That seemed at once to command her father’s full attention.
“At present, I am certain I ought to remain at Longbourn,” she continued softly, “but I believe I require instruction in understanding the world more clearly than I have thus far. I have gone through life believing it enough merely to be quiet and agreeable—that serenity and good intentions alone would see me safely through every difficulty.”
A faint flush rose in her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue.
“Yet I am beginning to realise that something essential has been lacking in me. I have not always seen people as clearly as I ought, nor spoken when perhaps I should have done.”
Mr Bennet studied her thoughtfully for a moment before replying. “Only a few days ago, your mother was triumphantly declaring that Mr Bingley’s return to Netherfield meant you would be married within the month.”
Jane lowered her eyes briefly before giving a small shake of herhead.
“That seems exceedingly unlikely, considering we do not even know with certainty that he truly intends to return,” she replied. “And even if he does, I have not heard from him in many months. No, Papa, I sincerely doubt anything will occur between Mr Bingley and myself so quickly… and I am no longer certain that anything shall occur at all.”
Sunday, 20 September 1812
Jane was surprised to see Mr Bingley at church the following morning. He entered only a few minutes before the service began, leaving little opportunity for him to greet anyone properly. As he took his place in the Netherfield pew, he looked in her direction and acknowledged her with a nod and a warm smile.
For a moment, Jane’s attention faltered. It had been many months since she had seen him, and she would have been less than honest with herself had she pretended his presence meant nothing. Still, she soon lowered her eyes to her prayer book and made an effort to attend to Mr Allen’s sermon.
It was not always a successful effort. Her thoughts strayed more than once towards the opposite pew, though she could see very little of him, hemmed in as she was by the high panels of the Bennets’ pew and the congregation seated in their accustomed places. Now and then, when they stood for a hymn or a response, she caught a glimpse of his fair hair or the turn of his shoulder, but she did not allow herself to look long.
Church was not the place for speculation, and she had spent too many months already wondering what Mr Bingley might feel, think, or intend. Whatever his reasons for returning to Meryton, they were not hers to invent. He might have come because it was expected of him as the master of Netherfield, however temporary that claim might be. He might have wished merely to show himself in the neighbourhood again. Or he might have had some other purpose entirely.
Jane could not know, and she was determined not to build hopes out of uncertainty.
As she had said to both her parents, there was no guarantee that Mr Bingley would seek her out again. She would greet him as an acquaintance—one whom she would be pleased to see and willing to know better—but she would not regard him as a suitor unless he chose to make himself one.
The thought steadied her. She turned her attention back to the prayer book in her hands, and though her mind was not perfectly fixed upon the words before her, it was at least no longer entirely occupied by Mr Bingley.
To Jane’s surprise—and no little relief—her mother remained perfectly composed when she greeted Mr Bingley after the service.
“We are delighted you have come back to Netherfield, sir,” Mrs Bennet said, with more calm than Jane had dared to expect. “Your friend Mr Darcy was lately here and married my daughter Elizabeth. Did you know?”
“Yes, Mrs Bennet. Darcy wrote to me himself and informed me of his marriage to the former Miss Elizabeth.” Mr Bingley’s expression sobered a little. “He also apologised for not being able to invite me, or even to disclose his plans while we were together at Pemberley last month. I understand now that much of his silence had to do with my sister and her conduct towards the new Mrs Darcy.”
Jane’s eyes lifted to his face before she could stop them.
Mr Bingley hesitated only a moment before continuing. “I have come to understand that I have much to apologise for where my sister is concerned. Ordinarily, I would say that one person ought not to answer for the behaviour of another; but in my sister’s case, my fault lay in permitting her to act as she did and not censuring her sooner.”
Jane was surprised by such a declaration, and more moved by it than she wished to appear. She wondered what, precisely, he had learnt, and from whom. She wondered if Darcy had written to him of the letters Carolinehad sent her, and also, wondered if by some chance he had come upon the letter she had written in response.
Yet before anything more could be said, her father joined them, followed almost at once by several others from the neighbourhood who wished to greet Netherfield’s former—and apparently present—occupant.
Although Jane said little, she heard enough to gather that Mr Bingley intended to remain in the area for some time, at least until spring, and that neither of his sisters would be joining him. Mr and Mrs Hurst, it seemed, were staying for a time at that gentleman’s family’s estate, while Miss Bingley had remained in Scarborough, ostensibly with relations, but something in the way he said it implied that, perhaps, her stay was not entirely her choice.
Jane wished she might ask more. She wished to understand what had prompted his apology, what part Miss Bingley had played in all that had passed—and why he had returned at all. But a churchyard conversation, surrounded by neighbours and family, offered no opportunity for such questions.
“You are always welcome at Longbourn, sir,” Mrs Bennet said, still with remarkable civility, as Mr Bennet indicated that it was time to depart. “Especially as you have no family with you to keep you company. With Lizzy married, Mary gone to Pemberley to stay with Miss Darcy, Kitty in London with our relations, and Lydia gone away to school, we are a much quieter household than we were.”
Glancing quickly at her mother, Jane almost suspected that some impropriety must follow so promising a beginning. But Mrs Bennet merely smiled and added, “Mr Bennet and I should be happy to see you whenever you find yourself inclined to call. You did promise to take a meal with us when you returned from London all those months ago, and we would still be delighted to host you.”
Although Jane thought she discerned the slightest hint of red about the gentleman’s ears, Mr Bingley’s smile broadened a little, and his eyes shifted briefly to hers before he answered. His acceptance, though somewhat halting, seemed sincere.
“That… that would be delightful, Mrs Bennet,” he said. “Perhaps Wednesday?”
Mrs Bennet agreed to the plan, and with only a few more words exchanged, the Bennets took their leave.
That, Jane thought, was as near to restraint as her mother was ever likely to come, and she did appreciate the effort made on her behalf. She was surprised, too, by how easily her mother had adjusted to this more sedate manner of matchmaking. Oh, she was not so oblivious as to suppose that her mother had surrendered all hopes of seeing her married to Mr Bingley, but at least those hopes were now expressed with less noise and fewer mortifying declarations.
