Page 9 of Miss Bingley’s Return

“I have never thought anything different,” replied Elizabeth. “To me, love is shared, not one-sided. If I loved a man and he did not love me, I would do everything to rid myself of it.”

Jane did not speak, though Elizabeth could see her growing thoughtful.

“Do you suppose you are in love with Mr. Bingley?” asked Elizabeth, knowing the question was the crux of the matter.

“I cannot say,” said Jane, not pausing to consider it. “When he departed Hertfordshire, you know I considered him the most amiable man of my acquaintance.”

“That does not equal a tender regard,” said Elizabeth.

“No, it does not,” agreed Jane. “It is a foundation on which to build and nothing more.

“Then I cannot but suppose you are proceeding as well as can be expected,” replied Elizabeth. “Once you meet Mr. Bingley again, I believe everything will become clear.”

“That is my hope.”

Jane was silent for several moments before speaking again. “You know, Lizzy, there are many men in London. It is possible that we might meet with some other men we find agreeable.”

“Jane!” cried Elizabeth, scandalized. “Are you already intent upon throwing Mr. Bingley over for the next handsome man who presents himself?”

“Not at all,” said Jane, though her voice brimmed with mirth. “Yet I recognize he is not the only man in the world.”

“If Miss Bingley heard you saying that, it would displease her.”

“Then we must ensure she never does.” Jane offered an impish smile, one that more often adorned Elizabeth’s face. “Miss Bingley has an agenda, but I need not concern myself with that if I determine my best interests lie elsewhere.”

“Good,” said Elizabeth, pleased that her sister had seen that simple truth. “Jane, let me be clear. If Mr. Bingley wishes you for a wife and if Miss Bingley is exactly as she portrays herself, I cannot think you could go amiss with such a man for a husband. I simply wish you to be aware.”

“Thank you, Lizzy—I shall accept your excellent advice.”

Chapter III

Mr. Gardiner’s warehouse was a large, dusty structure housing the goods he imported from foreign lands, many at a great distance from England. Elizabeth had never seen most of it—the bolts of cloth were situated near the entrance, perhaps by design, though Elizabeth could not be certain of that. The foreman, a bluff, kindly man perhaps ten years senior to Mr. Gardiner, met them at the door and accompanied them, his face split with a gap-tooth grin. It was far from the first time they had been in the warehouse for material.

“What do you think of this one, Jane?” asked Elizabeth, showing her sister a pale blue bolt in a beautiful pattern.

“Your mother does claim that blue suits you, Jane,” said Mrs. Gardiner with a smile. “That is lovely, Elizabeth, but I do not think it is quite fine enough for evening wear.”

As they dug a little further into the shelves, they found finer cloth, some with exotic patterns showing they had come from the far east. A few were too gaudy for evening dresses in England, but there were several of excellent quality and muted colors that would suit very well.

“You girls will be the belles of any ball wearing these fabrics,” said Mrs. Gardiner, affection warming her voice. “I should not be surprised if you receive questions about where you came by the material.”

“That will be a benefit to Mr. Gardiner’s business,” observed Elizabeth.

Mrs. Gardiner patted her cheek. “Your uncle does not misunderstand this, Lizzy. Though he is pleased to offer his support, the possibilities inherent in you wearing his fabrics at high society events have not escaped his notice.”

“Then we shall wear them with pride,” said Jane. “And should anyone ask, we shall offer our enthusiastic endorsement for our uncle.”

With a laugh, Mrs. Gardiner directed a waiting employee to gather up their choices, asking the foreman to send the fabric on ahead and return it when complete. The kind man only nodded, and Elizabeth understood. This was the proprietor’s wife—if her word was not good enough, then the matter rested with Mr. Gardiner.

“Well, well,” said Aunt Gardiner, directing them back toward the carriage, “shall we not go to Bond Street? The modiste awaits us.”

“I presume she is accustomed to this unusual procurement of fabrics,” said Elizabeth as the horses drew the carriage into motion.

“Of course,” replied her aunt. “I have been using her for my clothing for the past ten years—everything I wear comes from Edward’s stores.”

Elizabeth and her aunt conversed the entire way to Bond Street, with Jane only contributing a few comments. Jane was a quiet woman, one who spoke but little, but that day her reticence was extreme even for her. More often, Elizabeth caught her looking introspective, as if she was trying to work something out in her mind.

It was not difficult to discern that Jane was considering Miss Bingley, her visit from the previous day, and the opinions they had exchanged. In particular, Miss Bingley’s assertion that her brother was engaged without sharing specifics had stuck with Jane. What Miss Bingley could mean by it was beyond Elizabeth’s ability to discern at present, but she suspected it would not take them long to learn. Mr. Bingley was not a man accustomed to reticence—anything he thought was visible on his features almost the moment it entered his mind.