Page 39 of Miss Bingley’s Return

“It does no good to exasperate yourself for your sister’s behavior,” said Aunt Gardiner, noticing Elizabeth’s shaken head.

“No, it does not,” agreed Elizabeth. “That does not mean her behavior is any less objectionable.”

Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “Come, girls, let us prepare for this afternoon’s entertainment.”

Elizabeth scowled at her aunt, though it was ruined by her amusement. “You call it entertainment, but I wonder how much will be at my expense, considering Mrs. Abernathy will be present.”

Offering a delighted laugh, Mrs. Gardiner chivvied her from the room. “Trust me, Lizzy—Mrs. Abernathy will make a few choice comments attempting to induce you to regret your obstinacy, then she will turn to other matters that have become more important to her.”

Later, Elizabeth reflected that she should have known her aunt spoke the truth. The gathering was tea at the residence of an acquaintance, so there would be no Mr. Bingley, no Miss Bingley, and especially no Mr. Darcy at this event. If asked, Elizabeth would have said that she appreciated the distance. The wish for a few days free from Miss Bingley’s company was self-explanatory, but though she was growing to esteem Mr. Darcy, a few days’ absence allowed her more time to think, and she did not neglect them.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” said Mrs. Abernathy when she caught sight of Elizabeth. “And your dear sister, of course. I had heard that you were back in London.”

“We are visiting our aunt,” said Jane.

“And enjoying the benefits of the season with friends,” added Elizabeth.

Mrs. Abernathy sniffed with disdain. “Yes, I can see that.”

The woman looked down her nose at Elizabeth. “If you have time, I shall tell you of my nephew’s conquest—we have every expectation of a forthcoming engagement.”

The way Mrs. Gardiner’s expressive gaze fell on Elizabeth, the urge to laugh was nigh impossible to resist. From what her aunt had told her, any news of an imminent engagement was likely wishful thinking at best, though Elizabeth would not say such a thing to a woman of Mrs. Abernathy’s character. Instead, she did what she could to end any such conversation.

“Please give him my felicitations and hopes for his future happiness.”

Mrs. Abernathy regarded her as if trying to detect falsehood. When she saw nothing of it, she sniffed and nodded. “I shall.”

That was the end of any conversation with the meddlesome woman, and for that Elizabeth was grateful. However, she soon discovered that another was present, and she realized her aunt had known of it in advance.

“Jane, Lizzy,” said she, drawing another behind her, “please allow me to introduce you to my acquaintance.”

Turning, she presented the young woman. “This is Miss Clara Whitcombe. Miss Whitcombe, these are my nieces, Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Though Elizabeth was shocked, she allowed no hint of this to appear on her features, and Jane was stoic. Miss Whitcombe curtseyed, and when she rose, Elizabeth got her first look at the woman Miss Bingley had brought Jane to London to supplant.

As Mrs. Gardiner had said, Miss Whitcombe was pleasant, pretty in an understated way, though not striking in any feature Elizabeth could detect. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her opinions offered with no hint of insistence or embarrassment. In Elizabeth’s opinion, she was a pleasant, unassuming, estimable young lady.

“You are visiting for the season?” asked she after they exchanged the usual pleasantries.

“Yes,” said Jane. “Our father’s estate is in Hertfordshire—we often visit our aunt and uncle for a few months.”

Miss Whitcombe nodded. “My father purchased an estate in Essex, but I lived most of my life in London. We return for the season, but we spend the winters at his estate.”

The conversation proceeded much as Elizabeth had expected. Miss Whitcombe carried herself with a quiet confidence, listened well, and spoke easily and without affectation—nothing she did indicated a dependence on others’ approval. Her manners were pleasant, though not polished to perfection like Miss Bingley would demand, but natural and sincere. There was nothing in her that invited criticism—only the absence of the refinement that Miss Bingley prized above all else.

The alteration of their discourse came as a result of Mrs. Abernathy’s insistence that she have her share of the conversation. The woman was as loud as Mrs. Bennet, and almost as reserved, which was to say not at all. They had been engaged in conversation for some few moments, when the voice of the matron interrupted them.

“Miss Whitcombe, how are you getting on of late? Did you visit the modiste as I suggested?”

Though she gave no sign of it, her response suggested to the observant onlooker that Miss Whitcombe had ample experience with Mrs. Abernathy and knew how to handle her.

“Not yet, Mrs. Abernathy, though I plan to soon.”

“That is excellent, my dear. Now that you are among society’s elite, you must dress the part. You will be so divine in your new gowns that others must take notice; I dare say Mr. Bingley’s eyes will pop out of his head!”

Mrs. Abernathy turned back to the group of matrons with whom she was conversing, as if she had not just outdone Mrs. Bennet at her finest, and Miss Whitcombe turned her attention back to Jane. Something must have shown in Jane’s face, for her next question disarmed them.

“Are you acquainted with Mr. Bingley, Miss Bennet?”