Bingley's Blunder, Epilogue

Miss Elizabeth Bennet had led her swain to the small wilderness where once she had defied his aunt. It was the first day of his return and, short as his absence had been, they both had felt it keenly.

They had come such a long way in the now two and one half weeks since their betrothal. It had been strange and sweet and awkward, after so many months apart and so many misunderstandings, to have it all settled so quickly, and to find themselves in a relationship of such unprecedented intimacy. Darcy, in particular, had walked very softly, not wanting to rush Elizabeth or make her uncomfortable in any way. He had loved her for so long, but her feelings were recent and untried. So he had tried not to hope for too much too soon, but his fears had quickly proved groundless. Elizabeth did little by halves, including loving. Through long walks and quiet talks in the parlor they had come to know each other, reestablishing the witty repartee that Darcy had loved so much—except that this time Elizabeth’s sallies had no hidden barbs. They talked of books, at long last, and of music and art and of Derbyshire and Hertfordshire, and even their childhoods, so that Elizabeth had never been entertained so well in any room at all before, nor Darcy either, and both were beautifully, bountifully, blissfully and even a bit beatifically (sorry, I couldn’t resist) in love.

“You have not yet said how your business in town went,” said Elizabeth.

Darcy grimaced briefly. “Everything was resolved satisfactorily, I think.”

“That sounds almost ominous.”

“More than you can know,” he muttered under his breath. When she glanced at him questioningly he raised his voice and said, “I had the opportunity to speak to my Aunt Fitzwilliam about our engagement. She was very surprised, but did not seem displeased. I believe she was quite impressed by the fact that you refused me initially.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I confess I had not expected you to relate that.”

“I had not planned to,” he admitted, “but it came out in the conversation and I cannot regret it. I want my family to know that I pursued you, not the other way around.” His hand caressed hers on his arm. “My cousin the colonel came in while we were speaking.”

“Dear Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said warmly. “How is he?”

“He appeared well. He was also surprised to hear my news, but very pleased.”

“I shall like having him as a cousin. Will we see much of him?”

“When his military service does not require his absence, yes. He is a frequent guest at Pemberley.”

“I am glad.” She smiled up at him. “I must say I am surprised that Lady Catherine had not already written to your other aunt about me.”

“She most likely did, but Lady Matlock was ignoring her correspondence.” Seeing her surprised look he chuckled. “My two aunts are frequently at outs with each other. They are both very strong willed women, you see, and accustomed to having others defer to them.”

“Ah,” said Elizabeth. “I can see how that would make a mutually gratifying relationship difficult.”

“Yes it does.” They had come to a small bench. Darcy motioned for Elizabeth to sit and sat himself beside her. He was frowning now. “Elizabeth,” he began slowly, rubbing a hand across his forehead, “there is a matter I must speak to you of. I wish I could avoid the necessity, for it may well pain you, but if I do not you may hear of it from other sources instead.”

Elizabeth, growing rather alarmed, immediately implored him to explain himself. So, hesitantly, watching her face, Darcy began to relate the nature of the mistake that had just recently occurred in London. As he spoke her eyes grew wide and round, and her mouth fell gently open—then she shut it with a snap and bit down hard on her lower lip as her cheeks began turning pink.

Darcy, peering at her in concern, sat back with a roll of his eyes when he realized that she was shaking, not with rage or mortification, but with suppressed laughter. It would appear his anxiety over her reaction to the news had been somewhat excessive. “What a—” she choked— “horrible mistake!” Gasp. “Poor, poor,” a gurgle escaped and she swallowed hard, “Miss Bingley!” Snort. At that unfeminine sound she reigned herself in firmly and said in a calmer voice, “How very uncomfortable for her. I find I—” she choked again— “I hardly even have the heart to dislike her any more!” And then she couldn’t help it any more and broke out into trilling giggles.

Darcy saw her mirth with a sheepish grin, too relieved to be offended. Now that the matter was behind him he found it was growing rather funny to him too, and, encouraged by her amusement, he began to give an expansive description of the various strange conversations he had had upon arriving in London, even including a slightly edited version of his encounter with the Hon. George. Elizabeth laughed until the tears ran down her face, while Darcy watched her appreciatively.

“I suppose,” he said drily, when she had begun to calm, “that I should be grateful you are taking it so well.”

“I am sorry for Miss Bingley,” she answered, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief; “it was not, after all, her doing. And I am sorry for you because you had so much trouble, but really, what can one do but laugh?”

He kissed her hand. “You are a remarkable woman, my dear.”

“After all, I am the one who gets to lead you to the altar. Why should I care about the misapprehensions of a group of people I have never met?”

Darcy, who could not but think of how things might go once she did have occasion to meet them, remained silent.

“Perhaps I ought to write Miss Bingley a note to tell her she should be grateful she didn’t receive a visit from your Aunt Catherine at least,” she offered with a twinkle. “Although I am sure she would have given her rather more satisfaction than I did.”

“Somehow I doubt that would be of much comfort to her.” He clasped her hand more tightly. “The important thing is that by now everyone in London knows that I am engaged to you, and none other. If we are only mildly fortunate, by the time we make a stay there after our marriage, the local gossip will have moved on to other—er—victims.” He reached into his pocket. “Perhaps I ought also to clarify that I bought this for you before finding out about the rumors, so that it will not be regarded in light of a bribe.”

Elizabeth took the small case he held out to her with eyes again grown wide. “A gift for me?”

“The first of many, I expect,” he smiled at her.

She opened it gingerly, and he heard her delighted gasp as she saw the small flower-shaped pin set with pearls. “It’s perfect,” she breathed, lifting it. With nimble fingers she quickly pinned it on the shoulder of her gown, and raised shining eyes to Darcy’s. “Thank you.”

He swallowed, emotions unaccustomed and yet now accustomed filling him, and could only kiss her hand again. “You are welcome.” He looked away, cleared his throat, and then said, “There’s something else.”

“Something else?” she repeated. “On top of everything you’ve already recounted to me there’s something else?”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “I meant there is something else I bought you. However—” he cleared his throat again, “I am not sure if it would be better to give it to you now, or after we are married.”

 “I see,” replied Elizabeth softly. “May I see it?”

Silently he handed her the larger case, produced from his other capacious pocket. Elizabeth looked at it a moment, tracing the leather with her fingertip. She did not gasp this time when she opened it, but her lips formed a soundless ‘o.’ She studied the brilliant gems respectfully, every now and then touching one gently.

             Darcy reached a finger and touched a curl on her cheek. “A worthy woman, who can find?” he murmured. “Her price is far above rubies.”*

            She smiled at him mistily. “They are the most beautiful jewels I’ve ever seen. I shall be delighted to wear them. However,” she drew a deep breath, “I do think it would be best if you were to keep them for now. Such ornaments may do for Mrs. Darcy, but not Miss Bennet.”

            He received them back without comment, and slipped them into his pocket. “I do hope that when next you see Bingley you will reassure him that you are not angry at him.”

“What? Oh!” She laughed. “His infamous blunder! Shall he ever be allowed to forget it?”

“I have no greater desire than to forget it… except,” he added thoughtfully, “when he requires a good reminder of the consequences of carelessness.”

Elizabeth shook her head at him, her eyes very merry. “You must be kind to him now. He is not only your friend, but soon my brother.”

“I’m always kind to him,” he protested. “It is he who is less than kind to me. Why, he mocked me relentlessly when he first found out I was in love with you.”

“I’m sure he found it good sport. Better than coveys, I daresay, and far more rare.”

“Well perhaps I deserved it,” he acknowledged. “He was certainly pleased to think so. You will see how forbearing I can really be in how little I will tease him about this escapade!”

            “I already know how forbearing you can be!” she retorted. “I, on the other hand, make no such claim, so I am free to tease Mr. Bingley as much as I please. I have always wanted a brother and now that I have one I intend to make full use of him.”

             “I think it is I who should beg you to be kind to him.”

            “I’m perfectly harmless.”

            “Are you?” He quirked his eyebrow at her sardonically and she blushed.

             “I have not always been, I know, but I hope I have since learned some lessons on the proper use of one’s wit.”

            Darcy leaned forward until their faces almost touched. “You do make proper use of your wit.”

            “I do?” she murmured, a bit breathless.

            “Yes. You use it…” he leaned forward even further so that his cheek brushed hers, “to make me even more in love with you than ever.”

            “Oh. Well, you are right. That is a very proper use for it.”

            And after that there was no more talking but only silence in the little wilderness outside of Longbourn.

In the great wilderness that was London, well, that’s another matter….

 

*Proverbs 31:10

Bingley's Blunder, Chapter 4

All I can say about the end of this is-- Oh, yes I did.

Chapter 4

In the Announcements section of a prominent London newspaper:

Engaged: Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. Also, Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield, Hertfordshire, to Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire.

~%~

In the society section of the same prominent London newspaper:

            So the truth has come out at last! Those who care to peruse the Announcements of this paper will note that the rumors that the wealthy Mr. Darcy of Pemberley has at last cast his handkerchief at the feet of a maiden are true—but the Miss B in whose possession that handkerchief now resides is not the same Miss B of rumor! Instead of the fashionable sister of his longtime intimate friend, the gentleman has chosen an unknown gentlewoman from the beautiful county of Hertfordshire. Who could this mystery maiden be? All of society waits with bated breath to meet her!

~%~

In breakfast rooms across London:

[gasps]

[moans]

[very mean-spirited chortling]

 

~%~

       

“So you see, Mrs. Snitchwood,” concluded Bingley, “I am afraid that my careless remarks may have led you to an erroneous conclusion, but the truth is that Darcy is to marry the sister of my future bride, and that is how we shall be brothers.”

“Oh, Mr. Bingley,” breathed Mrs. Snitchwood, “I am honored by your confidence. Of course, I assure you that we were not the source of those rumors—were we, Lucy, dear?”

“Oh no, indeed, Mr. Bingley,” agreed Miss Lamb solemnly.

“But we are most gratified by your current explanation. What a marvelous thing for both of you! To be marrying sisters!”

“Yes, I assure you it is most marvelous. Would you do me the favor of relating this to all your acquaintance? My sister was quite distressed to be the subject of false speculation, and I know she—and Mr. Darcy—would be grateful for any assistance in making the truth known.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Bingley!” She clasped her hands together. “We shall be delighted to assist you—and Mr. Darcy. Of course we would not breathe a word of it without your permission, but, in the cause of truth, we will do our best.”

“In the cause of truth,” nodded Bingley.

“Now, pray tell…” She scooted a little forward on her seat. “Miss Jane Bennet is the elder, you say? And Miss Elizabeth the second? What charming young ladies they must be, to be sure! Can you not tell us of them?”

~%~

            Miss Thane, when she read the paper, laughed for a long time before she put on her pelisse, bonnet and gloves, and called her carriage. Fifteen minutes later she was being put down at the Hurst townhouse. It took all of Miss Bingley’s resolution to not deny her immediately.

            Miss Thane walked into the room still smiling. “My dear Caro!” she exclaimed. Caroline, who disliked being called Caro as much as Elizabeth disliked being called Eliza, winced. “I have come to commiserate.”

            Miss Bingley drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster. “I have no need of commiseration.”

“No?” Her lips curved mockingly. “A country chit, Caroline? How embarrassing!”

The other half-turned away. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“And I’m sure you do. Darcy, my dear! Darcy’s real engagement. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, could you? You couldn’t bear to admit that he was actually promised to another!”

This was far too close to the truth. Caroline’s color rose, but she managed to retain her composure and gestured for the other to be seated. “It was not my secret to disclose,” she said as she sat herself, looking as cool as she could under the circumstances. “I did tell you it had been a mistake.”

“And what a mistake! No wonder you were so perturbed! What a mockery of your hopes!”

Miss Bingley stood up jerkily. “Diana—!”

“No, no, sit back down. You must tell me everything about this Miss Bennet! Of course it’s clear how the mistake came about. Darcy is getting married, but to Bingley’s sister-in-law, not his sister! So who are these charmers who have swept your men off their feet?”

Miss Bingley winced again, but answered faithfully. “They are—” she swallowed. “They are the daughters of a very respectable country gentleman. I believe the estate has been in their family for generations. They are—very highly thought of there. The preeminent family in the area! Until dear Charles arrived, of course.” She smiled a forced smile.

Miss Thane, who was not much deceived, eyed her with amusement. “Are they very rich?”

“I could not undertake to say the size of their dowries,” she replied with dignity. “It was quite enough to satisfy my brother and Mr. Darcy!”

~%~

“Twenty thousand pounds a piece, I heard!”

“Really? Ten thousand is the figure I’ve heard.”

“I heard they have nothing at all. Absolutely penniless, but great beauties!”

“Like the Gunning sisters!”

“Not at all. Mr. Darcy may be rich, but he’s hardly a duke.”

“Aye, he's far more fastidious. Ten thousand at least I say, and very beautiful.”

“I cannot agree. Darcy has seen the richest, most beautiful women in England for years, and never shown any sign of interest.”

“Well, she must have something special about her. After all, he did offer for her.”

“I wonder if it was a forced marriage. Perhaps she sought to entrap him somehow!”

“Posh! He’s far too clever for that! As if women haven’t tried that before on him!”

“Well, this one evidently succeeded. What a jab in the eye for all our London women, eh? Won’t they be furious!”

 

~%~

“Hertfordshire!” wailed Miss Wasson. “Hertfordshire? He chose a woman from Hertfordshire? Why not Ireland? Why not Yorkshire? Why not China, while he’s at it!”

~%~

 “Well, I for one wouldn’t have thought it of him,” grumbled Sir Edward Tristan over breakfast. “Darcy, of all men! I would have said he was a dashed sight too proud for an alliance of that sort.”

“And Miss Bennet? Who, pray, is Miss Bennet?” demanded his indignant wife. “Who is she, to take such an eligible man away from our girls? She should have stayed in Hampshire.”

“Hertfordshire.”

“What does it matter? Wherever it was, she has no business marrying a man of his stature.”

“Dashed suspicious, if you ask me. Never was such a proud fellow as young Mr. Darcy. Thought he was holding out for a duke’s daughter, or something of that sort.”

“It seems clear to me that he’s making a fool of himself. And over what? A country girl? The daughter of an insignificant squire? What can he have been thinking?”

“Well, I can tell you what he was thinking,” replied Sir Edward. “Humph. He was thinking like a man, that’s what. Wouldn’t have thought it of him. Darcy! Dashed odd. Dashed odd.”

~%~

“Ha! I knew it! I knew Caroline Bingley couldn’t have caught him! He doesn’t care two pins for her, I always said it!” crowed Miss Jurbish victoriously to her companion Mrs. Winterly. “Didn’t I always say it?”

“To be sure.”

“He would rather marry a country nobody than marry her. And who could wonder at it? I’m sure she drove him to it!”

“To be sure.”

“Oh, won’t I gloat over her over this one! And she had the gall to look at me in such a superior manner the other day, when all the while she wasn’t engaged to him at all. Why, everyone knows the Bingleys’ only claim to especial notice is their connection to Darcy. Ha! It’s almost worth losing him myself just to see her humiliated!”

~%~

            “If it wasn’t for the fact that the Hursts have apparently been trying for days to say it was all a mistake, well… you know what people would say.” Mrs. Hardcastle gave a knowing look to her spinster sister.

            “Very unamiable people I’m sure,” replied that lady primly.

            “I for one would never believe she was so desperate as to attempt to force his hand that way.”

            “Even though he had just offered for someone else.”

            “Even though, yes. Unless…” she pressed her lips together.

             “Yes, sister?” prompted Miss Prism eagerly.

            “Well, I would never be so uncharitable as to suggest it, but some people I know might even have insinuated that Mr. Darcy heard the rumors and then offered for Miss Bennet….”

            “To escape Miss Bingley, you mean? Why that would be a shocking suggestion!” She clucked her tongue. “It is fortunate none of those people will say such a thing now.”

             “Yes, poor dear creature, I feel for her keenly.” Mrs. Hardcastle sighed. “To be at the mercy of gossiping tongues is an unkind thing indeed. I am sure her disappointment is quite grievous even without such a fate.”

            “I am so pleased that none of those sorts of rumors can be spread about now.”

~%~

            “Well if you ask me young Bingley wasted a fine opportunity,” snorted the elderly Lord Guise. “The other engagement wasn’t announced yet; he could have pleaded honor, friendship, even breach of promise.”

            Mr. Wisner shook his head. “You forget he’s marrying the other one. I can’t imagine it would have gone down well in his marriage bed, eh, to have persuaded his friend to cast off her sister? Even such an arrogant fellow as Darcy would be wary of starting marriage on those terms.”

            “Well then if you ask me they’re both fools. Fools for love!” He snorted again. “In my day we did things differently, I can tell you that.”

~%~

In the society section of another prominent London newspaper:

            Who are the Bennet sisters? In news that is sure to leave society gasping, these young women of unknown origin have successfully attached two of England’s most Eligible Bachelors, including the inscrutable and much-sought Mr. F. D.  How did they do it? What secrets have they to impart to our incoming debutantes? Rumors are rampant as we speak.

~%~

“I do not like to boast, but he confided in me first,” said Miss Bingley impressively to her circle of guests. She was quickly discovering that whatever she had lost in consequence by not being the betrothed of Mr. Darcy she had gained in being the best source of information on his betrothed. “I believe I was aware of his attraction to her before anyone else was.”

The ladies gazed at her with bright, gleaming eyes. “Well?” prompted one. “What did he say?”

Miss Bingley appeared to consider whether she should impart such information. Then she leaned forward confidentially. “We were at a party,” she began, as four other heads inclined towards her in a ring, “and Mr. Darcy appeared most abstracted. So I asked him what he might be thinking of, and he said…” she paused for dramatic effect, “‘I was meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’” Four ladies sighed in romantic pleasure. “So naturally I asked him whose eyes could have inspired such admiration, and he replied, as coolly as you please, ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’ That was very early on in their acquaintance, you know.”

“Oh, Miss Bingley, he must have been in love with her already, to say such a thing,” breathed Miss Alice Simmons.

“Yes, I never heard him give a compliment to any woman in my life,” put in another. “Why, the nicest thing he’s ever said in my hearing is ‘Your playing was very tolerable, madam.’”

“That was to Miss Grey, and she preened like a peacock when he said it,” sniffed the third lady. “As if it were the equal to him declaring his regard!”

“She must be very handsome, Miss Bingley?”

“She is… quite pretty, I believe,” replied Miss Bingley, with credible sincerity. “Mr. Darcy… Mr. Darcy told me once that he thought her one of the handsomest women of his acquaintance! Her sister Jane, who is soon to be my sister, is a very handsome woman indeed, and very sweet. The dearest creature in the world, really! She and Eliza are very close.”

“And to think all these days we all thought it was you Mr. Darcy was engaged to. How you must have laughed!”

“Oh, of course. It was excessively entertaining. Mr. Darcy and I quite laughed about it together.”

“How did that story start, my dear Miss Bingley?” Miss Marlburg smirked. “I must admit to being very curious to hear it.”

All four ladies gazed at her expectantly, with an expression that told her that if her explanation was not sufficient, she would be heartily laughed at later.

“It was all my brother’s fault,” she said bitterly. “He came to town for little more than a day on business, and told an acquaintance in the street that he and Mr. Darcy were to be brothers by marriage! And then he ran after a man selling a horse before he could explain further.” Since Mr. Bingley had already cheerfully agreed to shoulder the blame publically, she felt no guilt at all about tossing him under the cart thus. “I would be extremely vexed if it weren’t so amusing!” she added, suddenly reverting to her society tone.

~%~

At Brooks’s, White’s, Boodle’s, and other Gentleman’s Clubs Which Shall Remain Nameless:

[curses]

[cheers]

[money changes hands]

~%~

 

“They say he’s madly in love with her,” whispered Miss Wishon to the soon-to-be Countess of Chesney.

“How vulgar,” she sniffed.

“But horridly romantic!”

“Horrid is right. Madly in love! I wouldn’t have Lord Chesney madly in love with me for the world.”

Miss Wishon, reflecting that Lord Chesney was fortyish, balding, and more than a little chubby (not to mention the fact that he stammered), snickered behind her fan.

“Only Commoners,” continued the other, “fall in love. My mama used to approve of the Darcys, but now she says they’ve become Common. We shall have nothing to do with them when he brings her to town.”

Miss Wishon, reflecting that the future Countess’s family was so desperately in debt that everyone knew the that jewels around her neck were really paste, and that her father courted the friendship of every rich person he could latch onto, snickered behind her fan a second time.

“I still think it’s romantic!” she declared. “Not that I would want him to fall in love with me—he’s far too serious, and do you know he wouldn’t dance with me when we were presented?—he hardly dances with anyone—but that just makes it more romantic, don’t you think? He was as cold as ice until he met her, and now he’s Abandoning All for Love.” She sighed.

Her companion sniffed again. “Love? Romance? Commoners!”

~%~

            Mr. Niven Tutor stood outside the Hurst townhouse. He had read the announcement in the paper along with everyone else, but it had taken him a full three days to work up the resolve to come. Miss Bingley was truly unattached now, but it did not follow that she would look at him any more than she had in the past. He was still not, and never would be, Fitzwilliam Darcy.

            He went up to the door, plied the knocker, and presented his card to the butler. A few minutes later he was being ushered into a sitting room. Miss Bingley was alone.

            “Mr. Tutor,” she said, coming forward, “how very nice to see you. It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of your company.”

            He smiled. “I apologize, Miss Bingley. I am glad you have not forgotten me.”

            “Forgotten you? Oh sir, I assure you, I could never forget you.” She smiled at him. “Won’t you have a seat? My brother is in town, and will be back shortly. I know he would be most happy to see you.”

“And I him. In fact, since I have an appointment shortly, I brought a note for him.” He reached into his inner pocket. “Would you be so kind as to give this to him for me?”

“Why, of course, Mr. Tutor, I should be delighted.” She took the note and looked down at her brother’s name written across it. “What fine handwriting you have, Mr. Tutor.”

He took a seat and raised one eyebrow. “I know you have a great appreciation for good handwriting, ma’am.”

“Indeed I do.” She sat down next to him. “You must have occasion to write so many letters! Men always do. I wonder you do not find it tiresome.”

~%~

Seated next to the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple at a dinner party, Lord Blatherworth let his opinions be known. “I don’t know what Matlock was thinking, to allow it!” he rumbled. “If it was my nephew I’d have a thing or two to say to the matter, I can tell you! It was bad enough when it was that Bingley woman, but now it’s a Bennet. Bennet, Bingley—what is it with all these ‘B’s? Well they all spell the same thing to me: Bad Blood, that’s what!

“Oh?” said the Dowager Viscountess.

On his other side the usually staid and shy Mr. Miniver had consumed a little too much of the pre-dinner refreshments. He smiled vacantly and repeated to himself, “Bennet, Bingley, what is it with all these ‘B’s?”

A little further down the table other sentiments were being aired. “Well, I think it’s a capital thing that the boy has found someone to suit him,” said Sir William Greenly staunchly.

“And it’s a fine thing that it’s not Caroline Bingley,” murmured Mrs. Corbin.

“Yes, poor girl. Never did think her hopes would come to anything.”

“No one thought her hopes would come to anything.”

“Bennet, Bingley, what is it with all these ‘B’s?” from down the table.

“I intend to stand by him, whatever Blatherworth and his ilk may say.”

“Well, it’s not like she’s a shopkeeper’s daughter, or a,” she lowered her voice, “chorus girl. He’s a gentleman, she’s a gentlewoman, why shouldn’t he marry her?”

“Yes, exactly, exactly my point. Capital! Capital!”

A little further up the table, on the other side, a Mrs. Corrine Brickle, a very imposing matron, was saying to Lord Valorous (who, whatever his name might imply, was a sickly and foppish young peer), “It doesn’t surprise me at all that Mr. Bingley is marrying the sister of Mr. Darcy’s bride. He always did follow him in everything!”

“Quite, quite,” chuckled Lord Valorous. “You are quite right, madam.”

“But who are these Bennet women? No one seems to know anything, except Miss Bingley, who of course is just trying to puff off her own consequence.”

“Bennet, Bingley, what is it with all these ‘B’s?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I have heard they are quite lovely, you know.”

“Which one is the elder? Is it the one Mr. Bingley is marrying, or the one Mr. Darcy is marrying?

“I believe the one Mr. Bingley is marrying.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem right. The elder girl ought to marry first, you know, but Mr. Darcy is first in consequence, there’s no denying that.

He simpered. “And both of them will be marrying before Miss Bingley.”

“Yes, and I daresay it serves her right, for dangling so shamelessly after the same man for all these years.”

“There are some who say the late mistaken rumors were all a plot on the part of Mr. Bingley to force Darcy to marry his sister instead.”

“One wonders, of course—a frightfully bold scheme, it would have been, of course—but it seems Mr. Darcy was simply too attached to his Miss Bennet to fall for it. Bingley has achieved his aim of alliance with that family in any case. It seems almost certain to me that Bingley will marry first; the older sister must marry first, you know.”

“SO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING, MADAM,” suddenly intruded Sir Oswald Pinterninton in a loud voice, leaning quite rudely across the table towards them, “WHAT YOU ARE SAYING is that the Bennet who becomes a Bingley will be a blushing bride before the Bennet who is Darcy’s darling bride, and both the beauteous Bennets will be brides before the Bingley who took Darcy as her darling—this despite the daring by which Bingley blundered brides!”

“Bennet, Bingley, what is it with all these ‘B’s?”

Bingley's Blunder, chapter 3

It occurs to me that I perhaps ought to explain, for the uninitiated, that Matlock is the name which fanfiction has widely bestowed on Darcy's uncle the earl, who is not named in the book. I have always used it because it was convenient.

Chapter 3

“Bingley!” Mr. Darcy strode impatiently through the house, his voice and steps echoing against the high ceilings. “Bingley!”

 

A quiet cough behind him caused him to turn his head. Netherfield’s discreet butler murmured, “Mr. Bingley is at Longbourn today, I believe. He is not expected home for dinner.”

Darcy sighed, torn. He wanted very much to ride to Longbourn, where he could see Elizabeth, but private conversation would be nearly impossible there, and explaining his precipitous return to the Bennets was not something he wanted to do. “I will need a servant to take over a message for me,” he told the man.

“Very good, sir.”

His note was brief and to the point. Bingley—Don’t tell the ladies, but make your excuses as soon as you can and come back to Netherfield. I need to talk to you. —D

About an hour elapsed before a very curious-looking Mr. Bingley made his appearance. “Darcy! What is this about?”

Darcy looked at him over the rim of his wineglass. “I was wondering if you could tell me, Bingley, why it is that half of London currently thinks I’m engaged to be married to your sister?”

“To—Caroline?” A look of astonishment (not unmixed with unholy glee) crossed his face. “Are you serious?”

       

“Unhappily, quite serious.”

“They think you’re engaged to Caroline?” he repeated unsteadily, struggling to hide a burgeoning grin.

“Yes, yes!” said Darcy impatiently. “And apparently you, my friend, are the source of the rumor!”

“What?” All laughter disappeared from his face. “No, no, I assure you! I would never say such a thing!”

“And yet you said something! I spoke with your sister myself, and she assured me that you are credited. So what did you do, Charles? Who did you speak to, and what did you say?”

“Nothing!” He protested. “No one! I was scarcely in town for a day. I saw no one but my sisters and my solicitor—and a business acquaintance or two, but we did not speak of you! Indeed, why should we?”

“You must have spoken to someone, Bingley! There was no rumor of my being engaged at all until you went to town, and immediately afterward this began. Now think, man! Did you speak to anyone at all about my engagement? Some chance acquaintance, perhaps?”

Bingley knit his brows. “Well…” he said slowly, “there were a couple of ladies in the street I greeted. Miss—Lamb? And Mrs. Snitchwood?”

Darcy groaned. “Mrs. Snitchwood is one of the most indiscreet and gossipy women in all London. What did you tell them?”

“Nothing at all, I assure you! Nothing that they could have…” he trailed off slowly, as a look of consternation settled over him. “Oh,” he said at last.

Darcy waited. “Well?”

He shook his head. “Darcy, old man, I’m sorry.” A slow grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Darcy rolled his eyes. “What was it?”

“Well, I—that is to say—“ he fidgeted, amusement fighting with chagrin on his face. “They asked how I was,” he blurted out, “so naturally I told them I was splendid because I was engaged, and then one of them asked me about you and I said that you were engaged too, and that… well, that….”

“Out with it, man!”

“I said we were to be brothers,” he finished sheepishly. Darcy groaned.

“Tell me you clarified that statement!”

“I got distracted! I saw this fellow I have long been wishing to speak to about a horse he has for sale; he was headed in the other direction, so naturally I had to go after him. It never occurred to me that my words would be taken in such a way!”

“Yes, it never occurred, because you didn’t think! You said the first thing that came into your mind, sharing news, I might add, that was not yours to impart, and then ran off the moment something else caught your interest. Bingley, I knew you to be impulsive, but this passes all bounds! You must learn to consider the effect of your actions before you carry them out! Now everyone in town believes me to be engaged to your sister. Even my aunt wrote to inform me of it! Do you realize the mortification this has caused to her—will cause her, when it becomes known that it isn’t true? And what if this comes to Elizabeth’s ears, or her father’s? I know he reads London papers sometimes! Can you imagine their displeasure?” Darcy had stood up and begun to pace around during this speech.

Bingley heard his reproof without resentment. Rather, he hung his head, properly chastised. “It is very bad, I know,” he agreed. “What can I do to set it right?”

“Set it right? I can only pray that I can be set right!” He frowned heavily, lost in thought for some minutes while Bingley watched anxiously. “We must put an announcement in the papers immediately,” he said. “I believe we should announce both of our engagements together, which will, I think, make it clear to most people how the mistake came to be. If necessary, I will speak to the editors of the papers myself. And as for you—” he bent his gaze on his friend, “you will follow me back to town and pay a call immediately on Mrs. Snitchwood and Miss Lamb, and personally explain to them what you meant when you said that you and I are to be brothers.”

Bingley sighed. He was not at all happy to be leaving his dearest Jane again so soon, but in this case he clearly had no choice. “Very well, Darcy. Is there anything else?”

“You must help me in speaking to your sisters. You must impress upon them the necessity of their speaking well of Elizabeth.” They both knew neither woman was naturally inclined to do so. “If we want to avoid scandal it must be made absolutely clear that neither Miss Bingley nor I ever claimed the engagement—that it was a purely mistaken rumor. If it is seen that she is on good terms with my intended—that she bears her no malice, and in fact finds it all quite amusing—that will help tremendously.” He looked seriously at his friend. “I am counting on you for this, Charles. Remind her that it is her own reputation that is at stake as well.”

Charles nodded. “Caroline does not lack for sense. She will do what is necessary, I am sure.”

Darcy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I must away back to London immediately. There is no time to spare in setting this right! You will come tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon, yes. I have a meeting with my steward in the morning.”

“Very well. I will see you then.” Their farewell was as brief as their greeting, and as soon as his horse was rested, Darcy was back in the saddle.

~%~

            Mrs. Hurst was sitting with Miss Bingley when Mr. Darcy was announced the next morning. Caroline seized her sister’s hand and held it tightly for a moment. “Are you sure you can’t make him—?” whispered Mrs. Hurst, but she shook her head emphatically, and shushed her.

            Darcy strode into the room and bowed to both ladies, offering a civil but brief greeting before turning to Miss Bingley. “Madam, I saw your brother yesterday, and have to report to you that you were correct: he was, unwittingly, the source of these false rumors.”

            “But that makes no sense,” protested Mrs. Hurst. “Why would Charles say such a thing?”

            He smiled wryly. “He did not—precisely.” He then proceeded to recount Bingley’s explanation with surprising good humor.

“Oh, how—how very like him!” exclaimed Caroline faintly.

“Indeed. He is truly penitent now, and he intends to return to town later today to support you, and to explain himself to the ladies that began all this. I have just come from visiting the offices of two major daily papers, where I personally spoke with the editors and requested that they announce the true details of my engagement, as well as your brother’s, tomorrow.” Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst both knew how much Mr. Darcy despised associating himself or his name with the papers, so his willingness to do this conveyed just how determined he was to set the rumors right immediately. “I am truly sorry, Miss Bingley,” he said sincerely, “that your name should have become involved with mine in such a manner, and for all the embarrassment I know this must have caused you. But you need not worry.” He rose to his feet. “After tomorrow—or the day after at the latest—no one will ever suspect you of being engaged to me again.”

Miss Bingley looked away.

“My advice to you,” he continued, “is to act like nothing is wrong. Pay and receive visits as always. Talk about it as lightly as possible; laugh about it if you can. And,” he looked rather sternly at both her and Mrs. Hurst, “the more affection you can show when speaking about both Miss Bennets, the better it will be for you. Let the world see that all is well between our families, and they will quickly accept that it was a simple mistake, and that you are in no way to blame for it.”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said with some difficulty. Then as he turned to go, she suddenly stood and called out after him, “Mr. Darcy!”

He paused. “Yes, Miss Bingley?”

“Mr. Darcy, I have—I have forgotten to inquire of you how you left Miss Bennet and her family. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I mean.”

“She was very well the last time I saw her, I thank you.” He turned again.

“Mr. Darcy!”

Again he paused. “Yes?”

“Mr. Darcy…” she bit her lip, then looked at him squarely. “Do you really love her?”

The look Mr. Darcy directed at her was not without understanding, and some sympathy. “I have loved her for a long time,” he said.

“Then—” she took a deep breath, and then let it go. “I wish you both very happy.”

“Thank you, Caroline,” he answered, using her given name for the first and only time. He fitted his hat back on his head, nodded to both ladies, and left.

 

~%~

            Mr. Darcy’s fourth stop of the morning was his uncle’s house. It was his aunt he came primarily to see, of course. His uncle was a mild-mannered, retiring man, the very opposite of his sister, who generally deferred to his wife’s judgment in all things.

Lady Matlock looked up when he was shown in, and extended her hand for him to kiss. “There you are! I have been wondering if you were planning on calling and explaining yourself!”

“My apologies, Aunt. I have been out of town, and my staff failed to forward your note to me. I only received it yesterday.”

She gestured at a chair, and he took it. “I hope you are going to set my mind at ease, Darcy.”

“I hope so too.”

“Don’t be so teasing! Tell me outright: are you going to marry that Bingley woman?”

“I am not.”

She nodded with satisfaction. “And I said as much to that fool woman who tried to assure me it was true. Do you have any idea how the rumor got started? It wasn’t she, was it, in an attempt to force you? All of London knows she’s been dangling after you for the last two years!”

He sighed. His aunt was only so brutally frank in private, but it still sometimes discomposed him a bit. “It was a misunderstanding based on something my friend Bingley said. May I ask you if you have received any recent correspondence from Lady Catherine?”

She looked at him speculatively. “Yes, she’s written, but I haven’t been in the mood for her humors recently, so I haven’t read any of it. Should I?”

“That is for you to decide, but I am grateful for the chance to inform you first of a circumstance that has greatly displeased her.”

“Well, it doesn’t take much to do that usually.”

He paused.

“Out with it!”

“There is a part of that rumor that you should know is true. I am not going to be married to Caroline Bingley, but I am going to be married.”

His aunt’s eyes widened. “Indeed! And when were you going to tell us of this?”

“Today.”

Her eyes gleamed, but she shook her head sternly. “And pray tell, how long have you been engaged?”

“About two weeks, madam. This is my first trip back into town since then, and I thought it better to speak to you in person than to write.”

“Why? You haven’t made an unsuitable alliance, have you, Darcy?”

“I trust you will not think so,” he answered, but so seriously that the anxious look stayed on her face.

“The Darcys have always been proud, and you the proudest of them. Are you going to tell me now that you’ve chosen someone your parents would have disliked?”

“No.” He smiled now. “No, I believe my parents would have liked her very much. Georgiana is delighted with her. Her family, I own, is not what I would have chosen, had I chosen her for her family, but she is a gentleman’s daughter, and a true lady herself. And I did not choose her for her family,” he told her firmly.

“Why did you choose her then?” she asked, watching his face closely.

He looked her in the eye. “I chose her because I love her.”

“Well that’s something, anyway. But are you sure you haven’t entangled yourself with a girl who is unfit for the sphere you function in? Who is she? Do I know her? It isn’t that Marlburg woman, is it?” 

“Certainly not.”

“Or Eleanor Jurbish? Or Alice Simmons?”

He shook his head impatiently. “None of them,” he said with dismissive contempt. “The woman I am to marry is completely unknown to London society, though you may perhaps have heard her name.”

As he was speaking, a voice and a quick step had been heard in the hall; the door opened; Colonel Fitzwilliam entered. “Good morning to you, Mother!” he said cheerfully. “Darcy, old fellow! I thought you were in the country!”

“I was,” said Darcy, rising to give him his hand.

“Richard, you have interrupted at quite the wrong time!” his mother said.

“Why, is Darcy telling you secrets?”

“Not with you here.”

“Oh, in that case—!” he turned toward the door. Darcy spoke.

“No, stay, Fitzwilliam! I am telling news, but no secrets.”

“News? What kind of news?”

“Your cousin says he’s getting married!”

“Getting married!” Fitzwilliam turned astonished eyes on him. “You?”

“I, cousin!” Darcy smiled. “In fact,” he added deliberately, “you know the lady.”

Fitzwilliam laughed. “I know a lot of ladies, Darcy! Does my mother know her too?”

“No, not yet. It is not anyone in London,” he added. His eyes looked steadily at the colonel’s as the older man searched his mind in vain.

“A lady I know, not in London? Why must you make me guess, Darcy?”

“Because I am curious to see if you will.”

The colonel furrowed his brow. “Have we been in company with this lady together?”

“Yes, we have. On numerous occasions, in fact.”

“But I haven’t even seen much of you since—” Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened suddenly. Darcy’s even gaze did not falter. “Why, you sly dog!” he cried. “Is that why you were so silent and stupid the whole time, and glowered at me whenever I talked of her? You should have told me to keep my hands off of her!”

“If I had had the slightest real concern that you would—er—put your hands on her,” replied Darcy calmly, leaning back in his chair, “then I assure you I would have.”

“So instead you sat by and let me flirt with the woman you were in love with!”

“Well you did have your uses, you know. You got her to talk, which was more than I could do then.”

“But who is it?” cried her ladyship. “I demand to know at once whom you are speaking of!” Darcy just looked at the colonel, his brows raised slightly.

The colonel turned to his mother. “Well, ma’am, unless I am very much mistaken—and if I am I’m about to put my foot in it—our Darcy’s engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Darcy smiled his approbation, and Fitzwilliam exclaimed, “There! Upon my word, I congratulate you, cousin! She will make you a delightful wife.”

“Thank you.” A spot of color rose in each cheek.

His aunt was frowning. “Elizabeth Bennet? I have heard the name, but I do not immediately remember where.”

“It was from me. I met her when Darcy and I stayed at Rosings over Easter. Her cousin is Aunt Catherine’s vicar, and she was visiting at the parsonage. We saw a great deal of her.”

“And did Catherine approve of her?”

Darcy answered her. “At the time, I believe she liked her quite well, although Elizabeth did express more opinions than she was accustomed to.” A smile flickered around his mouth.

“But I don’t understand,” said Fitzwilliam. “When did this happen?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“But—you’ve been in love with her since the spring?”

“Longer, actually.” Darcy got up and poured himself a drink, fighting rare self-conscious shyness. “I first fell in love with her in Hertfordshire last autumn.” He turned his eyes to his astonished aunt. “So you may rest assured, Aunt, that this is not hastily done on my part.”

“But if you’ve known your own desires so long, then why weren’t you married months ago? What took you so long?”

Darcy stared at the liquid in his glass and did not immediately reply. It was Lady Matlock who eventually broke the silence. “You don’t mean to say she wouldn’t have you?”

“No, madam,” he replied in a level voice, “she wouldn’t.” Then he smiled. “Until now.”

“Well!” She subsided into thoughtful silence.

Fitzwilliam was shaking his head. “Now I know what to make of your black moods! You were thwarted in love, by Jove! I can only hope your present happiness makes up for your unhappiness then!”

Darcy sighed and smiled even more. Aunt and cousin exchanged an amused look. “More than sufficiently. I am indeed the happiest of men,” he acknowledged.

“But who is she?” asked Lady Matlock. “Who is her family?”

“Her father, Mr. Bennet, is a gentleman. He owns a modest estate outside of Meryton, called Longbourn. I believe it has been in the family for several generations. It is unfortunately entailed, and since he and Mrs. Bennet have no sons, it will devolve, upon his death, to that same Mr. Collins, Elizabeth’s cousin whom she was staying with in Hunsford. Her elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet, is to marry my good friend, Mr. Charles Bingley.” He looked at the countess gravely. “She has no fortune, and no connections to speak of—which did prevent me from initially forming any serious designs on her. I became convinced in time, though, that she herself more than makes up for any drawbacks of that kind, and remain even more convinced of it now. And since she was by no means eager to receive my attentions, you may acquit her of fortune hunting.”

He put his glass down and stood up. “Since I am sure whatever I might say in Miss Bennet’s praise will be immediately considered suspect, I will instead leave that for my cousin. You will,” he said, smiling, “do her justice, I know, Richard. Madam, I must bid you good day.” He bent over his aunt’s hand.

“Will I like her, Darcy?” she asked.

“I think you will. But—” he picked up his hat and gloves. “I am going to marry her regardless.”

That made her laugh. “Good! You always were entirely too sure of yourself for such a young man, but this is one thing a man should be sure about.”

“Thank you, Aunt.” He paused at the door. “My Aunt Catherine is very angry. I wish you would not credit whatever she may say about Elizabeth.”

“No, no, I shall wait and judge for myself.” He thanked her again, made his last goodbyes, and left.

“Well!” she exclaimed, looking at her son’s twinkling eyes. “What kind of woman is she, Richard?”

“A charming one, I assure you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that! You don’t suppose a man like Darcy would fall in love with a woman who wasn’t exceptionally charming? But what is she like? What of her temperament, her manners, her appearance?”

He reflected. “She’s pretty, though not extraordinarily so. She has a great deal of spirit and vivacity that increases her prettiness whenever she’s talking—and she talks very well, with wit and clever opinions on everything—the kind that amuse but don’t offend,” he added. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed conversing with a woman more. She never showed the slightest sign of being intimidated by Lady Catherine, and Darcy’s right, I can’t recall that she ever paid much attention to him at all. When they did speak, she teased him amazingly. I remember being quite surprised at it.”

“Many women try to tease Darcy.”

“Not like this. She wasn’t teasing to get a compliment from him. She was—well, frankly, looking back, she was making veiled insults, I suppose, but delivered with such a sweet archness of manner that it’s not surprising he wasn’t offended. On the contrary, I think he liked it.”

“And did you have no suspicion of his being attached to her?”

“I thought he admired her. He certainly looked at her enough. But as for his trying to attach her—I never saw any evidence of it. He spoke less than I’ve ever seen him do in my life—in small groups, I mean. I assumed her lack of connection prevented him from acting on whatever attraction he felt.”

Her ladyship gave a very unladylike snort. “It would be just like Darcy to make up his mind to marry a woman without bothering to pay her any attentions, and then be astonished when she didn’t immediately accept him. He has had far too much of his own way for most of his life.” Then, as Fitzwilliam burst out laughing, she asked, “Well? What is it?”

“Oh, just that I remember Miss Bennet saying something very like that once.”

“About Darcy?”

“About Darcy.”

“Well! Perhaps she has some sense, then. Darcy has plenty enough money, and pride, and good connections. It won’t hurt him to marry a little beneath him, if he can get himself a wife who’ll teach him not to take himself so seriously, and to laugh a bit more.”

“Miss Bennet laughs a great deal, I promise you.”

“So much the better. Now where is that letter from Catherine? She must be absolutely mortified to find out that Darcy prefers a country nobody to her daughter! It will be vastly entertaining.”