Page 13 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MR BINGLEY CALLS AT GRACECHURCH STREET
T he writing of a love letter proved far more difficult than Elizabeth had imagined it would be. Even the salutation was cause for debate. Should she write ‘my dearest’ or ‘my darling’? Call him Fitzwilliam? Darcy? Or—heaven forbid—Fitz?
She was still at the escritoire, with scarcely a sentence she liked written, when a caller for her was announced. ‘Mr Charles Bingley,’ she read from the card and closed her eyes briefly, glad he had called while her mother was out shopping. Elizabeth wondered how much he knew of her affliction and whether he was the sort to be offended by being forgot.
She need not have worried. She knew within moments of his entry into her aunt’s drawing room that Mr Bingley would be hard-pressed to be offended by anything. He greeted her warmly, then chastised himself for the familiarity he impressed upon her.
“I understand,” he said as they sat, “that you have not much recollection of…well, any of our acquaintance!”
“None at all, in fact,” Elizabeth told him with a smile. “About nine or ten months has gone missing from my memory, and I am afraid you and—your sisters, I believe it was?—arrived squarely in the midst of those months.”
“I do hope I hold up under a second first impression,” he said jovially. “What an unfortunate thing it would be if you decided I was not worth knowing, for I daresay we were friends before all this!”
Mr Bingley was well worth knowing, Elizabeth decided very quickly. He was amiable and kind and had nothing of the pretensions she despised in most wealthy young gentlemen. He was exceedingly charming to Mrs Gardiner, causing her to blush in reply to his effusive compliments to her home and even to the little girls who could not resist the urge to peep in at them.
It was into all of this agreeability that Mrs Bennet intruded, having returned from the warehouses. “Mr Bingley! Why, how very good of you to call upon our poor dear Lizzy!” She bustled in, chastising Elizabeth for not serving him her uncle’s port.
“Coffee does very well for me, ma’am,” he said with a laugh. His complexion had turned ruddy at the sight of her mother, and Elizabeth hoped it did not mean that Mrs Bennet had a history of embarrassing the gentleman. Or that she might do so now.
“I understand you have decided to purchase Netherfield Park. You must sorely miss it after all these months you stayed away,” Mrs Bennet said. “A fine, fine home! When shall you be in residence there?”
“Ah…yes. Yes, I did. And we expect to reside there very soon.”
Mrs Bennet cried out as if the raptures of such a statement could not be constrained by words or syllables. But Elizabeth observed the gentleman closely, and although she could see his pleasure in the announcement, beneath it was discomfort.
“The neighbourhood will be very glad to have you there,” she said.
“I hope they will,” he said very slowly, looking down into his coffee cup. “My…wife and I should depend upon it.”
Mrs Bennet’s effusions were cut off mid-syllable, and she only stared at him.
Elizabeth very delicately enquired, “Are you married, sir?”
“I shall be soon,” he said, with an awkward look towards her mother. “Another month.”
Mrs Bennet’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, but she remained blessedly silent. Hurriedly, Elizabeth congratulated him.
“Thank you,” he said, then lowered his gaze to stare at his shoes. “You are too good.”
With nothing further said, Mrs Bennet rose from her chair. She did not bid Mr Bingley farewell, nor did she make any excuses, but merely swept from the room with the air of a duchess, pulling the door closed behind her with a loud bang. Mr Bingley again hung his head.
“Forgive her,” Elizabeth said quickly. “She…she had her own hopes, of course, based on those of my sister. But it cannot signify. You have followed your heart, and it was not for Jane. We can hardly wish you ill for that, nor will any of our neighbours.”
“You say so because you do not recollect how I abandoned her.” Mr Bingley raised his head, and Elizabeth was struck by the torment in his eyes.
“Did you? And just when I was forming a new opinion of you being such an amiable fellow.” She said it lightly, not wishing to censure him too much but, as ever, loyal to Jane.
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “I…I was in love with your sister. I believe it was from the first night I ever saw her. We were like two halves of a whole, finally united. I could scarcely believe my good fortune—I had very nearly leased a house in Derbyshire! I might never have known her!”
“From my understanding, Jane felt likewise for you.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “It all seems very promising. How did it go so sadly awry?”
He repeated his gesture from before, running his hand through his hair. “I returned to London after having given a ball. My sisters and Darcy were meant to remain; I had only an appointment with an architect—for Netherfield!—and I had a notion for surprising Darcy and bringing Miss Darcy back with me. Imagine my surprise when I called at Darcy House and there was Darcy, telling me that my sisters were in Grosvenor Street. Darcy told me that my sisters and Hurst would be at his house for dinner later and very nearly commanded my attendance as well. So naturally I went, only to be greeted with…well, one might call it a complete upheaval of all the happy thoughts and plans which had been in my head since meeting Jane…um, Miss Bennet, that is.”
In surprise, Elizabeth said, “They spoke against Jane? Mr Darcy did as well?”
“Do understand that I hold myself fully accountable for my actions. It is no one’s fault but my own,” he said with an urgency that spoke to the truth.
“But you were persuaded against her,” Elizabeth said flatly. “By Mr Darcy?”
“Understand I do not wish to injure you or your charming family. They were so warm, so welcoming to us all!” Mr Bingley sighed heavily. “My sisters wished for me to make a match with a lady of…well, someone who boasted…um…something on the order of?—”
“Fortune? Connexions?”
“Yes,” Mr Bingley said. “Forgive me, I ought not to speak so.”
“Do not think of it, sir. I am well aware of the modesty of my circumstances, and your sisters would not be the first to wish their brother to marry in an exalted way,” Elizabeth reassured him.
“I did not give a fig for any of that. I am wealthy enough to marry where I like, and I was in love! Nothing else was of any concern,” he exclaimed. “But then…but then Darcy said he did not believe she loved me. He believed she only tolerated my attentions.”
“What?” Elizabeth shot to her feet. “That is absurd. Jane would never pretend to affections she did not truly feel!”
Mr Bingley rose too, and Elizabeth recognised, belatedly, that he was being polite. She sat again and he did likewise.
“My own inherent modesty has made me too much reliant on Darcy’s opinions. You must understand that he has been, for some time now, something of an elder brother to me. One I look up to a great deal. His character is unimpeachable. You are marrying a most excellent gentleman.”
Elizabeth knew not what to say about that.
“I was much affected by his judgment. I was deeply embarrassed, imagining that all of Meryton had witnessed me behaving like a mooncalf for a woman who did not love me. That embarrassment was what kept me away when I ought to have gone back and seen for myself how it was. A terrible, terrible mistake which I then compounded with another.”
“Which was?”
“To propose marriage to the first lady of good fortune and family who looked my way,” he said, his unhappiness with the arrangement obvious.
“I see,” Elizabeth said gently. After a short pause, she added, “I hope you will be very happy together.”
“She is my sister’s friend,” he replied glumly. “Or rather someone my sister hoped would be a friend. Miss Sophie Roberts. Her uncle is the duke of something or other and moves in circles with the Prince Regent. I once saw her kick a dog out of her way and…if I am being honest, if someone kicked one of my dogs, I…I do not know. How does one behave so despicably?”
Elizabeth had no idea what to say and only made a small sympathetic noise.
He rubbed his eyes roughly. “But pray do not think ill of Darcy. His intentions were good if misplaced. Darcy is like that, always wanting to take care of people.”
“I have seen a great deal of that for myself this past month.”
“I have no one to blame but myself. Your mother, your family…if they despise me, I have earned it.”
“Once I am married, I shall make it my first object to see my sister settled too,” Elizabeth said, trying for cheer. “The neighbourhood will surely hold nothing against you then.”
She had meant to be humorous, but it was the wrong thing to say. Mr Bingley gave her a look of pure agony. “I had not thought of that,” he said bleakly. “The notion of Jane…of attending her wedding…”
He groaned, sounding like he was in utter despair; then he rose. “I have stayed too long and have surely made you despise me.”
“I do not despise you,” she said quickly. “Love…love can get twisted about sometimes. Jane will recover, and you will be happy with Miss Roberts.”
“Perhaps you are right. I do truly wish every happiness to your sister. She deserves”—he swallowed—“she deserves every good thing.” He bowed to her. “I thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for your kindness.”