Page 6 of I Have Faults Enough

This day, Bingley was determined to have more conversation with Jane. At Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet ushered Jane, Bingley, and Elizabeth into the garden, explaining it was too fine a morning to remain indoors. Elizabeth decided, without explanation, to distract herself by observing a rose bush in the far corner of the garden, but kept a thoughtful watch on the reunited couple.

It was remarkably simple, what passed between Bingley and Jane. He did not agonise over examining her regard for me, as another man might have done. In fact, he had spent a bare quarter hour in her company before he was thoroughly and irrecoverably lost, and found, upon discovering himself so entirely undone, that he did not much mind the discovering. He loved her, and it was as simple as that. He loved her, and if she would have him, he meant to marry her as soon as ever the thing might properly be arranged.

Jane, for her part, had borne her disappointment in the autumn with composure so complete that even Elizabeth, who loved her best and knew her best, had sometimes wondered whether the wound beneath it ran as deep as she believed; but she saw now, watching her sister colour and soften and laugh with an unguardedness she had not shown since October, that Jane truly must be in love with Mr. Bingley, and despite his actions, seemed to have forgiven him.

That morning as they walked outside together, he asked whether he might call the following Tuesday as well as the Thursday already promised him, and she said, with some courage, that she should like that very well.

It was into this settled, easy course of things that Mr. Darcy arrived later that afternoon. And, upon his arrival, Bingley returned from Longbourn, so full of Miss Bennet's perfections, and so entirely unguarded in its happiness, that Darcy knew the man was entirely lost.

Bingley met him in the hall with his usual unguarded warmth that admitted no suspicion of the more complicated feeling his friend had carried into Hertfordshire a second time, and talked, within the first quarter hour, of nothing but Miss Bennet. Darcy himself said little. He had come, he told himself, only to see his friend well, and ensure he did not make a decision he would later greatly regret.

Mr. Darcy, having settled once more into his familiar chamber at Netherfield Park, had expected the company of Miss Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst to follow shortly after. He was, therefore, somewhat surprised to find the house quieter than anticipated the following week and the one after.

Caroline Bingley, much to her own chagrin and no doubt to that of everyone upon whom she might have bestowed her attentions, had been seized with some indisposition which she insisted was influenza, and was consequently obliged to remain in London under the care of her physicians.

This news, of course, left Mr. Darcy to the solitary comfort of Netherfield and the rather unwelcome prospect of being deprived of Caroline’s continual droning speech about her observations of the neighbourhood and its inhabitants.

Nevertheless, within three weeks of Bingley’s arrival at Netherfield, he had spoken to Jane, in the far corner of the garden. And, upon her happy approval, he whisked himself away to speak directly with her father.

It was on a mundane Friday that Mr. Bingley was permitted into Mr. Bennet’s library. The young man spoke immediately and with such sincere earnestness that Mr. Bennet, who had expected to enjoy the interview for its comedy, gave his consent within the quarter hour.

Not a quarter of an hour later, Mrs. Bennet received the news of Mr. Bingley’s particular request in the library, where Mr. Bennet had thought it prudent to deliver the intelligence himself rather than leave it to be discovered by his wife's own excellent instincts for such things, and her raptures began before he had finished the sentence and shewed no immediate sign of concluding.

“I have known it!” she declared joyfully. “I have known it from the very first week of Mr. Bingley’s return! Have I not, Mr. Bennet?”

Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice rang through the library, accompanied by a delighted giggle as she celebrated the news of Mr. Bingley’s request to marry their daughter. Her triumph was complete, for she had long considered the match inevitable, and was now quite prepared to remind her husband that she had been right all along. “I knew he could not resist her in the end! Such a handsome, wealthy young man, and our Jane! Oh, Mr. Bennet, I always said she would be the first of our girls to marry!”

Although he never would attend to her, Mrs. Bennet had always said Jane's beauty must tell in the end, whatever spiteful persons in town might contrive to prevent it; and within the half hour she had progressed, by a route from tears of joy to a settled conviction that four thousand a year could not possibly be thought excessive for a house of that consequence.

Soon, Mrs. Bennet was released from the library, and immediately went to inform the entire household of Jane’s good fortune.

Elizabeth watched all this, full of affection. She had loved Jane best of all her sisters and she had watched her, through the autumn, bear a disappointment with a fortitude. To now see that same face, unguarded, luminous, turning toward the window at odd moments as though Netherfield's chimneys might be visible from the Longbourn breakfast-room, if only one looked hard enough, was a happiness so unmixed that Elizabeth gave herself over to it entirely,

It was simply good. Jane had wanted, of everything in the world, this one very reasonable thing, and she was to have it, and Elizabeth's heart, which could be sharp enough on other subjects, held nothing on this one but a plain, uncomplicated gladness.

"You are not to fret over me any longer," Jane told her, that first afternoon, once Mr. Bingley had returned to Netherfield to inform his friend, and promised to return for dinner. "I know you have fretted. You need not tell me you have not."

"A little," Elizabeth allowed. "You bore it so well, Jane."

"A good deal," said Jane, with somewhat candour, "and I am heartily glad to have done it." She reached over and pressed Elizabeth's hand. "You will be as happy as I am, one day. I am persuaded of it."

Elizabeth laughed, and, rather than permit the conversation to wander toward her own matrimonial prospects, turned it with some haste to the wedding-clothes. Upon this subject she found herself able to speak with great animation and remarkably little difficulty, there being something exceedingly convenient in muslin and lace, which required no confession, admitted no speculation, and offered none of the awkward questions which a discussion of her own marriage must inevitably invite.

That evening, Mr. Bingley returned to Longbourn and was, by universal consent, seated beside his fiancée at dinner. His spirits were excellent, his attentions to Jane constant, and his satisfaction so evident that even Mrs. Bennet could scarcely find fault with anything. Later, when the family withdrew to the familiar drawing-room, Bingley contrived to remain near Jane, where he was perfectly content to spend the evening in that quiet happiness which had lately become his favourite occupation.

Elizabeth thought, watching Jane's face across the drawing room that evening, luminous, unguarded, entirely without the shadow that had lain over it these few months past, the happiest ending a heart so gentle deserved.

Indeed, Jane won without contest, and secured without doubt, a match made in the ordinary daylight, requiring no suffrage to prove it. Elizabeth was glad of it with her whole heart, and told herself so several times.

However, an ungovernable part of her mind returned, more than once, to the image of a very different gentleman; one whose regard appeared to be reserved for those possessed of consequence, title, or fortune, and whose civility seemed measured according to the advantages of the person who received it.

Elizabeth had been somewhat surprised to see Mr. Bingley’s particular friend, Mr. Darcy, arrive not two days after Bingley had rejoined the neighbourhood.

Although, Mr. Darcy, fortunately, did not venture often to Longbourn, and Elizabeth was perfectly content that his acquaintance should remain at a comfortable distance.

If he prefers to admire the world from the lofty security of his own consequence, so be it, she told herself. Elizabeth was quite willing to allow him the privilege, provided he did not bring his opinions or brooding demeanor to Longbourn with him.

She could not help suspecting that the gentleman entertained no very favourable opinion of either herself or her family; indeed, his reserve had never encouraged the belief that he was eager to improve their acquaintance.