Bingley startled at first, so intent on gazing at Jane was he that hearing another’s voice clearly surprised him. “They are all very well, I thank you.”
Elizabeth was not satisfied with this answer and pushed for more information. “Your sisters have not suffered from their contact with Jane, I hope?”
Bingley looked at her with unhidden puzzlement. “No, they are perfectly healthy. As I can see are you, thankfully.”
Elizabeth chewed her lip and decided to ask forthrightly. Soon they would be openly betrothed. She should not fear showing some kind of preference in the days preceding the announcement. Indeed, it might lessen the surprise to the community.
“And how does Mr. Darcy do? Did business keep him indoors on such a fine day?”
Bingley gave Elizabeth a meaningful look and replied, “Yes, I suppose it might, but I do not know if the weather is near so fine in Town today. He left yesterday at dawn on pressing matters of business, but he is expected back tomorrow or the next day.”
He gave Elizabeth another look before turning his attention entirely to Jane. Elizabeth was shocked to think Darcy would have shared news of their betrothal with Mr. Bingley. She had not breathed so much as a word of it to anyone.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Wickham startle and turn pale at the mention of Mr. Darcy, then smile during her discourse with Bingley. What could be the meaning of such a reaction? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.
Bingley accompanied the sisters to their Aunt Phillips’ house, and although Wickham and Denny were invited to visit, they did not. Mrs. Phillips did promise to have her husband call on Mr. Wickham and issue an invitation to dine the next day along with several other officers, and a plan was set for the family from Longbourn to come for dinner. Thereby, the ladies might meet with Wickham again.
*****
Jane smiled at Mr. Bingley across the room of her aunt’s house. Many gentlemen had admired her through the years, but none had been so amiable as he. Not only could he deal the effusions of her aunt and mother, but also their temperaments were so similar. Jane knew Elizabeth felt she was too forgiving and too kind towards the whole world, yet it was how she truly felt. To find a young man who seemed to feel the same way, who was not jaded or cynical, was a rare blessing. For if they viewed the world so similarly, then there was no fear of their union dissolving into the disrespect she witnessed in her parents’ marriage.
At last, it was time to depart. Mr. Collins firmly attached himself to Elizabeth’s side, and Kitty and Lydia ran ahead, leaving Jane and Mr. Bingley to themselves. He slowed their walk.
“I think the foliage of Hertfordshire is some of the prettiest I have ever seen,” Mr. Bingley said to her.
“I confess I would not know. I have travelled too little to compare it to anything else.” She glanced at their path. It was late November; there was little to remark on.
“There seem to be a number of natural beauties to admire. Some I have never seen the like of anywhere else.” He gave her a significant look, and she could not help but blush.
He tugged on her arm and nodded towards a different path. “Might we follow this path for just a bit? I know it comes back to the main road.”
Jane bit her bottom lip. It was one thing to happen upon a gentleman on a solitary walk and allow him to escort you; it was another to leave the company of others for more private tête-à-tête. It would be viewed as an assignation, even.
“Do you trust me, Jane?” he asked while gazing into her eyes.
Her heart began to beat wildly, and she only managed to nod her head while following his lead.
Once safely on their separate path, he spoke. “I find Netherfield to be a very pleasant house.”
“It is,” she replied. How she wished she could think of more to say! “And the park is quite nice.”
“Indeed.” She began to pray he would not find her stupid in her awkward shyness. “I have an excessive regard for all of the Meryton locals.”
“That is very kind of you to say.” Jane kept her eyes on the path ahead.
“There is one lady in particular who has captured my heart.” He ceased walking, and without thought, her eyes turned to find his looking at her with earnestness. “I would even say it is love.”
Jane felt hot and cold while her heart raced. Her stomach knotted and speech left her, yet she did not break the bond with his eyes.
Mr. Bingley knelt as he took her hand. “My darling Miss Bennet, my Jane, you must know my deep attachment to you. I have loved you since I first clapped eyes on you. I cannot think of the future, of happiness, of having any sort of life at all without you by my side. Say you will be my wife?”
At first, she only shyly nodded, but he pleaded with her. “Are you saying yes?”
“Yes!” she finally choked out as tears ran down her cheeks. “Yes, I want nothing more than to be your wife.”
He rose immediately, then lifted her into the air in a circle. She clung to his lapels. “You have made me so happy!”
She laughed freely as well. “You have made me happy!”
He set her on the ground. “We will always be happy.”
Jane smiled. Yes, they always would. Their dispositions were not given to depressed spirits, but they would find their greatest happiness in each other. Her heart still beat wildly, and his hands still held her waist. “We will, Mr. Bingley.”
“Call me by my Christian name now,” he said as his eyes finally left hers and lowered to her mouth.
“Charles,” was all she had murmured before his lips met hers. Her hands were still on his coat and soon drifted around his neck, holding him to her. He groaned into her mouth as the kisses went from feather-light and exploratory to insistent. At last, he pulled back.
Both had to catch their breaths. “Dear Jane, what you do to me,” was all he could say for some moments as his forehead rested against hers.
Jane knew she ought to have been afraid of the passion they just shared, at what she felt running under her skin. She should feel embarrassed by her desires and affronted that Bingley cared so little for her reputation that he thoroughly kissed her on a path quite near the main road to Meryton, and they now must be so far from her family as to give rise to suspicions. But she did not care for those things at all. In the arms of her betrothed, all she considered was how she had never felt more alive and purely herself than when she was pressed against him and their lips moved in unison
“Come,” Bingley said while Jane still felt dazed. “I must speak with your father immediately.”
Jane smiled as he led her to Longbourn. She would follow him wherever he took her.
Upon entering the house, Bingley requested an audience with Mr. Bennet, and Elizabeth quickly glanced at Jane. She smiled and blushed as Elizabeth grinned.
Their mother immediately perceived that Bingley had proposed and was requesting Mr. Bennet’s blessing. She began shrieking in happiness and even ordered punch for the servants.
Among the exclamations, Jane was quite alarmed to hear, “Two daughters soon to be married! My Jane with five thousand a year and Lizzy mistress of Longbourn. Yes, God has been so very good to us!”
She could only hope Elizabeth would be saved a fate from marrying Mr. Collins, or any man she did not love.
*****
Elizabeth attempted to hush her mother, to calm or shoo her away, but did not know how to silence her. She tried to hint at the impossibility of her accepting a proposal from Mr. Collins, but her mother refused to hear correctly. By the time Elizabeth trudged up the stairs to her chambers for the night, she was exhausted.
She was surprised Bingley had proposed so soon but was excessively pleased for Jane, though less certain Jane truly knew her own heart. Elizabeth recognised she likely was considering her feelings for Darcy in that instance. Jane had been nurturing a tender regard for Bingley since first sight, whereas Elizabeth courted prepossession and stubbornness at first. In her determi
ned prejudice and blindness, she very nearly drove reason away where Darcy was concerned, and all over her wounded vanity.
Again came the nagging concern that she was merely pleased with Darcy’s attention that evening in the Netherfield library. She was now less inclined to think it was a sign of wantonness than that his regard soothed her vanity. She was not happy with the attentions of Mr. Collins; he was an odious man.
Elizabeth reasoned that if she might elicit some sign of partiality from Wickham, who was quite handsome and amiable, then she could determine if her change in feelings towards Darcy was entirely out of vanity and gratitude for his admiration, or if there was a more genuine feeling for him. She would not flirt or forward Wickham’s attachment, but as she was not yet openly engaged, neither would she vehemently discourage his attentions or dismiss him.
Elizabeth was also confused by Darcy’s absence. Had he gone to Town to meet with his solicitor and begin matters already? She knew he could not be purchasing the marriage licence yet, as he did not have her father’s approval, and she was not yet of age. Might he be away on business not related to their betrothal? If only they had taken the opportunity for a short, private discussion before she left Netherfield.
She rolled over and attempted to reshape her pillow. Speculation was pointless and fruitless. He would return soon, and she would then have answers. She could not help but feel annoyed at his leaving without any word to her. If he was dealing with wedding business, why had he not met with her father yet? She almost laughed at the thought that Darcy would deserve it completely if her father refused his blessing. Before the amusement of the thought could take root, however, she was overcome with sadness. Uncomfortable with her inability to determine her sentiments and unable to make a joke of them, she determined to think no more of it that night.
She lay awake a whole two hours telling herself so repeatedly.
*****
Bingley also lay awake at Netherfield. He had felt Mr. Black’s words fit his feelings towards Jane perfectly. Truthfully, he had imagined himself in love before. Attraction he had certainly known. Over the course of his three and twenty years, there was a handful of ladies he had stolen a kiss from when unescorted. He could not think of those occurrences with any ease. For each lady, he had believed himself stricken by Cupid’s arrow. He left the encounter ready to declare his intentions at the next meeting, only to find the lady in question seeking the addresses of some other gentleman of higher rank or fortune.
Looking back, he doubted anything would have come of those matches at any rate. He was not of age, and as his parents died in his youth, his guardian was an unrepentant social climber. Bingley never cared to investigate the ladies’ circumstances or even their character, as he would now admit. His guardian would likely not have agreed to any of the matches. By the time he came of age, Bingley had learned from his youthful transgressions. He was thankful for those early missteps, for the unworthy ladies who had come before. Now he could understand the truth of what love felt like. And he knew he absolutely had an obligation to follow it.
What he had not expected, however, was the passion he felt for Jane Bennet. Even more unexpected was her response. She was usually so shy and reserved, but it seemed she quite agreed there were better things to do than speak at times.
He rolled over and groaned. He was on dangerous ground. His thoughts had been wayward from first viewing her, and each encounter took him further down the path of temptation. Jane’s beauty, of course, instantly enthralled him, but it was her goodness, her character that drew him in deep. She was nothing like the ladies his youthful heart felt attached to. This was a woman with whom to grow old, to have a life, to marry, and live each day passionately. In his mind, he had already taken that step; now that they were betrothed, it would be difficult to curb his impulses.
They were not yet man and wife, and her father refused to understand the seriousness of Bingley’s peril. He had not considered before that Mr. Bennet could be as ridiculous as his wife and youngest daughters. This afternoon, he had made his case plainly, or so he thought.
“I have admired your daughter from first meeting her and now feel such passionate feelings for her, I have asked her to be my wife,” he had told Mr. Bennet.
The older gentleman met him with a wry smile. “It is more than as a father that I caution you to curb your passionate declarations, Mr. Bingley. Other young men have been captivated by youth and beauty. You must respect and esteem your wife to have any happiness.”
Bingley was of a forgiving temper but shrewd enough to understand the man referenced his own marriage. “I do esteem and respect your daughter. We have very similar temperaments, and she is not so young as to give the impression of a sweeter disposition than she has.”
Mr. Bennet had nodded his head. “Yes, but you are rather young to take a wife.”
Bingley had felt heat creep up his face. “I have not been so sheltered from the attention of females as to be confused about my feelings. I would have requested Miss Bennet’s hand in marriage eventually in any case, but I admit I have lately considered my duty to protect her even from myself.”
Mr. Bennet sat up straight. “Do you have a confession to make about Jane’s time at Netherfield?”
“No! No, it is only that my mind and heart have fixed upon marriage, and my thoughts,” he raised his eyebrows and paused in hopes of Mr. Bennet understanding his meaning, “take a natural course from there. This past Sunday, I came to believe I should take the honourable route and declare myself as soon as possible.”
Mr. Bennet had been silent for a long moment before replying. “I am pleased you would make such a consideration, but let us not be impulsive. There is no need to feel an obligation due to thoughts alone. When would you have proposed if not for this new conviction?”
Bingley had answered hesitantly, “I must go to London soon for business. I was hoping to speak with my solicitor to make arrangements not only for myself but my sister as well. I was hoping to be prepared to meet with you after the New Year.”
“And I assume a normal engagement length would have followed, putting the marriage in February.” Bingley had begun to protest, but Mr. Bennet interrupted. “I will have mercy. We will set the date for just after Twelfth Night.”
Bingley was soon dismissed from the library and met with the shrieking of Mrs. Bennet and the giddiness of Jane’s sisters. He knew not how to survive an eight-week betrothal. He had thought to rely on Jane to keep them in good behaviour, but that now seemed like an unfair burden to place on her. His senses told him to press his case with Mr. Bennet again, or even Mrs. Bennet. Another option was to flee Netherfield for several weeks, either with Jane in tow for an elopement or to leave until the eve of the wedding. But there was a ball to host first, and he would speak with Jane there. He found himself nearly envious of Darcy, who, no matter his regrets, was assured a means to bypass Mrs. Bennet’s effusions and simply get on with married life.
*****
The following day, at Mrs. Phillips’ house, Elizabeth awaited the entry of the gentlemen. Mr. Wickham was certainly a handsome man and cut a fine figure. When they met him the day before, he seemed amiable and good-natured. She was still excessively curious about his reaction to the mention of Darcy, and his accent carried the Derbyshire inflection, as acquainted as she was with it from her aunt’s voice. There was still the matter of her vanity—she desired to lay that issue to rest and see whether another gentleman could affect her in the way Mr. Darcy did.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man upon whom nearly every female eye was turned. Elizabeth was the woman with whom he chose to sit and converse.
“Miss Elizabeth, a pleasure to meet with you again. I was delighted to make your acquaintance yesterday.”
Elizabeth was surprised he would single her out so directly, but he was not too forward. She answered neutrally, for she did not wish to give him too much encouragement. “I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Wickham. It is always enjoyable to make a n
ew acquaintance.”
“It was the prospect of constant good society that was my inducement to enter the corps. Society, I own, is necessary to me. After meeting several of Denny’s agreeable friends yesterday,” here he gave her a look she could not understand, “I was duly settled on the idea of taking a commission.”
Elizabeth smiled at his approval of Meryton and the area’s inhabitants. “I hope you will find your stay most enjoyable.”
“I dare say I will, although a military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for it, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living.”
“Indeed!”
Elizabeth tried to quell her impudent curiosity, but Wickham had an engaging manner and made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker. She could not help but compare him to Darcy, from whom it seemed rather a labour for him to speak ten words at a time. Ironically, recollections of their gaiety and laughter in the Netherfield library sprang to mind. She smiled unguardedly.
When she looked back at her companion, he seemed on the verge of speaking, though he looked at her a bit nonplussed. Before either could say more, they heard Lydia upbraiding Mary, who had been playing the pianoforte.
“Mary, enough of your concertos! Play something we can dance to!”
Mary gave her sister a cross look but conceded. “Very well, although you know it gives me little pleasure.” Soon the chords of a happy reel rang out in the room.
Wickham smiled enticingly at Elizabeth and held out his hand. “Might I have the honour, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth smiled in return, though she noticed Wickham’s smile lacked the beguiling dimples of another man she knew. “Certainly, Mr. Wickham.”
She held her breath. This was just the sort of test for which she hoped. It was an informal gathering, and although she was wearing fingerless mitts due to the season, no one was wearing full gloves. When he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, she felt no secret thrill, and yet it appeared he was doing his best to provoke such sensations. As the dance went on, she could have sworn his hands lingered longer than necessary at every joining and turn, and she felt a decided irritation at his presumption.
A Sense of Obligation Page 4
