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Chapter Ten

Friday, November 1, 1811 Longbourn Bingley

C harles Bingley had been called many things, but insane had never been amongst them. Yet, as he watched Elizabeth Bennet flitting about the room, he could not help but feel a little mad. It was as if ghosts long dead moved around Longbourn’s drawing room, conjuring shadows of the past, and each turn of the lady’s head, each smile, caused another pang.

“Mr. Bingley?” Jane Bennet’s soft words reclaimed his attention.

“Pray, forgive my woolgathering,” he said, forcing a smile. “I find my thoughts wandering this evening. It is abominably rude of me to allow it, especially when the present company is infinitely preferable to my maudlin reflections.”

“I am sorry for the nature of your musings.” Miss Bennet blushed. “I do hope that I can cheer you. It has never been my preference to dwell on things that make me sad. Elizabeth is very much the same. ‘I am not built for unhappiness,’ she reminds me often.”

Bingley stiffened. How often had he heard Mrs. Montrose utter those very words? Another coincidence, he told himself. Turning to face Miss Bennet fully so that her younger sister no longer appeared in his line of sight, he said, “I understand from Miss Lucas that you were very young when your family came to Longbourn.”

Miss Bennet smiled. “Yes, we lived in Derbyshire until my tenth year. It was a surprise when Papa inherited, for we never expected it. He had an elder brother, but my Uncle Martin and my grandfather both perished in a carriage accident.”

“You look very like your mother,” he continued, “as does Miss Mary. Pray, whom do your brother and Miss Elizabeth favor?”

“Thomas is said to resemble Uncle Martin,” Miss Bennet replied. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Papa says Elizabeth bears a likeness to Mama’s mother. I never met her—she died before I was born.”

Something about Miss Bennet’s tone of voice told Bingley that she was not being entirely honest. She drew a deep breath before continuing.

“In truth, sir, Elizabeth is not my sister. She has been with us since before we came to Hertfordshire. Her parents died in a carriage accident, and we are her nearest kin.” Jane looked away. “It is not known here, and my parents treat her as their own child.”

He let out a breath he did not know he held. Elizabeth is their relation, he said. She is not a Montrose. Of course, she is not. That would be utterly fantastical.

“Thank you for confiding in me,” he said aloud. “I promise I shall not betray your confidence.” He caught a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye and stiffened involuntarily. Though Miss Bennet’s words ought to have put his anxieties to rest, something within him still cried out against the notion that the second Miss Bennet could be anyone other than Elizabeth Montrose.

Later, as the carriage returned to Netherfield Park, Darcy cleared his throat. “When did you say your sister and Hurst were to arrive?” he asked.

“Monday.” Bingley kept his gaze fixed on the darkness outside the window as he attempted to convince himself that every suspicion he harbored about Elizabeth Bennet was unfounded. It proved rather difficult.

Darcy tried again to make conversation. “I am certain that you will be pleased to see them again.”

Bingley made a noncommittal sound, absently nodding in reply.

“What has got into you, man? I thought I was the one prone to brooding, but I have scarcely been able to get two words out of you in as many days!”

Chagrined, Bingley turned to look at him.“I apologize, my friend. I find that heavy thoughts occupy my mind.” A pang of remorse struck him. “I promise I shall attempt to be a better host.”

“Nonsense! I am more concerned about your state of mind. Do not think me unaware of that ride you took at dawn the other morning.” Darcy folded his arms. “If there is anything I can do, I should like to do it, Bingley.”

“There is nothing! That is, I do not think I can name a single thing that would help me regain my equilibrium.” He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “Some things never leave us,” he murmured. “And it appears they return to haunt our memories when we least expect it.”

“Has this something to do with Netherfield?”

Bingley shook his head. “No, I am very pleased with the place. It is everything my father wished for me.”

Darcy did not respond, and they continued their journey to Netherfield Park in silence.

The next day, Bingley kept himself occupied with estate business. They had no invitations, and he took the opportunity to go over Netherfield’s books with the steward and Darcy. Gradually, he began to grasp all that was required to run an estate, and he discovered that the running of a modest property was well within his capabilities. Pemberley, with all its satellite estates, would never be within his reach—nor did he desire that sort of responsibility. Darcy might wear the mantle well, but Bingley preferred to retain some measure of leisure in his life.

“The south field drainage could be improved,” Darcy said to the steward, tapping a spot on the map. “Your yields would increase if you did not lose this section here to flooding every year.”

The steward, Mr. Gibbs, nodded in agreement. “My master has said as much, but he is at a loss as to how to accomplish it without harming adjoining plots. One of Longbourn’s farms borders this area, and if we divert the water in that direction, their field will suffer the brunt of it.”

“We might…” Bingley began, but his attention wandered, and he left Darcy and Gibbs to their discussion. His thoughts were more agreeably engaged with the lovely Miss Bennet.

Visions of her blue eyes and blond curls danced before him. Never had he met a lady he admired more—yet her appearance accounted for only part of her charm. Her kindness and unaffected manner made him long to entrust her with his deepest secrets. Though they had been in company only a handful of times, Bingley already knew he wished to call upon her and deepen their acquaintance.

My sisters will surely approve, he thought. She is the daughter of a gentleman and will help elevate our position in society. Louisa would ask whether she had a dowry. His elder sister had always placed monetary worth and station above all else. That was why she had married Hurst—someone who would elevate her to the gentry. Privately, Bingley thought he had married Louisa simply to avoid waiting for his father's death to gain access to the family funds.

Hurst was an indolent man who enjoyed drink, cards, and sport. Though he was not cruel, neither was he intelligent. He slept after meals, even in company, and did everything in his power to do absolutely nothing. Louisa seemed happy enough, however, and so Bingley did not complain.

Caroline did not have the same pretensions her elder sister exhibited. She wished to marry well and had once tried to win Darcy’s favor, but when it became clear that the gentleman had no interest in her, she began to look elsewhere for her happiness, and found it in Sir James.

She would adore Miss Elizabeth… he froze. I meant Miss Bennet. Caroline would adore Miss Bennet. Why did I think of Elizabeth?

“Bingley, are you even listening?” Darcy frowned. “This is a serious matter, my friend.”

Shaking his head, Bingley stood. “Forgive me. I need a breath of fresh air.” He left the room without a backward glance.

Sunday passed pleasantly. They attended church, and Bingley admired Miss Bennet from his pew. Her family filled an entire bench with a silver plaque that marked it as their designated seat. Netherfield’s bench was just behind it, and so Bingley took a seat from which he could surreptitiously admire the fair angel of Longbourn.

After the service, he and Darcy opted to take a vigorous ride before tea. They spurred their mounts into a gallop, racing across the fallow fields and circling the prominent hill that stood between Netherfield and Longbourn. When they returned, Bingley was in excellent spirits, laughing and jesting with Darcy as they divested themselves of their outerwear.

Sunday night brought more dreams. Even though he retired late, he woke before five o’clock, drenched in sweat and heart racing as fast as Hercules had galloped the day before. The images that had roused him faded at once, leaving him only with panic and fear.

Rising, he went to his window and looked out over the misty grounds. The gardens held no more blooms. Leaves had turned brown in every direction. The world would be asleep for some months. I shall be glad to see Netherfield in the spring, he thought. Surely, it will be awash with color.

His thoughts turned again to Miss Elizabeth. He attempted, with resentment, to push them away, but they persisted. Louisa is to come today. Perhaps she will remember… But no, Louisa was five years Bingley’s senior. She had been twelve years old when their father moved them from London to Yorkshire. Their mother had lately died, and Mr. Montrose had offered him a partnership in his business.

Louisa had protested vehemently, and their father had agreed to have her stay with their aging aunt in London. She attended seminary, and the younger children saw her only for several weeks during the summer.

Mrs. Montrose and Mrs. Bingley had been friends as girls. They had never lost touch, exchanging letters every week. As such, Bingley’s mother had asked the lady to stand as goddaughter to her daughter Caroline. Mrs. Montrose had accepted the request with alacrity. Mr. Bingley often remarked that it was likely her influence that led to the offer from Mr. Montrose.

Bingley lingered in his chambers for a few hours before calling his valet. Bridger assisted him in dressing and preparing for the day, tying his master’s cravat as expertly as he could before bowing out of the room..

“Good morning, Darcy.” He went to the sideboard in the breakfast room and began serving himself. Rashers of bacon, eggs, scones, preserves…everything that he loved. “I expect my sister and her husband before tea,” he said, sitting next to his friend at the round table. “Hurst will be eager to see what sport can be had here.”

“And Mrs. Hurst will be your hostess?” Darcy took a sip from his teacup and turned a questioning look on his friend.

“Yes. That means we can have dinner parties or invite guests for tea.”

Darcy grinned. “You have only one guest in mind, I think. I have never seen you so distracted by a lady.”

Instantly, Bingley’s good mood vanished. Yes, he was distracted, but not only by Miss Bennet. Her younger sister occupied far too many of his thoughts. If only he understood how to banish her! “Miss Bennet is an angel,” he said aloud.

“She smiles too much.” Darcy said, cocking an eyebrow challengingly.

“How can anyone smile too much?” Bingley asked in bemusement.

“I suppose I ought to clarify. She smiles at everyone with equal placidity. How is one to know her thoughts?” Darcy shrugged and took a bite of a scone from his plate.

“Young ladies are scarcely at liberty to reveal their feelings openly. Really, Darcy, why must you be so stubbornly against anyone of the fairer sex?” He rolled his eyes and set about putting his egg between the two halves of a scone. Louisa hated it when he did that, but she was not there to scold him.

“Merely testing your resolve, my friend.” Darcy pushed back from the table. “Be careful. You have not known her for more than a fortnight.”

“Do you imagine she is hiding an insane relation in the attic?” Bingley asked sarcastically.

Darcy laughed. “No, no, but you must admit that there is still much for you to learn about her…and she about you. Do not be hasty.”

Bingley nodded. Darcy’s advice was somewhat out of character. Normally, his staid, proper friend spouted things about duty and honor and marrying to improve social standing. Is he truly encouraging me to consider my heart?

Louisa arrived whilst he still partook of breakfast, sweeping into the room as if she were the queen. “Charles!” she cried. “My dear brother.” Kissing both cheeks and embracing him, she then stepped back, offering him a charming smile. “Netherfield Park is a most beautiful estate,” she continued. “Mrs. Nickens has already shown us our chambers.”

“It is Mrs. Nicholls,” he said, correcting her gently. “And I did not even hear the carriage. Why was I not alerted to your arrival?”

“Oh, I sent a man ahead and asked that we be allowed to surprise you.” Louisa grinned.

“You mean you wished to find me unprepared and then chastise me about the proper way to greet guests,” he grumbled. “How very like you, my dear, older sister.”

Louisa frowned at his stab, but did not reply. “Well, we are here now. Please tell me there is something to do in this backwater.”

“We have been invited to dine at Longbourn on Thursday, but I wish to take you to call there before then. I have someone I wish for you to meet.”

Louisa sighed. “Already, Charles? Tell me, is she another blond angel? Please say that at the very least, she is a gentleman’s daughter with a handsome dowry.” She moved to a chair next to his and sat down, her displeasure and disappointment clearly writ upon her face.

“I do not know the nature of her fortune,” he admitted. “And I do not mean to find out. Miss Bennet is a lovely young lady, and I am eager for you to meet her.”

His sister sighed. “Have a care, Charles. You have come so far. We have come so far. We must do all we can to leave our roots as far behind us as possible.” She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt, frowning as she smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric.

“And marrying the daughter of a gentleman will help.” He stood. “I am my own man, Louisa. If I find that Miss Bennet and I suit, I shall not hesitate to ask for her hand.”

Louisa folded her arms and pouted. “Oh, very well. I shall attempt to know her better.”

He nodded. “Since you have disregarded both propriety and correct behavior and have already seen your room, I shall see to my estate business. Tomorrow we will go to Longbourn.” He turned and left the room without another word, mildly irritated that his sister had acted exactly as he expected. Though they had spent some years apart, she still behaved predictably. Oh, how he wished that for once she would surprise him.

The issue with the drainage once again dominated discussion in the study, and as Darcy and Gibbs debated the merits and deficiencies of each resolution, Bingley wondered if he were truly cut out for such a mundane existence. Darcy seems to enjoy the intricacies of land management. Perhaps only because I have yet to feel confident in myself. He struggled to pay attention to the conversation and even offered up a few suggestions. Darcy was kind enough not to roll his eyes at his friend, explaining calmly why each idea would fail to resolve the problem. Mr. Gibbs tried his best to smother a smile, but Bingley could tell that his lack of knowledge amused the man.

“I think we have done all we can do today,” Darcy said, rolling up the map and then straightening a stack of papers. “Mr. Gibbs, see to your list and I shall see to mine.”

Mr. Gibbs nodded and excused himself, bidding each of the gentlemen a good day.

“Darcy, I cannot learn if you simply discuss things with the steward without involving me. Every suggestion I offered up was dismissed, and whilst I appreciate your patience in explaining the particulars to me, I find that I do not know enough to follow the conversation.”

“I do apologize for my manner. I fear taking control and managing others has been my habitual manner for many years now.” Darcy replied. “I could offer you a book on drainage if you wish,”

“You know I should not read it even if you did give it to me,” Bingley said, laughing. “It is all very boring. I would much rather learn how to raise horses.”

“That is still very much an option. Perhaps you might purchase an estate for that purpose. I shall do my best to be a better teacher.”

“It has always been difficult for me to learn by discussion alone. Might we ride to the spot in question and discuss the matter there where I can see everything?” He needed a ride anyway.

“That is an excellent idea. I shall bring the map so that you can reference it.” Darcy scooped up the rolled paper. “Thirty minutes?”

Grinning broadly, Bingley nodded. He asked a footman to send a note to the stables to prepare their horses. They left the study for their respective chambers and changed into riding clothes. The crisp air prompted Charles to fetch his great coat. It was an old garment, which had once belonged to his father. Though it had long ago lost the late Mr. Bingley’s characteristic cologne smell, Bingley still felt close to the man whenever he wore it.

Darcy awaited him in the entrance hall, and they went out to the stables. Hercules neighed upon noting his master, stomping his hooves impatiently. His coat glistened in the afternoon light and he tossed his mane as Bingley approached, palm open, with an apple in the middle. His mount accepted the morsel, snorting as he chewed.

“If you have finished pampering your horse, we can go.” Darcy grinned, his expression betraying no risk of giving offense at his words.

“Very well.” He patted his horse and mounted him. “Let us go to it.”