Page 8

Breakfast Parlor

Netherfield Hall

The Next Morning

“Sir?” the butler said.

Bingley, who was absently eating his breakfast while frowning over a letter from his man of business, looked up in surprise. “Yes?”

“Sir, Miss Bingley requests that you visit her in her sitting room when you have finished your repast.”

Bingley’s frown deepened, but he merely said, “Thank you.”

The butler retreated, and Bingley took an absent sip of coffee as he considered the summons. It boded ill given Darcy’s warnings only the day previously, that Caroline and Louisa did not wish him to marry Miss Bennet.

For a moment, he knew a craven desire to go for a ride on the estate and avoid his sisters entirely, but no, that would not be the courageous thing to do. If his sisters were indeed determined to prevent his marriage to Miss Bennet, they needed schooling over their role in his life. Yes, he cared about them, but he was his own man.

He felt a sudden surge of bravery, hastily finished eating his toast and drinking his coffee, and then quickly made his way out of the breakfast parlor, up the stairs and to his younger sister’s private sitting room, whereupon he braced himself and knocked. The door was opened a moment later by Caroline’s private maid, who stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He obediently did so and felt an odd flip in his stomach at the sight of both his sisters, who were sitting side by side and very upright on a small settee by the fire, both with determined looks on their faces.

“It is about time you arrived, Charles,” Caroline said and turned toward her maid. “You may go, Clara.”

The maid bobbed her head and obediently left, pulling the doors shut behind her.

“Sit down, Charles,” Caroline ordered.

Bingley had ridden hard two days in a row and was a trifle sore, but he had a vague understanding that to sit would be unwise. Far better to loom over his sisters during what would doubtless be a difficult conversation.

“I prefer to stand. Say what you would like to say, please. I wish to go for a ride. ”

Caroline tilted her face toward him, her eyes narrowed, and she said, “A ride which will end at Longbourn, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Charles replied coolly, though he felt his muscles tense.

“Charles,” Caroline cried out, leaping abruptly to her feet and taking a step closer, “Mr. Darcy and Louisa and I talked at length during your trip to London, and we have agreed that Miss Bennet is not at all an appropriate bride for you, and if you keep visiting Longbourn, she will come to the conclusion that you are courting her!”

Bingley stared into his sister’s face in confusion. “What are you talking about, Caroline? Darcy and I spoke yesterday evening, and he believes Miss Bennet would make me an excellent wife.”

Caroline turned bright red at these words, and she snorted like an angry bull. “I do not believe that, Charles. Darcy is far too good a friend…”

“You are saying that I am lying?” Bingley demanded, and now he was genuinely angry. “How dare you?”

His younger sister retreated a pace and turned an alarmed look on Louisa, who said soothingly, “Charles, Caroline and I are simply concerned about your happiness. Miss Bennet is a charming and handsome young lady, but she has an uncle in trade in London, not to mention that she has no money, and…”

“And her younger sisters are dreadful!” Caroline exclaimed, recovering some of her spirit. “I suppose you were too caught up in Jane to notice, but the younger girls were drunk by the end of the ball, and as for Miss Mary, she had no reason or right to inflict her appalling singing voice on us. When I compare her to Louisa, whose voice is so lovely…”

“Enough!” Charles shouted, which caused both ladies to quail in surprised shock.

“Enough,” he repeated, more quietly, though his face was still taut with anger. “I will not hear another word from either of you on this topic. Do you understand? I am allowing you to live at Netherfield without cost, and in return for that magnanimity, I insist that you leave me alone to pursue the lady I may choose to marry. If you find that impossible, you are entirely welcome to leave for London immediately!”

He turned on his heel, stalked out of the room, and pulled the door shut with a bang, any natural diffidence swept away by genuine fury. Caroline had lied to his face about Darcy’s view of Jane Bennet, and she had done it without any hint of deception.

He hurried down the stairs and down two corridors to the back door, where a path led to the stables, his mind a maelstrom of disbelief and anger. The reality that his sister would lie to him was upsetting enough, but to do so with such assurance, such conviction?

How often had she lied to him in the past?

How often had she shaded, or even broken, the truth to get what she wanted?

It was maddening, and he would not put up with it any longer.

***

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Longbourn

An Hour Later

The only sound in Elizabeth’s bedchamber was the soft rustle of paper as she turned pages of her book. The early morning sun slanting through the window was sufficient to illuminate the book in her hands, and she basked in its warm glow .

She had risen before dawn, drunk her morning chocolate, eaten a couple of pieces of toast, and then slipped out the back door for a brisk walk through the rear gardens before there was any danger of encountering Mr. Collins. Elizabeth enjoyed the early mornings and often rose with or even before the sun, and Mr. Collins, most fortunately, did not.

Mrs. Bennet also rarely rose early, and Elizabeth was equally grateful for that. She did not wish to endure her mother’s histrionics and recriminations any more than she desired to be subjected to Mr. Collins’s offended silences and stiffly civil remarks. Elizabeth had been keeping to her bedchamber as much as she politely could over the past couple of days, fortified with books borrowed from her father’s library.

Still, Elizabeth was an active sort of person, and being trapped in her room was starting to wear on her. She was enjoying her novel, but she longed to be able once again to move freely about her own home without fear of encountering her tiresome cousin. On Saturday, he would depart to his own rectory, and Elizabeth was anticipating the day as eagerly as she ever had any assembly or party.

There was a soft tap at the door, and she sighed and called, “Come in!”

To her relief, it was her sister Mary, who pushed the door open and said, “Elizabeth, I was wondering whether you might be interested in learning a duet so we can perform together. I know you have a better singing voice than I do, and I would like to show myself in a more favorable light the next time I have the opportunity.”

Elizabeth’s irritability was quickly swept away in a tide of sympathy. Mary was, compared to her sisters, a relatively plain girl, and she had tried to win approval from both family and community by learning accomplishments and studying for many hours a day. Unfortunately, her anxious pursuit of praise made her actions seem more irritating than enticing, and she was always pale as she spent so much time indoors hunched over books of sermons.

“Of course I will,” she said immediately. “Perhaps we could take the servants’ stair to the music room?”

Mary looked puzzled for a moment and then said, “If you are wishing to avoid Mr. Collins, he has been invited to Lucas Lodge for the day.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a deep sigh of relief. “How very kind of the Lucases.”

“You really dislike Mr. Collins so much?” Mary asked quietly.

Elizabeth blew out a breath and said, “I find him exasperating. Is that dislike? I do not know. I do know that I would be unhappy with him, and he would be very unhappy with me.”

“I wish he had chosen me,” Mary said wistfully, “but I suppose that even a clergyman is inclined to want a pretty wife.”

Elizabeth had no response to this statement and merely hooked her arm in her next younger sister’s, and they made their way to the music room, where to her surprise and pleasure, Mary suggested that they practice Robin Adair, a lilting song from the previous century.

The next half hour was surprisingly pleasant as Elizabeth enjoyed singing and Mary enjoyed playing, and they were not interrupted, even once, by either former suitors or an anguished mother.

When they were finished, Mary turned her attention to one of Mozart’s pieces, and Elizabeth stepped out of the room to find an empty corridor. She took a few surreptitious steps toward the stairs with the intention of hiding in her bedchamber again, only to halt as the drawing room opened and her mother surged into the hallway with Jane and Mr. Bingley in her wake.

“We do look forward to it very much,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, walking toward the vestibule, and Mr. Bingley said, “I greatly appreciate your invitation, Madame. Miss Elizabeth, good morning. ”

Elizabeth curtsied and said, “Good morning, Mr. Bingley. I hope you had a pleasant trip to London?”

“It was well enough,” the master of Netherfield said, “but I was eager to return to Netherfield. I find the company far more congenial here than in London.”

This was said with a significant smile at Jane, who returned the smile, her cheeks pink with satisfaction.

“Oh indeed, I much prefer the country to Town,” Mrs. Bennet said hurriedly, “and I am delighted that you find such pleasure in the company here.”

“I do, very much,” Bingley agreed and then bowed. “I will see you soon, Miss Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth.”

The ladies curtsied and watched as the gentleman strode out of the door. Mrs. Bennet waited only until the door was closed before exclaiming, “Oh, my dear Jane, did he propose?”

Jane’s smile gave way to a puzzled frown. “No, Mamma, he did not. If he had, he would have gone to speak with Father.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bennet remarked, her mouth turning down sadly, and then she shook herself and said, “Well, it is obvious that he loves you, Jane, and will make you an offer soon. Indeed, perhaps when the Netherfield party visits in three days. Well, I suppose he will not speak then, with so many people here, and oh dear! I simply must speak to Cook about dinner…”

The older lady rushed off towards the kitchen, leaving her daughters behind. Elizabeth, noting Jane’s shining eyes, thought that in this case, at least, Mrs. Bennet was correct. Mr. Bingley undoubtedly admired Jane very much, and barring catastrophe, would likely propose by the end of the year. She certainly hoped so, as Jane and Mr. Bingley were a perfect match for one another.