“If the man is willing to provide for and respect her,” I continued, “and if Miss Bingley believes her happiness will be better served as mistress of her own home, I would advise her to marry.”
Miss Caroline was swift to second my approval, and Miss Bingley shot her younger sister in law a smug look of triumph.
Elizabeth Bingley’s eyes were astonishing things. If a man could suffer blistering burns from a mere look, I should have spent months in bandages, for she fixed me with such displeasure and contempt that I felt my skin heating. Perhaps it was only a blush, the sort I had not endured since boyhood, but I was entirely uneasy in her presence. I had come to condole, but instead, I had made an enemy.
Bingley pressed me to stay for tea, claiming my company was a soothing balm for the grieving family, but the very air in the room belied that statement. I declined his invitation, on some lame excuse or other, and offered my sympathies once more.
Elizabeth Bingley said not another word to me, but mercifully, she left off glaring at me. I took my hat and beat a hasty retreat. I did not look forward to keeping up the acquaintance.
Three
Fitzwilliam has his uses,but if he ever suspects how often I have purposely disagreed with him to effect the outcome I desired, he will not receive the knowledge happily.
So, at last, I was relieved of one sister in law. I knew and understood Andrew’s reasons for refusing the match with Hurst, and for myself, I could not but agree. The man was all but intolerable. However, Louisa had no desire for felicity in marriage. Just the marriage part suited her, and I knew this from the moment I met her.
Therefore, when she decided to use the occasion of Andrew’s death to further her ends, I held my line firmly. Had I agreed to her desire without a fight, she surely would have found the confrontation less appealing and might have even cried off the engagement. As it was, I would still have to live with her for at least six more months, and I felt it would be more comfortable for all if she sensed that she had carried a victory over me.
The next time I had words with Fitzwilliam was at Louisa’s wedding, on the first Tuesday in September. Charles, the dear fellow, was quite lost after being thrust into his new place in life,and as I understand it, he had joined Fitzwilliam’s club for the express purpose of following him like an abandoned pup.
No, that is not charitable. I did encourage my brother in law to seek Mr. Darcy’s company and guidance, and his sisters, for once, agreed with me. I think Charles was delighted, for he had few sources of male guidance, and Mr. Darcy was, if nothing else, quite accomplished at managing things. I suppose Charles could have done far worse, for at least the man was well disposed towards Charles, for his brother’s sake. They were in company several times a week. Anyway, the result was that by the time Louisa marched down the aisle, Fitzwilliam Darcy had been pressed into accepting an invitation to the wedding.
It was more than an invitation, I discovered. Charles, who thinks that everyone whose company he enjoys must also like each other passably well, had asked Fitzwilliam to escort Caroline and me to our seats while he was occupied with Louisa. Caroline was greatly in favor of this scheme. I was less so, and Fitzwilliam even less than that.
He did approach me later during the wedding breakfast, and I waited for whatever shocking thing he might have to say. “Mrs. Bingley, I fear we may have begun our acquaintance on the wrong foot. May I extend an olive branch?”
He offered me a glass of wedding punch, and I believe this was the first time I had allowed him to be quite pleasant to look upon. “Very kind of you, sir,” I said as I accepted.
He stood in awkward silence for a while, and I have since learned that is usually his way around people he does not know well. He is woefully inept at forming acquaintances, and I often wonder how he managed so long without me.
“I fear I have done little to recommend myself, Mrs. Bingley,” he announced abruptly.
I choked a little on my drink. We had, after all, been standing in silence together for more than five minutes when he deigned to speak. “Sorry?”
He frowned and examined his glass. “I never properly expressed my condolences on the loss of your husband.”
“Ah. And I expect you did not find me properly bereft at his passing,” I guessed.
Fitzwilliam squirmed—he does that, though he will swear to the moon and stars that he does not. “Far be it from me to judge the sentiments of another.”
“Oh, I do not believe you for an instant,” I replied, rather pertly. “It is in all your looks, how ill my behavior sat with you that day, and you do not strike me as a man to brush off something you perceive as an insult to your friend’s memory. If it brings you comfort, I did sincerely mourn my husband, but your rather untimely arrival caught me at an awkward moment.”
“Let it be forgotten. Charles has taken care to inform me that he holds you in the highest esteem, and though he is a brash fellow who judges in haste and seldom repents of his mistakes, I believe his assessment of you may be based on fact rather than fantasy.”
I laughed. “On what do you base that, Mr. Darcy?”
He swirled his glass and did not look me in the eye. “On the circumstances of your marriage and the good that is reported of you during those months.”
I remember sighing as I looked out at the merry wedding party. No such felicitations had marked my wedding to Andrew. No… felicitations… at all, in fact, as he had been too ill to remain on his feet after the ceremony, and he spent most of his remaining months in his sick bed. “You must have heard how it came about, then. My husband was... quite generous to my uncle.”
“You do yourself too little credit, Mrs. Bingley. Andrew knew his years were numbered—though I do believe he thought it was to be years rather than months, and he desired a capable, intelligent wife to manage his affairs. I understand he chose well.”
“Rubbish. He chose the first woman desperate enough to accept a dying man.”
Fitzwilliam has this peculiar smile that he takes great care to disguise as a frown, and he bestowed it on me then. “There, you are mistaken. I know for a fact that there were other... options. One of them turned out to be alreadyenceinte, while another was exposed as a fortune hunter whose father was deeply in debt.”
“Ah! Then I stand corrected, for it seems I won out over a highly eligible field. How marvelous for me!”
“I only meant to illustrate that he was as discerning as he had leisure to be,” Fitzwilliam answered stiffly.
