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Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “Two months? I would think that sufficient for at least one visit.” She fussily rearranged the ruffles on her sleeve. “It appears she has forgotten us amidst the distractions of London.”
“You did not even receive a letter from her?” Bingley asked.
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Do not be tedious. I would have informed you immediately if I had received a letter.” She cut into her own ham with relish.
Louisa sniffed. “Jane did not even reply to the last letter I sent her. It is as I suspected, Sister. That woman is only interested in our brother’s fortune. Her appearance of friendship was feigned.”
The ham turned sour in his stomach. Bingley had assumed his sisters and Jane had experienced some sort of misunderstanding—a letter gone astray perhaps. But his sisters’ report suggested Jane had lost interest in the acquaintance. Bingley would not have believed it of her, but what other explanation was possible?
Caroline wiped her lips delicately with her napkin. “This is most vexing! We hardly run in the same circles as those sorts of people. And London is such a large city. We are unlikely to encounter Jane except by special arrangement.”
“Indeed,” Louisa agreed tartly.
Bingley said nothing. He knew from past experience that disputing his sisters’ assumptions would lead to scenes of unpleasantness that would upset him far more than disturb them.
They understood such social niceties better than he did; in such circumstances he was accustomed to relying on their judgment. If they believed Jane was slighting them deliberately, how could Bingley say otherwise?
Perhaps a visit to Gracechurch Street was not a good idea. Bingley laid his fork next to his plate; abruptly he was no longer hungry.
***
Bingley spent a restless night, sleeping only fitfully as he tried to reconcile what he had learned from Jane with his sisters’ indignant avowals. Try as he might, he could not make sense of the situation. Several times he resolved to wash his hands of the entire muddle, but he could not bring himself to wash his hands of Jane.
Before the sun began to cast golden rays through the gaps in the curtains, Bingley had resolved that he would call upon Gracechurch Street that day and hear Jane’s account of her contact with his sisters.
This decision sustained him through his morning ablutions and his valet’s attentions as he dressed. His mind was so preoccupied with concern about Jane that even Darcy noticed his lack of spirits at breakfast. “Are the eggs not to your liking, Bingley?” he asked, breaking a long silence that had reigned over the table.
“Hmm?” Bingley was roused from a daze to realize he had been pushing bits of egg around his plate for minutes. “No, no. They are fine. Very good, indeed. I am simply not particularly hungry.”
“Is something amiss?”
For a moment, Bingley was tempted to ask his friend if he was aware of Jane Bennet’s presence in London, but that was foolish. Why would Darcy be informed of Jane’s whereabouts? Asking the question also would invite his friend to voice his opinion of the Bennets—a subject with which Bingley was intimately familiar and had no need to hear again.
Well aware that his family’s fortune came from trade, Bingley usually deferred to Darcy’s superior judgment in matters relating to social standing and the ton. He knew his family’s position in society was somewhat precarious; one mistake could cause Bingley and his sisters to be ostracized despite their fortune. Caroline would never forgive him, and despite their occasional differences, Bingley would not want to hurt her for the world.
However, on the subject of the Bennet family, Bingley was beginning to wonder if perhaps Darcy’s judgment was a little bit…faulty.
“No, nothing,” he murmured. If he announced his plan to visit Gracechurch Street, his friend would hardly approve—and Bingley had no desire to engage in that discussion. They might even have a row, and Bingley hated rows.
Darcy appeared ready to question Bingley’s assertion when the butler entered to announce that Miss Bingley had arrived. Bingley managed to suppress a groan. Caroline could be trying even when he was in a generous mood; she could be impossible when he had slept only a few hours.
His sister sailed into the breakfast parlor, treating Darcy House with the informality she would treat Netherfield. “You must forgive my precipitous arrival, Mr. Darcy!” she announced as she deposited herself in a chair, “but I feel Darcy House is quite my second home. I had been hoping to induce Georgiana to join me for some shopping.”
A little bemused, Darcy said, “She is at the Greenvilles’ house party for a week.”
Caroline slapped herself theatrically on the forehead. “So she is! How foolish of me to forget!”
Bingley frowned at his sister. Miss Darcy’s departure for the Greenvilles’ country house had been a chief subject of their conversation for the past week. Caroline had given Darcy’s sister extensive advice about which clothing to pack for the visit. However, this would not be the first occasion upon which Caroline had used a flimsy pretext to visit Darcy House—and its owner.
Shrugging, Caroline energetically buttered a piece of toast. “Oh well. It is a lovely day. Perhaps a stroll in Hyde Park would suit. What do you say, Mr. Darcy?” She sent him a glance that she might have believed was coy.
Darcy dropped his napkin on the table and pushed back his chair. “I am afraid I must forgo that pleasure. I am behind on my estate business.” He stood rather quickly. “I hope you enjoy the fine weather.” Caroline’s eyes followed his figure as he strode from the room.
Bingley sighed as he sipped his coffee. Did Caroline have any idea how she repelled the object of her interest? If only his sister would give up this hopeless pursuit!
“What are you about today, Charles?” Caroline’s words were nonchalant, but her tone suggested more than casual interest.
He cleared his throat, stifling a sudden, unaccountable impulse to lie to his sister. “I plan to call upon the Gardiners at Gracechurch Street.”
