When Jane Got Angry

Now that Bingley considered the past two months, Darcy began to appear less than innocent. A number of times, Bingley had suggested visiting the warehouses in Cheapside for one reason or another, but Darcy had always found a reason to advise against. Now Bingley suspected that Darcy had feared they might encounter Jane in Cheapside.

Bingley convinced his feet to shuffle forward until he was safely out of the street, but then his muscles went limp and he was forced to prop himself up against a tree.

Darcy’s betrayal stung Bingley far more sharply than his sisters’. Bingley never expected true disinterestedness from his family; Caroline had disparaged his choice of clothing and taste in reading materials throughout his life. Nothing he did was good enough or at all interesting—until he became friends with Darcy. And Louisa had always treated him like a child. They both saw Bingley as a means to an end. Although their attitude caused him pain, he had always tried to ignore it and focus on more positive thoughts.

One could not choose one’s family, but Bingley had chosen Darcy to be his friend—because he believed he could trust Darcy, who insisted on his commitment to honesty and abhorrence of deceit. Had his friend betrayed those principles for the purpose of separating Bingley from Jane?

What should Bingley say to him on the subject?

Darcy remained unaware of what Bingley had discovered, so he could easily avoid the matter altogether. Indeed, here was the answer: he would say nothing about Jane, and it would avoid a great deal of unpleasantness.

Bingley recommenced his walk with new energy in his gait.

Except…

Bingley’s hands clenched into fists; the muscles in his back and arms were tight. Why did the solution not afford him more relief? Did he want to confront Darcy with the truth?

What fresh hell was this?

Why would I want to quarrel with Darcy? Bingley hated strife of any kind—particularly when it took the form of quarreling with Darcy, who had a way of triumphing in every discussion no matter the subject. With his superior knowledge of the ton and generations of good breeding to rely upon, Darcy simply understood more about this world. Bingley had always relied on his judgment.

And yet to allow his friend’s deception to stand—without consequences…

A cool breeze blew in Bingley’s face, but he felt an unfamiliar warmth flood his body. Blood pounded in his ears. His pace had quickened to the point that he was nearly running to Darcy House.

How odd. The flushing, the eagerness for a quarrel. It is so unlike me. What had got into him?

Oh, I am angry. Angry with Darcy!

From time to time, Bingley had been angry with Caroline and Louisa, although it always passed quickly. But he could never remember experiencing such rage aimed at his closest friend.

His better nature urged him to ignore the sensation and behave toward Darcy as always; however, in this case his better nature was an idiot. I do not want to ignore it. My life is not a plaything to be manipulated by others! It is intolerable that people believe they can do so.

He could have felt disgust with Jane’s lack of decorum when she castigated Caroline—and yet he had not. He had experienced a strange warmth of feeling, a kind of pride that Jane had refused to accept Caroline’s ill treatment. Can I do less than Jane? She has set me an example, and it is my challenge to match it. And yet tension caused his stomach to roll and twist with nausea.

Bingley really was prepared to start a row.

***

Jane examined her surroundings. It was the intersection of several busy streets, but none of the buildings or street names were at all familiar. She had certainly never been in this part of the city before. Her heart beat more quickly as she realized she was not quite sure from which direction she had arrived. Every street resembled every other one.

She tried to slow her breathing, but it was turning ragged and panicky. People hurried past, singly and in chattering groups, paying Jane no attention. Clouds covered the sun, threatening rain and deepening the shadows along the street. Even the buildings seemed to loom larger than the ones in her aunt and uncle’s neighborhood.

Perhaps she might ask for directions, but who could she trust? How would she find Gracechurch Street?

“Miss? Miss Bennet?” Jane whirled around to find Maggie hurrying up to her.

“Oh, Maggie! Thank God. I completely lost my way.” She reached out to squeeze the other woman’s hand warmly. The maid greeted this informality with a slight widening of her eyes but sat beside her on the bench. “Do you know how to return to Gracechurch Street from here?” Jane asked.

Maggie laughed, showing crooked teeth. “Of course, I do, miss. We’re still in Cheapside, you know. And I was raised near here.”

Jane’s shoulders sagged with relief. Somehow the knowledge that this was Maggie’s neighborhood rendered it less threatening.

“Did you follow me all the way from the park?” she asked.

“I did, miss, although you didn’t make it easy.” The maid grinned. “I didn’t know real ladies cou

ld run so quickly.”