Beginning, Section II

Chapter 1

Author Notes: An Amiable Man is a companion story to Sometimes a Great Notion and it deals with how Bingley finds his way to happiness after spending a miserable winter without his beloved Jane Bennet. If you haven't read the other story (a retelling of P&P that among other things introduces the character of Olivia Crenshaw, who will be recognizable to those who have read my more recent work), you may find yourself a bit confused. Reading it either prior to (or alongside) this one is strongly recommended.

Amiable.

He shrugged into his new green coat and stared at his reflection somberly.

That is how everyone sees me. That is all anyone ever says of me. I am amiable...or pleasant--no worse--pleasing. That is what I am, merely pleasing. "Here lies Charles Bingley, a pleasing, amiable man." A boring epitaph, not really worth dying for, is it? He winced as he lifted his arm and found the fit a bit tight.

I suppose I could be called far worse. But just once I would like to be thought of as handsome Mr. Bingley, or intelligent Mr. Bingley, or dashing, or witty. Witty Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley, you are a wit! He smiled at his reflection.. Or erudite, or shrewd, as they call Darcy. His handsome face fell. No, no one would believe that I was shrewd. I am certainly not shrewd where women are concerned. Darcy made that perfectly clear to me last November. Mr. Bingley sighed deeply, then started when he heard a polite cough at his back. He turned around to find the tailor waiting patiently. Mr. Bingley hurriedly removed the coat and replaced it with the grey one he had worn to the tailor's shop.

After a brief discussion with the tailor, Mr. Bingley collected his hat and cane and left the shop. He strolled down _____ Street, halfheartedly peering into shop windows. He briefly considered stopping in at his club, but thought better of it since he had walked out early in the afternoon and it would probably be dark before he headed for home. He decided to walk home through the park. Perhaps the scenery would lift his spirits.

What is wrong with me? There is nothing to be ashamed of in being found amiable. It is not as dire an affliction as being miserly, or slovenly, or a libertine! Then why do I feel as though I have to apologize for merely being "nice"? It seemed that lately everyone called him "amiable," as though it were a euphemism for boring or dull. Mr. Bingley wondered what Jane Bennet thought of him, or if she thought of him at all. As quickly as the notion came to him, he discarded it. It would not do to begin thinking of her again.

It was mid-March and he had not seen Jane Bennet since the previous November. He had thought of her often since then. He thought of little else whenever his mind was not completely occupied with more pressing matters. But now it was spring, and his sister Louisa had just left for the Continent with her husband, Mr. Hurst. He would be alone, save for the company of his sister, Caroline and a few acquaintances who were in town at the moment, barely enough to keep him occupied.

Mr. Bingley briefly considered returning to Hertfordshire. If I could just see her...if I could just see for myself that she does not return my affections...I was a fool to take Darcy's word for it. He and Caroline were dead set against us from the first. I realize that they meant well, but I cannot help but wonder if I did the right thing in accepting their advice. The wind picked up and Mr. Bingley raised his collar against the chill in the late afternoon air. He picked up his pace, beginning to regret his decision to walk in the park when the March wind nearly tore his hat from his head. Mr. Bingley stopped to reposition his beaver. That is when he saw her.

"Miss Bennet?" The slim figure that had just passed him on the path turned around.

"Mr. Bingley!" she cried, and much to his amazement, threw her arms about him in a fierce embrace and burst into tears. Mr. Bingley was taken aback by her effusive greeting. One minute I am wandering the park wallowing in self-pity, the next minute a beautiful woman throws herself into my arms. Just my luck, it is the wrong one. Mr. Bingley sighed and smiled wistfully as Elizabeth Bennet, overcome with emotion, spontaneously embraced him.

Mr. Bingley," she said, stepping back to a more respectable distance, "I am so glad to see you!" She looked as though she might attack him again, so Mr. Bingley quickly grabbed her hands to hold her at bay.

"It is you, Miss Bennet. When you passed me on the path a moment ago, I wasn't sure."

"I passed you?" Elizabeth was stunned. "Oh, my dear Mr. Bingley, I am so glad to see you. I came to the park with a friend and we got separated and now I am completely lost! And my friend..." Elizabeth spoke in an uncharacteristic rush. Her words were intermingled with sobs. All Bingley could gather was that Elizabeth had somehow gotten lost. The rest of it wasn't quite clear, but he decided to bring her to safety first and deal with the rest later.

"If you will come with me, Miss Bennet, I will take you to my townhouse. It is but a short distance from here," he said nodding in the direction from which Elizabeth had come. "I think you could do with a cup of tea and some rest. Then we'll see to getting you back to your friends."

Mr. Bingley offered his arm to Elizabeth, who gratefully accepted it, and resumed his course toward ______ Street. His mind raced with questions, but he sensed that it was not the time to talk. Miss Bennet seemed to have suffered some sort of trauma; better to get her to his townhouse and out of the weather before he broached the subject of how she came to be alone in _____ Park at dusk.

The two therefore walked silently, Elizabeth leaning heavily on his arm. Elizabeth appreciated Mr. Bingley's considerate forbearance, as he slowed his pace to hers and made no effort to engage her in conversation. In a surprisingly short time they were at the park entrance. A carriage sat not fifty feet from Mr. Bingley's home and Elizabeth withdrew her arm from Mr. Bingley's and went over to where the coachmen stood. After a brief exchange, she returned to Mr. Bingley and explained that the carriage belonged to her friend and she sent the footman to where the friend had last been seen. Elizabeth then allowed herself to repair to the comfort of Mr. Bingley's parlor.

As he entered Mr. Bingley's drawing room, it occurred to Mr. Bingley that his sister was not at home and that entertaining an unmarried lady alone his parlor might be construed as improper, particularly at that hour of the evening. Mr. Bingley informed Elizabeth that his sister would not be home for some time, but that his housekeeper, a Mrs. Stewart, could join them as chaperone. Mr. Bingley sought out the lady himself and told her of Elizabeth's plight. Mrs. Stewart immediately set aside her bookkeeping to attend to his request. She ordered tea and sandwiches made and grabbed her workbasket. Mr. Bingley returned to the drawing room and poured a glass of sherry for his unexpected guest. He sent for tea, only to discover that the invaluable Mrs. Stewart had anticipated his request. Mrs. Stewart entered the parlor discretely, and took a seat in a corner with her knitting.

After tea was served and Elizabeth had consumed a sandwich to fortify herself, she looked at Mr. Bingley. Anticipation was etched on his face. It occurred to Mr. Bingley that Elizabeth Bennet probably had not come to London alone. It was inconceivable; she must have come to visit a relation or friend. Perhaps she had traveled to town with a sister....

"I must thank you again for rescuing me, Mr. Bingley." He immediately protested and Elizabeth smiled at his gallantry. She took a deep breath then and began her explanation.

"I am in London visiting my aunt and uncle --and my sister--for a few days. Sir William Lucas and his daughter, Maria are also visiting with the Gardiners. On Friday, I leave for Hunsford to visit my friend, Mrs. Collins. You will remember her, Mr. Bingley: Charlotte Lucas, as was. She married my cousin, Mr. Collins, late December last year." Mr. Bingley's eyes lit up at the word "sister." He smiled at her encouragingly, but Elizabeth paused to sip her tea.

Mr. Bingley found himself growing impatient. He tried not to speculate, did not dare to dream, for all the good it might do him if it were true. Please, Miss Bennet, tell me it is true. Tell me that Jane Bennet is in town...you have had quite enough tea, Miss Bennet. I rescued you from the park; I now require you to rescue me from my torment...please! He could no longer contain his curiosity. He would know the truth without further delay.

"So you and your sister are off to Hunsford on Friday?" Mr. Bingley's attempt to appear casual was at once pathetically obvious and endearing. Elizabeth took pity on him.

"Oh, no, Mr. Bingley. Jane will be staying on in London for another six weeks yet." Mr. Bingley's smile outshone a dozen suns.

"Jane? Uh, Miss Bennet is in London?" Yes! Dear God, yes! Jane is here! Tell me where I can find her, Miss Bennet! No, no, just take me to her....

Elizabeth hid her smile behind her teacup. As she suspected, Mr. Bingley still harbored feelings for Jane. But as quickly as Mr. Bingley's smile appeared, it darkened. The sadness in his eyes moved her deeply. "What is it, Mr. Bingley?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all, Miss Bennet." He stared into his cup as the memories of that bleak morning in November when his best friend and sister broke his heart irreparably swept over him in a relentless tide.

"My sister called here some weeks ago," Elizabeth said, trying to lift his mood. "Did your sisters never tell you?" She knew that they had not mentioned Jane's visits to Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley's face registered shock, and then for a moment he became angry. Could it be true? Could Jane have come to this very house? And no one thought it worthy of mention? Mr. Bingley was furious at his sisters' betrayal, but he soon became glum once more.

"No, they did not mention it, Miss Bennet." Maybe his sisters had wanted to spare him the discomfort of seeing her again. Mr. Bingley slowly rose and went to the tray and refilled his cup. Elizabeth refused more tea but accepted a biscuit. She was dismayed by Mr. Bingley's attitude. She had not expected this!

Mr. Bingley smiled when he returned to his seat opposite Elizabeth, but it held none of its usual charm. Mrs. Stewart peered at Mr. Bingley over her knitting and also noted the change in her master. The mention of Jane's name seemed to oppress rather than inspire Mr. Bingley. For months now, he had longed for nothing more than an opportunity to see her again. He had not voiced that wish aloud to a soul, save for Mrs. Stewart, who had a way of seeing beyond his façade and ferreting out the truth. Mrs. Stewart instinctively knew that something terrible had happened that awful day in November. Mr. Bingley had returned from Hertfordshire on the 27th of November the happiest man alive, but two days later his world seemed to fall apart. Mr. Bingley's heart had been broken and, at her gentle prodding, he had revealed to Mrs. Stewart the sad circumstances of his shattered dream.

Mr. Bingley had fallen in love with a lady he met in Hertfordshire the previous autumn. Jane Bennet was beautiful, accomplished, gentle, and sweet--the perfect complement to Mr. Bingley's more ebullient nature. He was instantly smitten, and in the ensuing weeks had fallen deeply in love. After Mr. Bingley's ball at Netherfield, the estate he leased in Hertfordshire, he decided that Jane Bennet was the woman with whom he wanted to share the rest of his life.

Mr. Bingley left Hertfordshire the next morning to attend to some pressing business in London. On his way to town, he had made up his mind to ask for Jane's hand upon his return. But before a day had passed, his sisters Caroline and Louisa had followed him to London, along with Louisa's husband, Mr. Hurst, and his best friend, Mr. Darcy. They had immediately engaged in an effort to convince Mr. Bingley that Jane Bennet did not love him.

Mr. Bingley would not accept their arguments at first, but after a week or two they had worn him down, and he succumbed to their advice. He had not returned to Hertfordshire, and he had not seen nor heard from Jane Bennet again. Until his most unexpected encounter with Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Bingley had not dared to utter Jane Bennet's name. He would not even reveal it to Mrs. Stewart. He had thought of Jane constantly, however, and for the better part of the last four months, Mr. Bingley had quietly nursed the embers of the flame his friends had sought to extinguish. Mr. Bingley's love for Jane lived on, shuttered behind a carefully constructed veneer that only one person had managed to penetrate. The irony was not lost on Mr. Bingley; the woman who had been keeping his house for less than three years better understood his heart--and his pain--than his closest friend and relations.

From the moment he first came upon Miss Bennet he had been filled with a mixture of hope and despair. Her sudden appearance had excited both his curiosity and his doubts. Mr. Bingley had never recovered from his loss, but he half-wished, half-feared that Miss Bennet would tell him that Jane was beyond his reach forever, that some lucky man had been so fortunate as to win her heart and her hand. If so, he would have to learn to live without her. He would have no choice but to let the flame die. Someday the pain might subside and he could find peace again.

Elizabeth heard the clock on Mr. Bingley's mantel chime five times and suddenly became aware of how late it had become. She thought of her aunt and uncle. Neither she nor Olivia had told anyone where they had gone. They would be worried by now. Mr. Bingley, noting her distress, immediately offered to order his carriage for her ride home. Elizabeth was torn between wanting to return to Gracechurch Street and wanting to stay and talk with Mr. Bingley. Something was clearly troubling him, for all that he attempted to deny it, and she wanted to help him if she could.

While they waited for the carriage to be brought around, Mr. Bingley discretely inquired about the circumstances that led to Elizabeth becoming lost in the park. He was very surprised by the lady's reaction. Elizabeth blushed furiously and seemed to be at a loss for words. Mr. Bingley was immediately skeptical of her hastily concocted excuse. Perhaps she had had an assignation with a gentleman. But surely no gentleman would abandon a lady to her own defenses; such behavior would be unconscionable!

"I went to the park with a lady friend," Elizabeth managed. "She stopped to speak with an acquaintance...and we became separated. I...I do not know my way around the park and I am afraid it is all my own fault that I got lost." Bingley instinctively knew that there was more to the story than Miss Bennet was willing to let on. Perhaps it was the other lady who had planned an assignation and abandoned Miss Bennet in the park. If so, she was undeserving of Miss Bennet's loyalty. When Elizabeth expressed a sudden interest in the provenance of the painting above the mantel, Mr. Bingley allowed her to change the subject, and the two chatted for some minutes about meaningless things. But Mr. Bingley observed her carefully. She seemed to be deep in thought. He had never known Miss Bennet to be duplicitous. In fact, Mr. Bingley had come to admire Miss Bennet's forthright honesty during their brief acquaintance, particularly in her dealings with his friend, Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Bingley secretly admired the way Elizabeth conducted herself in Mr. Darcy's imposing presence. She had fearlessly and confidently challenged him and on more than a few occasions she had succeeded in rattling him completely. Mr. Bingley had never known anyone whom Mr. Darcy treated as a complete equal, but Elizabeth Bennet commanded and received his respect. She had humbled him out of his vaunted pride, and Mr. Bingley was envious of her power over him.

Part of Mr. Bingley's lasting resentment over Mr. Darcy's interference in his pursuit of Jane Bennet was his suspicion that Mr. Darcy had been somewhat hypocritical in his objections to a marriage between himself and Jane. Mr. Bingley had long suspected that Mr. Darcy had fallen as much in love with Elizabeth as Mr. Bingley had with Jane, although Mr. Bingley doubted that Elizabeth returned his affections. Mr. Bingley could not help but conclude that Mr. Darcy's interference had had more to do with his own feelings for one sister than any real doubts about the other. Mr. Bingley would not blame his friend, however. If Jane Bennet did not love him, Mr. Darcy had done him a service. But Mr. Bingley could not remove the nagging uncertainty at the back of his mind. If only he could see Jane again. Elizabeth Bennet could prove to be the key to an audience with her. Mr. Bingley reddened slightly when he realized that Elizabeth had addressed him and was awaiting a reply.

"Mr. Bingley, would you do me the honor of escorting me to my uncle's house? I'm sure that my sister, Jane, as well as my aunt and uncle would be happy to see you. And I am sure Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria would also be happy to meet you again."

Mr. Bingley hesitated for a moment then smiled his acceptance, his desire of seeing Jane overwhelming his every apprehension. Earlier today I pleaded for an opportunity to see Jane again. My prayers have been answered; I must see her, for better or worse. Before I lay myself to rest tonight, I will have my answer. I will know if Jane Bennet is lost to me forever, or if there is any hope that I can win her to my suit.

A short while later, Mr. Bingley escorted Elizabeth to his waiting carriage. As he settled into his seat, he knew that what transpired in the next hour might very well seal his fate. Elizabeth and Mr. Bingley rode in companionable silence for a while. Mr. Bingley spared a few minutes to try and unravel the mystery behind Miss Bennet's sudden appearance in _____ Park, but before long he turned his mind to his own concerns. After a time, Elizabeth began to talk of her aunt and uncle, and of her friend, a Miss Olivia Crenshaw, so that before either of them knew it, the carriage pulled into Gracechurch Street, and stopped in front of the Gardiner's residence. Mr. Bingley entered the Gardiner's home with no small amount of trepidation. In just minutes, he could find himself once more in Jane Bennet's company. Almost as soon as the thought entered his mind, a door opened and the lady stood before him.

At the sound of Elizabeth's voice, Jane had sprung from her chair and rushed into the corridor, but when she saw Mr. Bingley all thoughts of her sister fled. Jane was only aware of the man who stood before her, equally transfixed. Mr. Bingley could not move; his earlier scheme of pretending to be a disinterested family friend was abandoned. Mr. Bingley sensed but did not see the people who began to assemble in the corridor to greet Elizabeth. Mr. Bingley suddenly found himself surrounded by children and was propelled down the hall by their momentum.

He was heartily welcomed by all the Gardiners as their Lizzy's savior. He blushed and stammered at all the attention, and was ushered ceremoniously into the parlor. Sir William Lucas and his daughter, Maria, the only two people in the entire household who hadn't bolted into the entry hall, were reacquainted with their Netherfield neighbor. It took several moments for the clamor to die down, and for Mr. Bingley to be seated next to Elizabeth on the settee.

A tumult of emotions churned in Mr. Bingley's heart as Jane, who sat demurely on the seat nearest the settee, returned his earnest gaze. Elizabeth's aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, were well acquainted with Jane and Mr. Bingley's history in Hertfordshire and immediately took note of the attraction between the two. Mr. Gardiner nudged his wife and they shared a satisfied smile.

A maid, who was delighted to see her favorite houseguest safe and sound, served refreshments. Elizabeth was pressed by the Gardiner children to tell her story. Elizabeth knew that she would have to dissemble, as she had done earlier. It would be impossible to reveal to the assembled party that Elizabeth had gone out in search of Mr. Bingley at the insistence of her friend Olivia in hopes of convincing him that he and Jane deserved a second chance at happiness. Olivia's idea had backfired completely. After dodging first Miss Bingley and then Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth had become hopelessly lost in the park and had not seen her friend in over an hour. She knew she could not avoid some sort of explanation, but she did not want to have to answer any questions.

"Miss Crenshaw and I decided to go out for some air," she began slowly. "We went to a park, a very large park, with lots of paths with twists and turns," she continued, gesturing with her hands to make the story more entertaining to the children.

"Bigger than our park across the street?" asked Andrew, aged eight.

"Oh, much bigger!"

"Why did you not just go to the little one?" asked Elizabeth's four-year-old namesake.

Elizabeth hesitated. "Because we were on an adventure!" she said eyes wide. Well, that was not exactly a lie, was it? "Anyway, we started walking through the park and it was so pretty. There were so many things to look at, that when Miss Crenshaw stopped to speak with a friend and I saw something very 'interesting'--."

"Was it a monster?" asked Edward, who at ten, saw monsters everywhere. Elizabeth smirked enigmatically before answering. She continued her tale, being careful to avoid mentioning the presence of Mr. Darcy or her own role in getting lost. Mr. Bingley pretended to listen with interest, as much as his divided attention would allow. He stared at Jane, aching to speak with her, unable to find words with which to express all that he felt.

"It must have been dreadful," Maria breathed. "I should not have been as brave as you, Lizzy." Remembering her near panic of just an hour earlier, Elizabeth blushed and smiled sheepishly. She glanced again at her Aunt Gardiner. The older woman looked somewhat troubled.

"And what became of Miss Crenshaw?" she asked. Mr. Bingley immediately rose to his feet, and Mr. Gardiner started to join him. But Elizabeth stayed them with a hand and quickly explained that in her last glimpse of Miss Crenshaw, she saw her with her gentleman friend. The couple seemed to be looking for her, but Elizabeth somehow lost sight of them.

"Fortunately, Livy's carriage happened to be waiting very near to Mr. Bingley's townhouse. I had a word with her footman and he went to look for Miss Crenshaw with a lamp."

"Do you think he will ever find her?" asked Edward. Elizabeth smiled at the boy, hoping to give a reassurance she herself did not feel. "Yes, Edward. I am sure she's safe at home with her Papa even now."

Elizabeth's smile quickly faded and Mrs. Gardiner shooed the children from the room. They each kissed their cousins Jane and Elizabeth, then bowed and curtseyed to their other guests. Mr. Gardiner began to engage Mr. Bingley in conversation, and Mr. Bingley in turn drew Jane into the discussion. Fairly soon the two were involved in their own conversation, and Mr. Bingley felt the burden of four months of suffering begin to lift from his shoulders.

She remains unattached; dare I presume that...no, it would not do to read too much into anything. Suffice it to say she is still unmarried, she will be in London for the next six weeks at least, and...well, she seems...that is to say, she does not appear to despise me for departing Hertfordshire so abruptly November last. Mr. Bingley's heart swelled with hope. The smile that had faded in his parlor an hour earlier was restored, and it was generously bestowed upon Jane Bennet.

For her part, Jane bore Mr. Bingley no ill will. There was, however, much she wanted him to account for. She heartily wished for an opportunity to speak with him privately. She smiled at Mr. Bingley shyly. She could not believe that he sat within arm's reach of her in her uncle's parlor. He must be some wonderful figment of her imagining! Surely the real Mr. Bingley wanted no more of her; his sister had made that quite clear in her letters. And yet...Jane did not care to speculate. Mr. Bingley truly was there beside her. He was very real, and she was so afraid that she might scare him away again that she could barely bring herself to say more than a few words at a time.

Mr. Bingley gradually became aware that Mrs. Gardiner seemed to be eyeing him strangely. He soon realized that she was actually peering at Elizabeth, who looked very unwell. Mr. Bingley turned to her and clumsily offered his assistance. Elizabeth was crying and he had no idea what he should do, but fortunately Mrs. Gardiner came to Elizabeth's aid. Jane knelt at Elizabeth's knee and whispered something to her sister before Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Gardiner raised Elizabeth to her feet. Elizabeth mumbled an apology and was taken upstairs. Mr. Bingley took Elizabeth's departure as his cue to leave, but Mr. Gardiner wouldn't hear of it. He urged Mr. Bingley to stay for supper, and Mr. Bingley offered little resistance. He was in no hurry to leave Jane's side.

"I hope that your sister has not suffered too much from her ordeal," Mr. Bingley said to Jane.

"She is very fortunate to have found you when she did. I dread to think what might have happened otherwise. We are all in your debt, Mr. Bingley." Jane's cheeks glowed and she averted her eyes as she spoke and Mr. Bingley knew that she was struggling with her emotions. Whether they were for him or her sister, however, he could not discern.

As they waited for Mrs. Gardiner's return, Mr. Gardiner and Sir Lucas discussed politics, and Maria buried her head in a book, while Mr. Bingley and Jane sat together on the settee and carried on a superficial conversation. Neither wanted to discuss the new art exhibit, or the fickle spring weather, but their feelings were too raw and their conversation far too public to allow any real communication. Nonetheless, they were speaking with one another as though no time and no malice had ever divided them. A servant brought in a note and handed it to Mr. Gardiner, who asked that it be taken upstairs to its proper recipient. A short while later, Mrs. Gardiner came downstairs and reported that the note was from Miss Crenshaw and that all was well.

Mr. Bingley left the Gardiners' home a while later with a renewed hope: He had seen his beloved Jane, and if she did not love him, she at least did not hate him. Mr. Bingley resolved to devote the next six weeks to winning her affections. He would and must succeed. His future happiness depended on it.

Mr. Bingley whistled tunelessly as bounded up the stairs to his townhouse. As he entered the vestibule, he heard his sister Caroline bellowing from the top of the stairs. He ducked into the drawing room with a wink to the amused footman as his sister's voice resonated through the house.

"Should my brother deign to return at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable condition, you will kindly inform him that I wish to speak with him," she snarled. A moment later, Mrs. Stewart slipped quietly into the room. She and Mr. Bingley exchanged a smile.

"Do not worry, Mr. B. We will not betray you," she said conspiratorially.

"What is it this time?" Mr. Bingley asked wearily.

""She waited for you an hour before she was forced to dine alone, sir." Mr. Bingley rolled his eyes, and then looked up at Mrs. Stewart curiously.

"Did you not tell her where I had gone?"

"I thought it best not to, sir, given her objection to the lady," was Mrs. Stewart's reply. Mr. Bingley absently scratched his head.

"How on earth did you know that my sister dislikes Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley often playfully accused his retainer of having extraordinary powers of observation, but this was uncanny. She had not even seen the two ladies together.

"I thought...that is, I assumed...is Miss Bennet the lady you told me about? I have often heard Miss Bingley mention the name..." she said sheepishly, fearing that she had overstepped her bounds.

"Miss Bennet is not the lady I spoke of. It is her sister, Jane, that I am in love with. But you are spot-on about Miss Elizabeth Bennet and my sister...they do not get on well. I appreciate your discretion, Mrs. Stewart." The housekeeper almost imperceptibly sighed in relief.

"May I pour you a brandy, Mr. B.?" she asked, reaching for the decanter.

"No, Mrs. Stewart, I want to keep a clear head. I have some serious thinking to do," Mr. Bingley announced as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

"About a certain lady?" Mrs. Stewart asked as she returned the decanter to the ornate mahogany cabinet.

"Yes, Mrs. Stewart. About a certain lady and how I should go about courting her." Mr. Bingley opened his eyes and sat upright. "I saw her, Mrs. Stewart. Jane Bennet is in town and lodging not three miles from here. Only think of it!" His boyish enthusiasm made Mrs. Stewart smile. She had not seen her usually cheerful employer looking so happy in months.

"I dare say you intend to keep it from your sister and Mr. Darcy." Mr. Bingley abruptly turned to Mrs. Stewart.

"Do I have any choice?"

"I am not sure it would be wise, Mr. B. Your friends are more likely to be critical if you attempt to deceive them." Mr. Bingley's face registered confusion. "I suspect that they will blame Miss Bennet for the deception and be even less likely to approve of her if you do, sir." Mr. Bingley immediately dismissed her argument.

"Miss Jane Bennet is incapable of deceit. She is an angel, Mrs. Stewart, utterly incapable of such thing. In fact," he added, his handsome features hardening, as he stood and pleaded his case, "I suspect that what my sister and Darcy told me was untrue to begin with. I mean...that is...I think they were mistaken about Jane. She may not be in love with me," he admitted with a pang of discomfort, "but if she does not it is only because my sister and Darcy did not allow her sufficient time to form a real attachment. All the more reason for me not to tell them about Jane being in London." Mr. Bingley threw himself into the chair, as the futility of his argument struck him.

"They already know," he said dejectedly as he ran a hand through his curly mane. "Miss Bennet told me that her sister called on us a few weeks ago." Mrs. Stewart came forward and sat in the chair opposite the frustrated man.

"That was your Miss Bennet? I thought the name sounded familiar, although I would not have connected the two ladies. One is raven-haired and animated, and the other was just the opposite."

"They are indeed sisters, Mrs. Stewart. "If you ever saw them together you would never have a doubt. I have never seen such sisterly devotion as I witnessed between the two of them in Hertfordshire," he said wistfully. Mrs. Stewart quietly observed the young man for a few minutes.

"I suggest that you grab the bull by the horns, Mr. B.," she said as she rose to take her leave. She had nearly reached the door when Mr. Bingley called her.

"Exactly what do you mean by that?" Mrs. Stewart turned and looked Mr. Bingley in the eye.

"If you want to win your Jane Bennet, sir--if you do not mind my saying so--you had better be prepared to fight for her." She traced a curtsey and left Mr. Bingley to his ruminations.

He needed a strategy. An opportunity lay before him, if he could just figure out how to keep his sister and best friend from ruining it for him. No matter what it took, Mr. Bingley was determined to win the love of Jane Bennet. He immediately resolved to keep his reunion with her a secret for the time being.

"Blast!" he declared as he abruptly rose from his chair. "The Gardiners are taking the ladies to the theatre tomorrow night, and Darcy has also invited Caroline and me.... we are bound to encounter one another...."

Mr. Bingley stared at the door Mrs. Stewart had lately passed through. "Grab the bull by the horns...very well, Mrs. Stewart. Tomorrow I will go on the offensive. The quiet, passive, 'amiable,' dull Mr. Bingley must give way. I may not be a shrewd as Darcy, or as manipulative as Caroline, but I am just as determined. No...I am more determined. I will do whatever it takes to win Jane's love, and I will stop anyone...anyone...who gets in my way." Satisfied, Mr. Bingley rose and went to the cupboard and drew out the decanter. He poured himself a brandy.

"Elizabeth Bennet, you will be my inspiration. If I can acquire even half your skill in dealing with Darcy and Caroline, Jane and I will have an understanding before the summer solstice." He raised his glass in a silent toast to his muse, downed it in one gulp, and headed for his bed and the best sleep he had enjoyed in some time.

Chapter 2

"Where were you last night? I waited over an hour for you before I decided to dine alone," she declared as she glared her brother. She assumed that he had been to his club and had spent the evening drinking and carousing with his friends. "Really, Charles, if you must go out carousing with your friends, you should at least have the courtesy to inform your poor dear sister."

"You are not at all poor, Caroline, although I do hold you very dear. I apologize for causing any alarm. I was not, however, at my club. I..." Mr. Bingley picked up the newspaper as he remembered his intention of not telling his sister about his encounter with the Bennets. Unsure of how to continue without whetting his sister's curiosity, Mr. Bingley stuck a piece of toast into his mouth as a stalling tactic. His mind raced furiously as he chewed. No, she must not know. Caroline would only run to Mr. Darcy, and that is the last thing I need. No, this time, things are going to turn out differently. I will 'grab the bull by the horns,' but she is not the male of the species. I shall have to deal with Darcy first. Caroline will capitulate to anything Darcy does. His mind made up, Mr. Bingley nonchalantly buttered another slice of toasted bread.

"I went to the aid of a friend in need, an old acquaintance I had not seen in some time. I invited 'him' back here, and then later escorted 'him' home in my carriage and stayed to supper."

"You mean another of your so-called friends took advantage of you," Miss Bingley sneered disdainfully. "Oh, Charles, you are far too nice to people."

That is something you will never be accused of, dear sister, Mr. Bingley thought, as he continued to attack his plate. He turned to his sister and asked aloud the question that had been on his mind since the previous morning.

"What is so wrong with being nice to people?" Miss Bingley rolled her eyes dismissively.

"What good does it accomplish?" she replied with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"A world of good," Mr. Bingley replied, with a smile. "You have no idea."

"Did your friend not have a carriage of his own?" Miss Bingley asked abstractedly with a shrug of her shoulders as she buttered a bit of scone. To her mind, someone who did not own his own carriage wasn't worthy of notice. Mr. Bingley ignored the remark and held his newspaper in such a manner as to barricade him from his sister's scrutiny. That effectively ended the intercourse, and he began to relax a bit and actually read the news. But Miss Bingley was in the mood for conversation.

"Oh, Charles! I saw the most delightful hat at Mme. Depardieu's shop yesterday. It has the most wonderful little beads along its edge, and I am sure that Mister--." Miss Bingley caught herself and looked at her brother. Rather than arouse his suspicions, she had not so much as gained his attention. "Charles," she whined, turning down a corner of the newspaper. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, dear," he said with a sigh. He lowered the paper and listened as she began to describe the hat. Before she had completed her second sentence, Mr. Bingley interrupted.

"Caroline, surely you do not expect to engage me in a conversation about women's finery?" he said with just a hint of exasperation in his voice. Miss Bingley threw down her napkin with an elegant pout, and then suddenly remembered something.

"You are supposed to dine with Mr. Darcy today, are you not?" Mr. Bingley paled. He had completely forgotten about his plans for luncheon at White's. "Do bring him back here for tea afterwards, Charles," she purred.

"Caroline, we are to see Darcy this evening at the theatre. We cannot monopolize all of the man's time." Miss Bingley's pout returned; she stood regally and swept out of the room.

It was now safe to smile again, but Mr. Bingley was worried. The last thing he needed right now was a few hours in Mr. Darcy's company. If dodging his sister had been difficult, this would be an ordeal. Mr. Darcy's powers of observation were easily twice those of his sister's. Mr. Bingley carefully arranged his features in a mirror. How many times had he heard Mr. Darcy say that he could read his face like a book? Mr. Bingley needed a strategy or the bull would have him cornered before he had a chance to seek Miss Bennet's favor.

Jane entered the dining room to find Mr. Gardiner reading the newspaper. When he noticed Jane, he laid aside his paper and beckoned her to join him.

"Come in, come in, my dear. I am afraid you find me all alone this morning. Your sister and the sweet lady I have the honor and pleasure to call 'wife' have fled the coop with Miss Lucas, apparently before dawn, from the looks of things," he said with a wry smile. Jane stared blankly at him for a moment.

"Lizzy is gone? And my aunt as well...." Jane's disappointment was almost palpable, even as she tried to hide it. Mr. Gardiner observed her closely as she stirred her tea dejectedly.

"I realize that, wizened old man that I am, I am hardly likely to be your first choice as advisor and confidant. But I have at least three more years of experience in life on this earth than your aunt and considerably more than either you or Lizzy," Mr. Gardiner intoned as Jane eyed him quizzically. Mr. Gardiner removed his glasses and placed his hand over Jane's.

"I would like to be of use, if I may." Jane averted her eyes and blushed, unsure if she could bring herself to open her heart and reveal her vulnerability to Mr. Bingley's smile. "You are feeling some ambivalence over Mr. Bingley's appearance are you not?" Jane managed to make eye contact with her uncle, but only for a second. That brief glance, however, spoke volumes. "It is to be expected, after the tumult of emotions you experienced as a result of his sudden disappearance in the fall." Jane's second glance conveyed her shock at her uncle's perceptiveness. He sat back and took a sip from his cup.

"Oh, Fanny told us all about your heartbreak and disappointment during our visit at Christmas. Indeed, it was your mother's constant harping on the whole affair that led Lizzy to ask us to bring you back to town with us when we left Hertfordshire." Jane looked up a third time and was finally able to meet her uncle's eyes and maintain her composure.

"Lizzy was very worried about me. I was in poor spirits to begin with, and Mama only made things worse. Whenever I began to feel resigned and calm she would invariably bring it all up again. I should have gone mad without Lizzy's comfort and support." Jane paused to grasp her uncle's hand and give it a firm squeeze. "I am grateful--very grateful--to both you and Aunt Gardiner. You have shown me every kindness and acted with such discretion that I had no idea that you knew." Jane seemed at a loss to continue. Mr. Gardiner asked how she felt about seeing Mr. Bingley again. Tears immediately began to well up in her eyes.

"Confused, mostly." Jane said softly. "I never expected to see him again after...of all people, who would have imagined that he should come to Lizzy's aid? Miss Bingley led me to understand that her brother was soon to become engaged to Miss Darcy."

"Would such an engagement preclude Mr. Bingley from assisting your sister in her time of crisis?" Mr. Gardiner reasoned.

"No, Uncle!" Jane cried with warmth. "Mr. Bingley is far too good. He is so thoughtful and amiable that... that...." Jane tried to stifle a sob. "I am sorry," she sniffed, as her uncle offered her a handkerchief, "but seeing him again brought back all my...hopes...." Mr. Gardiner patted Jane on her shoulder and waited for her tears to subside.

"From what I could see last evening, Mr. Bingley suffered a similar revival of emotions. I would wager that he loves you as much this morning as he ever did."

"But he is engaged to another!" Jane cried.

"We only have Miss Bingley's word on that, and from what Lizzy has told me of her, I would be very suspicious of her pronouncement. I suspect she rather wishes her brother to be engaged to Miss Darcy, but that does not make it so. No man so in love with one woman would willingly become engaged to another." Jane wanted to believe her uncle but she had read too many romantic novels to be convinced. "Do you love him, Jane?" Mr. Gardiner asked softly. Jane could not dissemble. There was only one possible response. She lowered her eyes and nodded solemnly. "Then do not give up hope. If I am any judge of character--and I pride myself on having some talent in that area--your Mr. Bingley will reappear on our doorstep before week's end." Jane managed a small smile for her uncle, but she could not bring herself to believe him. She would await Elizabeth's return and speak with her at her earliest convenience.

Mr. Gardiner was well aware of Jane's apprehensions and on the off-chance that he had misjudged Mr. Bingley's character he retired to his office and wrote a brief note inviting Mr. Bingley to tea the following day. He soon received a reply signed by Miss Bingley expressing her deepest regret that her brother would be unavailable on the morrow. Mr. Gardiner stared at the note and sighed.

Lizzy was certainly right about her--this may be more difficult than I thought. But Mr. Gardiner was not one to give up so easily. He took up pen and paper and wrote a second note. This one was directed to Mr. Bingley's club. Within hours a liveried messenger would bring Mr. Bingley's enthusiastic acceptance.

Mr. Bingley adjusted his hat and sighed. He could not avoid the appointment. But under no circumstances could Mr. Darcy be told of Miss Bennet's presence in town. Not yet. He had to work on Mr. Darcy a bit first. He had to weaken his defenses somehow, as he had seen Elizabeth Bennet do at Netherfield. Mr. Bingley reached for his walking stick and turned toward the door.

"Grab the bull by the horns," Mr. Bingley mumbled as he made his way to the carriage. To the coachman he ordered, "To Mr. Darcy's townhouse."

As the carriage pulled away from _____ Street, Mr. Bingley withdrew from his pocket a pencil and a small notebook. He flipped through pages of hastily scribbled notes until he reached a blank page. He moistened the tip of the pencil with his tongue and with an uncharacteristically neat hand, he wrote "DARCY" and underlined it for emphasis.

"Let us see," he said as he removed his beaver and tossed it on the seat opposite. "How would Miss Bennet attack this problem? Well, she would not be writing notes to herself, that much is certain. But I am her pupil, so I must chart my course of action." Mr. Bingley thought only for a moment before writing "direct approach." He smiled, momentarily satisfied with his acumen; then he realized that he had no idea what that direct approach should be. Mr. Bingley lay the notebook aside and chewed on his pencil as he considered and discarded a number of options. Then it came to him. He retrieved the notebook and began to write. A few seconds later, he snapped the notebook shut, secreted it in his coat pocket along with the pencil and alit from the carriage in front of Mr. Darcy's townhouse.

"Darcy, you are in for quite a surprise this morning!" Mr. Bingley vowed as he mounted the steps with a smug smile painted across his lips. The smile quickly faded as Mr. Darcy's butler informed him that the master of the house had suffered an accident. Mr. Bingley immediately demanded to know the details of the accident, and Mr. Harris directed him to the drawing room. Although Mr. Harris could hardly be called a gossip he nonetheless did not hesitate to tell Mr. Bingley al that he knew about Mr. Darcy's mishap.

"As I understand it, sir, he and Colonel Fitzwilliam were in the park yesterday afternoon when they went to the assistance of a young lady whom had become separated from her friend." Mr. Bingley's eyes lit up. It was too much of a coincidence.

"Was the lady involved a Miss Crenshaw?" he interrupted.

"The very one...are you acquainted with the lady, sir?" asked Mr. Harris.

"No, no...but I did hear of the incident from a mutual acquaintance. She mentioned nothing of Mr. Darcy's injury, however." It was Mr. Harris' turned to become intrigued, but he suppressed his own curiosity in order to continue his story.

"Apparently, Mr. Darcy saw the young lady he was looking for--." Mr. Bingley could not help himself.

"And what was that lady's name?" he interrupted a second time.

"I believe it was 'Brown,' sir. A Miss Elizabeth Brown, the Colonel said." Mr. Harris looked at Mr. Bingley, awaiting a third interruption, but Mr. Bingley was distracted by this latest revelation.

"Pray continue, Mr. Harris."

"Mr. Darcy spied the lady--Miss Brown--and he and Colonel Fitzwilliam took off after her across a field. Somehow or another," Mr. Harris said, his eyes dancing with amusement, "Mr. Darcy managed to walk into a tree. He suffered a mild concussion."

"A concussion?" Mr. Bingley appeared shocked

"It's not very serious sir, but the doctor did prescribe bed rest," said the butler.

"Is he allowed visitors?" Mr. Bingley asked. His look of worry moved the butler to make inquiries. While he waited, Mr. Bingley tried to take it all in. He himself had been in the park yesterday afternoon. To think that while he was enjoying a pleasant chat with Elizabeth Bennet, his closest friend was lying injured not far away. Furthermore, Mr. Harris' tale of what had happened in the park shed new light on Miss Bennet's reticence the previous evening. Questions loomed before him: Had Miss Bennet seen Mr. Darcy and did that have anything to do with her becoming lost, especially since Miss Crenshaw had apparently lied about the identity of her lost friend? And why should Miss Crenshaw lie to Mr. Darcy and the Colonel? As for Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley could only conclude that he had seen Miss Bennet, for what else could make Fitzwilliam Darcy walk into a tree in an open field?

"He will see you, sir," Mr. Harris said in his distinctive grave tone upon his return. He led Mr. Bingley to his master's chambers and opened the door, at Mr. Darcy's request, without knocking.

"Darcy! This is dreadful news. Most dreadful!" Mr. Bingley said as he swept past the butler and claimed a chair by the bed. He looked into Mr. Darcy's pained eyes. "Good God, man!" he said in a softer tone. "You look awful!" Mr. Darcy winced, a gesture that could as easily have been mistaken for a smile, however brief. Mr. Bingley sat back, a bit relieved. Mr. Darcy did look haggard. His face was wan, his eyes slightly puffy from sleep, his hair in disarray. He turned his face away from his friend.

"How are you, Bingley?" he said quietly. Mr. Bingley patted him on the shoulder.

"Very well, my friend, very well. And so shall you soon be." Mr. Bingley sat quietly by the bed. Within a few minutes, however, Mr. Darcy's spirits began to rally and he and Mr. Bingley made light conversation. "I suppose I will have to tell Caroline about this," Mr. Bingley teased. "When you do not appear at the theatre tonight she will demand an explanation." Mr. Darcy groaned audibly.

"Can you not just tell her that I was unavoidably detained by some matter of business? If you tell her that I am ill, I will never --."

"Are you suggesting that I lie to my sister, Darcy?" Mr. Bingley tried to appear shocked. "Perhaps I should tell her that you were out booking passage for America," he laughed as he began to contrive elaborate excuses to try on Caroline. Mr. Darcy listened and was quite amused. He turned to look at Mr. Bingley. Surprised at what he saw in his face, Mr. Darcy struggled to sit up and confront his friend.

"What has happened to you, Bingley?" You are as giddy as a schoolgirl! What have you been up to, man?" Mr. Bingley's face immediately fell and he cursed himself for letting his guard down.

"I'm sorry, Darcy. I did not mean to be disruptive. You just seemed so depressed when I came in, I thought to try and cheer you." One glance told Mr. Darcy that the story was a falsehood.

"What have you been up to, Bingley?" Mr. Darcy repeated, his own pain forgotten. He thought back to his last meeting with Charles Bingley but a few days ago. The man before him bore little resemblance to the quiet, forlorn creature Mr. Bingley had become since his return to London. He has seen Jane Bennet! It must be so--nothing else could rouse him to this degree. Mr. Darcy ran a hand through his hair. He could not ask Mr. Bingley; to do so would reveal his own duplicity in the scheme to keep Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley apart. Mr. Darcy tried to calm himself. He lay back on the pillows and watched Mr. Bingley closely.

Mr. Bingley, for his part, immediately recognized the danger signs. He knew that Mr. Darcy was onto something and that he would hold onto it with the tenacity of a fish swimming upstream. He decided to take a calculated risk. It could blow up in his face, but it might buy him the time he needed. If Fitzwilliam Darcy knew his weakness, Mr. Bingley certainly knew his. He looked Mr. Darcy in the eye.

"You will never guess whom I met in the park yesterday afternoon," he said, flashing the full radiance of his smile.

"Why are you changing the subject, Bingley?" Mr. Darcy asked smugly. He folded his arms across his chest and peered at the younger man. If he expected Mr. Bingley to crack, however, he was disappointed. Mr. Bingley casually got up and began to stroll around the room. "Quit stalling, Bingley," Mr. Darcy intoned from his bed. Mr. Bingley continued to smile as he scanned a pair of fine hunting prints hung near the large mahogany bureau. Then he stopped at the bureau and began to pick up and examine each object on a silver tray containing Mr. Darcy's personal effects.

"I am not stalling, Darcy," he said as he read To George From Anne, 1775 engraved on a fine gold pocket watch. "I am merely attempting to answer your question." He next picked up and hefted the penknife he himself had given Mr. Darcy as a young man some years ago. "Do you want to know or not?" Mr. Bingley asked as he picked up a small square Sterling silver pillbox that had belonged to Mr. Darcy's mother. Mr. Bingley knew that Mr. Darcy always carried it. He was tempted to shake it; Mr. Darcy might use it to carry snuff but Mr. Bingley had never known Mr. Darcy to indulge in the substance. And since he had never seen Mr. Darcy ill a day in his life, Mr. Bingley sincerely doubted that it contained any pills.

"I am in no mood for games, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said as he rolled his eyes. He immediately felt a wave of dizzying pain. He closed his eyes and lay back. As the pain subsided, Mr. Darcy opened his eyes once more and turned his head toward the bureau. His eyes suddenly grew wide with terror. Mr. Bingley was oblivious, however, as he picked up a small Sterling silver vial. Smelling salts? Darcy? Mr. Bingley instinctively glanced at his friend, who looked stricken, as if he was about to cry out but was too agitated to speak. Mr. Bingley replaced the vial and hurried to the bed.

"Darcy?"

"Out with it, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said tersely, trying to mask his brief panic. Mr. Bingley very nearly lost his resolve. He knew that Mr. Darcy was not well. It might not be fair to do this to him just now. Mr. Darcy, now fully recovered, sat up and silently dared him. Mr. Bingley threw down his trump card.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet." The three words had their desired effect. Jane Bennet was no longer a threat to Mr. Darcy's complacency. He just sat, mouth and eyes agape, his mind and heart reeling at this revelation.

I knew it! He is as besotted with Elizabeth as I am with Jane. The hypocrite! The dirty deed accomplished, Mr. Bingley turned to leave, then thought better of it. Taking pity on his friend, he went to the chair and sat down quietly.

"You saw her in the park," Mr. Darcy said in a monotone. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should be feigning disinterest but he could only manage to keep his voice steady. He looked at Mr. Bingley. "When--uh, what is she doing in London?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"Just passing through, she said. Miss Bennet is on her way to visit friends somewhere in the country," Mr. Bingley replied, carefully choosing his words. He knew that the mention of Elizabeth Bennet's name would arouse Mr. Darcy's interest but he did not want to have to answer too many questions. If his strategy was to work, he would have to maintain Mr. Darcy's curiosity.

"So you did speak with her." Mr. Darcy fought to keep his voice even. He wanted to ask a million questions. What was she wearing? Where did he find her? Was she alone? Where is she now? He swallowed and tried to sound casual. "Was she in good health?"

"Oh, yes," Mr. Bingley declared. "And all her family as well." Mr. Darcy turned to peer at Mr. Bingley.

"All her family?" The image of Jane Bennet crowded into his addled mind, but only her sister mattered to him now.

"Yes. She said that her parents and sisters were all well."

"She is not in town alone? She must be traveling with someone." Mr. Bingley began to feel warm, but he persevered.

"She is traveling with Sir William Lucas and one of his daughters, Miss Maria, I think it was. She is staying with her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. Lovely people." Mr. Darcy leapt upon this bit of information.

"You met them?" His tone was slightly incredulous. He had seen Elizabeth quite alone in the park. Where had Mr. Bingley seen her relatives?

"Oh yes. I offered Miss Bennet a ride home and she invited me in to meet her aunt and uncle and to see my Hertfordshire neighbors," Mr. Bingley said easily, although Mr. Darcy's imperious stare, weakened by his constant headache as it was, continued unchecked.

"She was so far from Gracechurch Street without a carriage?" Mr. Darcy was suspicious.

"Come now, Darcy," Mr. Bingley chided, "You sound like Caroline."

"And did Miss Bingley like being reacquainted with Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy retorted. He waited for Mr. Bingley's response with a small smirk about his lips.

"She was not. Caroline was away from home at the time. I was returning from my tailor's and decided to cut across the park since it was such a lovely afternoon. I saw a familiar-looking woman pass me by as I was walking. It took me a minute to realize who it was. I turned back and caught up with her."

That is a mistake, Bingley, that I would never make. "And she had not recognized you, either?"

"I say, Darcy! You are very full of questions for a sick man! You supposed to be taking it easy!" Mr. Bingley said with a laugh.

"Just making conversation, Bingley," Mr. Darcy lied. He lay back on the pillows. "Do you not think it extraordinary that you should meet Miss Bennet here in London?"

"Why not, Darcy? She managed to meet us in Hertfordshire!" Mr. Bingley was purposefully obtuse and Mr. Darcy surrendered. Mr. Bingley rose to leave.

"Any messages for Caroline?" he asked as he opened the door. He quickly shut it behind him as the pillow came flying at his head. It closed with a resounding thud. Mr. Bingley cringed as he heard Mr. Darcy howl. As he drew on his gloves a few moments later, Mr. Bingley's smile returned. He had dealt with Mr. Darcy, but this was only the first round. In his carriage once more, he pulled out his notebook and pencil. Mr. Bingley turned to his list, and looked at the last line, where he had written, "Fight fire with fire."

"An excellent stratagem, Miss Bennet. I wish I had learned of it earlier," he smiled as he drew an asterisk next to the notation. Now he just had to figure out how to deal with his sister Caroline. She would be in a foul mood when she learned that Mr. Darcy was indisposed and that their planned outing to the theatre had to be postponed.

We could just as well go to the theatre on our own, Mr. Bingley thought, knowing that Caroline would refuse. Let her stay home then, if she will. I have absolutely no intention of missing tonight's performance, Mr. Bingley smiled, as thoughts of a second meeting with Jane danced in his head.

Mr. Bingley relaxed as his carriage sped across town. He was so intrigued by Mr. Harris' intelligence about Mr. Darcy's accident that he nearly forgot his intention to carry out a few errands after his meeting with his friend. He closed his eyes and tried to reconcile what he knew of the incident from Elizabeth Bennet--at least as much as she had told him--with what Mr. Harris had revealed. That, added to Mr. Darcy's reaction to Miss Bennet's name... Mr. Bingley added up the facts.

"Let us see: Miss Crenshaw, who for some reason as yet unknown, tells the gentlemen that the missing lady is a Miss Brown! Darcy spies Miss Brown, goes after her and manages to collide with a tree. Hmmm...Darcy is not the type of man to be easily distracted, and admittedly, few men become so distracted that they walk into things...." Mr. Bingley reddened as he remembered an encounter with a wall at Netherfield some months earlier. Although he was quite alone, he coughed away his embarrassment before turning his mind back to his musings. "Darcy has the eyes of a hawk. If he looked for Miss Brown and found instead Miss Bennet, the resulting confusion could easily... Marsters, where the devil am I?" Mr. Bingley asked as the carriage came to a stop and the footman opened the door.

"We are at _____ Street, sir...your tailor's?" Marsters answered apprehensively. Mr. Bingley quickly recovered himself and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, old chap," he said as he exited the carriage and slapped the older man's shoulder. Marsters glanced at the footman and shook his head as Mr. Bingley entered the tailor's shop.

"I think seeing the Bennet lass again has made the master a bit barmy," Marsters said.

"Nah, she's the wrong one. Master's always had an eye for the golden one," replied Benton. "Still in all, the dark haired one would do very nicely." The coachman snorted derisively.

"Not while Mr. Darcy draws breath. Several of the maids at Netherfield say that they heard him calling out Miss Bennet's Christian name in his sleep the night before they returned to town."

Mr. Bingley soon left the shop carrying a large box. He handed it to Benton and then strolled down the block toward the confectioners.' Mr. Bingley knew that he would need something to divert his sister when she learned of Mr.. Darcy's accident. He figured that a pound of chocolate truffles would be the minimum required to mollify Caroline. For good measure, he added marzipans, peppermint drops and lemon pastilles to his order. The latter two he would take with him to the theatre.

As Mr. Bingley left the confectioner's shop he nearly ran into Colonel Fitzwilliam, or rather, Colonel Fitzwilliam nearly ran into him. The Colonel looked as glum as Mr. Bingley had just twenty-four hours earlier.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam? Are you unwell?" Mr. Bingley said by way of greeting. The Colonel, startled out of his funk, at least momentarily, put on a superficial smile.

"Bingley! I am sorry, I did not see you..." he said distractedly. "My mind is in a bit of a muddle, I am afraid." Mr. Bingley gazed at the Colonel appraisingly and immediately concluded that the Colonel's problem must have had something to do with a lady. He recognized all the signs with which he himself was intimately acquainted. Mr. Bingley wondered whether Colonel Fitzwilliam's state of mind was at all related to the previous day's events.

"I did not know you were back in town, Fitzwilliam. Darcy told me that you were in Scotland," he said.

"I returned a week ago, and am spending some time in town before reassignment." The Colonel suddenly seemed perfectly composed. All signs of his previous mood were gone completely. "Speaking of Darcy, my cousin met with an unfortunate accident yesterday. Nothing too serious, but he has been ordered to rest for a few days."

"Yes, I stopped at _____ Street this morning and Harris told me the news. We were supposed to lunch today at White's," said Mr. Bingley. He was about to invite Colonel Fitzwilliam to join him when the man volunteered himself.

"Would you accept me as a substitute? I am famished, and it has been a while since you and I have had an opportunity to talk." The Colonel was no less delighted than Mr. Bingley for the chance to discuss the strange behavior of his cousin. The men adjourned to the club and settled into a corner table for good food and enlightening conversation. They made small talk at first, neither wanting to broach the subject too soon. However, the Colonel's curiosity began to get the better of him. He had met Elizabeth Bennet just that morning, and based on his interview with her and his earlier discussion with Mr. Darcy, the Colonel was convinced that there was more to his cousin's relationship with Elizabeth Bennet than he had been led to believe. He was about to ask a question when a comment by Mr. Bingley completely disarmed him.

"So you are having lady problems, are you?" Mr. Bingley said casually as he reached for a slice of bread. The Colonel nearly spit his wine across the table.

"How on earth did you surmise that?" he managed, too surprised to dissemble. His meeting that morning with Olivia Crenshaw and Elizabeth Bennet had started out well enough, but had ended rather badly. He and Miss Crenshaw had had words over her determination to make a match between his cousin and Miss Bennet.

"Unfortunately, I have had far too much experience in that quarter," Mr. Bingley said with a wry smile.

"You, Bingley?" the Colonel scoffed. "According to Darcy, you are so charming and amiable among the ladies that you have to beat them off with a stick!" Mr. Bingley bristled at the word "amiable," and silently renewed his resolve to divest himself of that epithet. He stared into his soup and sighed.

"That may have been true at one time, but when I finally found the girl of my dreams--." He shook his head and the flounce of curls made an amusing contrast to his serious expression.

"What happened?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, although he had already learned the truth of Mr. Bingley's situation that morning.

"I...perhaps I should not say. Oh, blast it all, why not? I have nothing to hide." Mr. Bingley pushed away his bowl and began his tale.

"Last autumn I leased an estate in Hertfordshire and invited Darcy to join me there for the hunting season. It is a lovely part of the country...beautiful scenery, pleasant people...I was quite content with my selection, although my sisters and Darcy were less taken with it. We had not been there a week when I met a young lady by the name of Jane Bennet at an assembly. Before the night was over I knew she was the woman with whom I would spend the rest of my life." Mr. Bingley paused, lost in the memory. Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back and waited patiently.

"It was not long before your cousin and my sisters became aware of my interest in the lady. They did not approve of her. She lacked fortune and connections, you see. When I came to London on business, Darcy and my sisters followed me to town. I am ashamed to say it, but I allowed them to convince me that Jane was not in love with me at all." The Colonel leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand.

"How did they do that?"

"They assured me that Jane was only interested in securing a good marriage, that it was my income that attracted her and not me. I have regretted her ever since. I never went back to Hertfordshire. I spent the entire winter here in town grieving the loss of someone I had given my entire heart to." Mr. Bingley took a swig from his glass. "It eventually occurred to me that I only had Darcy's word to go on. Jane never told me she did not love me. I never gave her a chance to prove him wrong. Maybe she did not love me; maybe she never had the chance to know her own feelings. Had I not left Hertfordshire when I did...I have often thought about going back to Hertfordshire to find out for myself, but...."

"But what?" the Colonel asked quietly. He was deeply moved by Mr. Bingley's story and deep within his breast swelled a righteous anger with his cousin on the poor man's behalf.

"I am a coward, Fitzwilliam. I let them win. Maybe...perhaps, deep down inside I felt unworthy of her. Perhaps I was afraid that if I returned I would find out that they were right about her and that she never felt anything more for me than friendship. Who knows," he went on," she might have loved me after all, but when I abandoned her--." Mr. Bingley brightened suddenly.

"And then the most amazing thing happened yesterday. I was walking home through the park and I found Elizabeth Bennet, Jane's younger sister. She was lost in the park...I suppose you know all about that.... Anyway, I saw her back to her family in Gracechurch Street and was reacquainted with Jane Bennet. She has been in town these past two months without my knowledge, Fitzwilliam!" Mr. Bingley's voice had risen as he spoke. He stopped abruptly and recovered himself before continuing with menacing quiet. "They knew she was here. They kept it from me. My sister and your cousin--." Mr. Bingley arrested the harsh words that were on the tip of his tongue. But rather than taking offense, the Colonel took up his cause.

"They bullied you out of your chance for happiness," he said plainly. Mr. Bingley nodded. He was about to speak when a servant approached bearing a note. Mr. Bingley opened the note and read it, a look of delighted surprise spreading across his handsome features.

"It is from Mr. Gardiner. He is the uncle of the Bennet sisters. He has invited me to tea tomorrow!" Mr. Bingley's smile lit up the room. He asked the servant for pen and paper and hastily scribbled a response. The Colonel could not help but smile at Mr. Bingley's good fortune. His anger at his cousin abated slightly as Mr. Bingley declared his determination to win Jane Bennet's hand.

The Colonel thought back to his earlier argument with Olivia Crenshaw. She had solicited the Colonel's assistance in her plan to match Elizabeth Bennet with Mr. Darcy as a means of smoothing the path for Mr. Bingley and Jane Bennet to be reunited. The Colonel had thought Miss Crenshaw's plan foolhardy at best. He wondered how she would react if she knew that her plan would not be necessary? Mr. Bingley sent the note off and reclaimed the Colonel's attention.

"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I have been ranting on and on about my own love life and ignoring your problems. If there is anything I can do...well, I am probably the last person from whom you should take such advice...."

"As a matter of fact, old boy, you can be of use," the Colonel said, seizing the opening. "But it is not my love life I am interested in. What can you tell me about Darcy's dealings with Elizabeth Bennet in Hertfordshire?"

"Lizzy!" Jane poked her head into the room where Elizabeth sat on a small bench having her hair done. "Oh, Lizzy, you look beautiful!" That color is perfect on you!" Jane went to the dressing table and began looking for something.

"Lizzy, I've run out of lavender water. May I borrow some of yours?" Once again, Jane got no response from her sister, who sat as still as a statue while the maid wove gold ribbons through her hair. "Lizzy? Are you all right?" Elizabeth continued to stare, unseeing, at her reflection. The maid completed her work and departed. Jane sat on the edge of the bed, her quest for lavender water forgotten. Elizabeth slowly turned her head and looked at her sister.

"Yes, Jane," she said in a strained voice. Jane wasn't completely convinced, but there was no time to pursue the matter.

"Here," she said, handing Elizabeth a black velvet cloak. "Aunt Gardiner said that since you are more endowed than me you should wear this. I'm wearing her burgundy coat. It's so stylish!" she gushed. "Oh, Lizzy! Tonight is going to be wonderful!"

"Your enthusiasm wouldn't have anything at all to do with the strong likelihood of encountering a certain Mr. Bingley at the theatre, would it?" Elizabeth, now fully recovered, asked over an arched brow. Jane's smile was sufficient reply, but Jane had been eager for an opportunity to confide in her sister.

"Until yesterday, I never thought I'd see him again, but when I did it was as if we were never apart!"

"Did he explain his sudden departure from Hertfordshire last year?" Elizabeth queried.

"I would not dare ask such a thing! We barely spoke of Hertfordshire at all. Oh, Lizzy, I can hardly believe that Mr. Bingley walked through that door yesterday! It was like a dream!

"A dream," repeated Elizabeth, dully. "Be careful, Jane," she cautioned. Ever since her chat with Colonel Fitzwilliam earlier she'd felt a sense of dread. It wasn't his teasing about Mr. Darcy that bothered her; rather, it was his suggestion that Mr. Darcy had seen Elizabeth in the park that haunted her. If, as she strongly suspected, he had played a role in separating Mr. Bingley from Jane, her sister might be rushing toward a second heartbreak.

"I will be fine, Lizzy." Jane paused to watch Elizabeth don the cloak over her new gown, a gift from her aunt and uncle. "You do look lovely, Lizzy. I am sure even Mr. Darcy would approve!" she cried, and whisked out of the room. Elizabeth whirled to glare at her retreating figure.

Chapter 3

Mr. Bingley whistled tunelessly as he carefully brushed his hair. He was in an extremely good mood. He was looking forward to an evening at the theatre and another opportunity to see Jane Bennet. He had learned at supper the previous evening that Jane and Elizabeth Bennet were to attend the theatre with the Crenshaws tonight and Mr. Bingley happened to know that the Crenshaw box was directly opposite Mr. Darcy's. And since he would be attending the theatre at Mr. Darcy's invitation, he would be in a perfect position to observe his ladylove throughout the performance. That is, unless he was able to manage an invitation to join the Crenshaws for an act or two. It would be a most pleasant evening, indeed.

It was a pity Mr. Darcy was unable to attend. He too, might have enjoyed the evening, since Elizabeth Bennet would be perfectly situated for Mr. Darcy's enjoyment of the evening as well. But Mr. Bingley wasn't about to let Mr. Darcy's being indisposed put a damper on his plans. He put down the brush and adjusted his cravat for the third time. He thought back to this morning's visit with his friend. The expression on Mr. Darcy's face was priceless! The poor boy must have it very bad. But Mr. Bingley could not bring himself to feel any remorse for what he'd done. All's fair in love and war, my friend!

Mr. Bingley strode from his dressing room over to the small desk in his bedroom to consult his notebook. He had made additions to his list since his meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam. So, Darcy did see Miss Bennet. And Miss Crenshaw seems to think that Miss Bennet is in love with Darcy as well. Hmmm...I wonder if I can use that to my advantage?

Mr. Bingley began to whistle again as he thought about his sister Caroline. She would not be pleased to see Jane Bennet this evening. He thought about how he would deal with her disapproval. Mr. Bingley was now certain that his sister and Mr. Darcy had conspired to separate him from Jane Bennet, but however valid their reasoning may have been, he was not about to allow them to interfere again. Mr. Darcy might be a formidable obstacle to his plans, but Mr. Bingley knew that if he stood his ground, Mr. Darcy would respect his decision and let him have his way. He would have to live with Caroline, however, at least until the Hursts returned from the Continent. There was a banging at the door. Startled into silence, Mr. Bingley opened it to find his sister, resplendent in pumpkin-colored silk, glaring at him.

"Will you cease that infernal whistling! It is enough to drive a person mad!" Caroline cried, sweeping into the room.

"I am sorry, Caroline," Mr. Bingley said insincerely. He went to take a last look in the mirror. His sister followed him.

"What are you so happy about?" she demanded, crossing her arms and continuing to glare at him.

"Why should I not be happy?" he challenged, and as Caroline could think of no plausible response, she didn't answer. She picked a mote of dust off his shoulder.

"Charles," she asked suddenly, as she turned him around and fidgeted with his cravat. "Did you have a nice luncheon with Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Bingley's face dropped.

"We did not go to lunch. I am afraid I have some distressing news, Caroline." She looked at her brother expectantly as he cast about for the box of chocolates. "I'm afraid Darcy has had a little accident. He will be unable to join us at the theatre this evening."

"An accident? What manner of accident?" Caroline cried, gripping her brother's arm.

"Nothing too serious, do not worry yourself. But he has to stay in bed for a few days."

"Do you think I should call on him?"

"You! Of course not! It would be highly improper for you to enter a bachelor's house unattended." Miss Bingley was too exasperated to blush at her brother's suggestion.

"I meant in your company, Charles, of course! I would not dream of compromising myself by appearing on Mr. Darcy's doorstep alone." Mr. Bingley eyed his sister suspiciously for a moment.

"I have just received a note from Darcy saying that he is sending Colonel Fitzwilliam in his place. He will pick us up in the carriage at the top of the hour." Charles felt a little guilty. He knew he should have told his sister about Mr. Darcy earlier, but she had been out shopping all afternoon and this was his first opportunity. Caroline plopped ungraciously on Mr. Bingley's bed.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam!" she spat. Her displeasure was evident. "That impertinent little pup."

"I thought you liked the Colonel, Caroline," Mr. Bingley said, sitting next to her.

"I only tolerate him for Mr. Darcy's sake. I detest the man...always about Mr. Darcy's heels, chattering nonsense. The man is a complete fool!" Mr. Bingley laughed at this depiction of the Colonel, knowing that its primary motivation was his sister's frustration at being denied an evening in Mr. Darcy's company.

"Caroline, the man is a colonel in His Majesty's army. He would hardly have achieved that rank if he was a fool!"

"And if he were not the son of an earl, I daresay he would only be fit to carry the boots of a Colonel. The man thinks he is God's gift to womanhood in his regimentals!" Caroline declared.

"Well, the 'pup' will be here shortly," Mr. Bingley said, laughing. "You had better go and get ready."

Caroline slowly rose and dejectedly quitted the room. Mr. Bingley chuckled at her and went downstairs to await his host. When the Darcy carriage arrived, Mr. Bingley sent word up to his sister, who immediately came down and begged to be excused, complaining of a sudden headache. Mr. Bingley was not surprised by her defection. He was, however, surprised when he entered the carriage to see both the Colonel and Mr. Darcy awaiting him.

"Darcy! I thought you were staying in bed this evening," Mr. Bingley exclaimed.

"I have had a change of heart. Fitzwilliam, here, has convinced me that unless my head is gushing blood I may as well go about my regular business," Mr. Darcy replied dryly. The Colonel winked at Mr. Bingley. They had each surmised the real reason for Mr. Darcy's decision to come out this evening.

"Speaking of blood," quipped the Colonel, "Where is Miss Bingley?" Mr. Darcy was a bit taken aback by the remark and suppressed a smile, but Bingley was amused and let it show.

"I am afraid my sister developed a severe headache, no doubt in empathy with yours, Darcy." The three men enjoyed a laugh as the carriage pulled off.

Shortly after the Darcy carriage pulled up outside the theatre, the three men ascended the stairs to the ornately decorated lobby and were immediately engaged in conversation with several of their London acquaintances. Mr. Darcy's eyes swept the room as he let Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley do all of the talking. Naturally, the presence of three handsome and eligible men caused quite a stir among every female in the house without a man in tow, not to mention the scheming relations of every single young lady of a marriageable age. None of the men were terribly worried about the scrutiny. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were concerned only with gaining the earliest intelligence of the arrival of the Bennet sisters, while the Colonel was anticipating a chilly reception from Miss Crenshaw and wondering if his conversation with Mr. Bingley could provide the means of restoring him to that lady's good graces. When the crowd around the trio abated, Mr. Bingley turned away from his companions to consult his notebook.

"Disarm the opposition," he murmured aloud. "Well, that does not work if you forget to have the chocolate ready." Mr. Darcy and the Colonel turned around.

"What did you say?" Mr. Bingley looked up and froze as Mr. Darcy pointed to the object in his hand. "What is that you have there, Bingley?"

"Uh, uh...ahhh!" Mr. Bingley replied, looking beyond the two gentlemen. The ruse worked better than Mr. Bingley expected. He whisked the notebook into hiding as the two men whirled expectantly. But instead of finding the respective objects of the unspoken affections, they unfortunately captured the attention of Lady McBride, one of the most influential and tedious members of the ton. Not only did she have three very young granddaughters to bestow upon the flower of England's manhood, she was reputed to collect handsome younger men for her own amusement. She was somewhat infamous for her dalliances with penniless men from wealthy and titled families (she preferred her men dependent) and wore them as proudly as the jewels with which she lavishly draped herself.

Lady McBride left some young man not five years out of Eton to approach the new arrivals. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been an elusive target of hers for some time. Mr. Darcy quickly extricated himself from the ensuing conversation, but the Colonel was not so fortunate, and he gained his revenge on Mr. Bingley by introducing him to the attractive dowager whose interest in the Colonel was so obvious that both men blanched at her forward manner. Mr. Darcy wandered away and turned to watch his friends squirm. As the Colonel and Mr. Bingley bowed and excused themselves, Mr. Darcy spotted Elizabeth Bennet standing alone not twenty feet away.

Elizabeth had wandered a small distance away from her friends to better survey the scene. She loved going to the theatre and was as entertained by the crowds in the lobby as she was by the actors on the stage. She glanced back at Jane, who seemed to be looking out for Mr. Bingley, and sighed. Elizabeth wished she had never let Olivia talk her into going to that park. If she hadn't seen Mr. Darcy she wouldn't have run off, she would not have met Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy would not have gotten hurt...and Jane would not be looking so radiant and happy. Maybe it was for the best. No matter, there was no way to undo things now.

"'Miss Brown,' I presume," said a voice behind Elizabeth. Although he apparently was not addressing her, the identity of the speaker was unmistakable. She turned and confirmed that it was indeed Mr. Darcy who had spoken.

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I should not have expected to see you here this evening. Colonel Fitzwilliam," and here she blushed as the Colonel and Mr. Bingley joined Mr. Darcy, "Told me of your accident yesterday. Should you not be in your bed, sir?" Mr. Darcy shot a quick glance at his cousin, who smiled benignly, before he answered. Mr. Bingley closely observed the interaction between the pair as he scanned the lobby for Jane Bennet. He made eye contact with her, but she was far away and heading in his direction. Mr. Bingley found himself torn between rushing to Jane's side and staying to hear the lively discussion before him.

"I thank you for your concern, madam, but I assure you I am well enough for an evening of Shakespeare." Mr. Darcy furrowed his brows. "You have met my cousin?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, blushing even more. Mr. Darcy wondered why. "We met this morning at Miss Crenshaw's house."

"Of course. Miss Crenshaw and 'Miss Brown' are dear friends," Mr. Darcy replied, invoking once again the name he now knew to be the invention of Miss Crenshaw. Why, he wondered, did she lie about Miss Bennet's identity? Elizabeth peered into each of Mr. Darcy's eyes. He enjoyed the examination, a smile playing about his lips.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed, Mr. Darcy? That is the second time you called me 'Miss Brown.' I am afraid his memory may be affected, Colonel Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth spoke out of genuine concern, but the Colonel could not resist the opportunity to tease his cousin.

"Darcy?" the Colonel said in a parental tone. "This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he said, emphasizing the last name. He was rewarded with an imperious glare from his cousin.

"I am well aware of whom I am addressing, Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy growled. Mr. Bingley chuckled to himself as he went to meet Jane halfway across the hall.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet. It is delightful to see you again, and so soon," he said with a bow.

"Good evening, Mr. Bingley," Jane replied with a demure smile that belied her excitement. "Please allow me to introduce my friends Mr. Crenshaw and his daughter, Miss Olivia Crenshaw." Olivia's eyes lit up as she was introduced to the man she had heretofore only knew as the lost love in Jane's tragic romance. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Crenshaw had been previously acquainted. The group chatted for a moment before joining the others.

"Mr. Darcy!" Olivia Crenshaw, Mr. Crenshaw, Jane Bennet, and Mr. Bingley now enlarged the group. "Mr. Darcy," Olivia said, extending a hand, "I am very glad to see you so well recovered. You gave us all a scare yesterday."

"Thank you, Miss Crenshaw," Mr. Darcy replied, shaking hands with Mr. Crenshaw and bowing to Jane Bennet in turn. He shot a glance at Mr. Bingley, who calmly returned his gaze. "I was just on the point of telling 'Miss Brown' how relieved I am to see that she is none the worse for her adventure yesterday," he said with a knowing smirk.

Miss Crenshaw dropped her head and blushed and the Colonel suppressed a laugh, but Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and said to no one in particular, "Why does this man insist upon calling me 'Miss Brown'?" Olivia gave Elizabeth a guilty look. Elizabeth immediately closed her mouth, her confusion evident. Mr. Crenshaw suggested that his party make its way to the Crenshaw box. Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy before taking Mr. Crenshaw's offered arm. Mr. Bingley offered to escort Jane, and Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were left to themselves. As soon as they were out of earshot, Colonel Fitzwilliam began to laugh out loud.

"And what is so funny?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"You, cousin! Poor Miss Crenshaw. Poor Miss Bennet!" The Colonel looked back at the two ladies walking on the arms of Mr. Crenshaw. "I wish I could be there to hear her explanation," he managed to say before Mr. Darcy grabbed his arm and led him away.

"Explain yourself, Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy demanded as soon as they had entered the Darcy box. The Colonel sobered and sat down beside his cousin.

"I am sorry, Darcy, but you were making such a fool of yourself just now, calling Miss Bennet by a strange name. She had no idea what you were talking about." The Colonel was momentarily silenced by iciness of the Darcy glare. "I do not know why Miss Crenshaw decided to call her friend 'Miss Brown' but I am certain that Miss Bennet knew nothing of it. She probably thinks you should be in Bedlam!" he said before he began to laugh again. But Mr. Darcy was no longer interested in what the Colonel was saying. Elizabeth Bennet was sitting directly opposite him, her eyes down as she listened to something Miss Crenshaw was saying. She suddenly looked up and blushed as her eyes met Mr. Darcy's. He expected her to divert her gaze immediately, but instead she held his gaze and it was Mr. Darcy who felt compelled to look away.

So now I have become the object of her pity. He ran his fingers through his hair as he turned his eyes to the stage. He squirmed in his seat throughout the first act, occasionally stealing a glance at Elizabeth. Each time he looked in her direction, she seemed to be looking at him. She never looked away; on each occasion, it was Mr. Darcy who was discomfited. As soon as the first act was over, Mr. Darcy rose and declared his intention to return home.

In the Crenshaw box, Mr. Bingley found himself observing his friend's behavior. He had never seen Mr. Darcy look so uncomfortable. Mr. Bingley stole a glance at Elizabeth, half suspecting that she was overtly trying to discompose him, but her eyes were on the stage. Mr. Bingley sighed and returned his gaze to Mr. Darcy. Beside him, Jane also sighed in frustration. After months of speculating about what it would be like to be in Mr. Bingley's company again, she finally found herself sitting beside him in a darkened theatre. Rather than making polite comments on the play before them, rather than secretly holding her hand or whispering sweet nothings in her ear, Mr. Bingley had merely offered her a lemon pastille and then completely ignored her! He seemed to be staring at Mr. Darcy.

Perhaps Lizzy was correct in thinking that it was Mr. Darcy's disapproval that prevented Mr. Bingley from returning to Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley seems to be afraid that Mr. Darcy does not approve of his sitting in our box. Jane stole a look at Mr. Darcy. Oh, my! He does seem dreadfully out of sorts! Jane had wrung the program in her lap nearly to shreds before she felt a warm hand upon her own. But it was not Mr. Bingley's hand that offered comfort. From Jane's other side, Mr. Crenshaw had reached over and patted her hand. He asked Jane if she was all right. Jane managed a nod, and Mr. Crenshaw returned his attention to the stage.

Jane sighed again. If Mr. Darcy was indeed an obstacle to her continued acquaintance with Mr. Bingley, she was doomed to return to Hertfordshire brokenhearted once more. She tried to remember her uncle's advice, but it provided no comfort. What good would it do to reveal my feelings to Mr. Bingley if it will all be for naught? Just then Jane felt a warm hand on hers. She looked up at Mr. Bingley hopefully, and he offered her another pastille.

Meanwhile, Caroline Bingley was no one's fool. She was not about to spend an evening in the company of her brother and Colonel Fitzwilliam, not while Mr. Darcy lay injured in his bed. She would go to him, in spite of her brother's admonition against it. She had no doubt that she would not be admitted into his company; propriety forbade it, and the man was ill, after all. But she would go in person and leave her card and perhaps a brief note. She would show Mr. Darcy how concerned she was for his welfare.

Miss Bingley changed out of her evening attire into a more appropriate gown for visiting the sick. As the carriage made its way to Mr. Darcy's townhouse, Miss Bingley tried to compose a suitable message to leave for Mr. Darcy. Moments later, she alit from the carriage with a smug expression on her face and mounted the steps. Mr. Harris met her at the door with a look of surprise.

"Miss Bingley!" he said, "I thought you would be at the theatre with Mr. Darcy this evening."

"What! Mr. Darcy went to the theatre! But I was told that he was very ill and had to keep to his bed," Miss Bingley cried, eyes darting about suspiciously.

"The master apparently rallied himself for this evening's theatre party, madam," Mr. Harris droned sarcastically. Miss Bingley glared at him, but Mr. Harris was unperturbed. Feeling foolish and ill-used by her brother, Miss Bingley stormed out of the house. In the carriage once more, she let loose her fury.

"I will wager that Mr. Darcy is not ill at all. This is just some ruse of my brother's to get rid of me. Well, I shall have the last laugh," she shouted, and rapped on the roof of the carriage to get the coachman's attention.

Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself torn between his duty to his cousin and his desire to make amends with Miss Crenshaw. He had stared at her through the entire first act and she had returned his smile on one occasion when she had caught him in the act. He had been looking forward to the intermission, when he would attempt to speak with her. Now Mr. Darcy wanted to go home, and the Colonel knew that he must accompany him.

"What about Bingley?" the Colonel asked, as Mr. Darcy led the way out of the box.

"He looks as though he will have no trouble finding a ride home," Mr. Darcy intoned. The thought of Mr. Bingley enjoying himself in Jane Bennet's company only added to his foul mood. He wanted no more than to see his own bed and sorely regretted having been talked into leaving the house.

"But you have invited him to dinner," the Colonel reasoned. "Look, he is coming back," he said, and Mr. Darcy turned and saw Mr. Bingley approaching, with Jane and Elizabeth Bennet on his arms. Mr. Darcy wanted to turn away and leave but curiosity affixed him to the spot. Elizabeth detached herself from Mr. Bingley's arm and addressed Mr. Darcy.

"I...I owe you an apology, sir. Miss Crenshaw explained why you kept referring to me as 'Miss Brown.'" She blushed slightly as she spoke, and Mr. Darcy saw something of the familiar sparkle in her eyes. Mr. Darcy smiled, and Elizabeth fought against the tiny tug at her heartstrings. The Colonel quietly slipped away and went to the Crenshaw's box.

"I am the one who should apologize, Miss Bennet. Fitzwilliam here," he said looking around for his absent cousin, "Rightly pointed out that I made quite a fool of myself." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I am very glad to find out that your head wound was not as severe as I feared," she said with a laugh. Mr. Darcy stared at her, marveling at the circumstances that had brought her back into his company. As they were obviously being ignored, Mr. Bingley and Jane wandered away.

"I should dearly like to know why Miss Crenshaw thought it necessary to keep your identity a secret, Miss Bennet."

"I am afraid you will have to apply to Miss Crenshaw for the answer to that question, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said boldly.

"You will not tell me, Miss Bennet?" Elizabeth simply smiled her defiance. "Well, suppose we ask her together," he said and offered his arm. A surprised Elizabeth took his arm and thought that an interview with Mr. Darcy was apt revenge for her earlier interrogation by Olivia and the Colonel. Jane and Mr. Bingley watched this interchange from a short distance away.

"I think Miss Elizabeth's company does much for Darcy's headache," smiled Mr. Bingley.

"Yes. I think his company does her some good, too, though she will never admit it," Jane commented. Mr. Bingley looked at her with surprise.

"Really! Better and better." Jane averted her eyes.

"You seem to take a great interest in your friend's affairs," Jane murmured, mostly to herself.

"Yes," Mr. Bingley blundered. "I seem to have become something of a student of human behavior lately."

"Really?" Jane asked with growing frustration. She declined a third pastille and asked to be returned to her box. Mr. Bingley was alarmed by the tone of her request, and wondered what was amiss. He thought to ask her, but her rapid pace and determined expression was not conducive to polite inquiry. By the time Mr. Bingley and Jane returned to the box, it was nearly time for the second act to begin. Mr. Darcy, the Colonel, and Mr. Bingley left reluctantly, but not before Mr. Darcy extended an invitation to everyone for dinner a few evenings hence. Mr. Crenshaw immediately accepted for Olivia and himself, and Jane was eager to accept the invitation, but Elizabeth was forced to decline.

"I am afraid I am to leave London tomorrow morning to visit friends in the country," she said with a tinge of regret. Mr. Darcy had aroused her curiosity, if not her sympathy, and she would have liked the opportunity to see him in his own environment and among people he considered his equal in society. Mr. Darcy was crestfallen at the news, although he did his best not to show it. He bowed and left the box behind the others.

"Well, Darcy, do we return to our box or do we go home?" asked the Colonel.

"It does not matter," murmured the dejected man, but he returned to his seat in the box followed by a satisfied Colonel and the confused Mr. Bingley. As the curtain was raised for the beginning of the second act, Caroline Bingley swept into the box, a flurry of silk and feathers. The three men, each of whom was consumed by his own thoughts, perfunctorily acknowledged her. Miss Bingley naturally took a seat by Mr. Darcy and proceeded to explain about how her headache had suddenly come on and then just as swiftly abated. He did not hear a single word she spoke, nor did the other men.

Charles Bingley's eyes were locked with Jane Bennet's; Colonel Fitzwilliam pretended to watch the play but his mind was also upon an occupant of the Crenshaw box. Miss Bingley followed her brother's line of vision and was shocked by what she saw across the hall. She elbowed Mr. Darcy to inform him of her brother's danger, but he did not respond. Miss Bingley turned to speak to Mr. Darcy and found that he, too, was focused on the same spot and was satisfied. She would speak to Mr. Darcy at the first opportunity and the two of them would figure out a way to keep Jane from entrapping her vulnerable brother.

If Miss Bingley had looked more closely at the Crenshaw box she would have known that Mr. Darcy's eyes were not on Jane Bennet, but her sister, who sat behind her. Miss Bingley sat back and enjoyed the play, not realizing that Mr. Darcy did not take his eyes off of Elizabeth for the rest of the performance. Jane was too consumed with her own negative thoughts to notice that she had finally captured all of Mr. Bingley's attention. She nodded at Mr. Crenshaw's frequent comments and spent the rest of the evening wondering if she should just go home to Hertfordshire and forget that Mr. Bingley had ever reappeared in her life.

Continued In Next Section