The Companion Page 30

  “And the Gardiners,” continued Anne, ignoring the other woman’s words, “are everything delightful. Georgiana and I have already benefited from the acquaintance.” Anne smoothed her skirts in a deliberate fashion, delighted she had chosen to wear this dress today. “This fabric was obtained from Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse. He has many delightful bolts of cloth, and though I know he would not wish for us to use all his stock, he was happy to allow us to choose some we found particularly appealing. In fact, Georgiana’s modiste, Madam Fournier, has concluded a business arrangement with Mr. Gardiner—he will now be supplying her. Have you used Madam Fournier for your clothing requirements?”

  The way Miss Bingley’s lip curled, Anne was certain she had not. Madam Fournier was one of the most prominent modistes in the city, and getting an appointment with her was difficult, if not impossible, if one was not a member of a certain level of society, or recommended by one. Miss Bingley, despite her airs, did not meet Madam Fournier’s requirements.

  “I have not, though I would appreciate an introduction,” said Miss Bingley.

  Anne was delighted—it seemed Miss Bingley never lost sight of her ambitions, even amid such a stinging denunciation as she was engaged in now.

  “But we should return to the subject at hand,” replied Anne. “You have made some serious accusations regarding my dear friend, and I must say that your claims are not supported by what I know of my friend’s family. As I said, I have never met the family in Hertfordshire, but her sister and her close relations are as estimable as anyone I have ever met.”

  Miss Bingley appeared to be at a loss, so Anne filled the ensuing silence. “I wonder why you would come here to condemn my friend, Miss Bingley. What would you have me do?”

  “Send her back to her family at once!” cried Miss Bingley. “Even if she is not as improper as I have informed you—and I do not believe for a moment she is not—surely a prestigious family as yours should not be associating with those of such a low position in society. Would it not be better for you to choose better friends?”

  “Such as you and your family.”

  Of course, the sardonic tone of Anne’s voice was lost on Miss Bingley. “We have been Mr. Darcy’s particular friends for some time. Mr. Darcy himself decided he would not be known to the Bennets when we left Hertfordshire, and his assistance was instrumental in convincing my brother of the same. Should you not follow his example?”

  “Follow his example to eschew knowing those connected to trade,” said Anne, to which Miss Bingley nodded vigorously. “By that account, we should not be known to you either, Miss Bingley.”

  The woman paled. “I do not understand you.”

  “Come, Miss Bingley,” said Anne, “I am well aware of your background.”

  It seemed Miss Bingley recognized the harsh note that Anne had allowed into her voice by the way her face fell—it was time to disabuse this woman of any expectation of intimacy with her, or any expectation she had that Anne would follow her ridiculous designs.

  “I thank you for your concern, Miss Bingley, but it is quite unwarranted. For you see, though my mother would be appalled if she knew of my acquaintance with a family in trade—and has, indeed, railed many times against Darcy’s friendship with your brother—I am of a much more liberal frame of mind. I do not judge my friends based on their connections, but on the contents of their character.”

  “That does you credit, of course,” interjected Miss Bingley. “But that reason alone is sufficient to disassociate yourself from the Bennets. As I said—”

  “I know what you have said,” snapped Anne, returning the favor. “There is nothing the matter with Elizabeth or her relations with whom I am acquainted. They are everything lovely and proper.

  “Moreover, I consider Elizabeth to be my closest friend and will not give up her society for anything. I thank you for your concern, but in this instance, it is unwarranted. I will thank you to drop the subject and never raise it again.”

  Miss Bingley’s mouth opened to continue her objections, but Anne’s glare finally succeeded in quelling them. She subsided, but not with any grace, and her sullen glare reminded Anne of that of a child. Though she preferred not to think ill of her mother, Anne thought she might actually get on with Miss Bingley quite well, indeed. They were the same general characters, looking down on others, intent upon having their own way, and speaking when they should remain silent. The difference was that Lady Catherine possessed the lineage to render her pride understandable to a certain extent. Miss Bingley was nothing more than a pretender.

  “Thank you, Miss Bingley, for this illuminating discussion,” said Anne, rising to indicate the interview was at an end. “Do bring your brother to visit us whenever convenient—I have heard so much of him that I long to make his acquaintance.”

  It appeared that Miss Bingley suddenly found Darcy house unappealing, for she could not leave quickly enough. She assured Anne in a most insincere way that she would pass Anne’s request on to her brother and then departed with an unseemly haste.

  Anne wished to laugh at the woman as she was leaving, but there was too much on which to think. Miss Bingley had revealed certain information during her appeal which shed some light on the situation at present. Now Anne needed to determine what she could share with Elizabeth and what she would need to keep to herself.

  Chapter XXIII

  “She said what?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Yes, you understood me correctly. Miss Bingley advised me that I should send you home because you are connected to trade, of all things.”

  It was beyond understanding. Elizabeth had known that the woman was a proud and disagreeable sort, she never would have thought her to be so delusional as to forget her own origins.

  “Come now, Elizabeth,” said Anne. “You are not surprised, are you?”

  “I was,” replied Elizabeth, “but I suppose I should not be. She has always behaved as if she was above us. But for her to come out and speak of it is beyond astonishing. What a truly odious creature she is!”

  “I cannot but agree.”

  Anne paused and tapped her finger on her lips, and Elizabeth, by now knowing her friend, was certain she had some mischief in mind.

  “The problem, as I see it, has several facets, but the solution might be quite simple.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth, dreading the response.

  “First,” said Anne, ticking each point on her fingers, “we have Miss Bingley, as obnoxious a creature as ever existed and one who is begging us to humble her.”

  Elizabeth could not help but laugh.

  “Second, I suspect you are correct about her brother: he was persuaded to give up your sister against his inclination, and for her to be so intent on keeping them apart, I suspect she is not convinced he is now indifferent. Third, Jane is clearly pining for Mr. Bingley. Fourth, Miss Bingley is not likely to allow her brother to come within a mile of this house, as she does not wish him to accidentally meet you and wonder where Jane is.”

  Through her continued laughter, Elizabeth said: “I believe you are quite correct, Anne.”

  “Then we should invite Mr. Bingley and his family for dinner,” replied Anne. “The same night, we can invite the Gardiners. I believe, if you are in any way correct, that Jane and Mr. Bingley would take care of the rest of the problem themselves.”

  “Do you think she would accept? You have so eloquently defended me, and Miss Bingley would know I am still here.”

  “Ah, but if I insinuate to her that I have reconsidered and seen the light? I am certain I could craft a letter which would suggest you will not be present without stating it.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Anne, I believe I have misjudged you. It is clear you are far more dangerous than your mother ever could be. Lady Catherine is meddling—you are nothing short of devious!”

  “Why thank you, Elizabeth,” said Anne. “I am happy you think so highly of me.”

  They
shared a look together before they burst out laughing again.

  “If you wish it, then I have no objections,” replied Elizabeth. “By all means, let us drive a spike into Miss Bingley’s wheel. The woman is overdue for a little humbling.”

  And so, the two ladies sat down to plan their joke on Miss Bingley. For a time, Elizabeth almost wished her father was here—he would no doubt find great entertainment in their machinations. In fact, Elizabeth was certain her father would get on with Anne famously.

  While his cousin and houseguest were engrossed in their scheming, Darcy was at his club, meeting Bingley for the first time since his friend had returned from the north.

  “Darcy,” said Bingley as he walked up to the table where Darcy had awaited his arrival. “I am glad to see you again, my friend. I trust you are well.”

  Darcy rose from his chair and shook Bingley’s hand, his other hand slapping Bingley on the shoulder. “I am, indeed, Bingley. How was your time in Yorkshire?”

  “It was tolerable,” replied Bingley. “My family is well, as always, and there were a few items I needed to discuss with my uncle. But Caroline and Louisa do not like Yorkshire, and our time there was a long litany of complaints. While I am happy to visit my family, I am even happier to be back in London where Caroline does not grumble so much.”

  It was difficult to sympathize with Bingley in this instance. He was her brother, the head of the house, and he controlled her dowry and her living arrangements—it was not beyond Bingley’s ability to silence his sister and ensure she behaved better. But Bingley was a kindly soul, one who despised conflict. Unfortunately, his harpy of a sister was aware of this, and she exploited his weakness with a razor-like precision.

  “Did you visit your aunt in Kent as you usually do?” asked Bingley.

  A waiter came, and they arranged for some lunch to be brought, allowing Darcy the time to think about how he wished to answer the question. While the fact that he had not gone to Kent was something Darcy could discuss with impunity, the fact of Anne’s return was a little touchier. In particular, Darcy was not certain if he should mention Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s presence in his house, and in connection, Miss Jane Bennet’s presence at the Gardiners’ house.

  A part of Darcy was made uncomfortable by his complicity in hiding Miss Bennet’s presence in town, though it could be said that it was not Darcy’s responsibility to inform his friend of the fact. Miss Jane Bennet was, after all, at least nominally Miss Bingley’s friend. Darcy himself would have been unaware of the matter had Miss Bingley not seen fit to crow about how Miss Bennet had visited and how she had taken care in her return visit to ensure the girl understood her intention to sever the acquaintance.

  In the end, Darcy decided to avoid the subject, which meant saying nothing of Anne and Miss Elizabeth’s presence at his house. Darcy was fully committed to making Miss Elizabeth his wife—if she could be induced to accept him, Bingley would necessarily be in his company again, and since Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were so close, he would encounter her again. If he was still inclined to favor her, he could resume his attentions at that time. Since her younger sister would be married to Darcy, there would be no reason for Miss Bennet to yield to whatever pressure her mother exerted, and thus, if she accepted Bingley, Darcy could be reasonably assured she did so because of inclination and nothing more.

  “Actually, this year Fitzwilliam and I decided not to attend my aunt in Kent,” replied Darcy. “I had a matter of business which detained me and prevented my going, and as I was not to go, my cousin decided against going without me.”

  “A matter of business? Or perhaps was it a disinclination for your aunt’s company?”

  Darcy shook his head ruefully. “No, you are completely correct, and I own it without disguise. I was quite happy to avoid my aunt.”

  “I knew it!” exclaimed Bingley, rubbing his hands together in delight. “I have heard enough stories of your aunt these past years, my old friend, to know that you are not fond of her company.”

  “True. It is difficult for anyone in my family to tolerate her society.”

  “And your cousin too, from what I understand.”

  Though Bingley laughed at his own jest, Darcy only smiled, though he did not feel at all like laughing. He was still uncomfortable with how the family had treated Anne over the years, and their lack of action in extracting her from an untenable situation. Anne was uncommonly improved since he had seen her last, and Darcy was forced to attribute most of it to Miss Bennet’s friendship, though part of it was simply a facet of Anne’s character Darcy had never seen. Or had never chosen to see.

  “Since I have been in London the entire time you were away,” replied Darcy, hoping to steer the conversation away from his cousin, “and I am certain you have no desire to hear of my observations of society, perhaps you should tell me of your journey.”

  Bingley laughed again. “Did you even participate in society?”

  “Only as much as necessary,” replied Darcy, knowing his friend would be diverted.

  They spoke for some time, eating together when their food arrived. Darcy watched his friend, attempting to discern his feelings, and whether he had recovered from his disappointment with respect to Miss Bennet. And Darcy could not be certain, which was itself something of a surprise. Bingley was not adept at hiding his thoughts from others—in many ways he was an open book. He assiduously avoided any mention of the Bennets or Hertfordshire, and he said nothing of any young ladies to whom he had been introduced, which was again an oddity—Bingley could often be counted on to regale him with tales of his latest angel, even if the acquaintance was slight.

  The Bingley of January and February, the man who was depressed and moody, seemed to have disappeared, and the man who spoke and laughed was returned. But there was something missing, and Darcy could not be certain what it was, whether it was a lack of Bingley’s irrepressible ebullience or something else entirely.

  By the time they went their separate ways, Darcy was thoughtful again. He still thought it was for the best that he had not mentioned Miss Elizabeth or Miss Bennet; he suspected his friend was not yet free of his fascination for Miss Bennet. Should Darcy be successful in his pursuit of Miss Elizabeth, he would do all he could to give Bingley the opportunity to win Miss Bennet’s hand. It was the least he could do for his friend.

  That evening they were joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam, and as a group of five, they retired to the music room after dinner, Elizabeth and Georgiana obliging the company by playing for some time. Elizabeth truly enjoyed hearing her host’s sister play—she was technically proficient and played with a delightful energy, and though her abilities were perhaps not everything Miss Bingley portrayed them to be last autumn in Hertfordshire, the talent was there for the girl to become a true proficient, if she practiced, which was never in doubt. Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanied her to the pianoforte to turn pages for her, while the other three sat on a nearby sofa.

  Elizabeth had much to think on. Mr. Darcy’s behavior in the garden the previous day had been unmistakable and had forced her to review every interaction she had ever had with him. The insult at the assembly notwithstanding, once she looked back with new insight, she could see that Mr. Darcy had always engaged her, had always done so with more pleasure than she had attributed at the time. He had never been indifferent to her, regardless of the situation.

  But whatever the state of their previous interactions, it was clear now that he looked on her with the eyes of a man interested in a woman—there was no other explanation. His message the previous day with the flowers had been more pointed than any she had witnessed before, and likely as much as he would ever do if she did not make her returning interest known. And the flowers themselves had been something of an issue, as Elizabeth had needed to come up with an explanation for their presence in her room.

  Earlier that day, sometime after Miss Bingley left, Elizabeth had returned to her room, to be joined by Anne, who wished to
speak of her letter of invitation to Miss Bingley. The keen-eyed Anne had entered, and she had not missed the pretty bunch of carnations of all colors displayed in a vase on the table in Elizabeth’s sitting-room.

  “What is this?” asked Anne, the purpose of her coming forgotten for the moment.

  “I adore carnations,” said Elizabeth by way of explanation and diversion. “Mr. Darcy allowed me to choose some of my favorite blooms to lighten my room.”

  “Did he?” asked Anne, her words meaning nothing, and speaking volumes at the same time. “The housekeeper mentioned that you were outside with him for more than an hour yesterday morning.”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, wishing her friend would allow the subject to drop. “Mr. Darcy was showing me the gardens, as I had spent little time there.”

  Anne regarded Elizabeth for several moments, and she began to feel uncomfortable. “She also said that you entered the house with one in your hair.”

  Though feeling the need to rail at the housekeeper for sharing such a thing, Elizabeth replied with what she thought was tolerable disinterest: “That was just a bit of silliness on my part. Mr. Darcy laughed at me, as I expected he would.”

  Anne nodded, but she remained thoughtful until Elizabeth asked her about her errand, after which they spoke of Miss Bingley and the tone Anne would use in her letter. In the end, the subject was not raised again, though Elizabeth saw her friend’s gaze lingering on the flowers for some time after.

  The question was, now that Mr. Darcy had stated his feelings in such an open manner, how was Elizabeth to respond? She could readily imagine being able to fall for his overtures. By this time, she was reasonably certain that in matters of intellect and character, he might be better suited for her than she had ever thought.

  But there were many drawbacks. His uncle, the earl, had been welcoming, both when he had first met her and on two subsequent occasions, but she could not imagine him welcoming his nephew’s interest in a penniless country girl. And that said nothing of what she imagined Lady Catherine’s reaction would be. After taking her daughter away—in her view—the lady would almost certainly fly into a rage if she learned that Elizabeth was about to take her daughter’s supposed betrothed as well. Elizabeth thought she was equipped to handle the naysayers of society, but she truly had not had much congress with that world, so she could not be certain how they would act.