Bingley’s nerves were in a state of high agitation as he strode toward Grosvenor Square. Jane Bennet here, in London! It would be the work of minutes to find and call upon her relatives’ home. She had seemed amenable to such a visit, had she not? Yes, she had smiled. That is, he was almost certain he recalled a smile.
Perhaps she was simply being polite. She had liked him at Longbourn, but she might have conceived a distaste for him since then. Perhaps she was angry at how abruptly he had quitted Hertfordshire. He now believed their departure had not been well done.
A shiver ran down Bingley’s back. Now that he had seen Miss Bennet—Jane, as he called her in the privacy of his thoughts—he would be devastated if she turned away from him.
As his agitation grew, his pace increased until he was nearly flying along the street. If only he could call upon her now, at this very moment, to learn how she would receive him! He would be in an agony of hope and despair until he saw her again.
If she welcomed him with uninhibited pleasure, perhaps they might renew their acquaintance. They might dance at balls, he could escort her to dinners, she could be introduced to his friends...he might offer marriage.
No, he was running ahead of himself—as usual. It was far too early for such fantasies.
They might never come to pass. Bingley’s sisters had insisted that Jane was indifferent to him and had only pursued him at her mother’s insistence. He had not credited this account at first, but they had been so certain…
Bingley’s visions of balls and dinners abruptly evaporated, leaving behind an aching emptiness. Perhaps it would be best not to visit Gracechurch Street and avoid all the potential unpleasantness.
Still, Jane had stood outside Darcy House, smiling as if his appearance were the best present she had ever received. No. Even if he made a complete and utter fool of himself before her aunt and uncle, Bingley must make the effort. He would determine her sentiments for himself.
As he mounted the steps to the Hursts’ townhouse, it occurred to him to wonder how he had not discovered Jane’s presence in London before. Two months, she had said. Surely she had called upon Caroline and Louisa during that time? Since her London acquaintance was unlikely to be large, he would expect that a visit to the Hursts would have been among Jane’s first objects. Yet he had heard nothing of such a visit.
Why would she refrain from paying such a call? Bingley’s foot faltered on the steps.
Caroline corresponded with Jane. Had his sister somehow offended Miss Bennet? It was impossible to believe that Jane had committed an offense; she was an angel. Or perhaps there had been a misunderstanding about times and places for a visit. But in two months, surely the women might have arranged something!
Some of his ebullience leaked away. Perhaps Jane was angry with the Bingley family. She would have every right.
Distracted, Bingley climbed the remainder of the steps, where his agitated thoughts gave added force to his knock on the Hursts’ door. It opened slowly to reveal their sour-faced butler, who admitted Bingley and took his coat, all the while clearly demonstrating that he was doing so against his will.
The butler then directed Bingley to the dining room with a stern reminder that luncheon was already underway. I suppose I am a bit tardy.
“There you are, Charles,” Caroline said languidly when he pushed through the door. “I was willing to give odds that you would not arrive before the pudding course.”
Bingley grimaced. He was not so very late; surely the meal had just commenced. “My apologies,” he mumbled at his plate as he seated himself.
Caroline sniffed, and Louisa regarded him disdainfully. Mr. Hurst’s attention to his repast was such that Bingley’s arrival appeared to have utterly escaped him.
Bingley’s plate already held a large slice of ham, much to his dismay. Caroline knew he hated ham; this was her punishment for his tardiness. Sighing, he cut into it and took a large bite. If he chewed quickly, perhaps he would not taste it. Much.
The conversation revolved around the sisters’ recent shopping trip and the latest fashions in shoe decorations. It could not possibly have been duller. Reading a book of sermons would have been preferable.
During a lull in the conversation, Bingley seized the opportunity to introduce a new subject. “I saw Miss Jane Bennet this morning.”
Caroline’s spoon fell into her soup, splattering drops everywhere. Louisa shot her sister a sidelong glance.
“A-Are you sure it was Miss Bennet?” Caroline asked quickly, using a napkin to dab the soup stains on her bodice. “You have believed you have seen her before. I recall a time on Regent Street—”
For the love of—! “Yes, it was Miss Bennet. I spoke with her.”
Caroline straightened herself in her chair. “I am astonished to learn that Jane Bennet is in town and failed to call upon us.”
“Indeed,” Louisa nodded. “One would like to think we were good enough friends.”
“Well, Sister, consider: perhaps she has not been in London overly long,” Caroline said with a conciliatory air.
“Two months, she said,” Bingley volunteered. Perhaps I should not call at Gracechurch Street. Jane might harbor some resentment against my family after all. The ham tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “Two months? I would think that sufficient for at least one visit.” She fussily rearranged the ruffles on her sleeve. “It appears she has forgotten us amidst the distractions of London.”
“You did not even receive a letter from her?” Bingley asked.
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Do not be tedious. I would have informed you immediately if I had received a letter.” She cut into her own ham with relish.
Louisa sniffed. “Jane did not even reply to the last letter I sent her. It is as I suspected, Sister. That woman is only interested in our brother’s fortune. Her appearance of friendship was feigned.”
The ham turned sour in his stomach. Bingley had assumed his sisters and Jane had experienced some sort of misunderstanding—a letter gone astray perhaps. But his sisters’ report suggested Jane had lost interest in the acquaintance. Bingley would not have believed it of her, but what other explanation was possible?
Caroline wiped her lips delicately with her napkin. “This is most vexing! We hardly run in the same circles as those sorts of people. And London is such a large city. We are unlikely to encounter Jane except by special arrangement.”
“Indeed,” Louisa agreed tartly.
Bingley said nothing. He knew from past experience that disputing his sisters’ assumptions would lead to scenes of unpleasantness that would upset him far more than disturb them.
They understood such social niceties better than he did; in such circumstances he was accustomed to relying on their judgment. If they believed Jane was slighting them deliberately, how could Bingley say otherwise?
Perhaps a visit to Gracechurch Street was not a good idea. Bingley laid his fork next to his plate; abruptly he was no longer hungry.
***
Bingley spent a restless night, sleeping only fitfully as he tried to reconcile what he had learned from Jane with his sisters’ indignant avowals. Try as he might, he could not make sense of the situation. Several times he resolved to wash his hands of the entire muddle, but he could not bring himself to wash his hands of Jane.
Before the sun began to cast golden rays through the gaps in the curtains, Bingley had resolved that he would call upon Gracechurch Street that day and hear Jane’s account of her contact with his sisters.
This decision sustained him through his morning ablutions and his valet’s attentions as he dressed. His mind was so preoccupied with concern about Jane that even Darcy noticed his lack of spirits at breakfast. “Are the eggs not to your liking, Bingley?” he asked, breaking a long silence that had reigned over the table.
“Hmm?” Bingley was roused from a daze to realize he had been pushing bits of egg around his plate for minutes. “No, no. They are fine. Very good, indeed. I am simply not particularly hungry.”
“Is something amiss?”
For a moment, Bingley was tempted to ask his friend if he was aware of Jane Bennet’s presence in London, but that was foolish. Why would Darcy be informed of Jane’s whereabouts? Asking the question also would invite his friend to voice his opinion of the Bennets—a subject with which Bingley was intimately familiar and had no need to hear again.
Well aware that his family’s fortune came from trade, Bingley usually deferred to Darcy’s superior judgment in matters relating to social standing and the ton. He knew his family’s position in society was somewhat precarious; one mistake could cause Bingley and his sisters to be ostracized despite their fortune. Caroline would never forgive him, and despite their occasional differences, Bingley would not want to hurt her for the world.
However, on the subject of the Bennet family, Bingley was beginning to wonder if perhaps Darcy’s judgment was a little bit…faulty.
“No, nothing,” he murmured. If he announced his plan to visit Gracechurch Street, his friend would hardly approve—and Bingley had no desire to engage in that discussion. They might even have a row, and Bingley hated rows.
Darcy appeared ready to question Bingley’s assertion when the butler entered to announce that Miss Bingley had arrived. Bingley managed to suppress a groan. Caroline could be trying even when he was in a generous mood; she could be impossible when he had slept only a few hours.
His sister sailed into the breakfast parlor, treating Darcy House with the informality she would treat Netherfield. “You must forgive my precipitous arrival, Mr. Darcy!” she announced as she deposited herself in a chair, “but I feel Darcy House is quite my second home. I had been hoping to induce Georgiana to join me for some shopping.”
A little bemused, Darcy said, “She is at the Greenvilles’ house party for a week.”
Caroline slapped herself theatrically on the forehead. “So she is! How foolish of me to forget!”
Bingley frowned at his sister. Miss Darcy’s departure for the Greenvilles’ country house had been a chief subject of their conversation for the past week. Caroline had given Darcy’s sister extensive advice about which clothing to pack for the visit. However, this would not be the first occasion upon which Caroline had used a flimsy pretext to visit Darcy House—and its owner.
Shrugging, Caroline energetically buttered a piece of toast. “Oh well. It is a lovely day. Perhaps a stroll in Hyde Park would suit. What do you say, Mr. Darcy?” She sent him a glance that she might have believed was coy.
Darcy dropped his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “I am afraid I must forgo that pleasure. I am behind on my estate business.” He stood rather quickly. “I hope you enjoy the fine weather.” Caroline’s eyes followed his figure as he strode from the room.
Bingley sighed as he sipped his coffee. Did Caroline have any idea how she repelled the object of her interest? If only his sister would give up this hopeless pursuit!
“What are you about today, Charles?” Caroline’s words were nonchalant, but her tone suggested more than casual interest.
He cleared his throat, stifling a sudden, unaccountable impulse to lie to his sister. “I plan to call upon the Gardiners at Gracechurch Street.”
Caroline stiffened in her chair. “The Gardiners who are related to the Bennet family?”
“Yes. Jane Bennet is staying with them.”
“Indeed?” She made a sour face. “Surely there is no obligation to call upon them, particularly since Miss Bennet has slighted me. It might be best to discontinue the acquaintance.”
Bingley sighed. His morning would have been a great deal pleasanter if he could have avoided this conversation.
“She has treated us rather shabbily,” Caroline drawled.
For a moment, Bingley’s heart sank as he experienced his usual compulsion to agree with her. She knew better than he did about such matters. He did not want to create a family row.
But what if Jane left London, and he never spoke with her? That would be insupportable.
“No,” he said, striving for his firmest voice. “There may have been some kind of misunderstanding between us and the Bennets. My visit gives me an opportunity to correct it.”
Caroline’s lips pursed in disapproval. “I do not think—”
Bingley could envision a long discussion spooling out before them and was suddenly weary of the entire process. Why must every part of my life be subject to my sister’s scrutiny and opinion? “I do not require your approval, Caroline,” he said sharply.
She blinked in surprise and then sighed dramatically. “In that event, I will be forced to accompany you.”
“I do not see the need—”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Heavens, Charles! Jane Bennet is my friend as well. How would it appear if I sent you alone? I must assess for myself how she greets you. As your sister, it is my duty to protect you from fortune hunters.” She bit into the toast with a self-satisfied air.
Bingley ran both hands through his hair and refrained from observing that he had never invited her to perform such a “duty.” No doubt there were good and valid reasons why he should visit Gracechurch Street alone, but he could not conjure them up at the moment.
“I do not want you to accompany me” was not a sufficient reason to prohibit his sister from visiting mutual friends. Bingley sighed. “Very well. We will leave immediately after breakfast.”