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Recalled to herself, Jane realized she had neglected her responsibilities. “Where did Maggie and Harvey get themselves to?” She craned her neck, scanning the church for the servants.
“I saw them stroll down one of the side aisles,” Mr. Bingley observed. “Perhaps they wanted a little time apart from their duties.”
“Naturally. Who would think of duty when such beauty beckons?” She gestured to the cathedral’s dome.
“I believe Harvey is primarily concerned with a different kind of beauty.” A corner of Mr. Bingley’s mouth quirked upward.
Jane giggled and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “I hope nothing improper will occur.”
“This is a house of God! Surely they will do nothing improper,” Mr. Bingley intoned with mock solemnity.
Jane laughed again, pleased he was comfortable enough to tease her. “Not even a kiss?” she asked with a sidelong glance, only belatedly realizing her words could be construed as flirtatious.
However, Mr. Bingley did not appear to notice. “I have a confession to make, Miss Bennet,” he said in a low, serious tone. “And I suppose a cathedral is a good place to say it.”
What could this mean? Jane turned to face him.
“I invited Harvey to accompany me for the specific purpose of…distracting your maid.” Jane’s eyes widened. Did he have designs upon her person?
“So we might enjoy private conversation!” he added hastily. “This is a house of God.” Jane could not completely stifle a relieved laugh. “Am I forgiven?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.” Jane recalled the expression on Maggie’s face when she saw “her Joseph” at the Gardiners’ house. “Particularly since you have made Maggie and her beau so happy.”
It is only right that I meet his honesty with my own. Jane took a deep breath. “I have a confession of my own to make.”
“Oh?”
When had so many butterflies taken up residence in her stomach? “I did not happen upon you outside Darcy House by chance,” she said quickly in one long breath. “Maggie learned your schedule from your valet—without his being the wiser—so I might encounter you.”
“You arranged our meeting?”
“Yes.” No doubt her face must be bright red. Unable to face Mr. Bingley, she stared at the tiles of the cathedral floor.
“Oh.” Now she was compelled to look up. Rather than a mouth drawn tight with censure, he worse a slight, dumbfounded grin.
“You are not angry?” He shook his head slowly as his smile grew. “I deceived you!”
“You sought me out…” He took one of her hands in his. “You wished to reestablish our…connection. I cannot tell you how powerfully that affects me.”
Immobile for a long moment, they simply gazed into each other’s eyes. A throat was cleared loudly behind Jane, and they both started. She whirled around to find a cassocked priest regarding them dourly. He stared pointedly at their clasped hands, and Mr. Bingley dropped Jane’s hand as if it had burned him.
Hastily he turned away from the priest and gestured to the rows of wooden chairs facing the choir. “Shall we sit and admire the view?”
Suitably chastised, they quickly settled into two chairs. The priest eyed them suspiciously but eventually made his way to the front of the church.
Perhaps it would be best to find an innocuous topic of conversation. Jane asked the first question that came to mind. “When did you first visit the cathedral?”
“Hmm.” Mr. Bingley rubbed his chin. “I was quite young. Perhaps ten years of age. My father was an amateur enthusiast of architecture, so we toured a great many buildings whenever we traveled to London. Most of the buildings run together in my memory, except for St. Paul’s.”
“I understand why.”
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am by your reaction. I once brought a young lady who found it uninteresting because few famous people are buried here.”
The words were a splash of cold water to cool Jane’s good mood. Of course. I am only one of many young women he has escorted about town. I should be under no illusion that he regards me as special.
Mr. Bingley seemed to recognize his faux pas. “You are the first person I found who truly appreciates St. Paul’s as I do.”
She nodded mutely.
