When Jane Got Angry

by Victoria Kincaid

  “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 frien
d 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.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Bingley and Darcy shared an amiable breakfast before the latter rolled off in his carriage to collect Colonel Fitzwilliam for the journey to Kent. Although Darcy’s departure did not take long, Bingley was practically bouncing with impatience by the time his friend was gone. The moment Darcy’s carriage disappeared from sight, he rushed upstairs to don attire suitable for a morning visit.

  During the night he had wrestled with his best course of action. Jane’s hasty departure from the park had been quite worrisome, but Bingley was very far from desiring an end to the acquaintance. Whatever disturbed Jane, he hoped to set it right; no doubt it was his family’s responsibility.

  Harvey, his valet, was ruddy-cheeked and a bit portly for such a young man, but Bingley had been quite pleased with his work. He put the finishing touches on Bingley’s cravat. “You’ll be sure to impress the lady, sir.”

  Bingley felt himself coloring. “Do all the servants know I am going to visit a lady?”

  Harvey gave him a cheeky grin. “There may be one or two who remain unaware. Perhaps old Crawley in the stable…”

  Bingley ignored the other man’s tone; for some reason his servants always seemed to adopt a casual air with him. It was a mystery to him. Darcy’s servants would never treat their master so informally. “How did you acquire that knowledge?”

  “I’m acquainted with the Gardiners’ maid, Maggie Coates. She told me you was acquainted with the Miss Bennet they’ve got visiting there.”

  Oho! Bingley knew he should be above gossip, but this was not just a matter of idle curiosity. “Did Maggie mention anything Miss Bennet said about me?” Bingley was hopeful Jane welcomed his advances, but she still might decide his family was too troublesome.

  Harvey adjusted one of Bingley’s cuffs. “No sir. Sh-She only said you knew this Miss Bennet when you was staying in Hertfordshire. But that was b-before my time with you, so I couldn’t comment. Not that I—I would not ever gossip about your business, sir,” the valet added hastily.

  “Of course not,” Bingley said, not at all sure that was the case.

  Harvey was uncharacteristically tongue-tied, and Bingley suspected he knew the cause. “Precisely how well do you know Miss Coates?”

  Harvey dropped Bingley’s watch fob, cursing under his breath as he stooped to pick it up. “I beg your pardon, sir. Pretty well, I would say. She grew up on the same street as me, but I don’t see much of her since she went to work for the Gardiners.” The young man threaded the fob into the front of Bingley’s waistcoat. “She’s a pretty little thing and cl
ever, too.”

  This last sentence—along with the deep red of the valet’s face—confirmed Bingley’s suspicions. In general Bingley was not a scheming man. He preferred to live life openly and honestly without excessive concern about future plans. However, it had occurred to him that the Gardiners would want the maid to chaperone Jane on any walks. If the maid were distracted, Bingley and Jane might enjoy greater privacy. “Would you like to accompany me to Gracechurch Street?”

  ***

  A few minutes later, the two men shared a carriage that trundled toward Cheapside. “I appreciate this, Mr. Bingley,” Harvey said for at least the third time. “I surely do.”

  “You are most welcome,” Bingley replied. Harvey might linger in the kitchen until he was needed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do not importune Miss Coates with too many questions about Miss Bennet. She might grow suspicious.”

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “I can be discreet. I am a gentleman’s valet after all.”

  “Of course.” Bingley said nothing more but continued to fret nonetheless.

  When they appeared on the Gardiners’ doorstep, Harvey was whisked away to the kitchen, where Bingley heard a female voice exclaim, “Joseph!” Was that his valet’s given name?

  When Bingley entered the drawing room, he was delighted to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Gardiner. However, Jane colored deeply and looked away, no doubt embarrassed about the events of the previous day. Bingley saw no need; her anger at Caroline had been completely justified.

  If only he could allay her anxiety! Unfortunately, there was no simple way to raise the subject in Mrs. Gardiner’s presence. He considered suggesting another walk, but the older woman might offer to accompany them…

  Then the perfect solution occurred to him.

  Before seating himself, Bingley addressed Jane. “Miss Bennet, during a conversation in Hertfordshire you once expressed an interest in seeing St. Paul’s Cathedral. Today is a beautiful day, and the view from the dome would be magnificent. Would you like me to call for the carriage?”

  Jane’s entire countenance lightened, as if the thought of the cathedral had helped to alleviate some of her mortification. “That would be lovely.” She turned to her aunt. “Would you like to accompany us?” Bingley said a quick prayer that the woman would be occupied.