Perhaps a visit to Gracechurch Street was not a good idea. Bingley laid his fork next to his plate; abruptly he was no longer hungry.
***
Bingley spent a restless night, sleeping only fitfully as he tried to reconcile what he had learned from Jane with his sisters’ indignant avowals. Try as he might, he could not make sense of the situation. Several times he resolved to wash his hands of the entire muddle, but he could not bring himself to wash his hands of Jane.
Before the sun began to cast golden rays through the gaps in the curtains, Bingley had resolved that he would call upon Gracechurch Street that day and hear Jane’s account of her contact with his sisters.
This decision sustained him through his morning ablutions and his valet’s attentions as he dressed. His mind was so preoccupied with concern about Jane that even Darcy noticed his lack of spirits at breakfast. “Are the eggs not to your liking, Bingley?” he asked, breaking a long silence that had reigned over the table.
“Hmm?” Bingley was roused from a daze to realize he had been pushing bits of egg around his plate for minutes. “No, no. They are fine. Very good, indeed. I am simply not particularly hungry.”
“Is something amiss?”
For a moment, Bingley was tempted to ask his friend if he was aware of Jane Bennet’s presence in London, but that was foolish. Why would Darcy be informed of Jane’s whereabouts? Asking the question also would invite his friend to voice his opinion of the Bennets—a subject with which Bingley was intimately familiar and had no need to hear again.
Well aware that his family’s fortune came from trade, Bingley usually deferred to Darcy’s superior judgment in matters relating to social standing and the ton. He knew his family’s position in society was somewhat precarious; one mistake could cause Bingley and his sisters to be ostracized despite their fortune. Caroline would never forgive him, and despite their occasional differences, Bingley would not want to hurt her for the world.
However, on the subject of the Bennet family, Bingley was beginning to wonder if perhaps Darcy’s judgment was a little bit…faulty.
“No, nothing,” he murmured. If he announced his plan to visit Gracechurch Street, his friend would hardly approve—and Bingley had no desire to engage in that discussion. They might even have a row, and Bingley hated rows.
Darcy appeared ready to question Bingley’s assertion when the butler entered to announce that Miss Bingley had arrived. Bingley managed to suppress a groan. Caroline could be trying even when he was in a generous mood; she could be impossible when he had slept only a few hours.
His sister sailed into the breakfast parlor, treating Darcy House with the informality she would treat Netherfield. “You must forgive my precipitous arrival, Mr. Darcy!” she announced as she deposited herself in a chair, “but I feel Darcy House is quite my second home. I had been hoping to induce Georgiana to join me for some shopping.”
A little bemused, Darcy said, “She is at the Greenvilles’ house party for a week.”
Caroline slapped herself theatrically on the forehead. “So she is! How foolish of me to forget!”
Bingley frowned at his sister. Miss Darcy’s departure for the Greenvilles’ country house had been a chief subject of their conversation for the past week. Caroline had given Darcy’s sister extensive advice about which clothing to pack for the visit. However, this would not be the first occasion upon which Caroline had used a flimsy pretext to visit Darcy House—and its owner.
Shrugging, Caroline energetically buttered a piece of toast. “Oh well. It is a lovely day. Perhaps a stroll in Hyde Park would suit. What do you say, Mr. Darcy?” She sent him a glance that she might have believed was coy.
Darcy dropped his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “I am afraid I must forgo that pleasure. I am behind on my estate business.” He stood rather quickly. “I hope you enjoy the fine weather.” Caroline’s eyes followed his figure as he strode from the room.
Bingley sighed as he sipped his coffee. Did Caroline have any idea how she repelled the object of her interest? If only his sister would give up this hopeless pursuit!
“What are you about today, Charles?” Caroline’s words were nonchalant, but her tone suggested more than casual interest.
He cleared his throat, stifling a sudden, unaccountable impulse to lie to his sister. “I plan to call upon the Gardiners at Gracechurch Street.”
Caroline stiffened in her chair. “The Gardiners who are related to the Bennet family?”
“Yes. Jane Bennet is staying with them.”
“Indeed?” She made a sour face. “Surely there is no obligation to call upon them, particularly since Miss Bennet has slighted me. It might be best to discontinue the acquaintance.”
Bingley sighed. His morning would have been a great deal pleasanter if he could have avoided this conversation.
“She has treated us rather shabbily,” Caroline drawled.
For a moment, Bingley’s heart sank as he experienced his usual compulsion to agree with her. She knew better than he did about such matters. He did not want to create a family row.
But what if Jane left London, and he never spoke with her? That would be insupportable.
“No,” he said, striving for his firmest voice. “There may have been some kind of misunderstanding between us and the Bennets. My visit gives me an opportunity to correct it.”
Caroline’s lips pursed in disapproval. “I do not think—”
Bingley could envision a long discussion spooling out before them and was suddenly weary of the entire process. Why must every part of my life be subject to my sister’s scrutiny and opinion? “I do not require your approval, Caroline,” he said sharply.
She blinked in surprise and then sighed dramatically. “In that event, I will be forced to accompany you.”
“I do not see the need—”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Heavens, Charles! Jane Bennet is my friend as well. How would it appear if I sent you alone? I must assess for myself how she greets you. As your sister, it is my duty to protect you from fortune hunters.” She bit into the toast with a self-satisfied air.
Bingley ran both hands through his hair and refrained from observing that he had never invited her to perform such a “duty.” No doubt there were good and valid reasons why he should visit Gracechurch Street alone, but he could not conjure them up at the moment.
“I do not want you to accompany me” was not a sufficient reason to prohibit his sister from visiting mutual friends. Bingley sighed. “Very well. We will leave immediately after breakfast.”
Chapter Four
When Maggie hurried up the stairs to announce Mr. Bingley’s arrival, an electric thrill had coursed through Jane’s body. She had been on tenterhooks since she had awakened, wondering if Mr. Bingley would call. Her anxiety was heightened by the awareness that Aunt Gardiner would be from home all day and unable to assist with entertaining any visitors.
However, her heart sank at the sight of Miss Bingley sitting beside her brother in the drawing room. The other woman’s pinched expression amply demonstrated that she derived no pleasure from the visit, and she barely inclined her head when Jane entered the room. In contrast, Mr. Bingley stood immediately and bowed with so much vigor he nearly toppled sideways.
“M-Miss B-Bennet!” he stuttered, his eyes glued to her face. “Mood Gorning! Er, good morning!” He started forward and then stopped, apparently torn about whether to kiss her hand. “I trust you slept well—er, last night and other nights, of course…”
Jane curtsied. The evidence of his anxiety helped allay her nervousness. “Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley.”
Mr. Bingley rubbed his hands together and walked about the room, so full of energy that sitting appeared to be unthinkable. “The weather is quite fine. Far warmer than yesterday. A fine day for a walk!”
Jane’s heart leapt. Walking with Mr. Bingley might afford them an opportunity for private conversation.
“Psh, Charles,” Miss Bingley sn
orted. “It is much too cold.”
Mr. Bingley spoke to his sister through gritted teeth. “You are welcome to remain here and apply yourself to your needlework. But I will take a walk with Miss Bennet—if she is amenable.”
“That would be delightful,” Jane said.
“But you and Miss Bennet can hardly walk out unchaperoned,” Miss Bingley announced somewhat triumphantly.
Jane was determined not to lose this opportunity. “The maid can accompany us. She enjoys a walk and has joined me many times.” Without allowing Miss Bingley time to object, Jane hurried from the room to find Maggie, who was delighted at the news and immediately set about gathering winter clothes.
Very soon after Jane’s return, Maggie entered the drawing room carrying Jane’s pelisse as well as her own shawl.
Mr. Bingley nearly bounded to the door. “Very well! A walk will be most invigorating!”
Miss Bingley climbed to her feet as well, much more slowly. “I suppose I will accompany you.”
Her brother paused in the act of opening the door, a momentary frown touching his features. “You need not inconvenience yourself, Caroline.”
“I have a slight headache. Some fresh air will no doubt do me some good,” she replied with an expression suggesting she held him accountable for the pain in her head.
“Of course,” Mr. Bingley said with perhaps a hint of a disappointed sigh.
So much for any hopes of a private conversation. Jane took a second to mourn the loss but maintained a serene expression. She had considerable practice with concealing her emotions.
Still, Jane experienced a flicker of…something. A new and unfamiliar emotion directed at Miss Bingley. She prodded the feeling, trying to identify it. Perhaps it was a little taste of…irritation?
Well, she must suppress that impulse immediately. Irritation was such a petty sentiment; Jane could not afford to indulge it.
To conceal her disordered thoughts, Jane gave Miss Bingley a benevolent smile as she led the way to the front hall, where everyone paused to don their winter clothing. Maggie took her place as the last in the procession.
The maid had been helpful to Jane before; might she be again? As she watched Maggie drape a shawl over her red curls, a plan took shape in Jane’s mind. As they exited onto the street, Jane lingered behind to speak a word in Maggie’s ear. The young woman listened eagerly to Jane and nodded with a smile. “You can leave it to me, miss!”
As Jane hurried to join Mr. and Miss Bingley, she quelled her misgivings. Maggie had proved quite trustworthy so far; there was no reason to believe she would fail Jane now. The members of the party said little as they traversed the city streets. Mr. Bingley had offered one arm to Jane while his sister took the other.
A mere three streets from the Gardiners’ house, they reached a small park full of leafless trees and scraggly shrubberies. Miss Bingley sniffed loudly at the unprepossessing sight. Jane thought it a charming little place, particularly the small duck pond and benches where people sat to throw bread crumbs for the birds.
As they reached the outskirts of the park, Maggie crowded rather close behind the other three. Miss Bingley turned to snap at her when the maid happened to stumble over an uneven stone in the path. Maggie’s foot flew out, catching the hem of Miss Bingley’s dress.
Miss Bingley cried out at the sight of a long tear in the back of her gown. “What have you done, you clumsy girl?” Jane experienced another flicker of irritation at the way the other woman spoke to Maggie. Why am I so out of sorts today?
“Oh, a thousand pardons, ma’am!” Maggie’s forehead wrinkled with an admirable imitation of distress.
“I cannot be seen with my gown in such a state!” Miss Bingley bellowed imperiously.
“Oh, I can mend it!” Maggie exclaimed. “Right away! You’ll never know there was a tear. If we return to the Gardiners’ house, it is but the work of a moment.”
“Hmph!” Miss Bingley snorted, apparently feeling that Maggie’s apology was not abject enough. She examined the tear and looked back toward Gracechurch Street with a disgruntled expression. “I suppose the house is not too far. Charles, we must return to Gracechurch Street.” She beckoned her brother.
“Surely we need not accompany you,” Mr. Bingley said. “I am in desperate need of a bit of fresh air.”
“But,” Miss Bingley objected in low tones, “you and Miss Bennet…”
Her brother laughed. “We are in public. There is nothing improper about taking a walk here.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Jane said softly, “but I will be just fine.”
Miss Bingley sputtered but could find no reasonable objection. Finally, she whirled on Maggie. “Very well, let us return to the Gardiners’ so we may be back here immediately!”
“Maggie does excellent mending,” Jane assured Miss Bingley with a serene smile. The other woman responded with an aggrieved glare. I should probably feel guiltier over this entire mishap, Jane considered. But Miss Bingley made it difficult to feel sympathy, and the prospect of a private conversation with Mr. Bingley was entirely too exciting.
Miss Bingley stalked back the way they had come with Maggie trailing in her wake. Jane thought she really ought to give the maid a special gift before she returned home; the girl had far surpassed a maid’s customary duties.
Mr. Bingley offered Jane his arm, and they commenced a stroll along the path. It was still early in the year for much to bloom, although a few crocuses peeked through the withered grass. But the sun was bright, and the wind resembled a spring breeze more than a winter gale.
“It is a lovely day,” he said.
“Yes, unusually warm for this time of year,” Jane remarked.
“We are very fortunate.”
“Yes.”
There were so many things Jane wanted to say beyond bland pleasantries, but her head was too crowded with thoughts for any words to possibly emerge. Mr. Bingley will think me the biggest simpleton!
He gave her a tentative smile. “Do you—?” He cleared his throat and started again. “Do you have many other acquaintances in town?”
“Oh yes. This is my third stay at Gracechurch Street, so I am acquainted with many of my aunt and uncle’s friends.”
Mr. Bingley was silent for a moment. Had she said something to distress him? “Do you have any particular friends among their number?” he finally asked, his eyes fixed on distant shrubberies.
Oh. Oh. Now she understood what troubled him. “I always enjoy visiting the Waite family. They have two daughters my age.”
His head turned toward her. “No sons?”
“Yes.” Mr. Bingley’s face fell. “But Mr. Robert Waite is quite a bit older and lives with his wife in York.”
She heard Mr. Bingley’s relieved sigh. Surely it was a little wicked of Jane to find his anxiety amusing, and yet his reaction warmed her, giving her hope that he still entertained feelings for her.
They strolled along the path in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the crunching of gravel under their feet, the singing of birds, and the muted noises of distant city streets. Mr. Bingley seemed to be growing pensive once more. “Have you enjoyed London?” he asked.
“Yes, very much. There is always so much to do.”
The following silence was uneasy. Apparently quite agitated, Mr. Bingley released her arm and walked with his hands folded behind him. What was distressing him? “I suppose you have been much occupied since arriving in town,” he said eventually.
Jane did not know why this subject weighed so heavily upon him, but she could only answer honestly. “My schedule has not been terribly busy.”
“But you have been in town for two months together!” He whirled to face her. “And you did not once call upon Caroline and Louisa? I thought we were better friends than that.”
Jane was momentarily struck dumb as a series of realizations dawned on her. Not only had his sisters concealed Jane’s presence in London, but they also had deceived him about her visit
.
Astonishment turned into indignation, and then…the small flicker of irritation that she had tried to suppress was building into a blaze. Her body had grown stiff and tight while an unaccustomed pressure built inside her head. If Caroline Bingley had appeared at that moment, Jane might have been tempted to strike her.
Or…at least speak a sharp word.
Jane gaped at Mr. Bingley, unable to utter a syllable. Under ordinary circumstances she would do anything to avoid the appearance of conflict between her account and another person’s; such disputes always led to so much unpleasantness.
She could conjure various reasons why his sisters had not told him the truth: there had been a mistake, her visit had slipped his sisters’ minds, or perhaps he had misunderstood them. But the thought of excusing their subterfuge threatened to choke her. Truthfully no possible reason was likely—save their malice and dislike of Jane’s family.
Her entire body shook under the power of a strong emotion she could not identify. What is happening to me? Finally, after several attempts to speak, Jane found her voice. “I called upon your sisters at the Hursts’ townhouse—only a few days following my arrival in town.”
Mr. Bingley’s eyes grew round. “You did?”
Jane nodded vigorously. “Miss Bingley returned my visit some weeks later. She sat with me and my aunt Gardiner in the drawing room.”
Mr. Bingley’s hands clenched into fists. “She visited Gracechurch Street previously?”
“Yes. When my aunt returns, you may apply to her for the truth of the story.”
“No.” His voice was harsh as he averted his gaze. Jane’s heart sank, while her head throbbed with ever-mounting pressure. If Mr. Bingley did not believe her, they could have no possible future together.
“Additional confirmation is unnecessary,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I do not doubt your account.”
Jane’s breath caught. He was prepared to believe her rather than his sisters?
When Jane Got Angry Page 3