Page 64 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
She met his gaze steadily. “That,” she said, “is precisely what love requires.”
The rain had confined the party at Netherfield, and conversation had thinned to the desultory rustle of papers and the occasional clink of a teacup.
Caroline Bingley, languidly turning pages in La Belle Assemblée , glanced up with a sigh.
The morning’s post brought little of interest and the weather denied all prospect of a ride.
Miss Bingley, ever restless when denied diversions, rose from her seat with a sigh heavy enough to imply martyrdom.
“Can we not return to Town? There is nothing for us here. We could be preparing for the festive season, meeting elevated company, ladies with connexions worth of us, and instead I must resign myself to this tedious countryside.”
Charles Bingley lounged back in his chair, swirling the last of his claret and watching his sister with a thoughtful air. “You may not need to resign yourself long. I have been giving serious thought to matrimony.”
Miss Bingley turned at once, all pretence of disinterest gone. “Have you indeed?” Her eyes narrowed “Pray, who is the fortunate lady?”
Bingley shrugged lightly. “No. no. Nothing is settled. But I am drawn to a young lady of excellent breeding. A very suitable connexion.” “Charles, you must tell me of this lady. You could attract a lady of the highest circles, if you would but listen to me. I have tried to bring some fine ladies to your notice — wealthy, well-connected girls of the first circles.” She paced, gesticulating in a rather unladylike manner.
“You would never object,” he said mildly, “if I were to form a connexion with a young lady whose brother was Mr. Darcy.”
Miss Bingley stopped so rapidly her foot nearly took out a cunning little painted table. “Object? Heavens, no! Quite the contrary. Such a connexion would be—well, ideal.”
Bingley gave a small nod. “I thought you might say so.”
Miss Bingley straightened to face him, her eyes bright with renewed purpose.
“You must permit me to be of service. No one knows the family so well as I. I have every reason to believe your interest will be returned, given the proper encouragement. Only think what it would mean—to be so nearly connected to Pemberley.”
“Indeed,” Bingley murmured, lips twitching. “It had occurred to me.”
She pressed on, her voice low and eager. “It would place you—us—in quite a different position. The influence, the introductions—why, your future children would be received everywhere.”
Bingley gazed into his glass as if weighing matters. “You believe such a match would be generally approved?”
“Approved?” Miss Bingley made a derisive laugh. “It would be celebrated. I could not think of a more fortuitous arrangement.”
“So, you are pleased.”
“Oh, I am, most entirely,” Miss Bingley said, already flushed with triumph.
“Truly, Charles, you could not do better. Why with such a close connexion we would be received in the highest circle — perhaps even by Saint James. We would have vouchers to Almacks! But you are certain Darcy would welcome the match?”
“I believe he would,” Bingley said mildly, turning back to the fire.
“In fact, I daresay he is rather depending on it. I fear, however, that it will not please either Darcy or my bride to have another as mistress of my household. Have you given any thought to how you might wish to live once I marry?”
Miss Bingley was poleaxed. It had never occurred to her that she might be supplanted as hostess on her brother’s marriage.
She fell into a chair silently, contemplating the advantage of so elevated a connection, and how best she might turn it to her own advancement.
Surely, she could tolerate her own establishment for the short time it would take for Mr. Darcy to see sense and offer for her at last.
At this, her brow cleared. “I see.” She gave a pleased, almost reverent nod.
“Well, it is no more than one might have hoped. Such a match would elevate our family greatly. Of course, it would be delightful— positively delightful —to see our families joined. I have always thought so. If you wish, I would be happy to find a companion and set up my own housekeeping so that you and your bride would have the privacy the newly married require.”
“I shall take that as a hearty endorsement,” he said, rising. “You are, as ever, generous in your support. Please, let me know what you require, and I will release your funds to you.”
Miss Bingley smiled, pleased to be at the centre of what she was certain would be the most gratifying of triumphs. As for the release of funds, surely Charles would continue to pay for her support. It was of no matter. “Of course, dearest Charles. You may rely on me absolutely.”
Bingley made a strangled sound that he quickly disguised as a cough. “Quite. Quite.”
His smile twitched. He turned away under the pretence of reaching for a decanter, the corners of his mouth threatening rebellion.
Miss Bingley, mistaking his movement for solemn reflection, softened her voice. “She is lovely. So refined. A credit to her upbringing.”
Bingley pressed his lips together. “I can only agree. If you will excuse me—just now I recall a letter that requires a reply.”
“Of course, dear brother.” Miss Bingley waved a gracious hand. “But we must speak further. There is so much to discuss.”
“I am sure there is,” he said vaguely, and hastened from the room, the effort of not laughing rendering his exit near to a gallop.
Left alone, Miss Bingley gazed into the fire, her smile one of self-satisfaction and triumph. To her mind, the future had never appeared more promising..
Darcy was attending to correspondence at the writing desk when Bingley entered, with the self-satisfied air of one well-pleased with his own ingenuity.
“You wear the look of a man who has either committed a folly or narrowly avoided one.” Darcy observed, not looking up.
“Perhaps a little of both.” Bingley dropped into a nearby chair and stretched his legs towards the hearth. “I may have misled Caroline.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “I should think that a daily occurrence.”
“No, no, this time it was a masterpiece. Quite artful, if I may say so.” He leant forward.
“She was much herself—offering her views, uninvited, on the connexions suitable to a man of my consequence. I told her that she ought not to object if I formed a connection with a young lady whose brother was Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy looked at him then said. “You did not.”
“I did. She leapt at it. Began plotting her elevation by proxy. She never said Miss Darcy by name, but she plainly assumed. She said it would be ideal, and how well she could be of use to her.”
Darcy slowly shook his head. “You allowed her to believe you intended to wed Georgiana? What of Miss Bennet?”
“I said nothing untrue,” Bingley said cheerfully. “Only allowed her to draw her own conclusions. When she began praising my taste and speaking of how this would secure her place among Lady Metcalfe’s circle, I nearly lost composure. I was obliged to withdraw rather hastily.”
Darcy leant back, brow furrowed, folding his arms. “You permitted her to suppose you meant to marry my sister.”
“Indeed, I do intend to marry your sister,” Bingley said innocently, “just not the one she supposes. It is only a matter of time before you and Miss Elizabeth are wed.”
Darcy made a sound, something between a huff and a laugh. “You are incorrigible.”
“You may reserve your gratitude for now,” Bingley said, grinning. “Perhaps after the wedding, when Caroline realises she has inadvertently endorsed the very connexion she most scorned.”
Darcy was silent a moment, then said, “That will be a moment worth witnessing.”
Bingley leant back, folding his hands behind his head. “Setting levity aside, you ought to speak with her soon. Settle matters.”
Darcy glanced up. “With Miss Bingley?”
Bingley shook his head derisively. “With Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy’s countenance sobered. Whatever trace of amusement had lingered fell away. “The present moment is ill-suited. Your assumptions are premature.”
Bingley straightened in his chair. “The moment is very much upon us. The rumours are spreading further. Mrs. Nicholls informed me this morning that a groom heard it from the innkeeper’s wife, who had it from the butcher’s girl—who swore she had it from Miss Lydia—that something untoward occurred in the music room. ”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I am aware.”
“Then why in Heaven’s name do you delay?”
“I have not yet settled upon the proper course. I mean to speak with her father.”
Bingley stared. “You cannot be in earnest.”
“I am entirely so.”
“You intend to go to Mr. Bennet before so much as addressing Miss Elizabeth herself?”
Darcy set his pen aside with deliberate care. “Her father is the head of her household. It is proper that he be informed.”
“It is proper,” Bingley returned, “that you speak first to the lady whose reputation is in question. Not manage the affair in private, as though drawing up the terms of a settlement.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I would not presume to manage her.”
“You presume to decide what she must know, when she may hear it, and how she is to feel.. That is worse.”
Darcy rose and walked to the fire. “I would spare her embarrassment.”
Bingley rose as well. “No. No. Not her embarrassment. You would rather retreat behind the claim of propriety than risk a conversation whose course you cannot dictate.”
Darcy turned, his features taut—a flicker of disquiet crossing his face before he mastered it.
Bingley’s voice softened. “You once confessed she was unlike any lady you had ever known. Then you must trust her to hear the truth. Do not deprive her of the dignity of exercising her own judgement.”
A long silence followed. The fire shifted on the grate, sending up a dull glow.
At last Darcy spoke. “If I go to her—if she refuses to hear me—I may lose what little understanding remains between us.”