Chapter One
Caroline Bingley is not my friend, Jane Bennet realized about five minutes into the woman’s visit at the Gardiners’ house. It was a startling realization. A disheartening one.
Jane had called upon Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst at the Hursts’ house on Grosvenor Square not long after her arrival in London. With the reasonable expectation of a prompt return call, she had waited at home every morning for a fortnight, but Miss Bingley had not appeared until more than a month had passed. Even this slight Jane might have ignored if Miss Bingley had appeared at all pleased to continue the acquaintance—or at least penitent about her lateness—but the other woman had given only scant and insincere apologies.
Although she should have been attending to the conversation, Jane instead was hearing the echoes of many conversations with her sister Elizabeth warning against believing in Miss Bingley’s regard. Jane struggled not to fidget in her chair as she recalled Lizzy’s words.
Belatedly she realized the conversation had faltered to a stop. I must speak. But, heavens, what had Miss Bingley and Aunt Gardiner been discussing? Jane’s memory was entirely blank. “We are enjoying very fine weather,” she said hastily. Trite but unexceptionable.
Aunt Gardiner blinked in surprise. Miss Bingley pursed her lips. “What has that to do with the fashion for long sleeves?” she sniffed.
Jane shifted in her chair. “Er…well…it is pleasant to wear long sleeves in fine weather.” The palms of her hands were growing quite moist. What a terrible explanation!
Miss Bingley shrugged disdainfully. “If you would call it ‘fine.’ It rained three days ago and ruined my slippers.”
Aunt Gardiner gave Jane a sidelong glance as if to say, “This is your friend?”
Jane raised her eyebrows in response, hoping to convey, “I may have been mistaken.”
“It has been quite sunny and warm for the past two days,” Aunt Gardiner pointed out. “Particularly for February.”
Miss Bingley flicked a bit of dust from her skirt. “Yes, unseasonably warm. One does not know whether to wear wool or linen or cotton. It is most disconcerting.”
Her aunt rolled her eyes at Jane, who hid a smile. Was it even worth the effort of a polite conversation if a woman could complain about warm and sunny weather in February?
Maggie, the Gardiners’ maid, set down a tea tray laden with biscuits on the drawing room table. Aunt Gardiner poured a cup and passed it to Miss Bingley, who took a tiny sip as if she expected they might have substituted dishwater for tea.
Oh, good grief. Gracechurch Street might not be Grosvenor Square, but the Gardiners were hardly beggars in the streets. Even Maggie gave the visitor a scornful glance as she slipped from the room.
Jane supposed she should share the maid’s disdain, but she could barely summon the energy for it. Every aloof look from Miss Bingley weighed on her, as if every time the other woman glanced at her, Jane grew smaller and more insignificant—until she was in danger of disappearing altogether. She had believed in Miss Bingley’s friendship, thinking her sincere, if a bit arrogant.
Miss Bingley had been the one to solicit Jane’s company in Hertfordshire and treat her as the most intimate of friends. The complete alteration in the other woman’s demeanor was incomprehensible. Had Jane unwittingly given offense?
No. Lizzy warned me. This is through no fault of mine. It was painfully clear her sister had been correct about Miss Bingley’s lack of regard.
Her chest was hollow and achy; her eyes burned. Jane had not only lost a friendship, but she also had lost faith in her own discernment. What other errors in judgment have I committed?
Had Jane been wrong about Mr. Bingley’s regard for her? She had hoped that an acquaintance with Miss Bingley would allow her to see the woman’s brother once more. However, if Miss Bingley is not my friend, I may never see Mr. Bingley again. The realization bore down on Jane, pinning her to her chair like an enormous weight.
She tried to assemble a smile despite finding it difficult to breathe. Jane had slowly lost all hope of Mr. Bingley after he left Netherfield, but her arrival in London had rekindled those dormant embers. Now Miss Bingley’s disdain snuffed them out as completely as if they had been doused with water.
The chances were never very good. Any hopes likely were in vain. This reminder did nothing to ease her breathing.
Hitherto Jane had refrained from mentioning Mr. Bingley to his sister. She did not wish to appear overly solicitous of his company, particularly since Miss Bingley had spoken of his attentions to Miss Darcy.
But now a spirit of reckless disregard took hold of her. If Miss Bingley indeed held Jane and her relations in such low esteem, perhaps the woman’s opinion did not signify at all. Jane might never see her again. “How is your brother enjoying London?” She heard the words issue from her lips, although she was still unsure from where she obtained the daring to express them.
Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes as if unhappy that Jane dared to mention him. “He is quite well, thank you. I mentioned that you were residing in London, but he is much occupied with Mr. Darcy and his sister at the moment, or he might have called. He stays at Darcy House, you know.”
He knows I am in London, and he has not called to pay his respects. Jane’s hands shook slightly where she clasped them in her lap, but she took pains to hide her discomposure. Drawing on her reserves of steadiness and her accustomed placidness of expression, Jane gave a bland smile. “How pleasant for them.”
Miss Bingley’s smile revealed all her teeth. “Indeed. Charles is quite taken with Miss Darcy. I am extremely hopeful on that account.”
Similar words in a letter had cut Jane deeply before, but now she wondered… If Miss Bingley had been deceiving Jane about her regard, perhaps she also been wrong about her brother’s affection for Miss Darcy.
No, surely the woman could not be so awful. Would she actively work against her brother’s happiness? Nobody could be so cruel.
And yet…Jane tried to observe Miss Bingley dispassionately. The other woman sat on the edge of the settee, as if she feared the entire piece of furniture were infected with fleas. As Aunt Gardiner attempted to engage the woman in conversation, Miss Bingley almost completely ignored her.
Perhaps Miss Bingley was capable of scheming against Jane. Lizzy had proven correct about many other assertions about the woman. But how could Jane ascertain the truth? Without an opportunity to meet Mr. Bingley, it seemed a hopeless business.
And yet…Jane was not quite ready to concede defeat. What would Lizzy do in such circumstances? Surely Lizzy would not simply surrender.
Aunt Gardiner and Miss Bingley had reached a lull in their conversation. Imagining herself as Lizzy, Jane stepped in
to the breach. “You said Mr. Bingley was much taken with Miss Darcy.”
“Y-Yes,” Miss Bingley said uncertainly.
“Then I suppose they have danced at balls? Taken carriage rides together? Has he purchased her flowers?” A secret thrill pulsed through her body. Jane Bennet would not have been so bold, but Jane-as-Lizzy could be.
Miss Bingley squirmed in her seat and coughed. “I…um…I do not believe things have proceeded quite so far. He did dance with her at the Harringtons’ dinner. But she is not out yet, so she does not attend balls.”
Aunt Gardiner seized on this information. “Not out? Did Mr. Bingley secure permission from Mr. Darcy to court his sister?”
Miss Bingley’s hands fidgeted in her lap. “I do not believe there has been any formal…”
When Miss Bingley’s voice faded, Aunt Gardiner continued, “Miss Darcy is full young to be considering matrimony already. Does her brother approve?”
Miss Bingley pulled herself to her full height and regarded the other woman disdainfully. “I have not discussed the subject with Mr. Darcy.”
“But you have seen them together? Observed your brother’s partiality?” Jane said, feeling a bit giddy. Even Lizzy would not have been so bold.