Page 1 of Miss Bingley’s Return

Chapter I

Few misfortunes are so persistent as the conviction that one deserves a place in a story that has already chosen its heroine.

Had anyone asked Elizabeth Bennet to describe Caroline Bingley, she might have spoken instead of wounded vanity, frustrated ambition, and an unfortunate habit of believing herself more important than everyone around her. Then again, Elizabeth had no proof, only opinions based on observation. Even so, Elizabeth was certain she was near to the mark.

To tell the truth, Elizabeth had not thought of Miss Bingley much in the previous weeks. After the Netherfield party’s hasty decampment from the neighborhood only days after hosting the ball there, any mention of Mr. Bingley, the man her sister Jane still considered the best man of her acquaintance, would bring her grief. As Mr. Bingley’s name was on Mrs. Bennet’s tongue far more than the rest of the company put together, Elizabeth refrained from any comment likely to cause Jane distress. She had held on to this decision even more firmly after Jane had declined to go to London with their aunt and uncle after Christmas.

“I know what you are saying, Lizzy,” said Jane on that cold December day. “But I shall not chase Mr. Bingley to London—it is not proper.”

“Nor did I suggest you do so,” replied Elizabeth, quite reasonably, she thought. “Yet in London you may visit your friends, and in doing so, you may encounter Mr. Bingley.”

“Mr. Bingley knows Longbourn’s location,” insisted Jane, her jaw set in that stubborn line that indicated she had made up her mind. “If he wishes to seek me out, he may come here. Until such time as he does, I am content to remain at Longbourn.”

Nothing Elizabeth said could convince Jane otherwise, and in time, Elizabeth ceased to importune her sister. If Elizabeth was truthful, she half suspected that Miss Bingley would do everything she could to prevent Jane’s meeting with her brother even if Jane went to London. While she could visit his sisters, she could not visit the man himself. Thus, though Elizabeth thought others had influenced Mr. Bingley’s retreat, she could not fault her sister’s reasoning on the subject.

What Elizabeth had not counted on—what none of them expected—was for the woman herself to appear in Longbourn’s sitting-room one fine day in late February. When she entered the room trailing the housekeeper, Elizabeth regarded her with deep suspicion, unlike the expressions of astonishment that adorned the faces of her mother and sisters. Miss Bingley’s pelisse still bore the chill of the February air, and one gloved hand rested lightly upon the back of a chair before she removed them.

“Miss Bingley!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet before anyone else could utter a word. “How wonderful it is to see you again!”

“Mrs. Bennet.”

The timbre of Miss Bingley’s voice told anyone with the wit to hear that her pleasure was not the equal of the estate’s mistress. Then her eyes found Jane, and they softened.

Elizabeth studied her. Softened was not the correct word. If she had to describe it, the word Elizabeth would land on was calculation. Miss Bingley had a purpose for coming to Longbourn that morning beyond any supposed friendship—if Elizabeth was correct, she doubted they would know what it was until it was too late.

“We have despaired of your return,” said Mrs. Bennet, handkerchief fluttering in her hand. “You are most welcome at Longbourn.”

Mrs. Bennet peered past Miss Bingley and added: “Is your excellent brother with you?”

Though Elizabeth might have expected anger or even haughty disdain at the question, Miss Bingley’s lips tightened, but it was almost imperceptible.

“No, Mrs. Bennet,” replied she. “My brother and my sister are yet in London.”

“Oh!” cried Mrs. Bennet, crestfallen. Then she rallied. “We are most obliged to you for your visit. Come and sit with Jane, for I know you are the closest of friends.”

“Hello, Jane,” said Miss Bingley, her tone warmer than it had been with her Mrs. Bennet.

“Miss Bingley,” said Jane, curtseying. “We had not expected to see you here.”

“No, I do not suppose you did.”

“Shall you stay in the district?” asked Mrs. Bennet, desperate to grasp onto any scrap of hope.

“No, I must return to town,” replied Miss Bingley.

The visitor steered the conversation toward London and the Bingleys’ activities there, and Elizabeth saw in her manner the return to her civility of the previous year. Jane responded with comments about the neighborhood. Of course, Miss Bingley directed all her attention to Jane—the rest of the family received only brief comments. With Jane, the performance was so warm that Elizabeth judged it suspicious at once. When Miss Bingley revealed the reason for her visit, Elizabeth found it strange indeed.

“Tell me, Miss Bennet, what are your plans for the season?”

Jane colored a little, but she gathered her courage and met Miss Bingley’s eyes. “We do not attend the season in London, Miss Bingley. The Bennets have never had much presence in London, and my father does not appreciate society.”

Mr. Bennet, who had retreated behind his newspaper like a man observing a storm in his own sitting-room, said nothing, though Elizabeth heard a quiet snort, his paper rustling as if he were stifling laughter. The younger girls giggled together, though to Elizabeth’s relief they refrained from stating that they would prefer the company of the officers anyway.

“Oh, no, that will not do,” said Miss Bingley. She grasped Jane’s hands between her own. “You must come to London for the season. Please say that you will.”

For a long moment, Jane could not respond, and even Mrs. Bennet looked on, uncertain what she should say. Miss Bingley realized the sudden nature of her application, for she offered an expression of chagrin.

“My apologies, for I did not consider my application before blurting it out.”