It was a tantalizing suggestion. Jane was tempted to accept Maggie’s offer just for the opportunity to lay her eyes on Mr. Bingley one more time. But if she should converse with him—and if he remained ignorant of her presence in London…? Then perhaps he might pay the Gardiners a call, and they could renew their acquaintance.
But…the whole scheme was so deceptive. She would need to fool not only Mr. Bingley but also her aunt and uncle. She could hardly inform them that she was leaving for the day to pursue a gentleman! Jane gave a sharp shake of her head. “No. I thank you for the offer of assistance.”
Maggie shrugged. “As you wish, miss.” Jane nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Maggie gave a quick curtsey and busied herself hanging Jane’s gown before leaving the room.
When Jane turned back to her dressing table, her eyes were caught by a piece of paper: her unfinished letter to Lizzy. In it, Jane had admitted how wrong she had been about Miss Bingley’s character—and how she suspected the woman of deliberately separating Jane from her brother.
What would Lizzy do in these circumstances? Would she simply accept that Miss Bingley had engineered a separation and there was nothing to be done? Or would Lizzy discover a way to correct the situation? If Lizzy sat in this room, what would she advise Jane to do?
Jane whirled around, calling for Maggie before she quitted the room.
“Miss?” The maid stopped on the threshold.
“If you do happen to encounter…Joseph, I would not mind if you inquired about Mr. Bingley’s habits.”
Maggie gave her an impish grin. “I’ll be seeing him this Sunday at church.”
“Very good.”
As Maggie closed the door behind her, Jane considered her choices. Simply possessing the information about Mr. Bingley’s schedule did not necessarily require her to act upon it. Yes, Maggie might tell her, and Jane might do nothing more about it.
The thought provoked both relief and despair.
***
Throughout the rest of the week, Jane attempted to forget about Maggie’s errand, with little success. Whenever she saw the maid, Jane’s heart leapt as she imagined the possibility of encountering Mr. Bingley. She would attempt to brush aside such fantasies, but the heart is not easily denied.
On Monday morning, as Maggie laced up the back of Jane’s dress, Jane feared eager questions would burst out of her in a most unladylike manner. Fortunately, Maggie resolved the dilemma. “I spoke with Joseph yesterday.”
“Oh?” Jane did everything possible to avoid appearing too eager.
“He said his master departs Darcy House every Tuesday at eleven o’clock to join the Hursts for luncheon.”
At first Jane did not understand how this information would prove useful. She could hardly call upon the Hursts around luncheon. But Maggie continued, “If you happened to be in the neighborhood of Curzon Street, you might encounter him leaving Darcy House…”
Oh. How devious. Jane’s hands shook as she adjusted the sleeves of her gown. Did she dare execute such a deception: pretending to happen upon Mr. Bingley when she had no business in that part of town? It seemed so dishonest, and yet…
She craved the certainty such an encounter would provide. If Mr. Bingley greeted her coolly and chose not to visit her at the Gardiners’ home, then Jane would know he no longer cared for her. The knowledge would bring pain, but it would be better than continuous doubt.
What would Mr. Bingley think if he discovered her subterfuge? A horrible thought struck her. “You did not inform Mr. Harvey why you wanted the information, did you?”
Maggie laughed. “Of course not, miss. I mentioned that Miss Bingley had paid a visit, and by and by maneuvered the conversation to the subject of his master’s schedule.” She began to brush Jane’s waist-length hair.
It was fortunate for Britain that Maggie was not in the employ of Napoleon.
“You must have given extensive consideration to how you might approach the subject,” Jane observed.
“I don’t mind,” Maggie said with a faint blush. “I like talking to Joseph. Some young men—they only want one thing from a girl, but Joseph is better than that. And he has the darkest brown eyes…” The maid momentarily ceasing brushing, and Jane realized how much she had in common with the other woman.
Maggie recalled herself with a start, and she applied herself to Jane’s hair with renewed vigor. “So Joseph don’t suspect a thing—although he does know you’re acquainted with his master. I thought about having Joseph drop a word or two in Mr. Bingley’s ear about you being in town, but if Miss Bingley found out, Joseph might get in trouble. And he don’t deserve to lose his place.”
“Of course,” Jane said faintly. She would never ask servants to take responsibility for her romantic woes. So the responsibility—and the question of whether to seek out Mr. Bingley—rested squarely on her shoulders.
“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Maggie observed as she pinned strands of Jane’s blonde hair into place. “What will you do?”
I wish I knew.
***
The February winds whipped Jane’s cloak around her half boots and teased the ribbons of her bonnet. From her vantage point at the corner, she could see the door to Darcy House gleaming in the pale sunshine. As tall and imposing as its owner, the house was easily the largest and most distinguished on this stretch of Curzon Street. A double set of marble steps led to a blue door fitted with a brass knocker. Rows of windows faced the street. Mr. Collins would be very impressed by the cost of the glazing, Jane thought with a tiny smile.
How foolish to be skulking out of sight and watching Darcy House like some sort of French spy—a rather inept French spy, to be sure. Several times someone passing by had given her a curious glance, prompting Jane to consider renouncing the entire enterprise. Miss Bingley is probably correct that her brother has lost interest in me. This is a fruitless endeavor.
Yet she recalled Miss Bingley’s supercilious expression and disdainful words. Jane was quite sure she had done nothing to warrant such treatment. Ascertaining the truth of Mr. Bingley’s sentiments will hurt nobody…save me.
Still, the prospect of returning to the warm house on Gracechurch Street was immensely appealing. Lizzy would not abandon hope, Jane reminded herself. Lizzy would make the most of the opportunity.
I am not Lizzy. I cannot be Lizzy. I can only be myself.
But perhaps she could be Lizzy for one day—or one hour.
She shivered and hugged her arms close to her body, stamping her feet to keep them warm. Hopefully Mr. Bingley would emerge from Darcy House soon so Jane might return. Hopefully Maggie’s friend had been correct about his master’s schedule.
Of course, if there had been a mistake, Jane could simply slip back into the Gardiners’ house with no one the wiser. She would spend the rest of her life trying to forget that she had ever stood outside Darcy House waiting for the door to open. Nobody would know save Maggie, who had already pledged her secrecy.
Perhaps I should depart now. It would be for the best, really. Even now, the thought of speaking with Mr. Bingley made her hands perspire, moistening her gloves and further chilling her fingers. Most likely he would never even appear. She would depart now; there was no reason to stay even a minute more.
The front door opened, and Mr. Bingley emerged. Jane’s breath caught, all thoughts of departing forgotten. He was precisely as she had remembered him—no, he was superior to her memories. His dark gray great coat exactly suited his blue eyes. Wisps of forever-unruly blond hair peeked out from under his hat. And he descended the stairs with a familiar spring in his step.
Perhaps his face was a trifle thinner, and he did not wear the amiable smile she had come to expect. But he was only few feet away from Jane and breathing the same air. What a welcome sight! Jane was so transfixed that she nearly forgot her purpose.
But now that she had seen Mr. Bingley again, she knew she could not lose this opportunity. She must speak with him.
Assuming a nonchalance
she was far from feeling, Jane walked briskly along the street as if intent on her destination. It took all her willpower to avoid any sidelong glances toward the steps of Darcy House. What if he does not notice me? The excitement in her blood quickened her step. If I walk too quickly, he may not see me.
Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird beating its wings. She was nearly past Darcy House, and Mr. Bingley had not uttered a syllable. Jane was beginning to feel a little faint.
Without any conscious decision, she turned her head toward the figure that had just reached the bottom of the steps. It happened to be the very moment Mr. Bingley glanced up. Their eyes met with a mutual shock of recognition. Jane fancied she could hear an explosion.
“M-Miss B-Bennet!” Mr. Bingley’s voice rang out immediately.
Jane stopped immediately with a scrape of her boots on the pathway. This next moment would determine her future. Did he know she was in town? Would he wish to continue the acquaintance? Or would they have a polite conversation about the weather and part ways forever?
Words caught in her throat. “M-Mr. Bingley!” Nerves made her voice sound as surprised as his.
“What a splendid coincidence!” he exclaimed. Jane managed not to wince; there was nothing coincidental about it. “I had not the slightest idea you were in town.”
Aha! Her body remained taut as a cable, but something inside her melted with relief at these words. “I-I have been staying with my aunt and uncle Gardiner these two months,” she managed to say. “At Gracechurch Street.”
“Capital!” He rubbed his hands together. “Might you give me the direction? If, that is, they would be amenable to a visit.”
Jane’s heart was singing, but she strove to keep her face serene. “My aunt and uncle would be very pleased to meet you.”
“I thank you for the invitation. And Darcy would be—” Mr. Bingley broke off, perhaps realizing that Mr. Darcy might not be delighted to renew his acquaintance with Jane or meet her relatives in trade. “Well, I shall visit the Gardiners soon. Very soon!”
“That would be delightful,” Jane said, trying not to smile as if she had just received her heart’s desire.
Their immediate business had been concluded, and yet Mr. Bingley seemed reluctant to depart. “Your family is in good health?” he asked.
“Yes, they all enjoy excellent health.”
“Are any of your sisters also in town?”
“No. They all remain at Longbourn.”
“I see.” Mr. Bingley nodded and gave her a bit of dazed smile.
“And your sisters are in good health?” she asked.
“Yes, Caroline and Louisa are in the best of health— Oh, drat!”
“Mr. Bingley?”
“I am due for luncheon with them”—he opened his watch and peered at it—“now. In fact, I am overdue. I must go.”
“Of course,” she said faintly, hoping this was not her last encounter with the man.
He edged away from her, walking backward as if he could not bear to lose sight of her. “But I will call upon you!” he promised. “Gracechurch Street.” He walked faster, still backward, and Jane feared he would stumble over an unseen obstacle. He continued to wave, and she continued to return the gesture. Finally, he reached the corner. “Expect me soon!” he cried before turning.
Jane waved until he was out of sight.
Chapter Three
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?
When Jane Got Angry Page 2
