Chapter 9

The hooves of Bingley’s horse clopped pleasingly on the hard-packed dirt and crunchy brown grass of the path. A thin film of frost, not yet burned away by the weak morning sun, sparkled and shimmered across the landscape. The mare snorted out a cloud of white which mingled with her gray coat, and Bingley laughed, patting her neck. “We can be warm soon,” he assured his mount, his breath hanging in the frigid air. “We are almost there.”

An intrepid bird, braving the morning cold, sang somewhere off the path to his left. Had he words for it, Bingley would have sung back. His heart soared with joy, light as the gray clouds scudding across the sky – his darling Jane had accepted his proposal!

He studied the ivy-bearded front of Longbourn as he approached, the red brick peeking through the foliage a lovely contrast to the deep green. A puffing stable boy, shivering at the sharp nip in the air, approached to take the horse. Bingley nodded his thanks and strode up to the door, stamping frosty mud off his boots and tugging vigorously on the bell-pull.

The door opened. Bingley stepped in and nodded to Mr. Hill, the Bennets’ butler. “Is Mr. Bennet available?” he asked.

Mr. Hill’s eyes crinkled cheerfully at these words, though otherwise he retained his impassive expression. “Please wait here, sir, and I will inquire.”

Bingley did wait, though impatiently. He did not mind Mrs. Bennet’s conversation nearly as much as Darcy, but he wished to speak to his beloved’s father before being exposed to the shrill questions and ecstasies of her mother.

Thankfully, the butler appeared within a minute and guided Bingley down a side corridor to the library, where Mr. Bennet was seated at his desk with, naturally enough, a heavy book in his hands, though the master of the house stood up when his guest entered. The two gentlemen exchanged bows as the butler withdrew, and Mr. Bennet gestured toward two Sheraton chairs which flanked the glowing fireplace.

“Please do sit down, Mr. Bingley. May I get you some brandy?”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Bingley replied, collapsing, relatively gracefully, into one of the indicated seats. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt extremely anxious. He did not truly imagine that Mr. Bennet would deny his offer, nor was it, practically speaking, necessary for Bennet to give his blessing, as his eldest daughter was of age. Nonetheless, it was important for both Jane and Bingley that Mr. Bennet approve of the match.

Bennet regarded the younger man with interest, poured himself a glass of brandy, and sat down across from Bingley. “It is a surprise to see you here, sir,” he said mildly, though his brown eyes were calculating. “My eldest daughter received a letter from Miss Bingley which declared that you and your relations were fixed in London for the winter.”

Bingley grimaced at this reminder of his sisters’ perfidy and said, “I am much to blame in permitting my sisters to persuade me to stay in London until now. I was convinced that your daughter did not care for me as much as I adored her, and I ran away like a coward. Fortunately, Miss Bennet and I met by chance at Hookham’s Library more than a week ago and renewed our acquaintance, and in the intervening days, I have been blessed to receive her heartfelt forgiveness for my idiocy. Yesterday, I asked Miss Bennet for her hand in marriage, and she accepted. Thus, I am here to ask your blessing.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows had been hiking higher and higher throughout this remarkable discourse, and, when Bingley had fallen silent, he threw the rest of his brandy down his throat, coughed, rose from his seat, filled the tumbler again, and then turned to regard his daughter’s suitor thoughtfully.

“If Jane has accepted you, then I will not deny her, of course,” he said at last.

Bingley stared at Bennet in consternation and asked nervously, “But you do not think she is making a good decision?”

Bennet sighed and stared into the fireplace for a moment before taking another sip of brandy. “I think you and Jane will deal very well together,” he said judiciously. “Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each so complying that I daresay it will be an arduous thing to resolve upon any decision. I confess to some concern about your sisters’ treatment of my Jane. They made a great show of befriending her here in Hertfordshire, but I understand that in London they openly disdained her.”

A strange noise caused him to turn his startled attention on Bingley, who was grinding his teeth, his usually good-natured countenance twisted into a hideous snarl.

“If that is your concern, sir,” he said vehemently, “I promise you that I am in complete agreement. Neither of my sisters will be permitted to live with us, and I will never allow them to mistreat Jane again. Sir, this unfortunate affair has quite opened my eyes, as I have been far too ready to allow my sisters and my friend to manage my life. I love Jane, she loves me, and from this time forward, she is my priority, not my friends and relations.”

“I presume that Mr. Darcy is the particular friend of whom you speak?” Bennet inquired drily.

Bingley sighed and said, “Yes, you are quite correct that Darcy discouraged my pursuit of Miss Bennet, though he has apologized to me for his interference. I have accepted that while he was at fault, so was I; I have made it a habit of consulting Darcy on all my decisions for several years, as he is older and more experienced in the ways of the society that I now inhabit. My father was a tradesman, you know.”

“So was my wife’s father,” Bennet said, and he then added with feigned calm, “Mr. Darcy does not approve of Jane?”

“No, not at all,” Bingley returned hastily. “No, it was merely...”

He trailed off and Bennet returned to his seat, leaned forward, and gazed directly into his eyes. “Do go on, Mr. Bingley. What were Mr. Darcy’s concerns about my daughter?”

“He feared Jane would marry me not for love, but for security,” he blurted out. “Your eldest daughter is, as you know, a quiet lady, and not overly demonstrative. I knew Jane loved me. I knew it! But I did not trust my own heart, and thus when Darcy and my sisters claimed that she did not truly care for me, well, I ran away like a poltroon.”

Bennet was too intelligent a man to take all of this at face value; he knew that Darcy, at least, looked down his patrician nose on the Bennet family, and no doubt Jane’s connections were lacking in Darcy’s eyes. However, he decided that he had punished his guest enough.

“I believe it is the way of the haut ton to marry not for true affection but for connections and wealth,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes now fixed on his tumbler, which still had an inch of golden liquid swirling in the bottom. “Such practices are not for me and my family. Jane would never marry without true affection, in spite of the entail, so you need not concern yourself about that.”

“I assure you that I am not concerned at all!” Bingley returned, waving his hands passionately. “I know that I am the most fortunate man alive to have won the love and affection of Miss Bennet, who is an angel.”

“She is,” Bennet agreed, leaning back and regarding the younger man with amusement, and yes, envy. He had once fallen passionately in love and married, only to discover that his chosen partner in life was, while beautiful, quite empty headed. He was not well matched with Mrs. Bennet. He was also certain that Jane and Bingley would be happy together.

“When do you wish to marry?” Bennet asked.

“We spoke briefly on the matter yesterday, and we agreed that we wish to marry soon, in a few weeks if possible.”

“Do you wish to marry here or in London?”

“Oh here, to be sure! Jane’s family is here, as is Netherfield, and I intend to set my hand to the plow in caring for the estate which I have neglected for the last months.”

“Mrs. Bennet will be very pleased about that,” Bennet said with a smile. “Shall we discuss the marriage settlements now or later?”

“Now, please!”