Page 34 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

UNRESERVED EXPRESSIONS

E lizabeth did not hesitate; as soon as the drawing room doors shut behind the Bingley sisters, she turned so that she faced her husband. He dropped his hands, but that was not what she wanted. “Hold me,” she said. “I need you to hold me.”

His arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, and it felt like heaven—to feel his strength, his support.

“You are trembling,” he murmured, his hands coasting up and down her back in comforting strokes.

“It was hard. I had so much I wished to say, more even than I could. I was ready to erupt with it.”

“Let us go upstairs, where we have more privacy. I wish to hear.”

For the first time, Elizabeth considered what he had already heard, and she decided he might have a concern or two.

She thought he might take her to his study, or perhaps the library.

Instead, he returned them, hand in hand, to his sitting room, to the massive sofa they had spent so much time on the night before.

It was already her favourite piece of furniture in the house, but this was a conversation that might not end so pleasantly; if he was disgusted by its topics, she would not blame him.

She found it was difficult to begin speaking again, and was grateful when he did.

“They were cruel to your sister.”

“Yes.” This part, she had no trouble explaining.

“They are not particularly pleasant women. However, had Bingley simply called them to order, they would have at least pretended some sort of harmony. Instead, he would say one thing to Jane, mollifying her, and another thing to his sisters, whatever it was they wanted to hear. Then he would run away from all of them to buy another horse or lose a thousand pounds at cards.” She looked up at him, wondering whether she should reveal the nastiest of it.

“You told them that his worst behaviour, if known, would reflect poorly upon them. Was it more than gambling and keeping his house in order?”

“There was…a mistress or probably—definitely—more than one. No one cares about that, I suppose, least of all his sisters—at least, not until he wasted their father’s fortune upon them.”

“Stupid,” he sighed. “Stupid and short-sighted.”

“Oh, he was all of that and more.”

“How much more?”

Should she say it? What was the use of protecting him now?

“Bingley came home once, without Jane, a couple of weeks before his death,” she began, not quite steadily.

“He—it was a different visit than ever before. He had not written to say he was coming, as was often done. His manner was different as well. He was usually such a ‘hail fellow well met’ sort—but this time, he was almost furtive, as if he wished us to forget he was there. Perhaps I am ascribing motive based upon his later actions, but he did not want any of his usual activities, hunting parties or joining with the other gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Shortly after his arrival, a man came to see him—a man I did not trust somehow, a coarse man, coarse of speech and clothing, clutching a battered valise. I do not think I was ever supposed to meet him, but I was searching for some letter-paper, and went into the study at a time when I had believed Bingley was out riding; we were all surprised when I walked in and there they were. The man, a ‘Mr Smith’, did not stay long, and shortly thereafter, Bingley returned to town. I forgot about the whole thing until long afterwards.”

She shook her head, lost in memories. Somehow, Darcy’s arm had come about her, and she found herself leaning into him, secure in his embrace, his steady heartbeat beneath her ear. It was so much easier to speak of these memories, awful memories, while feeling his strength surrounding her.

“Of course, my sister’s death, with her husband’s, came as a great shock.

My uncle helped me with the solicitors, and at first, we were simply startled at how low Bingley’s reserves were.

I thought, well, we shall have to make economies.

We could do that, a great deal of that. My greatest worry was Mrs Plumpton, who was making noises about guardianship of the children.

But the bills kept coming and coming—for necklaces and bracelet sets Jane had never received, dresses she had never worn, a lease for a house she had never lived in.

She probably always knew there were other women in his life—it explains so much of her behaviour, why she came to the country so seldom, her fragile state.

I knew their marriage was not always a happy one, I knew he was a weak man who would not stand up to his sisters…

but I was na?ve. I had not understood, not fully.

As the tradesmen’s bills were flooding us, in came Bingley’s notes of hand.

So many, and for amounts I could not fathom.

I was given to understand that these lost wagers must be paid as well. ”

She felt Darcy nod, but he did not interrupt. She toyed idly with the buttons of his waistcoat as she spoke.

“I began feeling desperate. On the day I received notice that he owed ten thousand to Lord Roden, I began searching the house for valuables that could be sold. In Bingley’s study, locked in his desk, I found that battered valise I had last seen in the hands of ‘Mr Smith’.

Within it were bank notes—a lot of bank notes, thousands of pounds.

I was thrilled. I did not even care, in the moment, why Bingley had them or how he had gotten them, what he had done.

We were saved, or at least not utterly ruined.

I wrote to my uncle immediately, giving him the good news.

He came at once to Netherfield to collect the money.

But when he saw it…I could see by his face that there was something wrong. ”

Elizabeth looked up into Darcy’s eyes; there was sorrow there, as if he had some inkling of what she was about to say.

“The notes were drawn on different banks, most of them provincial, but one of them was a bank with which my uncle was very familiar; all the notes for this particular bank are signed by one man, a Mr Murray. But on the bank note, the name was misspelt, he said.”

“Forgeries,” Darcy said, his tone dismal.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Treason, had Bingley been caught. We burnt them, of course. It told me that Bingley had been well aware of his desperate financial position. In that moment, I gave up all hope that there would be anything left for Tommy and Cassandra.”

“I suppose we shall never know if he had changed his mind about engaging in such a crime,” Darcy said. “He left the notes in the country, after all.”

“The phaeton race that killed him—another silly wager—it was wildly reckless, something a man who does not care overmuch about living a long life would do. But why did he have to take my sister with him? Why could he not consider his children in any of it?”

“There are no good answers to that. But you must know, you have to know—I thank God daily that he reached out to me in death to take his son, giving me the excuse I needed to see you again. I had not acknowledged, even to myself, that I still cherished feelings for you, until I saw most clearly that you had none for me. That was all it took, really, seeing you again, to realise I had never stopped loving you.”