When Jane Got Angry

by Victoria Kincaid

  “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 fe
lt 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.

  Chapter Five

  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 cou
ld 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?”