Page 4 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)
CHAPTER 4
C harles Bingley wished he could be more like Darcy. To have his caliber of self-assurance. To meet Caroline’s taunts with cool indifference. Maybe then she would respect him more.
She rose from her chair, pretending a casual air when everything about Caroline was calculated. “I should make certain the servants are managing my plans for the ball to the best effect. There is so much to be done, and all without the advantages of living in town.” She accented her complaint with an arched brow at Bingley. As if he himself had not arranged for the music, the decorations, and some of the food to be brought from London! What else would she have him send for—the entire town?
“We shall not detain you then.” Darcy said the perfect thing to encourage her to quit the room and promptly returned to a letter he had been composing. Darcy was always writing letters. Letters to Miss Darcy, letters to Colonel Fitzwilliam, letters to his steward and housekeeper and secretary. So many letters. Bingley despised correspondence. His thoughts came too quickly and changed too frequently for his hand to pen them down.
He imagined that Jane Bennet had lovely handwriting. Everything Miss Bennet did was graceful and refined. She calmed everyone around her. Even Caroline and Louisa behaved nicer when she was near.
Bingley settled into his chair, content to contemplate Miss Bennet’s fine qualities. She was beautiful—an angel with golden hair, porcelain complexion, and sapphire blue eyes. She was genuinely kind. Even when she had fallen ill at Netherfield, she had been the most delightful patient. Bingley had not heard one complaint cross her lips, though she must have been miserable. It had been a pleasure for him to see to her comfort—send for the apothecary, ensure the maids plumped her pillows several times a day, and consult his housekeeper and cook about remedies—anything to ensure Miss Bennet felt welcome and properly cared for.
Even in illness, she was steady and composed. Precisely what Bingley was not and wished he could be.
Being a romantic at heart, he had often imagined his ideal wife. Jane Bennet exceeded his every hope. It hardly seemed fair to offer for a lady who surpassed his best imaginings when he did not feel so certain about where he stood in her estimation. Was he the husband of her dreams? He would very much like to be, but as he was in everything, uncertainty plagued him.
With a sigh, he came out of his dreamlike cloud and turned to Darcy. His friend would know what to do. “Do you think Miss Bennet would accept me if I made her an offer?”
The tip of Darcy’s quill broke, and he swore under his breath.
Bingley did not understand his friend’s reaction, which distressed him as much as every other conflict did. He quickly changed the subject. “How is Miss Darcy?”
“Very well. She speaks of little more than Serafina and her kittens.”
“I love kittens. And puppies. Baby animals in general. How old are they?”
“Nearly six weeks.”
How could he forget? Miss Darcy had written to Darcy about their birth shortly after they had arrived at Netherfield Park. Truth be told, Bingley had forgotten all about them until now. “I always wanted to have a cat as a pet, but Caroline does not approve. She says that their hair ruins her gowns.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “You seem more suited to dogs.”
Bingley supposed he was. He certainly had the temperament of a dog: friendly disposition, eager to please, enthusiastic to greet friends and meet new people. Not an unpleasant image, certainly, but not very flattering for a man. He would never think to compare Darcy to a dog.
No—Bingley knew he grinned, but he could not prevent it—Darcy’s disposition was more comparable to that of a cat. He did not need or even desire the approval of others and only granted his notice to a select few. He sulked in corners at public assemblies and glared at anyone who dared approach him. Definitely a cat.
Darcy broke the silence, startling Bingley from his diverting musings. “Are you certain you wish to marry now?”
“I have a house, I am of age, and I would like the company. Why should I not marry now?”
Bingley did not know what was wrong with his reply for Darcy to inhale so deeply. He did that when his patience was being tried. “Speak plainly, Darcy. I cannot read your mind.”
Another deep breath. “Are you confident that Miss Bennet’s attachment is as strong as you claim yours to be?”
“Yes.” Bingley’s certainty wavered. “No.” But that was not the answer he wanted at all. “Maybe? Oh, if only I knew, I would not have to ask you.”
“Until you know your own mind, how can you know what qualities you most admire, what traits you seek in a lifelong companion?”
“I shall be whatever she wishes me to be.”
“And you expect her to be as yielding as you? Who would run your household? Who would make decisions?”
Bingley understood Darcy’s point, but Miss Bennet was much stronger than his friend gave her credit for. “Miss Bennet is soft-spoken, but she knows her mind. Only, she is modest—”
“Or is she indifferent ?” The way Darcy emphasized the vile word gave Bingley pause.
He sank back into his chair, feeling limp and numb. “I—I do not know. Is that what you believe?”
“You possess a trusting nature and see only the best in everyone. As a result, you are more easily swayed than you ought to be.”
That was nothing new to Bingley. “So long as I surround myself with good friends who are smarter than me, then I hardly see the deficiency. I have learned a great deal in the past weeks—thanks to you.”
“Estates can be bought and sold or let for a short period of time, but marriage is forever. As such, it is not something I should advise you on. It is your choice to make. You will be the one to live with the consequences, good or bad.”
Bingley grimaced. What Darcy said was absolutely right, though Bingley did not like hearing it. He really was a dog. Even now, he wanted Darcy to tell him what to do, ever desirous of a pat on the head and a word of praise once he carried out his command.
Bingley had to do better than that if he wanted Jane to marry him. Or she would be better off with a puppy as a companion than with him as a husband.
“To rush into a union is the height of foolishness, and you, Bingley, are more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You only lack the confidence to carry out your own decisions.”
“And how do I gain this confidence?”
“Through practice. Trial and error. Above all…time.”
Bingley frowned. He did not like that “error” bit. Or the “time.” He knew he was not stupid, but how could other men be so certain? “Do you never doubt yourself?”
The blank expression covering Darcy’s face was reply enough. He clearly had no idea what insecurity felt like.
After a long pause, he spoke. “Do you doubt your feelings for Miss Bennet?”
“No,” Bingley replied firmly. Then again, he had been in love many times, and every time he had been convinced of the sincerity and absoluteness of his affections. What made him believe this time was any different? He did not like the idea of loving a lady who did not return his affections. “But you have made me doubt the depth of hers. What should I do?”
Darcy shook his head. “That is not for me to decide.”
Bingley regretted asking the question, which had sprung off his tongue too quickly. Darcy was right. If he wanted to be the sort of man Miss Bennet could admire and respect, he must start making his own decisions.
“Only promise me you will not do anything in haste,” Darcy continued. “You would do better to quit Hertfordshire and return to London than to rush into an unequal match before you know your own mind or can discern hers.”
But Bingley’s attention had been diverted, and he absently nodded without fully hearing his trusted friend’s counsel. He suddenly recalled an adage his father had often uttered:
He who never undertook anything never achieved anything.
It had been many years since Bingley had thought of it, but it popped into his mind as clearly as if his father stood before him saying it now. Had this been what his father meant?
If Bingley was certain about Miss Bennet’s inclinations, then he would do his best to be the husband she deserved. He only needed to know the extent of her regard.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He could do this. Being more impulsive than deliberate, Bingley would find out that same night. He had decided, and he would do what he must to stick to his decision.