Page 28 of Miss Bingley’s Return

“As I said,” murmured Mr. Harrington, “delightfully direct. No, Miss Elizabeth, I do not subscribe to it—I much prefer a woman with whom I can converse and not find myself bored to tears.”

“And you do not get this often?” teased Elizabeth.

“Much less than you might think.”

The call to dinner came at that moment, which was when the spectacle began. The moment the housekeeper entered, the tantalizing scents of dinner following her, Miss Bingley turned, her face alight with a calculated sort of pleasure, and addressed the room.

“Tonight we shall not stand on ceremony. Let us proceed to the dining-room in whatever fashion is pleasing.”

Then, contradicting her own words, she turned to Jane. “Of course, you must enter with Charles. It is so wonderful to see you together.”

Jane, composed and gracious, accepted Mr. Bingley’s arm and allowed him to direct her to the dining-room. Though Miss Bingley watched them go with apparent pleasure, she was less satisfied when Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth and offered his arm.

“Shall you dine with me, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, laying her hand lightly on his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”

Darcy glanced around the dining-room, noting those present, their interactions, the subtle glances that told the story of the evening. Or perhaps told part of the story, Darcy supposed. In one way, Miss Bingley’s machinations had succeeded—those with whom she surrounded herself appeared to have accepted Miss Bennet’s place by Bingley’s side, and Darcy had even heard some talk of an engagement. Whether she was as successful with the principals was less certain.

Bingley, Darcy had noted, was as genial as ever, speaking with Miss Bennet, showing the animation that was so visible a part of his character. When Miss Bingley had forced them together, Bingley had not refused to offer his arm to Miss Bennet, and Darcy supposed his sister had given him little choice. Knowing Bingley as well as he did, Darcy had seen the slight tightening around his mouth, the narrowed eyes, the almost imperceptible glance at Miss Bennet. Were Darcy to guess, he thought his friend had been asking for permission.

It was uncertain how much of this Miss Bingley saw, whether she knew her stratagems hung on a knife’s edge. Bingley could go either way, or so Darcy judged, though what the other direction was he was uncertain. Darcy knew that Miss Bingley was not blind—she was a perceptive woman, for all that she did not always give the appearance of it. For one so adept, however, she displayed a shocking tendency to believe what she wanted to believe. What he could not decide was what she believed at that moment.

One point Darcy had noticed was her distraction, which had led her to discount the other danger she had not yet seen, though to call it danger was to overstep the mark. Whether through confidence or because she had not yet seen it, Darcy’s interactions with Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire had been of less consequence than they were now, but had provoked greater asperity. Darcy was uncertain, but he suspected that if she had any notion that her chosen conquest was slipping away, she would focus much of her attention on Darcy and allow Bingley to do as he would.

Laughter at the end of the table caught Darcy’s attention, drawing his eyes back to Bingley and Miss Bennet. Bingley was grinning; no doubt the witticism had been his, while Miss Bennet’s eyes were shining, though in some way he could not quite define, she was not committing herself. A glance at the other end of the table showed that Miss Bingley was pleased with herself, as if one laugh was tantamount to an engagement.

When Darcy turned back to look at his friend, he caught sight of Miss Elizabeth, watching him with some speculation. The notion occurred to him that he might learn something of Miss Bennet’s thoughts, but before he could speak, Miss Elizabeth addressed him.

“I must say that London is interesting, Mr. Darcy.”

Tucking his previous thought away for future reference, Darcy allowed his curiosity to show. “In what way, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Because being here seems to complicate matters that were far simpler in Hertfordshire.”

Darcy considered this, sipping from his soup bowl. “Perhaps you are correct, but I will say that simplicity is not always clarity.”

“Oh?” asked she in a tone that suggested a wealth of meaning.

“What may be straightforward in one setting may be incomplete in another.”

The intelligence shining from her eyes told Darcy that she had not misunderstood his implication. “Yes, I must agree, Mr. Darcy. In this instance, it seems that there were matters afoot in London of which we knew nothing.”

“That appears to be the case, though I will stress that I remain unaware of the exact nature of those matters to this day.”

Miss Elizabeth offered him an agreeable nod, then turned back to her soup. A glance around the table showed the diners were engrossed in their food and their conversation, the murmur of voices and clinking spoons making a quiet conversation as good as private. Miss Bingley was ostensibly speaking with the man by her side, though her frequent glances at Bingley and Miss Bennet—and even at Darcy and Miss Elizabeth—suggested she was not interested in what he had to say. She was far enough away that she could not overhear, so Darcy felt secure enough to speak openly.

“I presume you have understood Miss Bingley’s intentions this evening.”

Miss Elizabeth smiled and sipped her water. “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I have understood them.”

“What do you think of her chances of success?”

“Lessening by the day, I should say,” replied she.

Curious, Darcy asked: “Has something happened of which I am not aware?”

Miss Elizabeth shrugged. “I believe you are aware of the salient points. The last event of note was seeing Mr. Bingley in Hyde Park with an unknown lady.” She fixed him with a pointed look. “Are you still unwilling to say what you know of her?”