Bingley's expression grew thoughtful. "Perhaps they soon shall."
She looked up. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated only briefly. "Miss Bennet, I think it best that I speak to your father myself. He ought to hear exactly whatoccurred this afternoon before the story reaches Longbourn by less reliable means."
Jane regarded him for a moment before giving a grateful nod. "Thank you."
Neither spoke again until the carriage turned beneath the familiar trees at Longbourn. Before the horses had fully drawn to a halt, Hill had already appeared in the doorway, alerted by the sound of wheels upon the gravel.
Bingley descended first and offered Jane his hand. Seeing the concern upon both their faces, Hill's welcoming smile faltered.
"Mr Bennet is in his book room, sir," she said. "Shall I let him know you have arrived?"
Bingley glanced towards Jane. "If you please. I believe we have something of importance to tell him."
???
Mr Bennet listened throughout without interruption. His face revealed very little, save that once or twice his fingers tapped thoughtfully against the arm of his chair. When Bingley had repeated the conversation almost word for word, silence settled over the book room.
At length Mr Bennet looked up. "You do not believe a word of it, Mr Bingley?"
Bingley answered without hesitation. "Not in the sense my sister intended it, sir. I know Darcy. Whatever Polly saw that evening, I would answer for it that he behaved as a gentleman should."
Mr Bennet regarded him for a moment before giving a slow nod. "That is rather what I suspected."
He rose and wandered towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "The Frosts told me it was Mr Darcy who found Lizzy after the flood. They spoke of his kindness with considerable warmth." He was quiet for a moment. "Now, scarcely a week later, I find the same gentleman once again attached to my daughter's name."
He turned back to face them both. "I have lived for many years, Mr Bingley, and I have discovered that coincidences are remarkably uncommon."
Jane looked up anxiously. "Papa?"
He smiled at her, though it was a thoughtful smile rather than an amused one. "I do not believe the gossip, my dear. Indeed, I suspect the truth is infinitely more respectable than Miss Bingley—or any of our neighbours—imagines." He paused. "But I also suspect there is a good deal I do not know."
Jane lowered her eyes. "Lizzy has written very little about the journey and the troubles she faced."
"Precisely. Your sister generally fills four pages where half of one would suffice. If her letter says very little, it is because she has chosen to say very little. Lizzy does not conceal things without a reason."
He reached for the bell. "And I have no intention of discovering that reason through the drawing rooms of Meryton."
Chapter Twenty-One
Calling at Gracechurch Street had become so regular a part of Darcy's day that even Burke no longer thought it worth remarking upon. Indeed, the only subject upon which his valet now ventured an opinion was the extraordinary speed with which his master concluded the business of the morning.
"I have never known correspondence answered so quickly, sir," he observed whilst helping Darcy into his coat. "It is astonishing how much efficiency courtship appears to inspire."
Darcy had merely given him a look which suggested the conversation was over.
This afternoon promised to be no different from any other. Tomorrow, he intended to leave for Longbourn to ask Mr Bennet's permission to pay his addresses to Elizabeth in the proper manner, and he had spent a very uncomfortable part of the morning imagining every possible way in which the interview might end badly.
Elizabeth, naturally, had found this exceedingly entertaining. "You have faced angry landowners, impossible tenants and Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she had said. "Yet Papa is the one person who truly alarms you."
"He is the one person," Darcy replied gravely, "who possesses the power to send me away from you."
She had smiled sweetly at him then and he felt he could overcome anything, even Mr Bennet’s ire with her by his side. Outside, the younger children had persuaded Colonel Fitzwilliam that the garden was infested with pirates and required immediate military assistance. His loud protests that no sensible officer ought to undertake such an expedition without first taking refreshments drifted through the open window, followed by Lucy's emphatic declaration that pirates never stopped for cake.
Mrs Gardiner looked up from her sewing as another victorious shout rang out from the garden.
"I rather think the colonel has indulged my children once too often," she observed. "He is now reaping the consequences."
