When Jane Got Angry

by Victoria Kincaid

  Mrs. Gardiner sighed. “It would be most pleasant, but Phillip has a cold and he always wants me nearby when he is sick. Perhaps Maggie could go.”

  Jane clapped her hands together. “Just the thing! I am sure she has never visited St. Paul’s either!”

  Mrs. Gardiner rang for Maggie, who appeared after a long pause. Her clothing was a little disheveled, and wisps of hair escaped from beneath her cap. What had she been up to with Harvey? Bingley considered whether he should give the young man a lecture.

  Maggie vibrated with excitement at news of the expedition. “Oh, I’ve heard the cathedral is very grand! What a treat.”

  Now to employ the rest of Bingley’s scheme. “I suppose I should have Harvey wait here for our return,” he mused.

  Maggie’s face fell, and Jane was quick to notice. “Perhaps Harvey would like to see the cathedral as well?”

  Maggie smiled. “I’m sure he would, miss!”

  “Very well, you may tell Harvey he is invited too,” Bingley said, managing to keep a neutral tone.

  With a quick curtsey, Maggie hurried out of the door. Bingley chanced a look at Mrs. Gardiner, hoping she was not scandalized that he was facilitating his valet’s courtship. But the older woman’s lips were pursed as if she held back laughter. Did she suspect Bingley was serving his own purposes?

  Then he noticed Jane’s open and excited expression and decided it did not matter.

  ***

  Jane gasped when she stepped under the dome at St. Paul’s. Never before had she experienced such a vast indoor space; the cathedral stretched forever in all directions. Nor had she imagined that such a beautiful place could possibly exist. Gilt glistened in the sunshine streaming through the clerestory windows, making the entire dome glow like a jewel box. Such a testament to the work of humans and the glory of God. It could not possibly inspire any emotion other than awe.

  The cathedral was at once grand and startlingly simple. Westminster Abbey was impressive as well, but it was dark and dim—full of Gothic ornamentation and crowded with a bewildering number of tombs. It had conveyed a sense of history and age but never caused Jane’s mouth to fall open in wonder.

  By contrast, St. Paul’s flowed. A series of white marble arches led back to the nave and forward to the choir. Without dark stained-glass windows, the cathedral was illuminated by windows both high and low.

  “I take it you approve?” Mr. Bingley asked.

  Only then was Jane aware how long she had been gaping. “Yes,” she breathed. “It is beyond words! I did not know anything so magnificent existed in the world.”

  He gave her a pleased smile, as if they shared a secret. “This is perhaps my favorite place in London—nay, in all of England. I am happy and honored to share it with you.”

  Recalled to herself, Jane realized she had neglected her responsibilities. “Where did Maggie and Harvey get themselves to?” She craned her neck, scanning the church for the servants.

  “I saw them stroll down one of the side aisles,” Mr. Bingley observed. “Perhaps they wanted a little time apart from their duties.”

  “Naturally. Who would think of duty when such beauty beckons?” She gestured to the cathedral’s dome.

  “I believe Harvey is primarily concerned with a different kind of beauty.” A corner of Mr. Bingley’s mouth quirked upward.

  Jane giggled and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “I hope nothing improper will occur.”

  “This is a house of God! Surely they will do nothing improper,” Mr. Bingley intoned with mock solemnity.

  Jane laughed again, pleased he was comfortable enough to tease her. “Not even a kiss?” she asked with a sidelong glance, only belatedly realizing her words could be construed as flirtatious.

  However, Mr. Bingley did not appear to notice. “I have a confession to make, Miss Bennet,” he said in a low, serious tone. “And I suppose a cathedral is a good place to say it.”

  What could this mean? Jane turned to face him.

  “I invited Harvey to accompany me for the specific purpose of…distracting your maid.” Jane’s eyes widened. Did he have designs upon her person?

  “So we might enjoy private conversation!” he added hastily. “This is a house of God.” Jane could not completely stifle a relieved laugh. “Am I forgiven?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Jane recalled the expression on Maggie’s face when she saw “her Joseph” at the Gardiners’ house. “Particularly since you have made Maggie and her beau so happy.”

  It is only right that I meet his honesty with my own. Jane took a deep breath. “I have a confession of my own to make.”

  “Oh?”

  When had so many butterflies taken up residence in her stomach? “I did not happen upon you outside Darcy House by chance,” she said quickly in one long breath. “Maggie learned your schedule from your valet—without his being the wiser—so I might encounter you.”

  “You arranged our meeting?”

  “Yes.” No doubt her face must be bright red. Unable to face Mr. Bingley, she stared at the tiles of the cathedral floor.

  “Oh.” Now she was compelled to look up. Rather than a mouth drawn tight with censure, he worse a slight, dumbfounded grin.

  “You are not angry?” He shook his head slowly as his smile grew. “I deceived you!”

  “You sought me out…” He took one of her hands in his. “You wished to reestablish our…connection. I cannot tell you how powerfully that affects me.”

  Immobile for a long moment, they simply gazed into each other’s eyes. A throat was cleared loudly behind Jane, and they both started. She whirled around to find a cassocked priest regarding them dourly. He stared pointedly at their clasped hands, and Mr. Bingley dropped Jane’s hand as if it had burned him.

  Hastily he turned away from the priest and gestured to the rows of wooden chairs facing the choir. “Shall we sit and admire the view?”

  Suitably chastised, they quickly settled into two chairs. The priest eyed them suspiciously but eventually made his way to the front of the church.

  Perhaps it would be best to find an innocuous topic of conversation. Jane asked the first question that came to mind. “When did you first visit the cathedral?”

  “Hmm.” Mr. Bingley rubbed his chin. “I was quite young. Perhaps ten years of age. My father was an amateur enthusiast of architecture, so we toured a great many buildings whenever we traveled to London. Most of the buildings run together in my memory, except for St. Paul’s.”

  “I understand why.”

  “I cannot tell you how pleased I am by your reaction. I once brought a young lady who found it uninteresting because few famous people are buried here.”

  The words were a splash of cold water to cool Jane’s good mood. Of course. I am only one of many young women he has escorted about town. I should be under no illusion that he regards me as special.

  Mr. Bingley seemed to recognize his faux pas. “You are the first person I found who truly appreciates St. Paul’s as I do.”

  She nodded mutely.

  “You are quite different—special.”

  She nodded again. How many other women had heard those words?

  “Drat!” He launched himself from his chair and paced the open floor before her seat. “I am making a mull of this.”

  Not understanding the source of his agitation, Jane was unsure what to say.

  “Caroline and Louisa—even Darcy—fault me for always succumbing to the impulse of the moment,” he said, running both hands through his hair. “Which I suppose I do sometimes. I never know what to write in a letter; they are always full of cross outs because I am forever changing my mind. And there have been times when I fancied myself in love.”

  He was deliberately looking away from Jane, down the long transom, but she forced herself to nod her understanding. Was he intimating that his feelings for her were the result of infatuation? Jane’s hands tightened in her lap. I pray to God I do not begin to weep here in the cathedral.
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  Mr. Bingley continued, “When my sisters and Darcy approached me…it was the work of a moment to be convinced of an infatuation in Hertfordshire. They reminded me of those other women when it came to naught. When I was apart from them, such women occupied my thoughts but little.”

  Jane nodded numbly. Do not cry. Do not cry.

  “I believed my departure from Hertfordshire would yield the same result….” Jane braced herself for tears. “But it did not.”

  It took Jane a moment to realize the blow from the sword had not fallen when expected. She lifted her head to meet Mr. Bingley’s eyes, twin blue flames intently fixed on her face. “It did not?” she whispered.

  “No.” He held her gaze. “After departing from Hertfordshire, I brooded my way through Christmas and Twelfth Night. Every day I wondered what you were doing and how you fared. Every day I considered creating a pretext for returning to Netherfield. But whenever I suggested it, Caroline assured me that you had already forgotten me.” An odd catch in his voice tugged at Jane’s heartstrings.

  “I never forgot you,” she said in a low voice, angry at Miss Bingley once again. “Not for one minute.”

  “I believe that now.” He dropped again into the chair beside her and took both her hands in his. “I would ask you a question, but it is too soon I think. Both your family and mine would think me precipitous and might object.”

  A thrill shot down her spine. He meant to propose! Still, she commended his caution. This was only their third encounter since he had left Hertfordshire; they should not be too hasty. There was no need to rush. Deep inside, Jane felt a sense of perfect certainty. When she was in Mr. Bingley’s presence, something inside her rang true—like a pure note from a bell—telling her, “this is right.”

  The naked emotion in Mr. Bingley’s eyes suggested it rang true for him as well. He leaned closer, and Jane was very aware of the proximity of his lips, pale pink and perfectly formed.

  For a moment, she was certain he would kiss her, but at the last moment he turned his head away and thrust himself to his feet. “I must have activity!” His voice exploded from him forcefully. “Or I might do something inappropriate right here—under the dome of St. Paul’s—and the priests would not be appreciative.”

  Jane was tempted to laugh at the declaration, but she could not. If he tried to kiss her, she would not have the willpower to refuse him.

  “Would you like to climb up there?” He pointed upward where a railing suggested the existence of a balcony circling the dome. “A few hundred steps to climb would provide sufficient activity for me, I believe. It is called the Whispering Gallery.”

  Jane squinted in the light. “Why does it have that name?”

  “Come.” His warm hand engulfed hers. “I will show you.”

  ***

  Jane marveled at the view. Only minutes before she had been standing in the nave surveying the magnificent dome. Now she was leaning against the railing of the gallery that ringed the dome and peering down at the floor of the church. “Somehow the distance seems greater from this vantage point.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Bingley agreed.

  The gallery itself was wider than she had supposed: a round balcony, complete with a stone bench attached to the wall. They were currently the only occupants, and the illusion of privacy provoked a sense of giddiness and recklessness in Jane.

  Craning her neck, she stared upward; the rest of the dome appeared just as impossibly high as it had from the nave. “The stairs lead to the top of the dome?” she asked.

  “Yes, the view is magnificent. Especially on a clear day like today.” Mr. Bingley’s tone was a bit wistful. “I am afraid there are a great many steps.”

  Why had he mentioned that—? Oh. “Is your knee giving you pain?” He had injured his knee in a fall from a horse; in Meryton he had mentioned that it occasionally gave him trouble.

  “What? No, not at all. I assumed you would not wish to make the trek.”

  “But this is thrilling!” Jane spread her arms wide, encompassing the entire gallery. “Why would I not want to go higher? I envy the birds; how marvelous it must be to see the world from such heights.”

  He was regarding her blankly. Had she said something wrong? “If you do not want to—”

  “Not at all,” he said hastily. “It would give me great pleasure. Nobody has ever accompanied me to the top of the dome. When I suggested it to Caroline, she laughed and assured me that her skirts would get far too dirty from climbing the dusty stairs.”

  “I am willing to sacrifice far more than dusty skirts for such a magnificent view.”

  He took one of her hands in both of his and kissed it fervently. “Miss Bennet, you are a marvel.”

  The declaration quite dazzled Jane. Before she could quite recover, Mr. Bingley had released her hand and was backing away with a broad grin on his face. “Before we journey upstairs, I would like to demonstrate why this is called the whispering gallery.”

  Jane could not help smiling back. “Indeed?”

  “It is said to have some odd acoustical properties. If a person stands on one side of the gallery, apparently he can whisper to someone on the opposite side—and she can hear the words clear as day.”

  Jane frowned dubiously as she surveyed the gallery. The circumference was vast, and the distance from one side to another was great. “Have you tested it?”

  “I have never tried it myself. As there is nobody else about today, I believe it is an excellent time for a trial, if you would like.”

  Although he continued to back away from her, his eyes had not left hers for a second. She swallowed, wondering why such a simple proposition seemed so…intimate.

  “You will whisper something to me?” she asked with a smile.

  When did I grow so bold? I never flirted before. Goodness! Leave me alone with a man for a few minutes, and I turn into Lydia!

  “I will.” The humorous gleam had fled from his eyes; he regarded her steadily—and with some heat. “Remain here.”

  Jane could not tear her eyes from Mr. Bingley as he strolled around the curved balcony. He had such a smooth, assured stride; she would happily watch him walk anywhere. He was a tiny figure on the other side of the gallery, but she heard his words quite clearly. “I love you, Jane.”

  Oh! How unexpected. She was momentarily so dizzy that she feared she would pitch over the edge of the gallery and needed to grab the railing.

  He spoke again in a normal tone of voice, yet she had no trouble understanding every word. “I love you. It is too soon for an offer of marriage, but I cannot imagine marrying anyone other than you.”

  Momentarily robbed of her voice, Jane nodded vigorously. A declaration of love should properly be followed by a marriage proposal, but she understood that he was not yet prepared for a public declaration of his feelings—or riding to Longbourn for her father’s permission.

  The small figure appeared to be watching her expectantly, even a little apprehensively. Jane swallowed, hoping her voice would function. “I-I love you, too, Mr. Bingley.”

  Her words must have traveled over the vast space because a slow smile spread over his face. He glanced down momentarily and then up, meeting her eyes. “May I kiss you, Jane?”

  When had it grown so hot in the gallery? “Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  And then he was running around the circle, hastily closing the distance between them. Jane edged back from railing so that she—and anything she did—would not be visible from the nave.

  Mr. Bingley slowed as he approached her, merely reaching out to touch the edge of her sleeve near her elbow. “May I kiss you, in truth?” he whispered again in her ear, his breath tickling her neck.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  His hand slid down her arm and into her palm until their fingers were intertwined. They had both removed their gloves, and the sensation of skin against skin was far more electric than Jane had expected.

  Mr. Bingley shifted closer to her, and s
he closed her eyes in anticipation of the press of his lips against hers. Instead, his lips caressed the soft skin of her shoulder where it was exposed by the edge of her bodice. Her eyelids fluttered as she absorbed the exquisite sensations. She had never been kissed there—or indeed anywhere—by a man other than her father, and the experience was much more overwhelming than she had imagined.

  The next kiss traveled closer to her neck, and the next one closer still. Jane held her breath in anticipation. The following kiss fell unexpectedly in the hollow of her throat, creating such unanticipated sensations that Jane shivered with delight.

  She held herself very still as Mr. Bingley kissed a path up her throat. And then he paused. Jane nearly opened her eyes; had he retreated? She tried to swallow her disappointment. Perhaps he believed it would be improper to kiss a lady’s mouth if they were not betrothed. Still, her lips tingled with anticipation and eagerness. Would the sensation of his lips meeting hers feel just as exquisite? Or might it disappoint?

  It did not disappoint.

  When his lips met hers, she exhaled in soft relief; she had so longed to kiss him! His kiss began gently, with a mere brushing of his lips against hers, but it quickly increased in intensity as his mouth pressed more firmly, demanding that she respond in kind. She was helpless to do otherwise. The heady pleasure of the kiss wrapped her in its grip, requiring that she meet Mr. Bingley’s ardor with equal passion.

  He enclosed her in his embrace, pulling her against his body. Jane was shocked to discover his tongue in her mouth. Was this customary when kissing? She quickly decided it was far from an unwelcome surprise. The sensations were unbelievable…beyond anything she had experienced.

  Goodness! If married couples enjoyed such intimacies nightly, no wonder so many people were eager for the married state.

  Time lost all meaning. Jane did not know how long they stood, intertwined in a passionate embrace as they explored each other’s mouths—until she heard a disapproving sniff, right in her ear.