Page 14 of Vain and Useless

Elizabeth smiled and agreed. They walked along the path arm in arm, observing the beds covered in mulch for the winter, the leafless bushes, and the handsome stone fountain, now drained. At Miss Bingley’s enquiry, Elizabeth described the usual entertainments of the Christmas season in the area, such as Sir William’s annual St Nicholas Day party, and related how, as the war on the Continent dragged on and more and more gentlemen left the area, the hanging of mistletoe had become more liberal with each passing year as mothers strove to dispose of their unmarried daughters. “My mother, as you may imagine, is the worst offender. She is wild to be rid of at least one of us!”

“And has any gentleman caught your eye?”

“No, not as yet. I have known the young men hereabouts, excepting those of your party, of course, my whole life. I do not believe I shall find my future among them.” She paused for a moment, considering whether to confide in her new friend, and decided that she should. “It has been in my mind lately that I ought to go stay with my uncle in London for a good long visit and begin to seriously look about me for a man I could esteem highly enough to marry. I have felt a certain restlessness of late, as though I am ready for my life to change, to progress, but it has not. So perhaps I must take the reins into my own hands. Would you still know me if I were to engage myself to a tradesman?” she asked lightly.

“Certainly, I would,” Miss Bingley replied. “As you know, I am the daughter of a tradesman myself, and my mother was no gentlewoman, either. If you are happy with your tradesman, then as your friend I shall be happy for you.”

“It may be that we shall both be in London in the spring. Are you looking forward to the Season?”

Some seconds passed without a reply before she quietly said, “No, I am not.” She seemed sad and perhaps a little afraid.

Concerned, Elizabeth enquired, “May I ask why that is?”

Miss Bingley regarded her gravely for a moment, then said, “I believe I have made quite a comprehensive fool of myself, and I rather dread facing my acquaintance there.”

“If you wish to confide in me,” Elizabeth said when she apprehended the hesitation in her companion’s expression, “you may be assured of my discretion. And if you do not, I shall not press you.”

With a little grimace of remembered pain, Miss Bingley replied, “To put it plainly, I got above myself. I aped the manners and pretensions of those above me, thinking to endear myself to them and induce the world to forget my origins. In time I began to believe my own charade. When we were lately in London, however, I overheard some ladies I thought were my friends speaking frankly of my airs and ambitions. Laughing at me.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught audibly, and Miss Bingley slanted a tight, sardonic smile in her direction. “They spoke most particularly of my attempts to capture the interest of a certain gentleman, whose standing would have elevated my whole family had I secured him, and of his utter disinterest in obliging me. The scales have fallen away from my eyes, and I have not liked what I see of my past behaviour. And now what must you think of me?” she concluded with a breath of humourless laughter.

“I think not one whit less of you,” Elizabeth hastened to assure her. “We are all led astray by our wishes at times, are we not? To hear those wishes mocked by those you counted as friends must have been painful indeed, and to have your hopes for marriage dashed at the same moment! I can hardly imagine it. I hope, at least, that you were not very attached to the gentleman.”

“I was not,” Miss Bingley allowed. “He is a man I respect and admire. His standing attracted my ambitions, but I focused on him to the exclusion of others because he is a better man than most, responsible and honest. The sort of gentleman to whom a lady may entrust her future with confidence that she will not be mistreated or disregarded. But for all that, he never touched my heart, for which I am now daily thankful.”

“I am glad you were spared that pain, at least. I wish I had something comforting to say about returning to town and facing once again those who spoke ill of you, but I fear that may be an awkwardness which must simply be endured until it fades.”

“I think you are correct,” Miss Bingley replied with a little smile. “And if you are in London as you suppose you may be, I hope to have the pleasure of calling upon you regularly.”

“You will be welcome at any time. Will you be at Netherfield for Christmas?”

She seemed surprised by this swift change of subject, but answered, “My brother has not said anything particular either about going or staying. I have been assuming we will be here, but it is not certain.”

“I ask because if you do stay, you will meet my aunt and uncle Gardiner. They come every year to spend Christmas at Longbourn. Therefore, if you call on me in town in the spring, you will already be acquainted with them, as well.”

Miss Bingley smiled and nodded.

In such accord, they continued on their way, canvassing lighter subjects by unspoken agreement, until it was time to go inside and refresh themselves before luncheon.

CHAPTER 11

Miss Bingley and Miss Elizabeth walked into the drawing room before dinner arm in arm and did not immediately notice Darcy sitting by the fire with a book. “I hope you will allow me to apologise for my mother’s behaviour earlier, Miss Bingley,” Miss Elizabeth was saying.

“I do not regard it in the slightest, I assure—” Miss Bingley broke off abruptly when he rose to bow and greet them. Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks were becomingly pink as she curtseyed and murmured a reply.

He was sorry to embarrass her, but he could hardly remain seated when ladies entered the room. Mrs Bennet had come shortly after luncheon, ostensibly to visit her eldest daughter, but apparently to remind Bingley of how lovely and sweet Miss Bennet was. That she had brought her ill-mannered younger daughters with her had not improved the situation, and she had allowed her youngest to tease Bingley into committing to hosting a ball. There had, however, been a rather pleasing moment when Miss Elizabeth had defended Darcy against her mother’s offence at a comment he had made with no ill intent. In retrospect, it had not been phrased so neutrally as he had meant it, but there had still been no reason for the matron to reply to him so haughtily.

Miss Elizabeth composed herself and said, “I was just apologising for my mother’s rudeness today, and I think it is owed to you as well, sir.”

“Not at all,” he demurred, wishing her to be at ease again, and believing that it was not for her to make amends for the words of another.

“Think no more on it,” Miss Bingley hastened to agree.

“You are both very kind.”

The housekeeper appeared then, in need of Miss Bingley’s attention for some domestic matter, and while they spoke in low voices at the doorway, Darcy was left to Miss Elizabeth’s company. He was increasingly drawn to her and curious about her, his suspicion that he was in some danger now all but confirmed.

“You look as though you are debating whether or not to speak,” she said after a moment.