When Jane Got Angry

by Victoria Kincaid

  She and Mr. Bingley leapt apart guiltily, searching about for a sign of the offended sniffer. Nobody lingered nearby. The sound had emanated from a hatchet-faced woman in her forties on the far side of the gallery. Sneering with disapproval, she turned to her equally disapproving husband. “Really! This is a house of God!”

  Jane glanced up at Mr. Bingley, afraid that he might be ashamed to have been caught in a compromising position, but his hand covered his mouth as he stifled a laugh.

  It was rather amusing. Jane found herself giggling as well, and soon they were laughing heartily together. The disapproving man and woman appeared quite offended.

  When they had sobered, Mr. Bingley offered Jane his arm. “Well, Miss Bennet, are you prepared to climb to the top?”

  Mostly Jane was disappointed that she was no longer enjoying his kisses, but she supposed they might find solitude—as well as a magnificent view—at the top of the dome. She took his arm. “I am quite ready.”

  Chapter Seven

  My Dearest Jane,

  Rosings Park is indeed livelier now that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are in residence. Miss de Bourgh says little and her companion nothing at all. Lady Catherine speaks with great authority about any subject, no matter her degree of knowledge—or ignorance—of it. But at least I now have the solace of conversation with the two gentlemen. The colonel is all amiability, with pleasing manners and easy conversation. Mr. Darcy remains much the same, saying little and glaring at me from across the room. He is as proud and difficult as ever, and I am forever reminded of how he has caused Mr. Wickham’s suffering.

  But when he bestirs himself to join the conversation, I often find it worth the listening. Imagine my surprise in discovering we have similar tastes in poetry and novels. He frequently exhorts me to play on the pianoforte. Surely he is only being polite—or perhaps alleviating his own ennui—but he does an admirable imitation of genuine interest. Were it not for Mr. Wickham’s sake, I might think Mr. Darcy tolerable company. But I can barely stand to occupy the same room or share my conversation with the man. Everything about him disgusts me…

  Jane laid the letter in her lap, staring at the weeping willow bending over the corner of her aunt and uncle’s small garden. A cool breeze blew strands of hair into her face, and she pushed them away impatiently. Lizzy’s letter demonstrated a profound ambivalence about Mr. Darcy, probably more than the writer herself recognized.

  If only Lizzy would be more amenable to Mr. Darcy’s friendship! He was Mr. Bingley’s closest friend. Were Jane fortunate enough to marry Mr. Bingley, it would be awkward if her sister remained at odds with the man.

  Jane did not know the truth of Mr. Wickham’s tale but suspected that Lizzy’s judgment of the master of Pemberley was unduly harsh. Lizzy’s letter lent support to something Jane had long suspected: Mr. Darcy did not dislike Lizzy at all; in fact, he sought and rather enjoyed her company. But Lizzy could be stubborn, and Jane could think of no gentle way to persuade her sister of her mistaken impression.

  Well, it hardly mattered. Lizzy would treat Mr. Darcy as she saw fit, and soon they would part ways. If Jane were favored with Mr. Bingley’s hand, she might hope to bring about a more amicable relationship. Jane folded the letter once more; she had read it three times already, and it no longer provided much of a distraction.

  The past fortnight had been dull, passing with the speed of a heavily laden barge. After the wonderful visit to St. Paul’s, Jane had been full of hope that Mr. Bingley might soon make her an offer. However, the following day—when she had eagerly anticipated his arrival—a letter had arrived for her uncle explaining that Mr. Bingley had been called away to the north of the country to attend an ailing aunt.

  The missive had expressed the expectation that Mr. Bingley would be from town no more than a week, but it had already been two. Every day his absence more and more resembled his abrupt departure from Hertfordshire. For weeks after that departure, Jane had clung to hope—only to have her heart broken. Despite her best efforts, she felt herself losing faith now.

  When he had declared his love for her, she would not have exchanged places with the Queen herself, but now she feared their history repeated itself. Perhaps he had experienced a change of heart. Or perhaps his sister had reminded him of the evils of a match with a “country chit.” Or perhaps, despite his earnest declarations, he was inconstant at heart. Jane did not want to believe it, but she had to admit the possibility.

  Not for the first time Jane wondered if she should simply return to Longbourn. Her visit to her aunt and uncle had lasted more than three months. If they had not wearied of her company by now, surely they would soon. Jane had little in town to occupy her time. She did needlework and walked in the park every day with Maggie, but otherwise her days were long and empty. At least if I am at home I can be useful to my mother and father.

  Trying to ignore the way her eyes burned, she slid the letter into her pocket. Her mind was decided; at dinner that night she would raise the subject of returning home.

  ***

  The carriage lurched over a rut in the road, and Caroline, sitting opposite Bingley, grabbed the door handle to avoid sliding sideways on her seat. “Charles, this carriage simply is not adequately sprung. You must buy a new one!”

  Bingley gritted his teeth. “This is the new one, if you will recall—the one you insisted I buy five months ago.”

  “Surely there is something better—”

  He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps the next time we travel you should pick a route with superior roads. The roads to Bath are quite good; we might restrict all our travel to Bath.”

  Caroline sniffed at his joke and did not respond, which suited Bingley. A fortnight with Caroline and their aunt Millington had been torturous. When she summoned them, their aunt had suggested that she was at death’s door, but over the course of his stay it became clear that such was not the case. She apparently had sent for them primarily for the purpose of blessing them with advice about their lives.

  The constant admonitions had been well nigh unbearable, but far worse were the occasions when Caroline had criticized Jane—and Aunt Millington had joined in the chorus, without the benefit of having met Miss Bennet. For days Bingley had defended his right to choose his own wife, but as the futility of the effort became clear, he began to respond less and less until he finally ceased engaging on the subject altogether. His aunt may have taken his silence as a sign that she had persuaded him, but Caroline was not so easily fooled. She scrutinized his every move as if he might slip away and propose to Jane at any moment.

  He distracted himself from his irritation with his sister by again rehearsing the plan for their arrival in London. He would deliver his sister at the Hursts’ townhouse and then drive directly to the Gardiners’, wasting not one more minute before asking Jane to marry him. The thought made him smile for the first time that day.

  Caroline narrowed her eyes; apparently even a smile was grounds for suspicion. “When we return to town,” she said, “you are not to offer marriage to the Bennet girl.”

  This instruction was delivered in much the same tone as a mother might remind her son that “you are not to drop your napkin on the floor during dinner.”

  Bingley shot his sister an irritated look. “I jolly well will.”

  “No, you will not.”

  Bingley felt the same heat rising within him that had burned when he had spoken to Darcy. “I will do as I please for the purposes of securing my own happiness,” he said firmly.

  Caroline tossed her head. “Making her an offer will only sink your reputation and hers.”

  “Jane Bennet is a thoroughly respectable lady—”

  “By now everyone in the ton knows she has been angling for your hand despite the disapproval of your family,” Caroline drawled with a smirk. “If you make her an offer, it will be assumed she entrapped you somehow.”

  Dread crawled up Bingley’s spine. “Why would they believe any such thing? Jane does not have a conn
iving bone in her body.”

  Caroline’s lips curled into a horrid parody of a smile. “Everyone knows how the Bennet family schemes and plots. Many worry that Jane will conspire to place you in a position where you appear to have compromised her—so you are forced to make her an offer.”

  His entire body flushed. “Why would they think that? What have you been saying?”

  Caroline shrugged with faux innocence. “I may have mentioned her vulgar, grasping family to a few friends.”

  Good Lord! “You have been blackening Jane’s name?” Bingley’s voice squeaked upward with indignation. He massaged his forehead. I should have foreseen this tactic. By disparaging Jane’s character, Caroline rendered it more difficult—and more damaging—for Bingley to propose.

  “Everyone knows you have set your cap for Georgiana Darcy.”

  “She is barely out of the schoolroom!” Bingley nearly shouted. “And why would ‘everyone’ know that, Caroline?”

  Caroline gave an unconcerned shrug and brushed dust from her gown.

  A realization burst over him. “You truly care nothing for my happiness.”

  Caroline’s eyes blazed with fury. “I care enough to prevent my family’s reputation from being tainted by connection to that country nobody! I will not have my own marital prospects hindered by such associations!”

  Bingley strove to keep a reasonable tone in the face of his sister’s vitriol. “Your marital prospects will remain precisely the same. My engagement to Jane Bennet would not affect them.”

  “No, it will not. Because you will not make her an offer!”

  Bingley had no doubt that Caroline had been quite effective at spreading horrible rumors about Jane. Gossip was her stock in trade, and her lies had spread throughout the ton for at least a fortnight. If he made an offer to Jane, many people would believe the rumors, thinking that she had somehow entrapped him and forced him into proposing.

  He could not propose to the woman he loved without damaging her reputation, a miserable beginning to his married life—with his wife subject to speculation and snubs that might not dissipate for years. Caroline had neatly tied his hands.

  A quick glance at his sister told him that she was admiring the passing scenery with a little smirk on her face. He tried to marshal the anger he had experienced in Darcy’s study. There was cause; Caroline’s perfidy was far worse than Darcy’s. But Bingley was weighed down by his anxiety, too weary to muster indignation.

  His happy visions of proposing in the Gardiners’ drawing room were slipping away. With them went his dreams of Jane resplendent in white satin, Jane presiding as mistress of Netherfield, and Jane with her stomach rounded with his child…

  Such a future appeared to be completely beyond his grasp. The weight settled even more heavily onto his chest, making it difficult to breathe…or even move.

  I will not relinquish the idea of marrying Jane. But how can I accomplish such a feat without causing her great pain? Again he tried to set a match to the burning embers of indignation. Caroline deserved the full brunt of his anger. But the flames, smothered under a dark blanket of sorrow, failed to ignite.

  Still, he experienced a need to hurt her the way she had hurt him. “Caroline, sometimes I do not like you at all,” he said through gritted teeth. It had to have been the cruelest words he had ever uttered to his sister.

  Caroline tossed her head. “You can think what you want of me, Charles, as long as you do not marry that country chit.”

  ***

  His sister’s revelation still weighed down Bingley when he alighted from the carriage at dusk on the street before Darcy House. Having deposited Caroline at the Hursts’, he had eschewed a visit to Gracechurch Street until he could devise a plan to neutralize his sister’s gossip mongering. With a few words, Caroline had destroyed the joyous reunion with Jane he had been envisioning for a fortnight.

  Bingley could barely bring himself to be civil to Darcy’s butler when the man opened the door. Perhaps sensing his mood, the butler merely gave Bingley his accumulated post and inquired when he would like dinner served.

  Trudging up the stairs to his room, Bingley examined the pile of letters. The top one was from Darcy, dated only two days ago. Perhaps word from Rosings Park could distract him from his troubles. He ripped it open and tilted it toward the lamplight as he sank onto the edge of his bed.

  Bingley,

  I believe I owe you an apology. I did not fully credit your feelings for Miss Bennet. If you are experiencing one tenth what I feel, then you are suffering indeed. After less than a week at Rosings Park, I realized how wrong I had been in believing I had overcome my feelings for Elizabeth Bennet. My attraction to her is stronger than ever. When we inhabit the same room, I must be near her—drawn toward her as if by a magnetic force. When I am not with her, my thoughts are occupied by the sound of her voice, the recollections of our conversations, the memory of her fine eyes. I have sought out every possible distraction and reminded myself of the evils of her family’s connections, but it will not do. No other woman has ever enchanted me like Miss Elizabeth.

  I have resolved upon making her an offer. Her family remains entirely objectionable, but that is nothing compared to the thought of living the rest of my life without her. I will await an opportunity to find her alone and make my offer…

  Bingley lifted his eyes from the letter in astonishment. His friend’s change of heart was as abrupt as it was complete. Earlier, Darcy had described his feelings for Miss Elizabeth as a passing fancy, easily overcome. Although Bingley had harbored doubts, this letter revealed how deeply the attachment ran.

  However, Darcy’s interactions with Jane’s sister had always displayed an…unusual intensity. Even when he had spoken little to her, Darcy had watched Miss Elizabeth. He had engaged her in conversation more than many other women—or men. Although her manner appeared to irritate him, Darcy often had sought out her company.

  Good Lord, Darcy really is in love with her.

  Still, the news was shocking. Darcy planned to propose to Miss Elizabeth! In fact, he might have already done so during the two days the letter took to reach London. The thought lightened Bingley’s heart; if his friend proposed to Jane’s sister, he could not possibly object to Bingley proposing to Jane. When it became widely known that the master of Pemberley had made an offer to Elizabeth Bennet, the whole family would be elevated in the eyes of the ton. Jane Bennet would become a far less objectionable choice. Bingley’s alliance with the Bennet family would have few consequences for Caroline’s marital prospects.

  In fact, Jane would become an object of fascination in the city. Darcy had been one of the greatest prizes on the marriage mart for years. When it became known that Elizabeth Bennet had caught him, the entire family would be subject to scrutiny and attention.

  As the only family representative in town, Jane would receive more than her share of attention from women…and men—particularly men who had no need of a well-heeled wife but who would notice how very beautiful she was. By far the most beautiful woman who had ever lived.

  Bingley’s breaths were coming in ragged gasps. None of this had come to pass, he reminded himself. Yet he was gripped by an urge to race out of the door for Cheapside.

  He grabbed the counterpane with both hands, as if that could prevent him from haring off to propose. Caroline’s threat remains, he reminded himself. Their engagement might still be seen as resulting from Jane’s entrapment. There were good reasons to delay.

  Caution dictated that Bingley at least wait until Darcy’s betrothal was a fait accompli. However, Miss Elizabeth would surely accept the proposal; no woman would refuse Fitzwilliam Darcy. They were as good as married. Once their engagement became known, suitors would flock to Gracechurch Street in search of Jane.

  Bingley’s heart beat so loudly he feared it might burst from his chest.

  Patience had never been Bingley’s greatest strength, and he had already waited overly long—in his opinion—to secure Jane’s hand. No,
he simply could not delay another day. Another hour. Another minute. Perhaps they could postpone the announcement of the engagement until after Darcy’s news was made public.

  But Bingley would obtain Jane’s promise today.

  Following this resolution, Bingley summoned Harvey to help him find an appropriate set of evening clothes. He refused to make an offer of marriage in dirty, travel-worn clothing.

  The whole process took longer than Bingley would have liked, although Harvey complained of being rushed as he debated the benefits of the gold waistcoat or the blue. Finally, Bingley’s appearance was acceptable to both, and he was free to hurry down the stairs and out of the front entrance to summon his carriage.

  Sitting in the coach, Bingley kneaded his thighs with trembling hands. Obtaining her consent was not a simple matter. During his long absence he had not been able to write to Jane. He had considered writing to her uncle, but Bingley barely knew the man.

  What if Jane believed he had lost interest? Or she had met another, more suitable man? Or she had returned to Longbourn?

  Bingley wished he could climb up to the driver’s seat and urge the horse to greater speed. The progress to Cheapside seemed painfully slow, allowing Bingley to imagine every possible catastrophe en route.

  When the carriage arrived at Gracechurch Street, Bingley barely waited for the vehicle to stop before he launched himself through the door. Within seconds he was knocking on the door to the Gardiners’ house.

  The footman who opened the door seemed a bit bewildered at his sudden appearance on the doorstep. “I am here to call upon Miss Bennet. Is she at home?”

  The man stared for a long moment, keeping Bingley in an agony of suspense. Finally, he intoned, “Miss Bennet has accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner out for the evening.”

  Damnation! Bingley could hardly await their return, which might not be until the early hours of the morning. Prudence dictated that he should simply return tomorrow, but Bingley was of no mind to heed prudence.