard of this form of discussion, formal and yet wide-ranging. It works thus: an issue that has more than one side is selected, and two people are assigned at random, one to argue for, and the other, against. They each have an opportunity to speak, uninterrupted, for a set amount of time. There is a scoring system which deals with the number of clear points made by each.’

  Georgiana clapped her hands. ‘It sounds fascinating. I would so like to attend a debate.’ She looked pleadingly at her brother. ‘Can you arrange it?’

  He frowned. ‘Debates are not usually suitable for young ladies. Tempers sometimes rise, and the language, while it must be gentlemanly, can become rough.’

  Upon seeing her disappointment at her brother’s disapproving tone, Caroline quickly said, ‘Perhaps we can arrange a debate for ladies. Women, after all, have brains also, and when we are informed of the facts of an issue, are quite capable of developing a coherent argument.’

  Charles burst out laughing. ‘I am indeed well aware of ladies’ ability to argue. And you truly can be single-minded when you wish to be. Debate requires much more self-discipline than women have.’ He turned to Mr Darcy. ‘Do you not agree?’

  Mr Darcy thought for a moment. ‘I do agree, in principle, and a few months ago I would have agreed without hesitation. I have, though, encountered a female who can more than hold her own in any discussion.’

  Caroline froze. Goosebumps arose on her skin and she folded her arms across her chest, grateful for the current fashion of long sleeves. There was only one woman he could mean. Elizabeth Bennet. ‘Surely,’ she said quickly, ‘you cannot admire such a trait in a woman. What man could possibly wish to be challenged during every conversation, or on each decision he makes?’

  Mr Darcy raised an eyebrow. ‘Forgive me if I gave the wrong impression. I did not mean to state that the person in question is argumentative, just that she has a lively mind, and is well able
to discuss all manner of issues in an interesting and stimulating manner.’

  Caroline did not respond, for she was uncertain what to say. Before much time in silence had passed, Charles cleared his throat. ‘Shall I continue the story, or would we prefer to discuss how to hold a discussion?’

  ‘Oh! continue, of course,’ Georgiana cried. ‘We had only just reached the point where my brother spoke. I long to know more about his performance.’

  ‘There is little to say of his performance,’ Charles said wryly. ‘It was magnificent. By the end of his allotted time, I was convinced Great Britain had the most foolish leadership of any country in the entire world, and that, had we only asked this man how best to handle Napoleon, the war could have been entirely averted.’

  Mr Darcy laughed. ‘Come now, Charles. Are you so easily swayed as that?’

  ‘I was on that occasion!’ Charles cried. ‘I rushed out of the room in a frenzy; my mind swirling with all that I had heard and observed.

  ‘Once my fevered thoughts had ebbed somewhat, I found my way back to my rooms. By then I had begun to realise that I had, in the space of less than an hour, believed with all my heart two entirely opposing views. I knew I had to learn how to speak as those men had. At my first opportunity, I signed up for the Debate Club.’

  ‘So that is when you first met my brother?’ Georgiana said. ‘When he told me the story, he described a slightly different occasion.’

  Mr Darcy smiled reminiscently. ‘My first memory of Charles is of the event he is about to relate. He first saw me as he has described, but I was much too wrapped up in myself and in my performance to notice a latecomer. This may come as a shock, dear sister, but I was rather conceited at that time in my life.’

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. ‘Dear brother, I am not as naïve as you choose to believe. Knowing your faults, though, only helps me love you better.’

  Mr Darcy was speechless for a moment, then a tender smile grew on his face. Caroline watched, unable to look away even though this was clearly an intimate moment between brother and sister. If only she could draw such a look of adoration from him. Perhaps she should try letting him know how she felt about him, and speak of love, just as Georgiana had done. She wasn’t sure of what to say or how to voice it. She’d ask Eleanor for advice.

  ‘The story,’ Charles said, ‘is quickly done. I joined the club, was assigned an issue, and debated it. Over the next weeks, I participated in two practice debates, and then my first in actual competition. Much to my delight, although not to my own conceit’s surprise, I was declared the winner. The following event, however, was much different.’

  ‘You debated against Mr Darcy,’ Caroline said with a smile. ‘And lost.’

  ‘You are correct,’ Charles said. ‘I prepared for the debate, thoroughly researching the area, and practising the points I wished to make on any fellow student unfortunate enough to fall into my clutches. I spoke, as I thought, brilliantly, not so quickly as to be hard to understand, yet efficiently to make the best use of my time. I modulated my voice, raising it when I approached an important point, hushing it when I wished to create a moment of suspense. It was all for naught.’

  ‘You lost,’ Georgiana said sadly. ‘Please forgive me for asking you to relive an unpleasant experience.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Charles said cheerfully. ‘It is through our mistakes that we learn.’

  ‘And it was not all for naught,’ Mr Darcy said. ‘For after the event was over, Charles came to congratulate me, and as I had been impressed by his speech, especially from a man so recently come to debating, we spoke at some length.’

  ‘Both of you complimenting each other!’ Georgiana said.

  ‘Indeed.’ Mr Darcy smiled at Charles. ‘The compliments created an atmosphere in which we were both kindly disposed to one another, and when we parted, I invited Charles to join me for dinner at my rooms the following day. We continued to seek out each other’s company often. We soon found enough to admire in each other that the friendship grew rapidly.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Georgiana said to Charles. ‘It is a lovely story, and you told it very well. In fact,’ and here she sent a mischievous look at her brother, ‘based on your telling today and my brother’s recital of the story some little time ago, I declare you, Charles, the winner of this debate.’

  Mr Darcy stood and applauded, and Caroline followed suit. ‘Very well done, indeed,’ she said to Charles. ‘Although,’ and she looked sidelong at Mr Darcy, ‘your friend is no mean storyteller himself. I so enjoy listening to him. Everything you have to say, sir,’ and she turned to face him, ‘is fascinating and provides me with food for thought.’

  Mr Darcy bowed in response to this. Taking out his pocket watch, he held out a hand to help Georgiana rise to her feet. ‘It is growing late,’ he said, ‘and so we must end this gathering and head home.’

  Charles rose, also, and bowed to his sister. ‘Good night, Caroline. Please tell the Hursts that I hope they spent as delightful an evening with their friends, as we did here.’

  ‘I shall.’ Caroline summoned the butler to show them out and then, not quite ready to prepare for sleep, returned to the sitting room. She sat in the chair Mr Darcy had used, and tried to sense any remaining warmth from his body, but there was none.

  She didn’t know what to do. Why had he not yet proposed? She’d been reluctant to return from his house to this one because it meant they were less often in each other’s company. And yet he’d had plenty of opportunities to speak, since the two households spent much time together. And surely he could have arranged for a moment alone with her, simply by inviting her to take a walk in the gardens, or taking her aside when they were at the theatre or another place where the proximity of crowds somewhat oddly made it easier to speak privately.

  Mr Tryphon had certainly taken advantage of those sorts of opportunities. While he had not let one word about his feelings for her pass his lips, he still enjoyed spending time with her, and she found no objections. They spoke of many things, fashion, music, the latest plays, who had been seen with whom at which party or ball. There were no awkward silences with him, unlike when she was with Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy so often seemed disapproving of her, or refused to reply to some innocent comment she made. With Mr Tryphon, there was always something to say, and he listened with his entire being, often laughing or appearing thoughtful at something she said. Sometimes he paused a moment before replying, but she knew this was so he could frame the most apt response. There was no disapproval from him, no frowns, no picking up a book and losing himself within it while she still spoke.

  Mr Tryphon, she realised now, found her fascinating. Mr Darcy, well, she was not sure what he thought. She enjoyed being fascinating. Feeling disloyal, she remembered that at times Mr Darcy did enjoy her company. He always put down his book whenever she played or sang at the piano. He admired her needlework and had said he was very happy with the slippers she’d embroidered and given to him for Christmas. He’d given her a charming vase, and had promised to see it filled with flowers. She kept the vase in the smaller parlour of Mr Hurst’s house, where she and Louisa often sat, for the winter weather had become very cold, and the fire did a better job of heating the smaller room.

  Every time she saw the vase and flowers, they reminded her of Mr Darcy. Surely his constancy in sending the flowers corresponded to the constancy of his feelings for her. Why, then, did he not speak?

  Perhaps it was due to that horrible aunt of his, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She, Caroline knew, wanted Mr Darcy for her daughter, Anne, a miserable sickly creature. Mr Darcy would not marry Anne. She knew him well enough to understand that he would not allow his life to be dictated by another, not even his mother’s sister.

  No, Caroline would have to take matters into her own hands. If words of love were what he liked to hear, she would find a way to give them to him. Perhaps he was unsure of how she felt about him. She knew that a woman of accomplishment and intelligence could seem self-contained to a man. She
would show him her vulnerable side, and how much she needed his strength.

  Yes, that was a good plan. She’d discuss it with Eleanor, of course, but she knew her friend would approve, and would be impressed with Caroline’s ability to be assertive and go after what she wanted.

  Later, as she lay in bed awaiting her slumber, she ran through some things she could say to Mr Darcy. She could comment on his firm forearm and how secure she felt when he escorted her to dinner. She could pluck a piece of lint, real or imagined, from his sleeve, and tell him how much she enjoyed performing the little task for him. She could pretend fear while at the theatre, appearing overcome by a sword fight or by the sorrow of two lovers cruelly separated from each other.

  But why, when she thought of firm muscles, a protective presence, a person for whom to perform little tasks, did a different man monopolise her thoughts? It was Mr Darcy she loved, was it not? And if she did not love him now, she would after they were married, just as he would come to adore her. There was no reason to be thinking of Mr Tryphon. None at all.

  To prove that he meant nothing at all to her, she took out his letter, the one that had spoken of love, and read it through, determined to discover not the slightest warm feeling in response to it. She read it slowly, repeating each word inside her head, and was pleased to discover that when she finished it and put it back in her jewel box, she felt nothing at all. Her heart rate was as steady as always, her breathing soft and smooth.

  Mr Darcy was the man who quickened her pulse, and if that reaction did not happen naturally, well, she would simply find a way to make it happen. Practice, she reminded herself, makes perfect. For a moment she brought the image to mind of Mr Darcy’s forearm and increased the rate of her breathing, but after a few breaths she began to develop a headache.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would practice, even though there were no engagements planned for the day that would bring her and Mr Darcy together. Practice on her own would be even more effective, so that the next time she saw him, she would be perfect in her loving responses to him.