Bingley found himself unexpectedly alone in the middle of the park. Jane had suddenly sprinted away in the grip of evident distress. The Gardiners’ maid, Maggie, had swiftly followed her.
Bingley briefly considered running after them, but a parade of two people sprinting through the London streets would attract enough unwanted attention. Three people would be beyond enough.
He stared at the bare branches of the trees silhouetted against the February sky—rapidly turning from blue to gray—and considered that it might soon begin to rain.
This was a bit of a dilemma. Should he return to the Gardiners’ house unaccompanied by any of its inhabitants? How awkward. He also might encounter Jane in the drawing room, sobbing into a handkerchief, when she obviously did not want to see him. Although she had run in the opposite direction from Gracechurch Street, there was every reason to suppose she would swiftly make her way to safety.
The only sensible choice was a strategic retreat. Bingley sighed and turned toward Darcy House.
Soon his boots were ringing on the cobblestones, and Bingley could contemplate recent events at leisure. He was tempted to curse, although he abhorred the practice. The morning had been proceeding delightfully. Jane had agreed to continue their friendship. She had not chosen to cut Bingley or his sisters, and she did not hold Bingley responsible for his sisters’ subterfuge. He had experienced genuine hope for the first time in months.
Then it had all fallen apart—because of Caroline. It was no wonder Jane had lost her temper; Caroline had all but accused the other woman of deception and malice. Bingley himself had experienced something akin to anger.
Jane’s castigation of Caroline had been a bit of a shock. Who would have guessed such a mild-mannered woman was capable of such sharp words? But the surprise was not necessarily unwelcome. His sister needed to face the consequences of her actions, particularly when impugning another person’s character.
Bingley was at his wit’s end with her and would need to speak pointedly with her when they next met. Fortunately, he was unlikely to encounter her today, unless she made another unscheduled appearance at Darcy House.
I will be back in time for luncheon with Darcy. What should I tell him of the day’s events?
Bingley stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, prompting oaths from a passing cab driver. Darcy had been Caroline and Louisa’s ally in convincing Bingley of Jane’s indifference to him and persuading him to quit Hertfordshire.
Had Darcy known of Jane’s presence in London?
Now that Bingley considered the past two months, Darcy began to appear less than innocent. A number of times, Bingley had suggested visiting the warehouses in Cheapside for one reason or another, but Darcy had always found a reason to advise against. Now Bingley suspected that Darcy had feared they might encounter Jane in Cheapside.
Bingley convinced his feet to shuffle forward until he was safely out of the street, but then his muscles went limp and he was forced to prop himself up against a tree.
Darcy’s betrayal stung Bingley far more sharply than his sisters’. Bingley never expected true disinterestedness from his family; Caroline had disparaged his choice of clothing and taste in reading materials throughout his life. Nothing he did was good enough or at all interesting—until he became friends with Darcy. And Louisa had always treated him like a child. They both saw Bingley as a means to an end. Although their attitude caused him pain, he had always tried to ignore it and focus on more positive thoughts.
One could not choose one’s family, but Bingley had chosen Darcy to be his friend—because he believed he could trust Darcy, who insisted on his commitment to honesty and abhorrence of deceit. Had his friend betrayed those principles for the purpose of separating Bingley from Jane?
What should Bingley say to him on the subject?
Darcy remained unaware of what Bingley had discovered, so he could easily avoid the matter altogether. Indeed, here was the answer: he would say nothing about Jane, and it would avoid a great deal of unpleasantness.
Bingley recommenced his walk with new energy in his gait.
Except…
Bingley’s hands clenched into fists; the muscles in his back and arms were tight. Why did the solution not afford him more relief? Did he want to confront Darcy with the truth?
What fresh hell was this?
Why would I want to quarrel with Darcy? Bingley hated strife of any kind—particularly when it took the form of quarreling with Darcy, who had a way of triumphing in every discussion no matter the subject. With his superior knowledge of the ton and generations of good breeding to rely upon, Darcy simply understood more about this world. Bingley had always relied on his judgment.
And yet to allow his friend’s deception to stand—without consequences…
A cool breeze blew in Bingley’s face, but he felt an unfamiliar warmth flood his body. Blood pounded in his ears. His pace had quickened to the point that he was nearly running to Darcy House.
How odd. The flushing, the eagerness for a quarrel. It is so unlike me. What had got into him?
Oh, I am angry. Angry with Darcy!
From time to time, Bingley had been angry with Caroline and Louisa, although it always passed quickly. But he could never remember experiencing such rage aimed at his closest friend.
His better nature urged him to ignore the sensation and behave toward Darcy as always; however, in this case his better nature was an idiot. I do not want to ignore it. My life is not a plaything to be manipulated by others! It is intolerable that people believe they can do so.
He could have felt disgust with Jane’s lack of decorum when she castigated Caroline—and yet he had not. He had experienced a strange warmth of feeling, a kind of pride that Jane had refused to accept Caroline’s ill treatment. Can I do less than Jane? She has set me an example, and it is my challenge to match it. And yet tension caused his stomach to roll and twist with nausea.
Bingley really was prepared to start a row.
***
Jane examined her surroundings. It was the intersection of several busy streets, but none of the buildings or street names were at all familiar. She had certainly never been in this part of the city before. Her heart beat more quickly as she realized she was not quite sure from which direction she had arrived. Every street resembled every other one.
She tried to slow her breathing, but it was turning ragged and panicky. People hurried past, singly and in chattering groups, paying Jane no attention. Clouds covered the sun, threatening rain and deepening the shadows along the street. Even the buildings seemed to loom larger than the ones in her aunt and uncle’s neighborhood.
Perhaps she might ask for directions, but who could she trust? How would she find Gracechurch Street?
“Miss? Miss Bennet?” Jane whirled around to find Maggie hurrying up to her.
“Oh, Maggie! Thank God. I completely lost my way.” She reached out to squeeze the other woman’s hand warmly. The maid greeted this informality with a slight widening of her eyes but sat beside her on the bench. “Do you know how to return to Gracechurch Street from here?” Jane asked.
Maggie laughed, showing crooked teeth. “Of course, I do, miss. We’re still in Cheapside, you know. And I was raised near here.”
Jane’s shoulders sagged with relief. Somehow the knowledge that this was Maggie’s neighborhood rendered it less threatening.
“Did you follow me all the way from the park?” she asked.
“I did, miss, although you didn’t make it easy.” The maid grinned. “I didn’t know real ladies could run so quickly.”
Jane could not help but laugh.
“If you’re rested enough, we can go back now,” Maggie volunteered.
Suddenly Jane was unwilling to face what awaited her at the Gardiners’ house. “Oh, Maggie, I have made a terrible mull of things.” She slumped against the bench.
The maid regarded her, tilting her head. “How is that now?”
“I yelled at Mr. Bingley’s sister and said terrible things about her—”
“Which were true,” Maggie said.
“But still, I should not have said them.”
Maggie’s brows drew together. “You should have pretended you believed her lies?”
Jane huffed out a laugh. “Not exactly…”
“But it amounts to the same thing, don’t it? If you don’t say what you know is true.”
Jane pushed damp strands of hair from her forehead. “I suppose. But I should not have accused her in such a way. Mr. Bingley must think me horrid and unladylike.”
“I don’t suppose he does now, miss. He was watching you like you was the sun and the moon and the stars—all at the same time.”
Jane’s heart skipped a beat. “He was?”
Maggie nodded furiously. “He even smiled a little. Good thing his sister didn’t notice, or she would’ve started screeching at him.”
“He smiled?” This was so far from what Jane had imagined that she could not fully picture it.
“Oh yes, miss! Biggest grin you ever seen! I wager he’s been wanting to say some of those things himself.” Maggie settled back against the bench. “He’s completely smitten with you, he is!”
These words produced a tiny thrill of hope in Jane’s chest, but she quickly pushed it away. Hope was dangerous. “You cannot know that.”
Maggie shook her head sagely. “My cousin Bernard was in love with this girl at the milliner’s shop. He wore precisely that expression on his face for months. It’s love, I tell you.”
If only she could believe the other woman’s assertion, but Jane did not dare. Still, she indulged in a little renewed hope. “Mr. Bingley did not seem disgusted with my behavior?”
“Not a whit,” Maggie assured her. “And he looked right troubled when you took off like a frightened rabbit.”
“Oh.” Jane’s temper might not have lost his respect but perhaps her retreat had.
As if she could read Jane’s mind, Maggie said, “Miss, the way he’s gone for you, there’s nothing that’ll make him change his mind.”
I hope so.
Maggie jumped to her feet. “I think we should return home, miss, and plan our next move.”
“Next move?”
Maggie shrugged. “Well, he’s bound to return to the Gardiners’ house, and you need to prepare what you’ll say and how you’ll dress and so on.”
“Very well.” Jane pushed herself to a standing position. If there was the slightest chance she had not yet ruined her friendship with Mr. Bingley, Jane would make every effort. “I pray you, lead the way.”
***
Bingley knocked on the door to Darcy’s study, waiting for the deep voice to call “enter” before pushing the door open. Darcy sat behind an ornately carved mahogany desk piled high with papers. “Bingley!” The other man smiled. “You arrived just in time to rescue me from my paperwork! I have already been at it for two hours. Have a glass of port with me and give me a reason to leave off for now.”
Bingley nodded but did not respond. Under other circumstances he would have found Darcy’s buoyant mood to be infectious, but today it grated on him. Oblivious, Darcy strode to the sideboard and poured them both crystal glasses of port. They settled into chairs by the fireplace, where Bingley basked in the warmth of the fire. The increasing cold outside had left him chilled.
Darcy took a long draught of his port. “So what have you been about today? I have not seen you since breakfast.”
The visit to the Gardiners’, Caroline’s lies, Jane’s distress, his suspicions about his friend. What should Bingley share with Darcy? The longer Bingley thought about it, the warmer and more agitated he became. It was as if tiny bolts of lightning danced throughout his body, ready to start a fire.
Whatever Darcy saw on his friend’s face, it caused the affable smile to disappear. “Is something amiss?”
Bingley impatiently pushed away the unruly blond hair hanging over his forehead. “Yes, there is.” He was at a loss as to how to raise the subject. “I encountered Jane Bennet yesterday…quite by accident.”
Darcy froze, his eyes fixed on the fire—a reaction that lent credence to Bingley’s suspicions. “She has been in London these two months,” Bingley said, managing to keep most of the agitation from his voice. “Did you know?”
Darcy said nothing, but a flush spread over his face.
“My sisters knew,” Bingley continued, bitterness leaking into his voice, “and they concealed it from me.”
Darcy still did not respond, staring into the fire as if it held all the answers to life. Bingley resisted the urge to fill the silence. Darcy deserved any discomfort he was experiencing.
The master of Pemberley set his glass down carefully on the table at his elbow and fixed his eyes on the carpet. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I knew she was in town.”
The lightning ignited; Bingley’s body was on fire. He shot to his feet. “A-And y-you concealed it from me?” Thick emotion made him stumble over his words.
Darcy gave a minute shrug. “You never inquired of me.”
“Poppycock!” Propelled by an urgent restlessness, his feet paced the length of the room with determined strides. “That is quibbling. You were well aware of my interest in Miss Bennet! There is no possible explanation except a deliberate attempt to conceal her presence from me.”
Darcy met Bingley’s gaze. “Yes, I will not deny it. Your sisters and I believed it best if you remained ignorant of her presence.”
Fired by his inner lightning, Bingley whirled to face his friend. “Am I a child for you to decide such things? Can I not determine my own mind?”
Darcy drew back in his chair, as if Bingley’s vehement words constituted a physical attack. “I thought it best to spare you further heartache…”
“Heartache?” Bingley heard his voice rise, but—for once in his life—he had no desire to modulate it. Let Darcy understand how he felt. “My pain arose from the belief that Miss Bennet was indifferent to me, but her arrival in London suggests otherwise.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “She could be visiting London for any number of reasons.”
Bingley’s hand shook as he pointed at his friend. “She called upon Caroline immediately upon her arrival, and Caroline said nothing!”
Darcy did not respond.
“If she had little feeling for me, she would not have been eager to reestablish ties to our family.”
His friend sighed. “Of course, she wished to renew the acquaintance. Her mother desires to secure your five thousand pounds!”
“Jane is not like that!”
“How would you know?”
Bingley gasped, freezing in his tracks and staring at his friend. The lightning pulsed so powerfully through his body that he almost expected to see sparks shooting from his fingers.
His friend was holding himself very still, watching Bingley with wide eyes as if he realized he had said too much.
“Do you think me such a simpleton that I can discern nothing of the woman’s true feelings?” Bingley asked, his voice now a harsh whisper. “If that is what you believe, why do you tolerate my friendship?”
Darcy waved a dismissive hand, but his brow furrowed with anxiety. “Naturally I do not believe that. I spoke in haste. My apologies.”
The blaze inside Bingley had not even begun to subside. “If such is your opinion of me, Darcy, I begin to wonder if we can be friends.” A voice in the back of his head was horrified at these words, but the fire raged on unchecked.
Darcy leaned forward, both of his hands clenched on his thighs. “Do not let us quarrel, Bingley. Our friendship should not founder over such a petty concern—”
“A petty concern? You call my future happiness a petty concern?”
Darcy dragged a hand through his dark curls. “No, of course not.” He sighed. “I understand your anger, but do not allow it to push you into hasty decisions.”
Anger. The word struck Bingley forcefully. Anger is such an ugly emotion; I should rein it in. But avoiding anger had only allowed his sisters and friend to deceive him and dictate the course of his life.
Perhaps I need the anger.
Darcy straightened in his chair. “What of Miss Roman?”
Miss Winifred Roman was the latest in a long string of young ladies of good family who Bingley had met—at Caroline and Darcy’s behest. They had conversed at a dinner and danced twice at a ball. She was perfectly pleasant and utterly forgettable and in no way measured up to Jane Bennet.
“What of her?” Bingley asked coldly.
“She is fond of you—”
Bingley rolled his eyes. “She is no fonder of me than she is of the dozen or so other men seeking her attention. At least Jane Bennet appears to favor me.”
“It has not been long since we quitted Hertfordshire. Surely your yearning for her will fade with time.”
Bingley’s anger melted slightly in the face of his friend’s incomprehension. Perhaps Darcy really did not understand such sentiments. “Do you truly not know what it is to be in love, Darcy? I think about her every hour of every day. Sometimes every minute. I pass a woman on the street who reminds me of Miss Bennet, but when I turn my head for a second look, it is always someone else—and then I miss her anew.”
Darcy regarded him with his mouth hanging open.
“Several times a day, I hear a piece of music that reminds me of her, or read a passage in a book, or I wish to share something with her. And I turn, but she is not there. Her absence is like a vast hole in my life—a void that only she can fill.”
Darcy now stared at Bingley so intently that he was tempted to check whether a monster had emerged through the window behind him. Why did his friend look as if he had seen a ghost?
Compelled to break the tension, Bingley waved his hand. “Perhaps you have not experienced such things. It is no matter.”
Darcy remained frozen in place for a moment, but then he cleared his throat. “Yes. I…no, of course, I do not experience…have not experienced such things…as you do.”
Bingley set aside the mystery of Darcy’s uncharacteristic reaction; this conversation was not about him. His friend had not even apologized for his egregious breach of decorum. The fire had not abated, and the sight of Darcy’s unrepentant face only fanned the flames. “If you cannot entrust me with the directing of my own affairs, then perhaps I should not remain under your roof.”
Darcy jerked with shock and grabbed the arms of his chair.
Bingley strode to the door. “I will have Harvey pack my trunk; we will depart from Darcy House within an hour.”
Darcy stood, his hand outstretched. “That is not necessary. I am happy to have you continue as my guest.”
Bingley put his hand on the doorknob. “But I am not happy to continue here!”
“I beg you to reconsider.”
Bingley shook his head. He could not imagine sharing breakfast every morning with a man who had knowingly deceived him.
A muscle twitched in Darcy’s jaw. “I do apologize for my interference. Such deception is beneath me, and I should have known better.”
Bingley took a deep breath but did not release his hand from the knob. “I thank you.” Darcy’s words drained some of the anger from his body, but it remained stiff with tension.
“Can you forgive me?” Darcy asked.
Bingley said nothing, unsure how to respond.
Darcy paced the length of the room to the fireplace, seemingly under the power of some great inner agitation. “I must—” He took a deep breath as if gathering his strength and turned to Bingley. “I will not deceive you again.”
Bingley sensed a deeper meaning. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Have you misled me about something else?”
Darcy shook his head. “Nothing that concerns you, but I was not honest with you—or with myself—in Hertfordshire.” He held himself stiffly, as if bracing for a blow. “I…at the time…harbored tender feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Bingley’s jaw fell open.
“But she is an altogether inappropriate match for me,” Darcy continued. “At the time of our departure from Hertfordshire I believed myself to be a cool and rational creature, but now I think I was influenced by an anxiety to escape her vicinity.”
“Oh.” It was all Bingley could say. Had not Darcy always disliked Miss Elizabeth? He felt as if he had wandered into a mirror world where up was down and left was right.
“But simply because she is an inappropriate match for me, it does not follow that her sister is the wrong choice for you. Viewing it from a more disinterested perspective today, I may have allowed my sentiments about Miss Elizabeth to color my judgment about Miss Bennet. I apologize most profoundly, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Bingley took a moment to completely reorganize his understanding of the world before he could formulate a response. Darcy and Caroline had caused Bingley much pain, but Caroline had cared only about her own social standing. Whereas Darcy…stood in the middle of his study quite desolate, like a man who had lost his last friend on earth.
In a flash of understanding, Bingley realized his friend was desperately, violently in love with Elizabeth Bennet—although he might honestly believe he had overcome the infatuation. Bingley experienced an entirely new emotion: pity for Darcy, whose efforts to overcome his feelings were likely to be as unsuccessful as Bingley’s had been. Darcy’s ravaged expression suggested Bingley had best keep this supposition to himself.
However, Bingley had never been one to hold a grudge, particularly now that he understood his friend was suffering as well. “Of course I accept your apology.”
Darcy’s expression lightened, and he took a step closer to his friend. “Please remain. Tomorrow I depart for Kent. It was to happen next week, but my aunt has written to hasten my arrival. I would not like to part on difficult terms. The house will be empty save the servants, and you need not be troubled by my presence.”
Bingley’s shoulders slumped with relief. In truth, he had few other options for lodgings. The only other house where he would be readily welcome was the Hursts’ townhouse, and sharing a roof with Caroline would be even more distasteful. “Very well.”
Darcy extended his hand. “Are we friends again?”
Bingley took it. “Of course.” He could not manage to stay angry with Darcy for long, particularly when the other man was so contrite.
Darcy smiled ruefully. “In truth I find myself in a most ironic situation. I have discovered that Miss Elizabeth Bennet is visiting her cousin within miles of Rosings Park, my aunt’s estate. I have conquered my infatuation with her, but no doubt I will have many opportunities to further resist her charms.”
“No doubt,” Bingley echoed, noting the haunted look on Darcy’s face.
Darcy glanced at his desk, his expression growing unreadable. He must have revealed more of his inner thoughts in one hour than he customarily did in a month. “I should return to my work.”
“Of course,” Bingley murmured. He watched Darcy stride purposefully back to his desk and then slipped quietly from the room.