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“It is good to know that you are reasonable.”

“As I see it, I have no choice, and from this moment on, I shall not speak ill of the woman who is to be my wife.”

“Good, I would rather you did not. You will understand there are certain arrangements that must be made, and I will be the one to oversee them in Mr. Bennet’s stead.”

“I shall leave it to whoever is most interested in that sort of thing to work out the details of the wedding; however, as far as the marriage settlement is concerned, Darcy and I have already hammered an agreement. The details have been dispatched to my solicitor in town. You will find my offer reasonable; however, it is not negotiable.”

Collins looked at Darcy. “It seems your friend is well-rehearsed.”

“This has nothing to do with me,” said Darcy.

“Please—it is always about you.”

“The truth is that we all have a stake in this little game, do we not? As we shall all be family, we might as well make the best of it,” said Darcy.

“I would hardly say this scandal is merely a game. It is a very serious matter.”

“If you knew young Lydia half as well as you think you do, you would know precisely what I mean. But it matters not. The material point is that Bingley has offered to do what is expected of him.”

Later that day, Bingley set off for Longbourn to call on Miss Lydia. How he wished instead that he could summon up the past as he trudged the pathway that led to the Bennets’ door. He imagined himself striding along with a spring in his step. He imagined a bright, happy smile on his face as he informed the lady of the manor that he wished to have a private audience with Miss Bennet. He even imagined the words he would say to explain away his lapse in judgement for ever having left her side all those months ago when he was first in Hertfordshire, how he had been a complete and unmitigated fool for not following his heart. How his life had been a torment during their long separation, and how he wished for nothing more than to offer her his hand in marriage. All this he imagined himself uttering on bended knee and gazing up into a pair of the most angelic eyes he had ever seen. He imagined those eyes glistening with tears of joy. Her answer would be yes … yes, I will marry you, Charles, for there is not another man in the world for me, but you.

Stark reality pierced Bingley’s blissful musings as he considered those very words. The harsh fact was that there was another man for his Jane: her husband, Geoffrey Collins. Only an act of God would change that. Bingley’s heart sank in his chest. By then it will be too late. I shall be married to her silly sister, Miss Lydia. His countenance coloured with contrition. Not that I would wish to see my Jane a widow even for an instant, for she truly deserves the happiness she seems to have found. As for her sister, I must teach myself to stop thinking of her as the witless girl that she is, and I must start to revere her as my future wife.

Upon entering the paddock and surrendering his horse to a servant, Charles lumbered on with the feeling of this being the longest distance he had ever walked when, in reality, the stairs leading to the front door were but a stone’s throw away. Sorrow accompanied those last steps of the way. Here he was, a young man in the prime of his life, suffering feelings akin to losing everything.

Darcy had offered to accompany him in a show of moral support, but Charles had declined, thinking this was something he truly needed to do alone. The truth is he wanted as few people as possible to bear witness to what surely would be a spectacle. Heaven knows how Mrs. Bennet will carry on.

Of course, the Bennet household reaction would be nothing in comparison to Caroline’s once she learned what he had done—that he had actually offered his hand to Lydia. He recalled how disgusted she had been all those months ago when they first came to Netherfield Park and everyone suffered the general expectation that he was to be married within months to the eldest Bennet daughter. How livid she was after hearing Mrs. Bennet speculate aloud that there was to be a wedding at Netherfield Park in three months. Caroline had been so distraught over the prospect of such an alliance between the two families that she would not rest until they took their leave of Hertfordshire within hours of the ball; the ball he had given at Miss Lydia’s request, but as far as he was concerned, in Jane’s honour.

By now, Bingley had reached the door. He just stood there, frozen, faced with the certainty that, once he crossed the threshold, life as he knew it would never be the same again. There is no turning back now.

Moments later, Bingley was standing in the parlour, his eyes fixed upon Jane and filled with unspoken apology. Without looking away, he swallowed. “Mrs. Bennet, I wish to have a private audience … with Miss Bennet.”

“Miss Bennet? You mean to say you wish to have a private audience with Mary?” Her loud, shrieking voice revived his senses.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. Finally, he tore his eyes away from Jane’s. “I wish to have a private audience with—” Bingley swallowed hard, “with Miss Lydia.”

Mrs. Bennet immediately stood to clear the room of everyone save her favourite daughter and her soon to be son-in-law. The spring in Mrs. Bennet’s step was just as he had imagined it would have been had he offered for Jane as he ought to have done. However, it was not Jane who raced to his side and attached herself to his arm. His Jane would never have displayed such a lack of decorum. It was not Jane with whom he would henceforth and forever more be associated or whose name would be mentioned when the book was written on the happiest day of his life, and it was not Jane whom he would take to the marriage bed and make his wife, and the sooner he taught himself to accept those truths, the better it would be for him. The better it would be for the future Mrs. Lydia Bingley, and the better it would be for everyone concerned.