Page 14 of Brighton Rescue (Pride and Prejudice Variation #23)

London

“Thank you, Briggs,” Charles Bingley told his butler, who had just placed a tray with a glass and a bottle of brandy on his desk. “You may go. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Yes, sir,” Briggs replied and sailed regally out the door, leaving Bingley to pour himself a glass of spirits and sink into the seat behind his desk.

Bingley took a sip and leaned back with a soft groan.

Only last night, he had returned to London with his sisters and brother by marriage.

Mr. and Miss Bingley and the Hursts had been visiting an old friend of Bingley’s from his Eton days, a Mr. Alexander Ludlow, who owned a house and lands in Staffordshire.

The three weeks in the company of his friend had been pleasant enough; Ludlow and his wife were charming hosts, and there had been fishing and riding and other activities on the small but thriving estate of Greenhill.

Bingley had enjoyed himself, but as he gazed blankly at the papers on his desk, including a tall pile of mail, he felt a stab of melancholy.

The Ludlows, who had been married for two years and were now expecting their first child, were a well matched couple and took pleasure in one another’s company.

Bingley was grimly aware that this was hardly a common experience among the gentry, who often elevated wealth and societal standing over compatibility between spouses.

The Prince Regent was, of course, perhaps the most dramatic example of such doubtful priorities in all of England.

After entering into an illegal marriage with the Roman Catholic Maria Fitzherbert in 1785, the Prince’s mounting debts had forced him to marry instead his cousin, Princess Caroline of Brunswick, in 1795, in exchange for having his monumental accounts paid for by the Crown.

The Prince Regent and his wife despised one another from the beginning, and after producing one child, the heiress to the throne, Princess Charlotte, they had separated permanently.

Now the Prince wended his way from London to his Brighton house and back again, engaging in adulterous affairs with various women, spending money like water, while also struggling with crippling pain from gout.

Perhaps, mused Bingley, the Prince was happy enough with his life; he certainly had money and all the feminine companionship he wished.

But he, Charles Bingley, had no desire to live such a dissipated lifestyle, nor had he any intention of leaping headlong into the debauchery typical of British aristocrats.

He wanted to marry a woman whom he loved and admired, sire children, and live amicably with his wife until they were both old and gray. He could not imagine anything better.

For at least the thousandth time in the last eight months, a vision formed in his mind’s eye, that of the beautiful face of Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

He had loved her greatly, adored her even, and had planned to marry her, only to discover that she did not truly care for him but would accept his offer for practical reasons.

He could not blame her for being willing to accept a marriage proposal without true attachment; Longbourn was entailed to a distant male heir, and the five Bennet daughters would be nearly penniless once Mr. Bennet died.

However he was not willing to settle for a mere marriage of convenience.

Or was he? Perhaps his sister Caroline was right, perhaps he ought not to hope for mutual love between himself and his prospective wife.

One thing he did know; he could not bear to marry a woman whom he admired and treasured if the lady did not return at least some of his feelings.

It would be exquisitely painful to live with, to share a bed and children with, a woman who smiled on the outside while remaining entirely indifferent to him on the inside.

Bingley emerged from his reverie when his eye recognized familiar handwriting on a letter on one side of his desk. He reached forward curiously and snatched it from the pile; it was from his closest friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.

Darcy was an excellent companion, if at times a rather discouraging one – it was he who had informed Bingley that Miss Bennet was not truly fond of him – and Bingley valued his expertise as a landowner and his advice as a man of the world.

He quickly reached for his letter opener, carefully slit the missive open, and began to read.

Brighton

July 26th, 1812

Bingley,

I am currently residing with Lady Amelia Hartford in Brighton, and thus unfortunately have missed your return to London.

I trust that you enjoyed your sojourn north with your friends.

I am certainly enjoying the company here in Brighton; Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her charming relations, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, are houseguests here, along with my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

I have no doubt you remember that last December, we departed Netherfield Park for London for reasons which, at the time, I felt were cogent. I have since come to understand that I was mistaken in my advice to you. I regret my error, most sincerely.

Lady Amelia assures me that if you would care to come visit us in Brighton, you are most welcome; regrettably, the house is already rather full, so your sisters and brother by marriage cannot be accommodated, nor, with the Brighton Season in full swing, are there any houses for rent in the area.

My best wishes on your health and happiness.

Sincerely, Fitzwilliam Darcy

Charles Bingley felt the world tilt before his eyes and he reached out to steady himself on his desk. Darcy … what had he said? Surely he … what?

He read it again, and then a third time, and then poured himself another stiff drink of brandy, which he threw down his throat before leaning limply back on his chair.

Darcy said he had been wrong, and while his friend’s words were couched carefully, it was obvious that his error was regarding Miss Bennet’s true feelings toward him. She had cared for him!

Bingley had known it, he truly had. He had seen the light in her celestially blue eyes, and the smile on her lips. She had gazed upon him far more fondly than on other men. Jane Bennet loved him!

A great smile split his face wide open and he laughed aloud and rose to his feet, then began striding vigorously up and down his office. He felt suddenly as if he could float, maybe even fly! He would ask her to marry him, and they would be happy together.

He found himself staring out the window into the back garden, breathing heavily, his mind whirling. He would return to Hertfordshire within the day, and woo Miss Bennet, and…

Wait, what if the lady was not at her ancestral home? Miss Elizabeth was in Brighton in the home of Lady Amelia Hartford, after all. Perhaps Miss Bennet was also visiting elsewhere in the realm.

For that matter, why was Miss Elizabeth in Brighton, and with Darcy as a fellow houseguest of all things? It was truly peculiar, especially since her tradesmen relations were also staying with Lady Amelia, whoever she might be.

Brighton was not a great distance from London.

He could ride there in less than a day and consult with both Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, who could tell him where Miss Bennet was currently residing.

Given the complex situation, that was the best course, especially given that his sisters would howl and fuss if he decided to return to Netherfield.

His sisters.

What was he to do with them? Caroline would no doubt relish traveling to Brighton given that Darcy was in residence there; his younger sister had been attempting to win Pemberley’s master for several years now, not that there was any hope of that.

Darcy, while a close friend to Bingley, would hardly marry a merchant’s daughter.

Darcy was also more or less engaged to his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of the great estate of Rosings, and if something prevented Darcy from marrying Miss de Bourgh, he would have no difficulty finding a wealthy, well connected, noble woman to be his bride.

He would not tell them anything, he decided. None of his relations awoke early. He would order his valet to pack a bag and sneak away in the early morning by horse, and he would arrive at Brighton by mid-afternoon. It was an excellent plan.

He took a few joyful steps toward the door and then frowned as he observed the pile of correspondence on his desk.

He had been gone from London for more than three weeks, and he really must consult with his man of business on a few matters.

Furthermore, Caroline had been spending rather freely and he needed to speak to his man of business to provide funds for payment of her bills.

As much as he wished to rush off immediately to Brighton, he had a few vital tasks to complete here in Town.

He had waited many months to propose to Miss Bennet; he could wait a few more days, albeit reluctantly.

/

“Oh, Mr. Gardiner, do look at those dolls!” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed, staring through the windows of one of the shops on North Street, an exceedingly busy road within easy walking distance of the Steyne. “Would not Priscilla and Phoebe each adore one as a gift?”

“Perhaps, my dear,” Mr. Gardiner returned with good humor, “if they did not promptly lose them amongst all their other toys.”

“Now, Husband, you will give Mr. Darcy quite the wrong idea of us,” Mrs. Gardiner returned indignantly. “Indeed, we do not spoil our children so very much, sir.”

“It is obvious that you love your children greatly, Mrs. Gardiner,” Darcy responded with genuine admiration. “I can only applaud you for that.”

“Thank you. Mr. Darcy, I am quite certain that Elizabeth would like to wander the Promenade and at this hour, it must be quite well populated. Would you be willing to escort her there?”