Beginning, Previous Section, Section VII, Next Section
Posted on Tuesday, 13 May 2008
When the last guest carriage rolled out of Hertfordshire, Jane let out a great sigh of relief. As much as she had enjoyed the activity surrounding the wedding, she had to admit the whole affair had been rather daunting. Her mother's nerves had never suffered such continuous attacks as they did in the days leading up to the event. So, in addition to wedding decorations to complete, gowns and bonnets to alter, and duties of a chaperone to fulfil, she also had nerves to placate, visitors to receive, and calls to return.
It was with no surprise then that she was looking forward to the coming days, in which she could sit idly by the window, working on her embroidery, sewing, or drawing.
Within days, Longbourn returned to the sanctuary it once was. Mrs. Bennet's nerves had recovered though she spent the days bemoaning Elizabeth and Darcy's departure to London and the fact that it had cruelly deprived her of her right to take her newly well married daughter around the neighbourhood. Kitty, Lydia, and Mary also reverted to their usual activities.
Mary could once again be found with her nose in a book or practicing the pianoforte; Kitty and Lydia would bicker over ribbons, lament the loss of the officers and bring home gossip from Meryton; her father retreated to his study or busied himself on the estate. Life at Longbourn seemed to go on as if Elizabeth's marriage were no more than a hiccup.
Perhaps the biggest change Elizabeth's marriage wrought was that Jane found herself visiting her father's study more frequently, both for respite and consolation. They commiserated on the loss of Elizabeth's company and discussed other items pertaining to family and the neighbourhood. Though Jane would never have the relationship with her father Elizabeth did, she came to enjoy their time alone. Mr. Bennet did not pry into her life like her mother. In the study, she did not worry about questions pertaining to the return of Lord Blakeslee, news of Colonel Fitzwilliam, or of Mr. Bingley's withdrawal from the neighbourhood.
Despite this new camaraderie with her father, she still felt the absence of her sister acutely. In her loneliness, Jane became a most diligent writer to her aunt, Charlotte Collins, and Elizabeth. Daily, she found herself anxiously waiting for the post, hoping it would bring her a letter. Thankfully, today was such a day.
April 16, 18---
Dear Jane,
Thank you for the detailed account of Lizzy's wedding. It sounded divine, and I am pleased to hear that Lizzy seems happy in her marriage. I do dearly wish I could have attended the festivities. Unfortunately, Lady Catherine's ire towards the marriage has not quelled. Thus, the name Mrs. Darcy remains unspoken, and the edict forbidding my correspondence with her remains in tact. When next you write her, please send her my warmest congratulations.
Despite my husband's current attitude, I am certain with time, the breach will be mended. Lady Catherine is only experiencing disappointed hopes. When her daughter is married, it will all be forgotten, if not before then.
Spring here at Hunsford is lovely. The warmer weather has brought new activity to the area. With the gardens in blooming, Mr. Collins spends a great deal of time out of doors.
Under the advice of Lady Catherine, the vegetable garden will contain spring peas, carrots, rutabagas, and corn. Her ladyship demonstrated her proficiency in the arts of gardening by advising my husband in the manner to revive the roses that adorn the walk. While I am pleased to have the pretty blooms, I am not certain it was the handiwork of my husband. Somehow, he managed to kill the geraniums, and I fear I have not much hope for the dicentra.
I had promised an invitation in spring, but with Lady Catherine's current resentment, I feel it is best to postpone such a visit. My father and Maria will visit mid-June. I am certain they would be glad to convey you as well. Please say you will come.
Your friend,
Charlotte Collins
Jane smiled at the letter and immediately requested her father's permission to visit Hunsford.
"If you think you can suffer Mr. Collins, my dear, I have no objection," Mr. Bennet said. "Especially if Sir William will spare me the cost of the post."
"Thank you, Papa." Refolding the missive, she added, "Charlotte says he spends a great deal of time in the gardens, under the advice of his patroness." Her cheeks coloured at her less than kind implication.
Mr. Bennet chuckled and shook his head slowly. "Write your uncle and ask if he can house the lot of you. Or perhaps, if Lizzy is still in town, she would not mind keeping you."
Jane's face brightened even further at the idea of being able to visit Elizabeth as part of the journey. Without giving it a second thought, she wrote Elizabeth. If her sister could not accommodate them, then she would write the Gardiners.
After Darcy's wedding, Bingley returned to London a broken man. Jane wanted nothing to do with him. She had made that clear. He had not really considered what he would do if that happened. Jane was known to be a forgiving soul, surely she would understand once he apologized. So he had thought. He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep tears at bay. He would never have the chance to tell her how much he regretted not returning to Netherfield.
Now, he had to figure out how to go on with this life. It would be a lonely life; an unhappy life; a life without Jane. Would he marry? He could not imagine a life with anyone but Jane, yet he was solely responsible for continuing the Bingley line. Louisa and Hurst did not have any children, despite several years of marriage, and Caroline, as Darcy had said, was likely to end up a spinster. But it was much too soon to contemplate a marriage of convenience; his feelings were still tender and engaged.
He spent the first days of his return -- truthfully, he had lost count of the number -- in the house, rarely leaving his apartments. When he did leave, it was only to meet with his solicitor or secretary. Thereafter, he would sequester himself in his study, only returning to his rooms with a bottle of brandy or rum. He did not dine with his either of his sisters, nor did he accept visitors. He ate little of the trays that were sent, preferring the numbing effect of whatever spirits he could find.
Colonel Fitzwilliam walked stiffly towards his tent. It had been yet another long day of marching. While he was happy to be once again on land, his seat was sore from days in the saddle.
The sea voyage had blessedly been uneventful. There had been a couple of small storms, but there was never any imminent danger.
Of course that did not mean everyone had made it ashore. They had experienced the usual losses from disease. When men are crammed two to a bunk, without water for showers for weeks at a time, disease and death were inevitable. They had lost about forty men on his ship alone. Forty men sent to the bottom of the sea; forty men who would not even have the privilege of a proper English burial.
He turned and saw the tents that occupied those currently ill. There was always too many of them. Nonetheless, he considered himself fortunate. Disease had not spread too rampantly through the camp, and they had been able to continue their march. They were still able to carry the sick with them. Though, once all hope of a man returning to health was gone, they were forced to leave them at the nearest church. He hoped the funds he left with the men in such instances was enough to afford them a good burial and a comfortable death.
Briefly, he wondered if his brother knew how the extra funds he had given him would be used. Good meals and ale for his men were the most likely suspects. He thought perhaps he should reveal the truth, but then realizing it would not benefit anyone, brushed those thoughts aside.
Entering his tent, he dismissed his sergeant and tore off his cross belts. His jacket soon followed. He rinsed out his neck cloth in a basin of water and then wiped the sweat from his face with it before settling onto his cot.
Absently, he fingered the macramé bracelet tied to his breeches. It was not much, but it had put a few coins in the pocket of one of the sailors. Wistfully, he imagined tying it to Jane's wrist. It was no gemmed ring, but the meaning was the same. If she would have him, he would forever be tied to her. Her blue eyes and shy smile danced before him for how long he did not know.
Finally, he forced himself from the daydream. With a deep sigh, he rose. He would visit with her again tonight in his sleep. Now, duty called.
It was yet another day. Bingley cracked open one of his eyelids to determine the offending source of light that had woken him. To his dismay, he discovered it to be the one source of light he could not readily extinguish -- the sun. He turned over with a heavy groan. His head throbbed and his stomach tumbled. He had once again imbibed far too much liquor last night, but he did not care. At least he had slept.
Now he was awake though, and like many other times, unbidden images of Jane flashed before him like a driving rain. They always appeared in the same order too. First, were images of Jane at Darcy's wedding. She looked like an angel in a pale pink gown; like a delicate flower needing only to be loved and nurtured; a task he was more than willing to take on. He watched her as she moved from guest to guest, speaking with each of them, bestowing her sweet smile upon them.
Then more disturbing images followed; Jane with Lord Blakeslee. The smile she bestowed upon him while exiting the church; the concerned look Blakeslee had given Jane when he asked for a private moment; and the silent conversations they shared.
After that came pictures of Jane at the Granville ball with Colonel Fitzwilliam; quickly followed by Jane dancing with Mr. Harding, Lord Stettler, Mr. Strelley, and other faceless gentlemen; Jane laughing and smiling with...
Using his hands like a vice on his own head, he tried to force the images out. One in particular -- the last and most haunting one -- would not leave. There before him, so real he could almost touch it, was her angelic face, filled with pain and anger. Then she would resolutely inform him he had nothing she could want to hear. There were tears in her eyes, but her posture was stiff and unwelcoming.
Worse, he could still hear her voice as she spoke those tormenting words.
To know he alone had been the cause of such feelings in her was nigh unbearable! It tore at his heart! He had been tempted to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness then and there, but he could not embarrass her like that; not in front of her family and not at her sister's wedding celebration.
He curled up in the bed, doubled over in pain. After a while, the wretchedness in his heart subsided, but it never ever stopped. All he could do was numb it. He turned his head, and was grateful to see a powder on the table with a glass of water next to it. Snyder was worth every penny. After throwing down the bitter drink, he lay in bed longer, feeling every bit the sloth he had turned into. He heard the clock on the mantle chime. It was early afternoon. Still he remained listless.
A bang on his door was followed by a familiar insistent high-pitched voice. "Charles!" Caroline hollered, sending his head pounding once again.
He attempted to muffle the sound with his pillows, but the catcall would not relent. He heard the door open and knew she was now in his sitting room. "Charles! I insist you stop wallowing. You need to dress. We are to dine with the Woodalls this evening. I have already accepted, and it is too late to cancel."
Charles closed his eyes, wishing she would go away. When she yelled his name again, he replied, "Very well, Caroline. Now leave me." A moment later, he heard a door close.
Days at Longbourn continued to come and go. While the waking hours could always be filled with some sort of activity, at night, Jane was left to herself. Despite Elizabeth's absence these many weeks, she was still not used to the quiet. She missed their evening talks.
With nothing else to occupy her mind, she found herself more often than not in quiet reflection. In six months, she had gone from walking in the clouds of love, to suffering heartbreak, to her current state.
What was her current state? With some relief, she could confidently state she felt no regret over her parting words with Mr. Bingley, except perhaps she wished she could have avoided hurting him. After all, it was not hard to notice how hopeful and then crushed he looked standing before her. But she had made the right decision. She would not be played twice the fool.
Then there was Lord Blakeslee. She could not regret her words to him either, especially given their amicable parting. She enjoyed his friendship, and she respected him, but admiration and love was lacking. She could not marry him either.
She looked down at the handkerchief she was embroidering. It was a simple design of the British flag. She had given Aunt Gardiner a small supply of items for the group home when they had been in Hertfordshire for the wedding. Since then, she had learned the entire Bennet clan indeed would be attending Elizabeth and Darcy's ball, and she intended to have another supply ready.
As often happened while she was embroidering or sewing, her thoughts would turn to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though she knew very little of the life of a soldier, she imagined him riding his horse on a dirty road, through small towns and villages that had remained untouched by the war. He would sit erect upon his steed, maintaining a close eye over his men and ensuring their strict rows were not broken. He would greet the villagers that had come out to see his men with his warm smile, much like Colonel Forster did when the militia marched into Meryton.
Alternatively, she imagined him stretched out near a camp fire at night, surrounded by long lines of tents, sleeping peacefully.
The colonel had never stated where he would be stationed, but anywhere not on English soil was too close to battle in her mind. She fancied him somewhere in Italy, where she had heard the war was not being waged and wondered how he fared and if he thought of her. Would his feelings remain the same afterwards? He had declared it to be so, but only time would tell.
Despite the amount of time she spent pondering the man, she was not yet willing to say she loved him. When feelings of longing invaded, she quickly pushed them aside, and reminded herself to remain strong. There was still the possibility he would not return, and she would not subject herself to heartache again.
Charles escorted his sister to dinner with the Woodalls as she had demanded. By the time they arrived, by outward appearances, he was restored to his usual self, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Snyder. Through everything, it seemed the only constant good in his life was his valet. He would have to remember to give the man a good bonus this year.
The gathering, much to his chagrin, included the newly married Darcys. This development was not wholly unexpected based on Caroline's level of insistence and the manner of her dress.
"Mr. Darcy," Caroline greeted with an excess of enthusiasm. "It is so good to see you!" With an upturned lip, she added, "Mrs. Darcy."
Darcy and Elizabeth returned the greeting gracefully, and with far more cordiality than Charles felt Caroline deserved. Charles stifled a sigh, realizing the Bennets, despite their country upbringing, were better mannered than his own sister.
Charles bowed to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Darcy, may I say how charming you look this evening." He then turned to his friend. He noticed with not a little annoyance and jealousy how happy and relaxed Darcy appeared. "Darcy, married life seems to suit you."
"Thank you, Bingley. I am enjoying it."
Unable to stop himself, Charles asked, "May I inquire after your family, Mrs. Darcy?"
"Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Miss Darcy is well."
"And the Bennets?"
"Oh, I had not thought they concerned you. How kind of you to ask after them. I heard from them just before departing Pemberley; they are well."
Charles flinched from the sweetly stated barb. He desperately wanted to ask after Jane in particular, but after Elizabeth's last statement, he knew he could not. He stammered in an attempt to continue the conversation. "And... um... are you enjoying yourself in town?"
"We have only just arrived, but I have no complaints." With a light laugh, Elizabeth added, "Though I must own to already missing Pemberley's walking paths." She smiled up at Darcy.
"Hyde Park is lovely, but I imagine it is not the same," Bingley replied.
As Darcy was about to voice his agreement, Caroline grabbed her brother's arm and forcefully dragged him away.
"Excuse us," she simpered. "Charles, you simply must see the new table Miss Woodall has painted. It is truly inspired."
The rest of the evening continued along the same vein. Charles attempted to converse with the Darcys, or rather, avoiding Miss Woodall's company, and Caroline did her best to thwart him. By the end of the evening, Charles was exhausted and wanted for nothing but the solitude of his apartments.
Posted on Tuesday, 20 May 2008
It had been a just over a month since the Darcys had wed, and spring was in full bloom. Horses were busy ploughing fields, the flowers in the gardens were blooming, and fresh green buds on the trees could be seen everywhere.
As planned, the Bennets travelled to London the day after Elizabeth's presentation at court. Elizabeth's first dinner as Mrs. Darcy was to be held the following evening, and the ball at Lanelle House, two days after that.
Early in the afternoon, the carriage pulled up to Arryndale House. The sight of the large house rendered Mrs. Bennet almost mute. She was as awestruck as Jane had been; for the first thirty minutes, all she could say was, "Oh my, Oh my."
Unfortunately, the silent condition lasted only until they had been shown to their rooms and had gathered once again in the drawing room. Seeing Elizabeth executing her role as hostess in the grand house seemed to solidify the notion that this was truly the home of her daughter, and not St. James's. From that point on, there was no accounting for Mrs. Bennet's tongue.
As though it was a room at Longbourn, the matron began commenting on everything from its location in the house, to the furnishings of the room.
At first, Elizabeth took all the comments in stride; she smiled and nodded and made placating comments. Her efforts to quiet her mother, however, were in vain.
Seeing Elizabeth's discomfort mounting, Jane did her best to divert her mother's attention, but she too met with little success. Mrs. Bennet would not desist her commentary, which included the uniforms of the servants, which apparently were out of date -- how she knew since Longbourn's servants did not wear uniforms, no one was sure -- Elizabeth's hair style, which was covered by her white cap, and the sculptures that adorned the room, which were said to be too masculine. Nothing had escaped Mrs. Bennet's notice; and nothing was acceptable as is.
Before tea had even been served to everyone, Mrs. Bennet insisted on a tour; so Elizabeth led her mother and sisters, like a gaggle of geese, complete with the cacophony, throughout the house.
By the end of the tour, Jane could see Elizabeth's patience was about to snap. She was not surprised. Mrs. Bennet was either criticising everything or explaining how it was Elizabeth's duty as mistress of such a home to make changes. The worst had come when Mrs. Bennet commented on how plain and homely Lady Anne Darcy appeared during their tour of the gallery.
Jane knew her mother did not know whom she was speaking of when she made the comment, or that the portrait had been of Lady Anne not long before she died. The damage was done though. Elizabeth had taken the insult personally, and there was little Jane could do to console her. The only silver lining -- if it could be called that -- was Darcy had not been present at that time. Thankfully, Elizabeth had asked him to show their father the library, armoury, and billiard room.
It was with some amount of relief then, when Mrs. Bennet claimed to be in need of a rest, and ordered her daughters to follow her example.
Bingley stared at the papers in front of him. All he had to do was sign his name, and the estate would be his; his father's wish would be fulfilled, and a tremendous weight would be lifted off his shoulders.
His solicitor had said the document was in order, but one did not rely on the words of another with such an important purchase. If there was a lesson Bingley had learned from his father, it was to never take another man's word when it involved large amounts of money.
So, as tedious as he found the language, and as tempting as it was to simply sign his name, Bingley studiously read the document. No matter how many times he had to re-read sections, he was intent on doing his father proud. His concentration was interrupted when his sister burst through the door of his study.
"Charles, why are you not dressed?"
Bingley looked up, clearly annoyed. He had repeatedly told Caroline she was supposed to knock first; but much like many of his other orders, she had ignored it. "Dressed? I told Mrs. Davish to have a tray sent to my study. I have some documents to review. You shall have to dine alone." He returned to the paper in front of him, hoping his sister understood he did not want to be bothered.
"Dine alone? Surely you remember tonight is the dinner at Mr. Darcy's."
Bingley set down the paper in front of him and looked up at his sister. Careful to enunciate every word, he said, "We were not invited."
He watched, amused, as his sister stared at him, dumbstruck. He knew she had expected him to be invited and had every intention of attending on that invitation. "What do you mean we were not invited? You are Mr. Darcy's closest friend!"
"We were not invited," he reiterated concisely. He did not bother to try and correct her assumption on the status of his relationship with Darcy. "You have only yourself to blame, Caroline. I warned you about making a scene at Darcy's wedding. You did not listen."
Caroline stomped her foot as her face became red with rage. "It is all that Eliza Bennet's fault! Apparently, she can not take a joke."
Bingley cleared his throat. "She is Mrs. Darcy now, Caroline. You would do well to remember that. In any event, it is Darcy's word that precludes your admittance to this party. Now leave me, I have work to do." Without waiting for a response, he returned to the document in front of him. He startled when his sister slammed the door to his study.
Alone again, he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath. He was not good at such bold faced lying. He was certain Caroline would see through him and then discover the truth.
She would be furious if she learned Darcy and he had discussed the dinner invitation. Darcy had voiced his conundrum, and Bingley could only agree. If he was invited, Caroline would insist on accompanying him, and any scene she caused would only disparage her further in the eyes of society.
Since not attending the dinner also allowed Bingley to avoid the company of Miss Bennet, he had been all too eager to decline the invitation. Despite the passage of over a month since the wedding, Miss Bennet's rejection still stung as fresh as the day it had been delivered. Neither was he up to enduring an entire evening watching Miss Bennet with Lord Blakeslee, while knowing he was persona non grata. He would most likely make a fool of himself; either by begging her forgiveness in front of everyone, or getting well foxed.
The ball would be difficult enough. Caroline would insist on attending, especially now, since it was not a private event.
Elizabeth's first formal dinner as Mrs. Darcy was beyond anything Jane had ever expected. The table was beautifully decorated in harmonious hues of red, blue, and white. Vases of flowers and candelabras alternated down the length of the table. From the number of place settings, there would be over thirty people in attendance. No wonder it had taken so much planning!
It was the first time in many years Arryndale had hosted such a dinner, so it was not only a reflection of Elizabeth, but of all the Darcys.
As expected, the food was divine. There were four courses, including the dessert course; boasting over twenty five dishes. Each course was carefully planned, so the meats, pastries, and tarts all complemented one another.
Never had Jane eaten so much or enjoyed such fine delicacies. She sat proudly next to her Aunt and Uncle Phillips and Mary towards the middle third of the table. Closer to Elizabeth, sat her father, mother and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. Jane could not help but notice the strategic placement of her family members. Her mother had been separated from her sister, Aunt Phillips, to keep the gossiping and effusions to a minimum. She had been seated near her aunt to help moderate her, while her Uncle Gardiner had the harder task of maintaining control of her mother.
The seating arrangement, however, was not enough to curb her mother's tongue. Very little ever was.
"My Lizzy is such a clever girl," Jane heard her mother boast. "I had no idea of Mr. Darcy's interest in her until Mr. Bennet announced the engagement. How she managed to capture him without my assistance I shall never know..." She then went on to lament how ill used they had been by Mr. Bingley.
Jane bore the statements as best she could. At least she has not complained that Lydia and Kitty had to remain above stairs tonight.
Jane spared a glance in Elizabeth's direction. The fake smile told her everything. Elizabeth was doing her best to ignore their mother, though it appeared the others seated nearby Mrs. Bennet seemed to be tolerating her well enough. Still, Jane wished to do more. Seated where she was though, there was little she could do, except send an encouraging smile.
With the topic of Mr. Bingley having been exhausted, Mrs. Bennet, still in awe of Elizabeth's, and by de facto -- her -- good fortune, was then intent on letting anyone who would listen know how blessed she was. "Why, I am still in raptures when I think of what this will do for my other girls," Mrs. Bennet cried a little louder than she should, but softer than was her wont. "I think I shall have all my girls well married soon."
It was like this throughout dinner and dessert. Mrs. Bennet could be heard making some comment or another. She would then be hushed by one of the Gardiners. The reprimand would last but a short while. Never being terribly self-disciplined, Mrs. Bennet's excitement would once again get the better of her and send her tongue wagging.
Jane could do naught but pray it would not reflect too poorly on her sister and new brother.
After dinner, and the separation of the men, Jane found herself speaking with Lord Blakeslee.
"Miss Bennet, I am glad to see you and your family could attend."
Jane looked down shyly. "Thank you, milord. I am happy to support my sister in any way I can."
He looked around the room. "Mrs. Darcy has proven to be an exceptional hostess. Her debut has gone well."
"I am pleased to hear that."
"Miss Bennet, might I still claim the honour of your first set at the ball?"
She shyly looked away. "I had thought you would wish to bestow that honour upon another, milord, given our understanding."
"Not at all." He looked around and then leaned in and whispered, "Given our agreement, I am counting on you to save me from speculation should I dance my first with any other lady of my acquaintance."
Jane could not help the light giggle that escaped. "Very well, sir. The first remains yours."
Shortly thereafter, both Jane and Lord Blakeslee's attention was called away.
In spite of the behaviour and connections of some of the Bennet family, all the work Elizabeth and Lady Matlock had put into the dinner had been declared a triumphant display of elegance and refinement. Jane had overheard several compliments directed towards Elizabeth, and made a mental note to tell her sister of them. Then, perhaps, they could laugh about how nervous she had been before the guests arrived.
Bingley, along with Caroline and the Hursts, arrived at Lanelle House at a fashionable time. Based on the line they stood in, waiting to be announced, Bingley's speculations had been correct. Everyone had turned out for the ball to catch a glimpse of the new Mrs. Darcy; it would be a crush.
He could not claim to be disappointed. With such a gathering, he could dance a few dances while easily avoiding whomever he chose. The night would not be as dismal for him as he envisioned. He would keep to the edges and then leave as soon as it was polite to do so.
Bingley turned to his sister, and was grateful her attire was not as ridiculous as it had been for the Granville Ball. She still wore a rather large gem in her turban, but instead of a gaudy necklace, she wore a pleasant pendant that matched well with her gown, and only a single set of bracelets.
It appeared the lack of invitation to the dinner at Arryndale the other night had managed to open Caroline's eyes to the truth. It did not mean she believed she had been wrong in any of her actions or assessments of others; she had merely accepted society had dealt her an ill hand, and she had to make the best of it. For the first time in a month, Bingley believed Caroline might not become a complete social outcast or destroy the Bingley name by her bitterness.
After being announced, Bingley descended the steps into the ballroom with his sister. At the bottom, he could see Darcy, Elizabeth, the Matlocks, and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet greeting people.
Darcy wore a small smile that Bingley was still unused to seeing, especially in large social settings. The change in his friend he could only attribute to his new wife. Marriage, nay Elizabeth, had been good for Darcy.
As they stepped off the last step, Bingley cringed, seeing his sister walk quickly towards Elizabeth.
"Mrs. Darcy!" Caroline cried loudly. She hugged Elizabeth as though they were long lost friends. "It has been an age!" After pulling back, she curtsied to Mr. Darcy. "How good it is to see you again, sir."
Turning back to Elizabeth, she said highly affected, "I can not wait to hear all about your wedding trip. Why, I was just telling Louisa it was a shame she and Hurst missed the wedding; everything was so lovely."
He almost laughed aloud when, rather than Elizabeth responding, Mrs. Bennet said excitedly, "How kind of you to say so, Miss Bingley! I was concerned when you and your brother left early; but I understand, some people are of a delicate constitution and are easily fatigued from travel. It was unfortunate you could not have arrived in Hertfordshire sooner so you could have to time refresh yourself."
The sour look on his sister's face was priceless. Before she could open her mouth though, Bingley quickly offered his congratulations and pulled Caroline away. The evening had started better than he hoped, and he was going to do what he could to keep it that way. As they weaved their way through the crowd, Bingley let himself relax.
Both Darcy and Mrs. Darcy had greeted him warmly and accepted his congratulations graciously. Not only that, but he had yet to see Miss Bennet. Optimistically, he speculated the Miss Bennets had not attended the ball. If that were the case, he could truly enjoy himself.
With his sister in tow, Bingley made several stops, greeting and chatting with several acquaintances. Along the way, he did his duty and asked several ladies to dance.
When the dancing began, Bingley claimed the hand of his first partner. She was the sister of one of his acquaintances who owned a shop in Mayfair. He did not know her well, but she was pretty enough. The two conversed easily until he saw Jane take her place in line with Lord Blakeslee.
He could not help but stare at the couple. There was his beautiful angel with her smile, her sparkling eyes, and her golden hair. As Lord Blakeslee once again entered his purview, Bingley's stomach lurched. Jane was not smiling at him, as he wanted to believe; her smile was directed at another.
He turned to his partner and gave her a wan smile. Her thin face and dark hair was a stark contrast compared to Jane. He sighed inwardly. Will I ever be able to find another like Jane Bennet?
After the first dance, Bingley went to the nearest refreshment table and gulped down a glass of wine. Despite his best efforts throughout the dance, he had been unable to tear his eyes away from Jane and Lord Blakeslee. He had seen every look and every shared laugh; each one was a knife that plunged deep into his heart.
For the rest of the evening, except for his few obligatory dances, Bingley, like an addict, followed Jane from the edges of the room. He was simply unable to tear himself away; and yet unwilling to speak to her. He watched and drank. He imbibed one glass of wine after another, as if he might find answers, or at least solace, in the bottom of one of the glasses.
Finally, the hour chimed that allowed Bingley to end his torment. He could return home without raising any eyebrows or giving any insult. He took one last long look at Jane. It would be the last time he saw her. Unable to endure the scene any longer, he turned, somewhat unsteadily, to leave. He stumbled as the room around him wobbled. Before he could fully right himself, he bumped into none other than Lord Blakeslee.
A flash of anger coursed through him as recognition took hold; here was the man who had stolen his Jane. He stared at him for a moment, and then looked back to Jane. Remembering his manners, Bingley murmured, "Forgive me, Lord Blakeslee."
Bingley looked as though he might say something more, but he did not. He simply stood there, glancing back and forth from the man in front of him and then back to Jane.
Noticing the curious behaviour and pained expression that came over Bingley, Lord Blakeslee crooked his neck to see what continued to attract Bingley's attention. Confusion set in when he saw Jane chatting with a small group of people. He turned back to Bingley who was still staring.
Lord Blakeslee opened his mouth to speak when Bingley said, "Miss Bennet is a lovely woman..." He looked Lord Blakeslee in the eye and said, "Take care of her." He then turned and briskly walked away.
Lord Blakeslee stared after Bingley. A soft chuckle rose in his chest. Bingley was more a fool than he ever imagined. Not only was the man pining away for a woman he threw away, but he was too much of a coward to speak to her now. Even more amusing was the realization that Bingley believed he and Jane had come to, or were close to, an understanding. His ruse had worked, but not in the manner he had expected.
Posted on Tuesday, 27 May 2008
After Darcy and Elizabeth's ball, Bingley became determined to forget Jane. The day was coming when her engagement to Lord Blakeslee would be announced in the papers; he wanted to be prepared.
While he was sorely tempted to shut himself away in his rooms with the bottle again, he dared not. Snyder had all but threatened to quit the last time, and he was not the only servant who had grown disgruntled. He had learned that without his kind manner and interference, the staff found it nigh unbearable to work for the Bingleys.
While he would have liked to dismiss the complaints as his sister's domain, he needed a cook and fresh linens. It was no secret Caroline was a difficult mistress to serve. She was dismissive and demeaning; it was why Bingley made sure they were well paid. Lately though, his sister had become more spiteful and cruel; even he had found it increasingly difficult to be around her. She was taking out her disappointed hopes on everyone in the house, and time did not seem to help. If what he had been hearing was true, the good pay was no longer incentive enough; he would have to interfere.
The irony of the situation was not lost Bingley. That he and his sister would both be nursing dejection, caused by the same family no less, was almost satirical. Nonetheless, as he had advised Caroline, he too had to find a way to accept his loss.
Not wanting to fall into his old ways, Bingley did his best to keep himself occupied. During the day, he played the dutiful brother and applied himself to business. He attended the teas, luncheons, and even a few dinners to which Caroline dragged him, all in an effort to have him married.
In the evening, Bingley became a regular fixture at Almack's and Boodle's, as well as other clubs and local taverns. His easygoing nature provided him with a plethora of acquaintances, and he was rarely without company. He told himself his efforts were all in an effort to find a match for his sister. It was only a matter of time, he reasoned, before he found someone with enough prestige for Caroline's tastes and who was in need of her dowry.
Thus, it was easy for Bingley to fool himself into believing things were fine. Since his affections for Jane were still too raw, he decided to begin the search for a wife anew next season and to simply play along with Caroline's schemes when necessary. There was time, he reasoned. Gentlemen of fortune are always in demand. And when thoughts of Jane did come to mind or clench his heart, relief was not far away. He entertained himself and his friends with copious amounts of liquor and at the gaming tables. He became the typical young man in charge of his own fortune that marked their society. Entertainment and self indulgence was the name of the game, and Bingley played it well.
On just such a night, two weeks after the Darcy ball, Bingley and two acquaintances staggered their way down the street. They had experienced a bad run of luck at the tables and were heading to a local pub to commiserate. Already well foxed, the three of them stumbled along the way, taking turns in keeping the others upright.
They were not more than a block away from the club when a lady with her skirt partly tucked up to show her ankles, stepped off a nearby stoop. Her dress was dirty, the hem frayed, and the neckline cut far lower than was decent. Were it not for the dirt and tattered clothing, she would have passed for a tolerable, if not pretty woman though. Displaying her assets to their best advantage, she simpered, "You gentlemen appear to be in need of some assistance," as she rubbed up against Bingley.
Bingley grinned stupidly. "Lady Luck! We find you at last!" he slurred. He hiccupped and then steadied himself by leaning on her. "You must come with us. We are in desperate need of your talents."
Colonel Fitzwilliam sat upon his horse surveying the scene in front of him. His eyes were narrowed slightly and his jaw clenched tight. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he surveyed the blue sea of men. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his stomach and chest tingled in anticipation. Hector, his trusty steed, danced impatiently below him, sensing the tension in the air. It was always this way before battle. "One more time into the fray, ol' boy," he said to Hector, giving him a firm pat on the neck in almost ritualistic fashion.
He turned to look at the position of the sun. The fiery sky was just clearing, and the sun was cresting the tops of the trees. The English scouts had chosen a good location. His men had the advantage of a slight elevation and the bigger advantage of the sun at their back. He inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and cool; perfect weather for a good ride, were it not for the French problem.
He looked to the mass of red coats to the right of him. Men were shifting nervously from one foot to another. How long ago it seemed, since he himself had been in that position. He knew for most, this was their first battle; their first confrontation with death. Many would freeze and die; others would valiantly give their life to save another; some would simply survive.
Despite the number of men on the field, it was as silent as a church. Each man was facing his own demons; each preparing to meet their maker; each saying a silent prayer and a farewell to loved ones across the sea. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not wonder if it was this way, he knew. He had been here before.
A noise behind him caught his attention. He turned to see another colonel approaching with a pair of field glasses. It was Colonel Nathaniel Greene, commander of the Bays. Without a word, Colonel Fitzwilliam took the field glasses and once again surveyed the French position. Grimly, he noted the number of French cannons that dotted the field. "The casualties are likely to be high. Reserves will need to keep to high ground," he said lowly to the other officer. The other man nodded in agreement; nothing more needed to be said. They both knew what the other was thinking.
A short while later, the sound of drums and fife was heard. It was beginning.
Colonel Fitzwilliam dismounted and handed Hector to the waiting sergeant. In a swarm of foot soldiers, sitting atop Hector would only make him a target. Besides, he was an infantry man; fighting atop horses was for the cavalry.
On command, each man stood at attention with his rifle against his shoulder. Slowly, the swaths of red and blue moved towards each other. On the signal, the men stopped and the first two lines dropped to their knee. "Ready!" Colonel Fitzwilliam bellowed. The fifes stopped playing; the drum beats changed; and the shuffle of rifles being dropped into hands echoed. "Aim!" A shuffle of bodies and weapons was heard as the first two rows of men locked their rifles against their shoulder.
Colonel Fitzwilliam took a deep breath, preparing for the boom that would follow. "Fire!"
Instantly, the crack of gunfire ripped through the air. Sprays of hot earth sprung up where the cannon balls struck and smoke filled the area. As the smoke began to clear, the cries of the dying and wounded took its place.
With the cold, steely eyes of a well seasoned soldier, the colonel watched as men fell to the ground and listened to their groans of pain. He made no movement to help them; the time for that was later.
The smell of gunpowder permeated his senses. He breathed deeply, letting the aroma and sound of battle brace him. When the smoke cleared, he yelled the same sequence of commands. At the end, the large blot of blue remained.
With the volley of bullets completed, Colonel Fitzwilliam called, "Bayonets!" Again, the drums changed their rhythm and the fifes played a new tune. A shuffle of commotion ensued and one by one, the colonel watched the sun reflect off the tips of steel. "March!" he called.
They started out slowly, marching in time with the drums. As the beat increased, so did their pace. Faster and faster, they went until they were near an all out sprint. Brandishing a pistol in one hand and his sabre in another, he hollered, "For King and Country!" just before the collision of colours.
To the casual observer, chaos reigned. To the eye of the colonel, it was a plan being carefully executed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam shot and slashed at anything blue, pressing his men forward as he did so.
The loud boom of a cannon fire resonated, and a second later, a spray of earth sprung up.
The drums continued to beat, the fifes continued to play, so the fighting went on.
Instinctively, Colonel Fitzwilliam noted the moment he was in range of the cannons. Now more than ever, he needed to keep moving. It would not be long before the cannons were loaded again. He needed to cross perhaps another fifty yards before he could consider himself out of range. If he did not, he would be dead.
He signalled to the man next to him and stalled for just a second while the soldier tossed a grenade to clear a path; then continued shooting and slashing at anything blue that remained.
It was not men he was killing, it was only a colour. Only two colours existed in the world; red and blue. Blue was bad. Blue had to be eliminated. That was his mission; he would complete it.
Out of bullets in one pistol, he tucked it away and pulled out the other. He continued leading his men forward; forty yards to go. He shot again; the blue in front of him fell away. A few more yards and there was another blot of blue; he cut it down with his blade. Onward he went; thirty yards.
He checked his back, his right and his left; there was only red. Red was good. Forward. There was more blue. Another grenade was launched, and he waited for the blue to once again fall to the ground. With a couple of more shots, and a few slashes with his sabre; the blue was gone, only the red blood remained. Red was good. Thirty yards left.
Suddenly, he felt a searing pain rip through his left arm, causing him to nearly drop his pistol, and heard a wounded cry behind him. Who it was, he did not know; there was no time to find out. He pressed on; twenty yards.
He raised his pistol to take another shot. Suddenly, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt the earth below him shake and felt the burn of molten earth strike him. Then there was black.
The next morning Bingley woke with a terrible headache. Without opening his eyes, he turned over and blindly searched for the powders and water Snyder always left for him. When he could not feel the table that normally resided by his bed, he cracked open an eye just enough to guide his hand.
He bolted upright, realizing he was not in his own room, and then grimaced, regretting the rash action. Now, upright, he blinked several times until the room came into focus. Where am I?
He staggered out of bed and rang the bell. A moment later, Snyder entered.
"Snyder!" Bingley snapped, surprised to see his valet. "Where are we?"
A look at his master told him Bingley was suffering mightily from last night's escapade. The sight disheartened and disgusted the trusted servant, but he would not let it show. "Arryndale, sir. Mr. Darcy sent for me late last night," he said impassively.
Bingley creased his brow, trying to recall the night, or more importantly, what had prevented him from returning home. It was only eight blocks away.
"There is a bath ready, sir," Snyder offered. "Shall I have a tray sent up?"
"Just coffee, Snyder. I shall dine below." He thought a moment. "Is Mrs. or Miss Darcy below?"
"No sir. They are out this morning."
Bingley felt a wave of relief wash over him. Whatever occurred, he did not want to distress them over it. Darcy did not easily forgive anyone who upset his wife or his sister.
After Bingley bathed and finished his toilette, Snyder said, "Mr. Darcy is in his study and has requested your presence as soon as you are able."
After two cups of coffee and a muffin, Bingley tentatively made his way to Darcy's study. For some reason, he felt like a little boy being called to his father's study after committing a grave transgression. In friendlier days, he would have knocked to announce his presence and immediately entered. This time however, he thought it best to wait until Darcy bid him entrance.
"Darcy." Bingley greeted tentatively.
Darcy stood and motioned to a chair for Bingley. "I trust you are feeling better this morning?"
Bingley nodded, looking everywhere but at Darcy. It had taken but a heartbeat to notice the rigidness of his friend's manner. It was the same manner Darcy used when greeting a business associate or a stranger. That, more than anything, told Bingley that whatever happened the previous night was not good. "I am," he said, trying to muster some of his usual jovial demeanour. He sat in the proffered seat and stared at the desk in front of him.
Darcy resumed his seat and raked a hand through his hair.
Well acquainted with his friend's gestures, Bingley shifted uneasily. Things were not good.
"Bingley, do you remember what you were about last night?"
Bingley closed his eyes and shook his head. "Bits and pieces, but not how I ended up here."
"I found you last night, deeply in cups and on the arm of a prostitute! What has gotten into you?" Darcy asked in a paternal tone.
Any indignation Bingley might have felt at Darcy's tone vanished. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
"I brought you back here to prevent your from harming yourself and to spare your sister from having to deal with you. Now I demand an explanation."
Up until the last statement, Bingley felt nothing but embarrassment. A street walker? How had he sunken that low? Darcy's demand for an explanation however overrode his mortification and re-fuelled his ire. Who was he to demand an explanation? "Spare me your self-righteousness, Darcy! I am my own man. I do not answer to you."
"You are correct, Bingley. You do not owe me an explanation, though I would like to have one just the same. Your presence did not go unnoticed by my wife."
Bingley's embarrassment was renewed. "Wha... What have you told her?"
"Nothing, yet. She was the one who spotted you on the street last night, however."
Bingley shrunk into his chair and dropped his head in his hands. Meekly he asked, "Does she know about the..."
"I do not know. She is a smart woman though; I would not be surprised if she figured it out." Bingley shook his head as Darcy continued. "Charles, this is not like you. Tell me what is going on. If you are having problems, let me help you."
The use of Christian given name did not go unnoticed. Darcy's concern for him was genuine, and deep. How had things gotten so out of control? He knew the source of his ill content, but he was not ready to discuss it, least of all with Darcy. "You can not fix everything, Darcy, and we can not all be like you. You have a perfect home, perfect servants, the perfect connections and the perfect estate. Not to mention a wife that adores you and a sister that idolizes you."
"Bingley, you have not been yourself these last months. Surely, you understand I am only speaking to you out of concern and friendship. I would like to help you if I can."
"Now you want to help me? You are the reason she hates me!"
"What!? Who hates you?"
"Miss Bennet!" Bingley cried. "You are the one who advised me against her! You are the one who said I had to consider my duty to my family first!"
Darcy stared at his friend with a confused look. "I do not recall doing such a thing. Why would I advise you against Miss Bennet when I am married to her sister?"
"Is that not ironic?" Bingley let out a grimaced laugh. "First you advise me against her, and within a fortnight announce your engagement to her sister."
"When did I supposedly offer such advice?"
Bingley threw himself out of the chair, wondering why his friend was being so obtuse. "Last November! When we left Hertfordshire! I sat in this very room telling you I was going to give up Netherfield and Miss Bennet because she was unsuitable." He turned to look outside the study window and then recoiled from the brightness of the sun.
"You have been in the cups far too long, my friend. I remember the conversation you allude to, but recall it quite differently. First, we were at Boodle's, but that is neither here nor there. Second, I recommended you think longer before giving up Netherfield. In fact, I specifically recall telling you to revisit it in the spring. Third, I never advised you against Miss Bennet. You were the one who told me Miss Bennet was unsuitable, citing something about family duty. I merely agreed it was an important consideration."
Bingley whirled on his friend. "So you admit that you said family duty came first!"
"Bingley, you completely misunderstood me. I said family duty was an important consideration. I did not say it should be the only consideration. You said you were giving up Miss Bennet, and I thought it was because your affections had waned. I would have never advised you against her; I was engaged to her sister at the time for Christ's sake!"
Bingley's head jerked up. "What?" he exclaimed.
"I left Hertfordshire to meet with my solicitor regarding the marriage contract."
"Why did you not say anything?"
Darcy settled back into his chair, and massaged his temples. "Elizabeth and I decided to keep it between us until the papers were signed. Very few people knew; I had not even told Georgiana yet."
Shaking his head slowly in confusion, Bingley asked, "Then how... then who..." He slumped back in the chair. He had been so convinced Darcy was the one who had advised him against Miss Bennet, but there was too much evidence to the contrary. Had he come to that conclusion on his own? He dropped his head into his hands.
His conversation with Caroline rushed back to the forefront of his memory. It had all started when she arrived in London! She had filled him with doubt and guilt, and he had foolishly taken the bait.
After a long silence, Darcy said softly, "I take it you still have feelings for Miss Bennet."
Bingley nodded slowly and sadly. "I love her," he whispered.
"Then why are you in London?" Darcy replied, trying to sound a little more upbeat.
"Because it is too late!"
"Why?"
"What do I have to offer to her?" His voice was resigned and sullen. "I am nothing more than the son of a tradesman? How can I compare to someone with twice my income and a title?"
"If you believe Miss Bennet is only interested in titles and wealth, then you are correct. You have nothing to offer."
"Miss Bennet is not a fortune hunter! How dare you accuse her of such! You are her brother!" Seeing Darcy's arched brow, Bingley stopped his tirade, realizing it was he who had accused Miss Bennet of mercenary intention. In a softer tone, he said, "It is too late for me. I saw them together. She is happy with Lord Blakeslee, and I saw the way he admires her. If they have not reached an understanding yet, they will soon."
"I have it on very good authority that Blakeslee's relationship with Miss Bennet is only friendship."
At this, Bingley's whole countenance brightened. A second later though, the morose person returned. "Even if that is true, it does not matter. She will not speak with me." Answering the unspoken question he added, "I asked to speak with her at your wedding, but she refused me."
"Did she give you any reason?"
A pained expression came over Bingley as he easily quoted from memory, "Your acquaintance has brought me only grief and humiliation." He swallowed. "I have been an interminable ass," he said lowly to himself.
Silence once again fell on the room. Bingley sat slouched in his chair. Everything had changed, yet nothing had. Jane was free, and yet she could still never be his. Worse, it was all his doing. He realized now, how he had foolishly gotten wrapped up in Caroline's own grand aspirations. Worse, in his wallowing, he had almost made himself a topic in the scandal sheets.
Lost in thought, he was surprised when Darcy suddenly asked, "Is she worth it?"
Bingley's head snapped upwards. With a tone of desperation, he said, "I would do anything to win her back, but how is it to be done when she will not even speak with me?" He visibly deflated again.
The two sat in silence. After a few moments, Darcy inhaled deeply and muttered, "Heaven help me when Elizabeth finds out." In a louder voice, he said, "Bingley, perhaps you asked the wrong person permission to speak with Miss Bennet."
"The wrong person? Whom should I have asked?"
Darcy stalled for a moment. "Mrs. Bennet. I highly doubt she would deny your request for a private audience with her daughter."
A grin slowly crept across Bingley's face. "Darcy! You are a genius!" He jumped out of his chair and began pacing like a caged animal. "I can leave for Hertfordshire tomorrow. I will stay at the inn. I can..." He voiced his thoughts as soon they formed.
"Bingley!" Darcy barked, stopping Bingley mid-stride. "Perhaps you should take some time to get your head together. I can not allow you to court my sister as you are."
Bingley blushed and looked down, appearing properly chastised. "I understand, Darcy. I swear I will become the man Miss Bennet deserves. No more liquor, no more gambling, no more taverns."
Darcy raised his brows, intrigued, but only said, "And perhaps you should take some time to consider why Miss Bennet refused you last time, and how you intend to plead for her forgiveness? I would suggest you practice grovelling."
Bingley nodded slowly. Solemnly, he said, "You are correct. I need to think on this." He began pacing again, mumbling to himself. He was oblivious to the fact that he was in Darcy's study and Darcy was still in the room.
Darcy cleared his throat lightly, and after gaining no reaction from his friend, cleared his throat again more loudly. "Bingley, might I also suggest accommodations other than the Meryton Inn? It is fine for a night or two, but hardly sufficient while courting a gentleman's daughter."
Bingley walked over to Darcy and shook his hand vigorously. "Darcy, you are a saviour!"
"One last thing." At Bingley's waiting prompt, he said, "Be sure of yourself before you return to Hertfordshire. If you trifle with Miss Bennet again, as her brother, I will be obliged to call you out." With a smirk he added, "That is, if you survive my wife's wrath."
Bingley nodded once at the warning. "If I am fortunate enough to gain Miss Bennet's forgiveness and affection, I will never let her go!"
Posted on Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Colonel Fitzwilliam woke to a burning pain shooting the entire length of his leg, and he was unable to move his left arm. His body ached, every inch of it, even his hair. He searched his memory, trying to recall how he had come to this, but the last thing he remembered was the battlefield. With alarm, he realized it was entirely too quiet. No more cannon blasts, no more gunfire, no more clanging of bayonets and sabres. The battle was over.
Unable to recall leaving the blood bath, his hackles were raised, and he was instantly wide awake. The prize for capturing an officer was great!
Without any effort on his part, his training kicked in. Feigning unconsciousness, he listened, attempting to gain clues of his environment. He could hear people moving about with some urgency; from every direction, he could hear groans of pain. Understanding he was in a cot, he inferred he was either in the infirmary, or near one. Was it British or French?
He continued to listen, trying to detect the presence of someone nearby who could betray his state of alertness. People were talking in whispers, but he could not make out the words, or discern any accent. After a few more minutes, he cautiously cracked open an eye and noticed the flash of a red uniform passing by him, then another, and another. A wave of relief flooded him. He was in a British camp; he had not been taken prisoner.
He opened his eyes and cursed, realizing he could see only out of one eye; something was obstructing his vision in the other. He touched the blind area, and felt the cotton of a bandage. He sighed audibly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam gathered his strength to attempt to rise. With the battle waged, the real work began. They had to tally the dead, the maimed, and the injured; those unable to continue fighting had to be sent home. The ranks had to be reordered, accounting for the diminished troops. Men had to be buried and their personal belongings gathered for the families. And of course, there were official reports to be sent to Whitehall.
He braced himself for the pain the action would no doubt induce, and then pushed himself into a half sitting position. He grimaced at the pain. The howls and groans of pain from numerous other cots, however, kept him steady to his purpose.
All he had to do was get his legs over the edge of the stretcher, and he could sit upright. Just as he felt he had summoned enough strength to accomplish that task, he heard a weary but stern voice say, "Easy, Colonel. You need to lie back down."
Seemingly without effort, the man behind the voice pushed him back down. "Take care whom you are addressing, soldier," Colonel Fitzwilliam ground out heatedly between waves of pain.
He heard the man call for a sergeant. "Keep the colonel in bed. He's in no condition to be moving about." Turning back to the colonel he said, "I am quite aware of who you are, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am also well aware, that if you do not remain lying down, you will most likely lose your leg."
An involuntary shudder passed through the colonel. "I need the status of my men, Doctor."
"How is the pain?"
"It is manageable. My men!" His breathing was laboured from his attempt at ignoring his own agony.
"If you remain here, I will get one your lieutenants, and he can provide a report." In a warning tone the doctor then added, "But if you attempt to stand again, I will see you get a heavy dose of laudanum. I have taken enough limbs these last hours, Colonel. I will not have you adding to my count out of stubbornness."
Colonel Fitzwilliam acquiesced. He was far too exhausted to continue the argument. With a heavy groan, he closed his eyes again.
The Bennets returned to Longbourn after Elizabeth's debut ball, and life once again returned to its usual mundane nature. As spring progressed toward summer, the weather continued to warm. Jane spent a great deal of her time tending to Longbourn's flower and cutting gardens. She had spent some time showing Mary what to do, but Mary still preferred her books. Without the assistance of either sister, there was more for Jane to do. She welcomed the industriousness of the work though. It had the added benefit of keeping her out of her mother's company for hours at time.
While Mrs. Bennet had never been short of things to lament or prey upon her nerves, the trip to London had provided her with new stock. The décor at Longbourn was out of date, the sleeves of her gowns were not long enough, or short enough, depending on her mood, and she did not have enough feathers; nor had her daughters had enough opportunities to meet any eligible gentlemen.
When Jane was not busy in the gardens, she was occupied with sewing items for the group home she had taken up. While in London, she and Aunt Gardiner had made a stop at the home again. The experience had touched Jane more deeply this time than it had the previous times.
She could only infer it was due to the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam was never far from her thoughts. During the ball, she had wished he was present. She could not help but remember the two dances she had shared with him at the Granvilles.
During her visit with the assemblage of women and children, it had taken all her self control not to ask some of them which regiment their husband or father had served, and if they knew Colonel Fitzwilliam. Inexplicably, she felt as a kindred spirit to some of the young wives and widows. It may have been years of listening to her mother lament about being thrown into the hedgerows, but perhaps it was something else. She would not explore that path.
Now, back at home, working with her needle, her imagination had no trouble filling that home with Colonel Fitzwilliam's men and their families, and that what she was doing, she was doing in some small part for him.
She had long ago quit fighting her thoughts about that gentleman. It had been useless. She was still unwilling, however, to consider herself in love.
She examined her inventory and smiled. There were a few pairs of women's stockings on which she had embroidered pretty flowers, a couple of men's handkerchiefs, and a handful of lady's handkerchiefs. From some scrap material she had been able to obtain from Meryton's milliners, she had also sewn some doll clothes and was starting on a quilt.
It would be another month before the next visit to London; on her way to Hunsford. With a little extra effort, she hoped to provide a few simple dresses for some of the young girls. It was well worth the effort. How difficult it must be to lose everything, the men they loved, to the evils of war.
After his interview with Darcy, Bingley returned to his townhouse in much higher spirits. He had not felt so optimistic since before the wedding. Darcy had given him hope and inspired a new plan to win Jane.
Despite his inclination to race to Hertfordshire, he took Darcy's advice and remained in London, carefully laying out a plan. He began by addressing the most essential items of his trip.
For starters, Darcy had been correct; he could not properly court Miss Bennet from the inn at Meryton. He needed a house and a hostess so he could entertain.
The house was easy. He would return to the scene of the crime; he would have Netherfield reopened. He still held the lease for a few more months. Initially, he had thought to rent someplace new -- a place for new beginnings -- but then he realized he could not afford it. If the house served as a reminder of his crimes, he would simply have to work that much harder to replace those memories. It was a just punishment.
The part of hostess was not so easy. He had only two options -- Caroline or Louisa. He knew though, asking Louisa would no doubt bring Caroline, so he really had but one.
It was yet another thing Darcy had the right of; he needed to deal with Caroline.
It was time to make her see that it did not matter where or with whom she had been schooled, there was one irrefutable fact; she was the daughter of tradesman. As a result, when it came to marriage, she had but two choices; a landed gentleman of moderate income or a wealthy tradesman. She would never marry amongst the peerage, or amongst those of the first circle.
Had she been kinder and more sincere, she may have been able to capture a wealthier gentleman's attention in one of her early seasons. Now it was too late; her reputation preceded her. The sooner her expectations were adjusted, the more likely she would have a successful season. He would exert his position as head of the family, something he knew he had failed to do thus far, and make Caroline see reason. His success in this area was very limited, but with his life's happiness in the balance, he would have to find a way to make Caroline listen. He would succeed; he was determined.
Not one inclined towards deep thinking or clever stratagems, the ultimate part of the planning - how to approach Miss Bennet - was perhaps the most difficult. With nothing left to do but wait for word that Netherfield was once again ready for occupancy, little by little he began to take a long look at the events that had transpired, starting with his departure to London. What he saw, he did not like.
Through it all, he realized he had acted impulsively and presumptuously. He had left for London to have settlement papers drawn up; expecting Jane would accept his offer of marriage when he had not even asked to court her. Then, again without any consideration for the woman he had planned to marry, he got caught up in his sister's aspirations for grandeur, and decided to remain in London.
Painfully, he replayed each meeting in London and in Hertfordshire, examining each conversation with new eyes. After considerable rumination, he came to an inconvenient conclusion. He had much for which to atone.
Jane entered the breakfast room, finding only her father as usual. Mr. Bennet sat reading the newspaper, a cup of coffee in front of him, blissfully ignorant of anything else. Mary, Kitty, and Lydia followed shortly thereafter, and finally her mother arrived.
Much like every other morning, Mrs. Bennet noted she still had four daughters at the table, a fact she blamed on Elizabeth, and began voicing her vexation. "Insolent child! She refuses to do her duty to her family. How are the rest of you to meet eligible men if she does not invite you to London?"
"I am certain she will when she is settled, Mama." Jane said, defending her sister.
"Settled? She was perfectly settled when we were in town! The season is almost over!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked, and then began chewing on a piece of bacon.
"It is not yet June, Mama," Jane attempted. "There is yet another month before the season ends."
"If she waits much longer, everyone will have left for the country! Jane, you must write her again and insist on a visit. It is the least she can do after rejecting Mr. Collins."
"Mama!" Jane admonished. "Lizzy's marriage to Mr. Darcy has secured our future."
"Yet we are still to be thrown from Longbourn when your father dies!" Mrs. Bennet pressed her napkin to her lips. "If she had married Mr. Collins, then one of you could have married Mr. Darcy, and we would not have to leave Longbourn at all. I should have two daughters married!"
Jane sighed, but remained silent. Even having married Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth could still do nothing right by her mother. At least today, she had not brought up Lord Blakeslee.
Lydia let out a loud giggle. "I should never marry such a stuffy man, not even for ten thousand a year! My husband shall be the most handsome man in England."
"He looks much too severe!" Kitty said, seconding her younger sister.
"I should like a handsome officer that loves to dance," Lydia said wistfully.
Before Mrs. Bennet could indulge her youngest daughter's fanciful thoughts, Mrs. Hill interrupted. "Mrs. Phillips," she announced.
Mrs. Phillips swept past Hill impatiently. "My dear sister," she said excitedly, completely ignoring the fact that family was still breaking their fast. "I come with the greatest of news. The housekeeper at Netherfield has received orders to open it!"
Mrs. Bennet shrieked with delight, cuing Mr. Bennet it was time to depart to his study.
Jane watched her father enviously, but remained at the table.
Mrs. Phillips pulled up a chair, looked at Jane, smiled and shook her head by turns. "Mr. Bingley is returning! He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened. "At last!" she cried. Then remembering herself, said with as much indifference as she could muster, "Well, so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. However, he is very welcome to come to Meryton, if he likes it. Who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?"
"You may depend on it, for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that it was certain true. According to Mrs. Nicholls, Mrs. Willows has said Mr. Bingley's stay is indefinite."
Jane paled slightly at the news. She did not know what to think of it, as it affected her with a mixture of apprehension, confusion, and dread. She reminded herself that he had intended to purchase Netherfield last fall. It is certainly within his right. I can not blame a man for wanting to live in his own home. For my sister and brother's sake, we can meet as neighbours and indifferent acquaintances. Whatever his intentions, she found solace in the idea that she was to leave for Kent in a fortnight.
Mrs. Bennet attempted to maintain her indifference to the news. "It matters not for Jane, dear sister; for I am certain Lord Blakeslee will return soon and offer for her." She then added, "Nonetheless, it will be quite pleasant to have him in the neighbourhood. She looked around the table, eyeing her other daughters.
Jane thought to protest her mother's assertions about Lord Blakeslee, but then thought better of it. If her mother held hopes Lord Blakeslee would return for her, she may not try and push Bingley on her. Not only that, but she had no way to explain how she knew Lord Blakeslee would not return without telling her mother of her rejection of his suit. Knowing she would have no peace if that were known, she smiled her usual serene smile and finished her morning meal.
When the HMS Hornet set sail, it was blessed with calm waters, blue sky, and a good wind. Nonetheless, the captain said a silent prayer to God, Poseidon, and Neptune for safe passage. His cargo today was more valuable than all the gold in England. Today, he carried the soldiers that had sacrificed life and limb for the greater good of King and Country.
Amongst the passengers was one Colonel Fitzwilliam. It had been over a week, and he had yet to be released from his cot. He had even had to suffer the humiliation of being carried aboard and placed in his bed. Despite all this, the pain in his leg and shoulder was far from his mind. The constant rocking of the boat and the stench of the cabins caused his stomach to churn, but even this was not strong enough to distract him from his current daydream of a lovely blond maiden with eyes like the sea.
She was sitting beside him and singing softly to him while lovingly stroking his hand. With every note, she erased the memories of what he had seen and heard on the continent. Unconscious of his action, he fingered the band of macramé he had purchased for her. "Jane," he mouthed.
Abruptly and angrily he shook his head, loosening a tear from the corner of his eye. It would never be; it could never be. She deserved so much better, so much more. He should have listened to his cousin and let her go long ago. The pain in his chest now was almost suffocating and far outweighed the pain of his injuries.
He had promised to return, but how could he court her now? It was not even certain if he would be able to ride, or even walk again. How could he provide for her? She was the daughter of a gentleman and deserved all that position entailed. With his retirement from service almost certain, he would have a respectable income, but no greater prospects. If he could not walk, how was he to run an estate, even a small one? He could never marry her in this condition. He could not subject Jane to a lifetime attending a cripple; it was a job for a nurse, not a wife.
She deserved so much better. Jane could be the belle of any ball; and she loved to dance and attend gatherings. How could she do that if she were tied to the ugly, wretched being he now embodied? There was only one solution. He would have to give her up.
Unbidden, memories of her dancing with Lord Blakeslee came to the forefront of his mind. Painfully, he acknowledged that man could provide her what she deserved. She deserved to live in luxury. To have a host of servants see to her every need. Lady Jane. He tried to comfort himself with the idea that Lord Blakeslee was a good man and would treat her right; but nearly choked on his emotion.
He closed his eyes and took a shuddering deep breath. The questions and thoughts replayed in his mind. What did he have to offer? What did she deserve? Give her up.
He looked down at his fingers at the brightly coloured threads and smiled sadly. He had gladly bought it as a reminder of his reason for returning. He was determined to return, if for nothing else, but to give her this simple gift. It was meant to be a homecoming gift. Now it would be a parting gift. He would see her one last time; one last time to release her. Then, he would retreat and try to forget her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hunsford, Kent
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty