Page 27 of The Power of Refusal

B ingley had said he would be at home on Tuesday, should Darcy wish to call before they were to go to Tattersall’s. They were to travel together in Darcy’s coach, with a vague idea of selecting a docile riding mare for Mrs Bingley and ponies for a new phaeton at Lockwood.Bingley hoped Jane would learn to drive when they returned.

Darcy could easily have walked the short distance to the Bingley residence, but he took the carriage. Bingley had warned him they were in tight quarters, so the small but elegant apartment did not surprise him.

The housekeeper informed him Mr Bingley was not yet down, but perhaps he might wait in the drawing room? What she did not tell him was that the drawing room was occupied.

As soon as the door opened, he saw a woman, cradling a baby, seated across the room. She wore a dull, shapeless gown and the white cap of a married lady. But the wisps of hair that escaped it were not the golden locks of Mrs Bingley, but of a far darker hue. He could hear her humming to the baby before he was announced. Could it be?

Darcy inhaled sharply. It was Mrs Couper. He drank in her long-remembered form, her beloved face, her very fine eyes. Somehow, through ingrained habit, he bowed and said, “Good morning.”

Mrs Couper said his name, remaining seated, and regarded him with surprise. Nay, shock.

How long had it been? Seven years at least. The vision of her with a baby in her arms, as handsome as ever, seemed almost familiar. Had he not imagined her thus, with their child, uncountable times over the years? The power of speech deserted him. Mrs Potter looked at him oddly, then addressed Mrs Couper.

“Will you have tea, ma’am?”

“If Mr Darcy wishes it. My hands are at present well occupied,” she said with that arch smile he had dreamt of so often.

Lost in his contemplation, hampered by awkwardness, he failed to respond for a moment.When he collected himself, he said, “I am joining Mr Bingley. I do not know how long he will be.”

Mrs Couper smiled again. “Charles may be with my sister. I heard him come down. We can hear one another readily here,” she said. “Please sit, sir. Mrs Potter, would you locate Mr Bingley?”

The housekeeper stepped out. He hesitated before choosing a seat. As if pulled by an irresistible force, he crossed to stand before her. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of her sweet scent, and stared at her for a moment too long.

“Might I request an introduction?” he said. As he had hoped, he drew an amused smile from Mrs Couper.

“Certainly. May I present Mr Peter Abraham Bingley? Peter, this is your Papa’s good friend, Mr Darcy.”

Their eyes met as he rose from his bow, silly as it was, to the sleeping baby.

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how her sparkle had not dimmed in the years since he had last set eyes upon her. He wanted to ask whether she was happy, whether he could offer her anything. No service would be too great if it contributed to her comfort. He wanted her to tease him.

Mrs Couper remained uncharacteristically quiet. Appearing to realise his steady gaze might be improper, she dropped her eyes.

“Please allow me to extend my deepest condolences on the loss of your wife, sir,” she said.

Darcy was momentarily at a loss. Wife? The last several years had fallen away. He barely recalled he had married. His stomach sunk at the recollection that she had.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He looked away, unable to determine how to go forward. Then he sat, as close to her as he might, and gazed at the picture she presented. He would seal this memory in his mind. He would have to be satisfied with seeing her in health, cradling a child.

Bingley burst into the room, speaking apologies as he entered.

“I could not depart without speaking with Jane. She sends her greetings to you. I see you have made the acquaintance of Peter! Is he not a remarkable fellow?”

Bingley filled the air with words, none of which registered with Darcy. He rose, with one last lingering look at Mrs Couper, and bowed, taking his leave.

Bingley filled the carriage with chatter requiring little of Darcy. It reminded Darcy of how relaxed he had ever been in Bingley’s company, especially in the absence of the former Miss Bingley. No demands were made upon him to initiate a conversation. Darcy need only respond with an occasional remark. The days of his offering advice to his friend were well and truly behind him.

Bingley brought up a matter Darcy had long buried in the ancient past.

“Jane’s mother, Mrs Bennet, I am sure you do not forget her. She was always mercurial. Now, with the baby, she is relentless. I have been driven from the house these last weeks, else I am caught up in her endless stream of correction. Poor Jane.”

“Must she remain with you?” Darcy recalled the total want of propriety so often displayed by that lady.

“Not by my wish. At least she is not in the house. She is staying at the Gardiners’—you have likely not met them. Capital people. Very successful import business. Gentlemanly as you please. Mrs Gardiner is the mother Jane and Lizzy deserved.”

“I have not had the pleasure,” Darcy said, recalling the visitors Mrs Reynolds spoke of.

“You would approve, I am sure. But as for Mrs Bennet—she asks, but I cannot bring myself to call her ‘mother,’ I loved my own mother too well to… at any rate, she has been a month complete in London, coming to Berkley Square every single day. Mr Bennet does not respond to my letters requesting he send a carriage for her. Mine, as you know, is being repaired these two weeks and another week at least to come. I almost think to send for my spare from Lockwood, but that would take as long.” Bingley shook his head in dismay.

“Do you think she would accept the use of my spare carriage? I keep two in town, though they get little enough use,” Darcy said. Perhaps it would be a service to Elizabeth to ship hermother back to Longbourn.

Charles’s ever-expressive face widened in a smile of surprise and no little delight. “Would you do that? I cannot tell you how well that would suit me. We are to remain a few more weeks until the christening, then I hope to be on the way to Lockwood and some peace. But if you truly are offering a carriage to whisk Mrs Bennet away, I would be eternally grateful.” Bingley’s expression was pleading.

“Of course. It is no trouble at all.” Darcy paused. How would he inquire about Mrs Couper? “Will she travel alone? If she will, we can spare a maid to keep her company.”

“She would be alone, but if you wish to send a companion, that would surely please her. Lizzy will remain with us. She will be as pleased as we are to see her mother off,” Bingley said.

Darcy nodded, and assured Bingley that a carriage and maid would arrive as soon as he gave the word. His mind wrestled with the information. How far was Longbourn from Alton? Was Elizabeth so unhappy in her marriage she did not wish to return? Or was it merely her preference to travel apart from her mother? Bingley would never allow her to go by post, would he? Perhaps he would send her in his carriage after the repairs? He would worry about the questions for the remainder of the day.

After a successful outing at Tattersall’s, the two men returned to Berkley Square in excellent spirits. Bingley enjoyed the pleasure of purchasing a fine mare for Jane’s use, as well as a day complete out of the presence of his mother-in-law. Darcy had enjoyed the company of his friend and had relished a few titbits of information about Elizabeth. Bingley had dropped into the conversation that she enjoyed walking in Hyde Park with the nurse and the baby. She took on Jane’s duties about the house with skill and made their lives easier. She stubbornly refused any financial help, so Bingley covered her needs without her being aware.

As they approached their destination, Bingley fell silent. He looked out at the passing buildings, then turned to Darcy as if he had resolved upon speaking.

“We were too long estranged, Darcy. I do not wish to impose upon your friendship, but if you would consider it, we would be honoured if you would stand as godfather to Peter,” he said.

A surge of emotion washed through him. “Of course, Bingley. The honour is mine.”