Page 54 of Miss Bingley’s Return

Jane regarded her with no little amusement. “Do you suppose it will prove prophetic?”

“Perhaps it will,” said Elizabeth. “If matters become clear tonight, I doubt either of us will protest.”

“Yes, I must agree,” replied Jane. “It is not for me, but for Mr. Bingley. Not knowing his mind cannot be a comfortable thing.”

Before Elizabeth could make a response, an acquaintance entered the room. It was Miss Clara Whitcombe. Jane caught sight of her a moment after Elizabeth, at the exact moment when the other woman noticed their presence. With a smile, she made her way to the Bennet sisters, displaying unguarded warmth.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” said she in greeting. “How do you do?”

“We are very well, Miss Whitcombe,” said Jane. “Are you acquainted with the Davidsons?”

“I am,” replied she. “Mr. Davidson’s father was a business associate of my father.”

A premonition filled Elizabeth’s breast. Perhaps Mr. Gardiner’s comment had meant something after all. Had Mr. Gardiner known that Miss Whitcombe was to attend? Elizabeth thought not, but since he was acquainted with Mr. Whitcombe, it was also possible that he had known Mr. Davidson’s father and expected Miss Whitcombe to attend.

Elizabeth shook her head and focused on the woman before them, though she made a mental note to ask her uncle about it the next morning. For a time, they stood in pleasant conversation, the kind that passes between those who are only a little acquainted.

The first of their friends to arrive was Mr. Darcy. The gentleman made his way to greet them, and at his sign, Jane introduced him to Miss Whitcombe’s acquaintance. Mr. Darcy understood at once—he gave no hint of his feelings to Miss Whitcombe, but his expression when he regarded Elizabeth was no less than speculative.

Then when Miss Bingley entered with her brother, and her sister and husband in tow, Elizabeth caught her expression at once. Miss Bingley had not expected to see Miss Whitcombe, and whatever she had planned tonight, it presented a threat to her designs.

And suddenly Elizabeth understood—the evening was about to become far more interesting than she had expected.

Chapter XIII

Elizabeth’s first sign was the way Miss Bingley treated Miss Whitcombe. She was not openly unkind—Elizabeth suspected that Miss Bingley never descended to such malicious contempt, not when more subtle means of showing her disapproval were available.

Though Mr. Bingley lit up in recognition, proving he had not known Miss Whitcombe would be there—perhaps hoping she would attend—Miss Bingley ignored her other than a curt nod and a soft greeting. To Miss Whitcombe, this was not unexpected. From what she had heard from Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley had been excluding her for some time; Miss Whitcombe expected it. That did not lessen the sting—they had been close companions when younger. That was something she would not soon forget.

Still, Miss Whitcombe accepted this gracefully, stepping aside when Miss Bingley approached to greet Jane, ceding her place without comment. From Miss Bingley, there was the slightest hint of satisfaction.

“Jane, dearest,” said Miss Bingley, a refrain that had by now become tiresome, “how pleased I am to see you.”

“Caroline,” said Jane, her tone soft even for her. “We were just speaking of the coming evening when you arrived.”

The glance at Miss Whitcombe was subtle, but it was there. Miss Bingley looked away, and Miss Whitcombe did not react. The curious part, however, was that Mr. Bingley did not follow his sister. Instead, he took himself to where Mr. Darcy and Miss Whitcombe were still standing with Elizabeth, and bowed over her hand, a gesture marked by its tenderness.

“Clara,” said he, and Elizabeth fancied she could see his esteem written on his brow, clear in the softness with which he spoke her name. “How do you do this evening?”

“I am well, Mr. Bingley,” said Miss Whitcombe, her voice the same softness.

Elizabeth caught Mr. Darcy’s eye, and he nodded; he had seen the same thing. This was a couple who, though perhaps they had not said the words, had always made their way back to each other, despite meddling sisters, despite distance, regardless of anything else that came between them. Elizabeth had no more doubt—Mr. Bingley was not for Jane, had never been for her dearest sister. He was exactly where he needed to be.

That, of course, was not a sentiment shared by everyone present.

“Charles!” said Miss Bingley, a strain in her voice. “You have not greeted Miss Bennet yet.”

Mr. Bingley lingered with Miss Whitcombe for several moments, and that appeared to give her strength. A few moments later, Mr. Bingley turned away and greeted Jane, though his address was different in a way that could not be mistaken by anyone watching, least of all Miss Bingley. Miss Whitcombe moved to join the group with Mr. Bingley, and they stood together speaking for a time as the guests continued to stream into the room. This had the added benefit of leaving Elizabeth with Mr. Darcy.

“Unless I am mistaken,” said Elizabeth, speaking softly to avoid being overheard, “I suspect this evening promises to be most interesting.”

“I have never met Miss Whitcombe before,” replied Mr. Darcy, “and I have never seen them together. When I compare his behavior toward her with what I have seen toward the women to whom Miss Bingley has directed him . . .”

“This is the first time I have seen them together, other than that one occasion in the park,” said Elizabeth when he did not finish his thought. “Anyone who cannot see their mutual affection is blind.”

“Willfully so,” agreed Mr. Darcy.

Another entered the ballroom, adding to the discord when he approached Mr. Bingley’s party. Though his greetings were all that was civil, Mr. Harrington reserved his warmth for Jane, bowing over her hand with an undeniable show of favor. Elizabeth turned away, stifling a smile with a hand over her mouth.