Page 63 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Bingley found Jane in the sheltered corner of the Longbourn garden, pruning back the rose canes with quiet focus.

The pale autumn light fell softly on her bent head, catching a glint of gold in her hair.

For a moment, he watched her in silence, gathering the resolve for what he must, at last, speak.

“Miss Bennet,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up with that serene expression he treasured, though he thought he detected a certain wariness in her eyes. “Mr. Bingley. You are abroad early this morning.”

“Might I speak with you? There is something I ought long since to have said.” He moved closer, his hat in his hands. “I have taken your words to heart. There remains a point of consequence between us which I have too long neglected.”

Jane set aside her gardening shears and gave him her full attention. She took a seat on the garden bench whilst he paced before her. “Of course.”

“Miss Bennet—Jane—I have been the greatest fool.” The words came in a rush, as though he feared his courage might desert him if he spoke slowly. “I have allowed others to influence my decisions, to guide my actions, when I ought to have been following my heart and conscience.”

She waited quietly for him to continue. Her hands folded before her.

“I, I care for you,” he said simply. “I have cared for you almost since the first moment we met. But I allowed connexions and consequences—concerns I now realise were not my own—to make me hesitate when I should have acted. I let others convince me that my feelings were merely infatuation, that I should wait, consider, be cautious.”

“And now?” Jane asked softly.

“Now I understand some things are too precious to risk. You gave me fair warning about the consequences of my indecision, and I thank you for it. I have spent these past days examining my heart and my principles, and both lead me to the same conclusion.”

He moved closer, his expression more serious than she had ever seen it.

“I love you, Jane. I want to marry you, to spend my life proving myself worthy of your regard. I want to build a home with you, to support your family as though they were my own, and never again to allow anyone to question my commitment to you.”

Jane’s heart quickened, but her expression remained composed. “That is handsomely said, Mr. Bingley. But words are easily spoken. How do I know this resolution will prove lasting?”

The question struck him like a physical blow, yet he knew he deserved it.

“Miss Bennet,” he said earnestly, “I know too well how often I have yielded where I ought to have stood firm, and it shames me that you should think me unreliable on that account. But believe me when I say, there is nothing in this world I desire more than your good opinion. If I must prove myself to be worthy of it, then I shall.”

Jane studied his face intently, as though weighing his sincerity.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet but firm.

“Mr. Bingley,” she began softly, “I hold you in the highest esteem, and I will not disguise that my affection for you is sincere. Yet I must allow, whilst your sister has so often overruled your wishes entirely, I fear you will never be at liberty to act for your own happiness, or for mine. Until you are master in your own household, I dare not let myself hope too much.”.

Bingley coloured, his usual easy smile quite gone. “What would you have me do? Name any proof you require, and I will provide it.”

Jane was thoughtful for a few moments, then responded.

“Sir William Lucas has invited you to a gathering next week. A simple party of local families, their wives, and children. The sort of company your sister has made very clear she considers beneath her notice.”

She continued, “I would ask you to do something about the harm Miss Bingley has caused in our community. Her behaviour towards local families, her condescending remarks, her efforts to spread gossip about my sister—these things have wounded people who deserved better treatment.”

Bingley’s cheeks reddened with shame. “I am deeply sorry for my sister’s conduct. I should have checked her behaviour long ago.”

“Then that is what I ask of you,” Jane said with quiet dignity.

“You shall attend the party and bring Miss Bingley with you. You shall ensure that she makes proper apologies to those she has slighted. Prove to the neighbourhood that their good opinion weighs more with you than your sister’s ambitions. ”

The magnitude of what she was asking settled over him. She was not merely asking that he prefer her company over his sister’s preferences—she was asking him to repudiate Caroline’s ideas of consequence and avow his own.

“You would have me choose between my sister’s social ambition and my commitment to you and those you care about,” he said slowly.

“I want you to choose between the man you have been and the man you claim you wish to become,” Jane corrected kindly.

“If you truly mean to make a life here, to be part of this community, then you must show respect for all its members—not just those you consider your equals. Whilst you have been everything amiable, you have permitted your sister to slight and insult the very people you would ask to accept you. What is more, for me to consider becoming your wife, I must be certain that I will be first not only in your heart, but in your actions. I could not accept you, should you offer, knowing I would be agreeing to tolerate Miss Bingley’s unkindness. ”

Bingley was quiet, bearing a thoughtful expression, and Jane could see him working through the implications of her request.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and resolved.

“Caroline will not be pleased.”

“No, I expect she will not.”

“She may refuse to attend or offer an apology.”

“I expect she might. Were such a situation to arise, the head of the household would find himself obliged to exercise his authority. You will have to decide what sort of household you wish to have. One where Miss Bingley decides all matters or one where you establish what conduct is deemed acceptable.”

Bingley looked at her with something approaching awe. “You would have me set my sister aside.”

“I would have you govern your own household,” Jane replied. “I would have you conduct yourself as a gentleman of mature conviction rather than one who requires his sister’s permission to order his life.”

He was quiet again, and Jane waited patiently whilst he wrestled with the decision. She could see the exact moment when his resolution crystallised.

“Sir William’s party,” he said firmly. “We shall attend, and my sister will make whatever apologies are required. Even if I must carry her there bodily and speak the words for her.”

A faint flush coloured her cheeks. “Then I believe we may have hope, Mr. Bingley.”

He looked as though he might sweep her into his arms, then remembered himself and contented himself with raising her hand to his lips instead.

“My sister,” Bingley said with resolution, “will have to accustom herself to a great many changes. I shall no longer be swayed by her fits of temper.”

Bingley remained where he stood until Jane stood, drawing her shawl more closely about her shoulders. She turned, a faint smile touching her lips.

He stepped nearer. “May I?” He reached for the pruning shears, and she placed them in his hand without hesitation. He reached up to clip the canes that were beyond her reach.

“You must be chilled.” Jane said, gesturing to his coat.

“Quite, though I mean to conceal it heroically.”

Her smile deepened, her expression grew more thoughtful. “You have something else to say.”

He glanced down at the bundle of thorny clippings she had set aside. “It concerns your sister.”

A shadow crossed her countenance.

“There is talk,” he said, his voice subdued. “More than idle whispering. It has reached Meryton. Mr. Hurst mentioned hearing it at the inn.”

“I had suspected as much,” she replied softly. “Lizzy pretends she is unaffected, but I know her too well. It weighs on her.”

“She does not hold Darcy to account?”

“She does not,” Jane said, her voice barely above a murmur. “I believe she scarcely realises the danger of the talk.”

Bingley hesitated. “Darcy intends to speak to your father.”

“To my father?”

Bingley gave a grim little smile. “Yes. Colonel Fitzwilliam advised him against it. So shall I. He remains persuaded that it is the correct course. He will offer for her, through Mr. Bennet, to take responsibility for the damage the gossip may have caused.”

“He cannot truly believe Lizzy would thank him for involving our father without so much as a word to her.”

“I believe he hopes she will forgive him, if it spares her further shame.”

“She will not,” Jane said quietly. “She has borne it with all the dignity one could wish, but if Papa is drawn into it, she may never put it behind her. She would make her own decision, and not one based on obligation.”

“I said as much.”

“Then you must try again.”

“I shall. But you know his nature. Once his course is set—”

“He will pursue it, even if it carries him over a precipice.”

“Just so.”

She passed a hand across her brow, then let it fall. “Why is it so difficult for gentlemen to address ladies when we are the ones most affected?”

Bingley gave a rueful glance. “We are, I think, cowards at heart.”

Jane’s brows lifted.

“We conceal it beneath talk of honour, or delicacy, or principle. But the truth is simpler—we are afraid of being refused or seen as weak. I believe I have amply demonstrated that failing.”

Jane looked away rather than acknowledge the truth of his statement.

For a time, neither of them spoke. She bent to collect the branches. “I thank you,” she said, inclining her head.

A breeze stirred across the garden. Bingley took the brittle stems from her arms.

“It is no simple task,” he said, “to cut something back so far and still believe it may flower again.”