When Maggie hurried up the stairs to announce Mr. Bingley’s arrival, an electric thrill had coursed through Jane’s body. She had been on tenterhooks since she had awakened, wondering if Mr. Bingley would call. Her anxiety was heightened by the awareness that Aunt Gardiner would be from home all day and unable to assist with entertaining any visitors.
However, her heart sank at the sight of Miss Bingley sitting beside her brother in the drawing room. The other woman’s pinched expression amply demonstrated that she derived no pleasure from the visit, and she barely inclined her head when Jane entered the room. In contrast, Mr. Bingley stood immediately and bowed with so much vigor he nearly toppled sideways.
“M-Miss B-Bennet!” he stuttered, his eyes glued to her face. “Mood Gorning! Er, good morning!” He started forward and then stopped, apparently torn about whether to kiss her hand. “I trust you slept well—er, last night and other nights, of course…”
Jane curtsied. The evidence of his anxiety helped allay her nervousness. “Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley.”
Mr. Bingley rubbed his hands together and walked about the room, so full of energy that sitting appeared to be unthinkable. “The weather is quite fine. Far warmer than yesterday. A fine day for a walk!”
Jane’s heart leapt. Walking with Mr. Bingley might afford them an opportunity for private conversation.
“Psh, Charles,” Miss Bingley snorted. “It is much too cold.”
Mr. Bingley spoke to his sister through gritted teeth. “You are welcome to remain here and apply yourself to your needlework. But I will take a walk with Miss Bennet—if she is amenable.”
“That would be delightful,” Jane said.
“But you and Miss Bennet can hardly walk out unchaperoned,” Miss Bingley announced somewhat triumphantly.
Jane was determined not to lose this opportunity. “The maid can accompany us. She enjoys a walk and has joined me many times.” Without allowing Miss Bingley time to object, Jane hurried from the room to find Maggie, who was delighted at the news and immediately set about gathering winter clothes.
Very soon after Jane’s return, Maggie entered the drawing room carrying Jane’s pelisse as well as her own shawl.
Mr. Bingley nearly bounded to the door. “Very well! A walk will be most invigorating!”
Miss Bingley climbed to her feet as well, much more slowly. “I suppose I will accompany you.”
Her brother paused in the act of opening the door, a momentary frown touching his features. “You need not inconvenience yourself, Caroline.”
“I have a slight headache. Some fresh air will no doubt do me some good,” she replied with an expression suggesting she held him accountable for the pain in her head.
“Of course,” Mr. Bingley said with perhaps a hint of a disappointed sigh.
So much for any hopes of a private conversation. Jane took a second to mourn the loss but maintained a serene expression. She had considerable practice with concealing her emotions.
Still, Jane experienced a flicker of…something. A new and unfamiliar emotion directed at Miss Bingley. She prodded the feeling, trying to identify it. Perhaps it was a little taste of…irritation?
Well, she must suppress that impulse immediately. Irritation was such a petty sentiment; Jane could not afford to indulge it.
To conceal her disordered thoughts, Jane gave Miss Bingley a benevolent smile as she led the way to the front hall, where everyone paused to don their winter clothing. Maggie took her place as the last in the procession.
The maid had been helpful to Jane before; might she be again? As she watched Maggie drape a shawl over her red curls, a plan took shape in Jane’s mind. As they exited onto the street, Jane lingered behind to speak a word in Maggie’s ear. The young woman listened eagerly to Jane and nodded with a smile. “You can leave it to me, miss!”
As Jane hurried to join Mr. and Miss Bingley, she quelled her misgivings. Maggie had proved quite trustworthy so far; there was no reason to believe she would fail Jane now. The members of the party said little as they traversed the city streets. Mr. Bingley had offered one arm to Jane while his sister took the other.
A mere three streets from the Gardiners’ house, they reached a small park full of leafless trees and scraggly shrubberies. Miss Bingley sniffed loudly at the unprepossessing sight. Jane thought it a charming little place, particularly the small duck pond and benches where people sat to throw bread crumbs for the birds.
As they reached the outskirts of the park, Maggie crowded rather close behind the other three. Miss Bingley turned to snap at her when the maid happened to stumble over an uneven stone in the path. Maggie’s foot flew out, catching the hem of Miss Bingley’s dress.
Miss Bingley cried out at the sight of a long tear in the back of her gown. “What have you done, you clumsy girl?” Jane experienced another flicker of irritation at the way the other woman spoke to Maggie. Why am I so out of sorts today?
“Oh, a thousand pardons, ma’am!” Maggie’s forehead wrinkled with an admirable imitation of distress.
“I cannot be seen with my gown in such a state!” Miss Bingley bellowed imperiously.
“Oh, I can mend it!” Maggie exclaimed. “Right away! You’ll never know there was a tear. If we return to the Gardiners’ house, it is but the work of a moment.”
“Hmph!” Miss Bingley snorted, apparently feeling that Maggie’s apology was not abject enough. She examined the tear and looked back toward Gracechurch Street with a disgruntled expression. “I suppose the house is not too far. Charles, we must return to Gracechurch Street.” She beckoned her brother.
“Surely we need not accompany you,” Mr. Bingley said. “I am in desperate need of a bit of fresh air.”
“But,” Miss Bingley objected in low tones, “you and Miss Bennet…”
Her brother laughed. “We are in public. There is nothing improper about taking a walk here.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Jane said softly, “but I will be just fine.”
Miss Bingley sputtered but could find no reasonable objection. Finally, she whirled on Maggie. “Very well, let us return to the Gardiners’ so we may be back here immediately!”
“Maggie does excellent mending,” Jane assured Miss Bingley with a serene smile. The other woman responded with an aggrieved glare. I should probably feel guiltier over this entire mishap, Jane considered. But Miss Bingley made it difficult to feel sympathy, and the prospect of a private conversation with Mr. Bingley was entirely too exciting.
Miss Bingley stalked back the way they had come with Maggie trailing in her wake. Jane thought she really ought to give the maid a special gift before she returned home; the girl had far surpassed a maid’s customary duties.
Mr. Bingley offered Jane his arm, and they commenced a stroll along the path. It was still early in the year for much to bloom, although a few crocuses peeked through the withered grass. But the sun was bright, and the wind resembled a spring breeze more than a winter gale.
“It is a lovely day,” he said.
“Yes, unusually warm for this time of year,” Jane remarked.
“We are very fortunate.”
“Yes.”
There were so many things Jane wanted to say beyond bland pleasantries, but her head was too crowded with thoughts for any words to possibly emerge. Mr. Bingley will think me the biggest simpleton!
He gave her a tentative smile. “Do you—?” He cleared his throat and started again. “Do you have many other acquaintances in town?”
“Oh yes. This is my third stay at Gracechurch Street, so I am acquainted with many of my aunt and uncle’s friends.”
Mr. Bingley was silent for a moment. Had she said something to distress him? “Do you have any particular friends among their number?” he finally asked, his eyes fixed on distant shrubberies.
Oh. Oh. Now she understood what troubled him. “I always enjoy visiting the Waite family. They have two daughters my age.”
His head turned toward her. “No sons?”
“Yes.” Mr. Bingley’s face fell. “But Mr. Robert Waite is quite a bit older and lives with his wife in York.”
She heard Mr. Bingley’s relieved sigh. Surely it was a little wicked of Jane to find his anxiety amusing, and yet his reaction warmed her, giving her hope that he still entertained feelings for her.
They strolled along the path in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the crunching of gravel under their feet, the singing of birds, and the muted noises of distant city streets. Mr. Bingley seemed to be growing pensive once more. “Have you enjoyed London?” he asked.
“Yes, very much. There is always so much to do.”
The following silence was uneasy. Apparently quite agitated, Mr. Bingley released her arm and walked with his hands folded behind him. What was distressing him? “I suppose you have been much occupied since arriving in town,” he said eventually.
Jane did not know why this subject weighed so heavily upon him, but she could only answer honestly. “My schedule has not been terribly busy.”
“But you have been in town for two months together!” He whirled to face her. “And you did not once call upon Caroline and Louisa? I thought we were better friends than that.”
Jane was momentarily struck dumb as a series of realizations dawned on her. Not only had his sisters concealed Jane’s presence in London, but they also had deceived him about her visit.
Astonishment turned into indignation, and then…the small flicker of irritation that she had tried to suppress was building into a blaze. Her body had grown stiff and tight while an unaccustomed pressure built inside her head. If Caroline Bingley had appeared at that moment, Jane might have been tempted to strike her.
Or…at least speak a sharp word.
Jane gaped at Mr. Bingley, unable to utter a syllable. Under ordinary circumstances she would do anything to avoid the appearance of conflict between her account and another person’s; such disputes always led to so much unpleasantness.
She could conjure various reasons why his sisters had not told him the truth: there had been a mistake, her visit had slipped his sisters’ minds, or perhaps he had misunderstood them. But the thought of excusing their subterfuge threatened to choke her. Truthfully no possible reason was likely—save their malice and dislike of Jane’s family.
Her entire body shook under the power of a strong emotion she could not identify. What is happening to me? Finally, after several attempts to speak, Jane found her voice. “I called upon your sisters at the Hursts’ townhouse—only a few days following my arrival in town.”
Mr. Bingley’s eyes grew round. “You did?”
Jane nodded vigorously. “Miss Bingley returned my visit some weeks later. She sat with me and my aunt Gardiner in the drawing room.”
Mr. Bingley’s hands clenched into fists. “She visited Gracechurch Street previously?”
“Yes. When my aunt returns, you may apply to her for the truth of the story.”
“No.” His voice was harsh as he averted his gaze. Jane’s heart sank, while her head throbbed with ever-mounting pressure. If Mr. Bingley did not believe her, they could have no possible future together.
“Additional confirmation is unnecessary,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “I do not doubt your account.”
Jane’s breath caught. He was prepared to believe her rather than his sisters?
“I knew that Caroline and Louisa did not think…” he muttered to himself. “But I never believed they would…stoop to falsehoods…” He shook his head.
He took a halting step in her direction. “My apologies, Miss Bennet. It seems my family has done you a grave disservice and treated you in a most infamous manner. I pray you, believe me when I say I knew nothing of it.”
He was so close that she could have caressed his wavy golden hair or traced his lips with a fingertip or…
She forced herself to focus on his eyes instead. “Of course.”
“You believe me?” He grabbed one of her hands and pressed it to his chest. “You hold me blameless?”
“Yes, of course.” The pressure of his fingers on hers made her breathless.
His shoulders sagged, and he exhaled forcefully. “You are kinder to me than I deserve.”
“You could not have—”
He held up a hand. “I am responsible. I should have known Caroline was capable of such deceit. I should have observed her more closely. Then I might have prevented much of this mischief.”
She started to demur, but he forestalled her, squeezing her hands tightly. “I pray you, allow me to ask you this while I still have the courage: Will you—? Would you—?” He swallowed convulsively. “Will you agree to continue our friendship?” The pressure on her hand was nearly painful, but she had no intention of objecting.
“Yes, of course,” she said softly, well aware that they both knew the word “friendship” was a proxy for something else. Something far better, but also far more frightening.
His face broke into a grin. “Thank you! Thank God!” In his ebullience, Mr. Bingley grabbed both her shoulders and drew her toward him. For a shocked moment, Jane thought she was about to be kissed.
And she would not object.
But then he released his grip and stepped backward. “I-I am—my apologies, Ja-Miss Bennet! I did not intend…anything improper.”
“It is nothing—”
He took another step away. “I did not…wrinkle your gown, did I? I would never forgive myself if I…wrinkled your gown.”
“My gown is fine.” If only he would touch my shoulders again!
As they stood a few feet apart, staring at each other, a faint blush colored his cheeks. “I—” he started.
“Charles! Really, you are in public!” Miss Bingley’s voice shattered their tender moment as she swept up to them. Maggie trailed behind, giving Jane an apologetic glance. The strange pressure in Jane’s head redoubled its pounding.
Mr. Bingley turned slowly to his sister. “We are merely talking,” he said mildly.
“I believe it is high time we quit this place. I am quite fatigued.” She fanned her face dramatically, although it was not the least bit warm.
“We have only just arrived.”
“How can you say that? We have been here this past hour!”
It could not have been more than half an hour. Mr. Bingley sighed. “I am enjoying a pleasant visit and would like to stay.”
Miss Bingley gave her brother a hard stare. “The maid mended my gown, but I would like to have my own girl look at it.”
Mr. Bingley stammered, unable to find an acceptable excuse to put off his sister’s demands.
Miss Bingley’s machinations were so obvious now that Jane wondered how she had not noticed them previously, but she had always attempted to ascribe charitable motives to her friend. Even when she knew Miss Bingley took no pleasure in visiting Gracechurch Street, she had not believed the woman capable of lying and deception. How abominable!
This woman had done everything in her power to ruin Jane’s happiness and gave no consideration for her brother’s wellbeing. Pressure was building throughout Jane’s body—much like a pot over a fire. Smaller bubbles of irritation had been popping to the surface all day, and the news of Miss Bingley’s lies had brought her to the edge of a boil. Now, it all boiled over.
“Why did you deceive your brother about my visit?” Jane heard herself ask.
Oh, my goodness! She almost slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from uttering more inappropriate words, but she felt surprisingly little regret. It was almost a relief to say what she truly thought.
Jane was weary of stifling the pressure, denying her anger, pushing her feelings into a back corner of her mind. Why should I always give others’ sentiments precedence over mine? Miss Bingley has shown me no consideration and thus deserves none from me. No. I will not regret my words.
Miss Bingley gaped at Jane with the wide-eyed stare of someone who had just observed a dog open its mouth to sing opera. Behind her, Maggie’s eyes were dancing.
The words poured out of Jane as she stalked toward the other woman. “You informed your brother that I had not called upon you and Mrs. Hurst since arriving in town, but I did visit you—within days of my arrival. And you returned the visit to Gracechurch Street.”
“Aye, she did. I saw her!” Maggie exclaimed.
“You lied to your brother and maligned my character!” Jane’s hands clenched at her sides. It was all she could do not to shake a fist at Miss Bingley.
“Charles!” Miss Bingley nearly shrieked. “Will you allow her speak to me this way?”
Jane had avoided looking in Mr. Bingley’s direction lest she read disgust and horror on his face. Her behavior could hardly be less ladylike. But he crossed his arms and regarded his sister with raised eyebrows. “What would you have me do, Caroline? It appears you did deceive me. Should I chastise Miss Bennet for speaking the truth?”
Jane wanted to jump into the air and cheer.
Caroline huffed as her eyes darted from Mr. Bingley to Jane and even to Maggie, who gave her a skeptical look. She tossed her head. “I will not remain to be spoken to in this way!” she announced before turning on her heel and marching down the pathway.
Once she was out of sight, the fire in Jane’s veins burned out; she felt as limp as a rag doll. Where had she found the nerve to address Miss Bingley in such a way? And what did Mr. Bingley think? He had defended her, but he must be horrified at her unladylike behavior.
She pressed two fingers against her lips, incredulous at what she had dared to say. Of course, silence now will do me no good.
Mr. Bingley had been observing his sister’s retreating form, but now he turned solemn eyes on Jane, his arms still crossed over his chest. No doubt her display of temper would be completely unacceptable to a gentleman such as Mr. Bingley, who strove to see the good in everyone.
Yes, his sister had lied, but surely it was a family matter for Mr. Bingley to address—not an opportunity for Jane to hurl accusations at the other woman. The hardness in his gaze told her all she needed to know. Jane knew she had lost him.
“I-I apologize,” she mumbled. “I sh-should never have spoken to your s-sister in such a way.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I do not know what came over m-me! I c-cannot apologize enough!”
He still regarded her with an accusatory glare. Of course, he could not forgive her. Her display of anger was unforgivable! It was arrogant even to request such consideration. He could never grant it. What had she been thinking, giving free rein to her anger?
Too late, Jane also recalled her aunt’s warning about Miss Bingley’s abilities to spread rumors. Would she attempt to retaliate through malicious gossip? Tears threatened, and Jane squeezed her eyes tightly closed to prevent them from falling. Weeping in front of Mr. Bingley would make her humiliation complete.
She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, as if that would somehow hold back the tears. But she knew the only thing that could save her from a mortifying scene was a swift exit.
Before Jane was even aware of having made a decision, her feet were carrying her away from Mr. Bingley, pounding on the gravel faster and faster until she was running. Away from Mr. Bingley and his sister. Away from Gracechurch Street. Away from all the expectations and obligations that constrained her.
It felt good to run. The city provided few opportunities for exercise. Houses and trees were a blur. People flashed by, some giving her quizzical looks. But she ignored them all. A burning pain in her side forced Jane to slow to a walk, and finally to drop onto a bench by the side of the road.
Breathing heavily, she glanced at the street, the houses, and shops. It was completely unfamiliar. Jane did not have the least idea where she was.