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“If you do happen to encounter…Joseph, I would not mind if you inquired about Mr. Bingley’s habits.”
Maggie gave her an impish grin. “I’ll be seeing him this Sunday at church.”
“Very good.”
As Maggie closed the door behind her, Jane considered her choices. Simply possessing the information about Mr. Bingley’s schedule did not necessarily require her to act upon it. Yes, Maggie might tell her, and Jane might do nothing more about it.
The thought provoked both relief and despair.
***
Throughout the rest of the week, Jane attempted to forget about Maggie’s errand, with little success. Whenever she saw the maid, Jane’s heart leapt as she imagined the possibility of encountering Mr. Bingley. She would attempt to brush aside such fantasies, but the heart is not easily denied.
On Monday morning, as Maggie laced up the back of Jane’s dress, Jane feared eager questions would burst out of her in a most unladylike manner. Fortunately, Maggie resolved the dilemma. “I spoke with Joseph yesterday.”
“Oh?” Jane did everything possible to avoid appearing too eager.
“He said his master departs Darcy House every Tuesday at eleven o’clock to join the Hursts for luncheon.”
At first Jane did not understand how this information would prove useful. She could hardly call upon the Hursts around luncheon. But Maggie continued, “If you happened to be in the neighborhood of Curzon Street, you might encounter him leaving Darcy House…”
Oh. How devious. Jane’s hands shook as she adjusted the sleeves of her gown. Did she dare execute such a deception: pretending to happen upon Mr. Bingley when she had no business in that part of town? It seemed so dishonest, and yet…
She craved the certainty such an encounter would provide. If Mr. Bingley greeted her coolly and chose not to visit her at the Gardiners’ home, then Jane would know he no longer cared for her. The knowledge would bring pain, but it would be better than continuous doubt.
What would Mr. Bingley think if he discovered her subterfuge? A horrible thought struck her. “You did not inform Mr. Harvey why you wanted the information, did you?”
Maggie laughed. “Of course not, miss. I mentioned that Miss Bingley had paid a visit, and by and by maneuvered the conversation to the subject of his master’s schedule.” She began to brush Jane’s waist-length hair.
It was fortunate for Britain that Maggie was not in the employ of Napoleon.
“You must have given extensive consideration to how you might approach the subject,” Jane observed.
“I don’t mind,” Maggie said with a faint blush. “I like talking to Joseph. Some young men—they only want one thing from a girl, but Joseph is better than that. And he has the darkest brown eyes…” The maid momentarily ceasing brushing, and Jane realized how much she had in common with the other woman.
Maggie recalled herself with a start, and she applied herself to Jane’s hair with renewed vigor. “So Joseph don’t suspect a thing—although he does know you’re acquainted with his master. I thought about having Joseph drop a word or two in Mr. Bingley’s ear about you being in town, but if Miss Bingley found out, Joseph might get in trouble. And he don’t deserve to lose his place.”
“Of course,” Jane said faintly. She would never ask servants to take responsibility for her romantic woes. So the responsibility—and the question of whether to seek out Mr. Bingley—rested squarely on her shoulders.
“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Maggie observed as she pinned strands of Jane’s blonde hair into place. “What will you do?”
I wish I knew.
***
The February winds whipped Jane’s cloak around her half boots and teased the ribbons of her bonnet. From her vantage point at the corner, she could see the door to Darcy House gleaming in the pale sunshine. As tall and imposing as its owner, the house was easily the largest and most distinguished on this stretch of Curzon Street. A double set of marble steps led to a blue door fitted with a brass knocker. Rows of windows faced the street. Mr. Collins would be very impressed by the cost of the glazing, Jane thought with a tiny smile.
How foolish to be skulking out of sight and watching Darcy House like some sort of French spy—a rather inept French spy, to be sure. Several times someone passing by had given her a curious glance, prompting Jane to consider renouncing the entire enterprise. Miss Bingley is probably correct that her brother has lost interest in me. This is a fruitless endeavor.
Yet she recalled Miss Bingley’s supercilious expression and disdainful words. Jane was quite sure she had done nothing to warrant such treatment. Ascertaining the truth of Mr. Bingley’s sentiments will hurt nobody…save me.
Still, the prospect of returning to the warm house on Gracechurch Street was immensely appealing. Lizzy would not abandon hope, Jane reminded herself. Lizzy would make the most of the opportunity.
I am not Lizzy. I cannot be Lizzy. I can only be myself.
But perhaps she could be Lizzy for one day—or one hour.
She shivered and hugged her arms close to her body, stamping her feet to keep them warm. Hopefully Mr. Bingley would emerge from Darcy House soon so Jane might return. Hopefully Maggie’s friend had been correct about his master’s schedule.
