This seemed to disappoint those who had hoped for some hint of scandal, but Bingley could not oblige them. It occurred to him, as he returned to Netherfield that evening, that he had not heard from Darcy since the letter telling him what his sister had done. Then, with no small degree of mortification, he realised that Darcy’s silence might very well be owing to his own. He had never answered that shocking letter at all.
He had read it again and again, hardly knowing what to think, and then, like a coward, had set it aside until he might compose a proper reply. Only he never had composed one.
It took him some time to write the letter offering his friend both congratulations and apologies. When it was finished—after considerable effort to ensure it was legible, for he did not think such a task should be trusted to his secretary—he began to address it, then hesitated.
Perhaps he ought first to enquire of the Bennets where the Darcys might be. It was possible they were not at Pemberley at all, but had gone elsewhere on a wedding trip. Darcy was not a man much given to idleness, but surely even he might be persuaded into a few days of agreeable uselessness with a new wife.
It was with this thought in mind that Bingley was shown into the drawing room at Longbourn. Although he had heard that Miss Bennet was the only sister still at home, he was still surprised to enter the room and find only that lady and her parents present. He could not have explained the reason for his surprise, except that Longbourn had always seemed, in his recollection, to contain rather more voices, moremovement, and more opinions than any one room could comfortably hold. Now it was almost quiet.
He was likewise surprised to discover that he was pleased by it.
“Good evening,” he said as he entered the room, bowing first to Mrs Bennet and then to Miss Bennet. “I hope I do not find you all fatigued by my intrusion.”
“Not at all, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet said, in a far more sedate manner than he had expected. “We are very pleased to have you join us this evening, even if there are so few of us still here at Longbourn. I confess that I miss all my daughters, and I was, at first, quite put out that your friend insisted that my dear Lydia go away to school.”
Here Mrs Bennet’s composure faltered just enough to reveal the woman Bingley remembered.
“And I am sure he is quite right, for she is still very young, and a year or two of proper education can only improve her. Indeed, once she has had the advantage of good masters and a little polish, I do not see why she should not marry exceedingly well. A peer, perhaps. A duke even, if she sets her mind to it. It is possible she will marry the best of any of my daughters.”
Bingley blinked, uncertain whether such an ambition was more alarming for its grandeur or for the perfect seriousness with which it was delivered.
Still, Mrs Bennet scarcely allowed him a word before she was off again, asking what he had been doing since he was last in Meryton, yet giving him so little opportunity to reply that he could do little more than smile and attempt the occasional answer.
When the meal was finally announced, they all stood. Mr Bennet offered his arm to his wife, leaving Bingley to offer his to Miss Bennet.
“How are you this evening, Miss Bennet?” Bingley asked quietly.
“I am well, sir,” she replied, looking more at the ground than at him. But after a moment, she raised her head and looked at him directly. “Iam glad to see you returned to Hertfordshire, Mr Bingley. I hope Netherfield proves as agreeable to you as it once seemed. It is a shame your friend has already left the area.”
Bingley felt the words more than he thought she intended. There was no reproach in her tone, no bitterness in her expression, and yet he could not help remembering how easily he had quitted the neighbourhood before, and how he had given no explanation. Nor could he forget the letter he had written only the day before, or the shameful necessity that had prompted it, for it had forced him to consider, at last, what his sister’s letters must have been to the lady beside him.
“I am pleased to have returned,” he said, lowering his voice. “Indeed, I have every reason to believe my stay here may be more agreeable than ever, if I am permitted to remain long enough to make amends for my past neglect and lack of gentlemanly behaviour.”
Her eyes flickered to his. “Your past neglect? Ungentlemanly behaviour? That is a severe judgement upon yourself, Mr Bingley. How have you come to it?”
“I fear I was not so attentive to my neighbours as I ought to have been before I left last autumn. Nor did I censure my sister when I ought to have done so.” Bingley looked around, realising that they had been left alone and would likely soon be missed in so small a company.
Still, he wished to take advantage of their time alone. Stopping their progress towards the dining room, he turned and spoke earnestly. “Forgive me, for I have come to understand that my failure to do so was another mark against me, and that my sister has injured you.”
Miss Bennet looked away briefly, then back at him. “Your sister’s letters were not easy to receive, and your silence and continued absence made her easier to believe. But I do not say so to reproach you. I only think it better that we not pretend there was no hurt at all.”
It was so gently said that another man might have missed the implied rebuke entirely. Bingley did not.
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly beneath hers. “Miss Bennet?—”
“Please,” she said softly, with a small but determined smile. “I would not have you feel any obligation on my account. Your sister’s letters were quite clear, and I understood them as they were meant to be understood. I would be very glad to receive you as a neighbour and old friend, but I expect nothing more.”
Bingley looked down at her, wishing desperately that he might deny it, explain it, or undo it. Yet he could do none of those things in the few steps between the drawing room and the dining room, and perhaps he had forfeited the right to attempt any of them so quickly.
“I am sorry,” he said at last. “More sorry than I can properly express at this moment for the hurt I allowed to happen.”
Miss Bennet’s expression softened, but she did not look away from him. “I believe you. And I thank you for saying so.”
The words were kindly spoken, and for that very reason, they struck him all the more. She was not angry. She was not cold. She was merely determined to leave the matter where it stood, and Bingley found that he liked that less than he would have liked her anger.
“Then I must hope,” he said quietly, “that I may prove worthy of your friendship one day.”
They had nearly reached the dining room by then, and whatever else might have been said had to be set aside. Mrs Bennet turned at the door and cried, “Jane, my dear, do come along. Mr Bingley must be half-starved by now.”
