Page 62 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

“You have my full support as well,” Bingley added. “Whatever assistance I can render, you have only to ask.”

Mrs Bennet nodded vaguely, still appearing rather dazed. Jane helped her rise, murmuring something about rest and tisanes, and guided her toward the door. Bingley moved to follow them.

“Mr Bingley.” Elizabeth spoke before she could think better of it. “Have you news of Mr Darcy? Is he keeping well?”

Something flickered across Bingley's face, an expression Elizabeth could not quite read. He seemed on the verge of speaking, his lips parting as though words pressed behind them, but then he shook his head and his countenance smoothed into polite formality.

“Mr Darcy is keeping well, thank you for enquiring.”

He bowed briefly and followed Jane and Mrs Bennet from the room, leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts and the dying fire and the documents still clutched against her chest.

She moved to the window and watched as Bingley emerged from the house and climbed into his waiting carriage. The coachman flicked the reins, and the vehicle began its progress down the drive, wheels crunching upon the frozen gravel. Elizabeth remained at the window, watching until the carriage reached the bend in the lane.

And then, to her considerable surprise, the carriage slowed, stopped, then turned in a wide arc upon the gravel and came rattling back toward the house.

The door flew open before the wheels had fully ceased their motion, and Bingley leapt down with more haste than grace. He strode toward the front door with an expression of fixed determination, and Elizabeth heard the knocker sound, heard Hill's startled greeting, heard rapid footsteps in the hall.

She emerged from the drawing room to find Bingley standing before her mother and sister in the entrance hall, his hat clutched in both hands, his cheeks flushed with something beyond the December cold.

“Mrs Bennet.” He spoke in a rush, the words tumbling over one another. “I know my timing is dreadful. I know you have endured a terrible shock this morning and that propriety demands I wait for a more appropriate moment. But I have wasted too much time already, time I shall never forgive myself for, and I find I cannot bear another moment of uncertainty.”

Mrs Bennet blinked at him in bewilderment.

“I hold your daughter in the highest regard, madam,” Mr Bingley continued. “Indeed, I have loved her since the first moment I beheld her at the Meryton assembly, and my feelings have only deepened in the months since, despite every obstacle and separation. I behaved abominably in quitting Hertfordshire as I did and in allowing myself to be persuaded away from her, and I have regretted it every day since.” His voice steadied. “If Miss Bennet would still have me, despite everything, I should like to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her. I should like to ask for her hand in marriage.”

Silence filled the entrance hall. Elizabeth looked at her mother, at her sister, then at the man who stood before them with his heart laid bare.

Mrs Bennet opened her mouth, closed it, and then simply nodded.

Bingley seized Jane's hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. Jane's face glowed with a happiness so radiant it seemed to illuminate the dim hallway.

“I shall return tomorrow to discuss settlements,” Bingley said, releasing Jane's hand with evident reluctance. “And every day thereafter until you grow thoroughly sick of the sight of me.”

He bowed, cast one last adoring glance at Jane, and departed before anyone could formulate a reply. The front door closed behind him, and a moment later the carriage rattled away down the drive, this time without returning.

Elizabeth stood in the hallway, watching her mother stir from her stupor as new matrimonial schemes took root in her imagination. The morning had brought devastation, the collapse of everything she had believed about her future and her security. They were back where they had begun, with nothing resolved and much lost.

And yet, whatever darkness the morning had brought, here was light breaking through.

Elizabeth drew a breath and discovered that despite the uncertainty of her future and the shameful knowledge of how thoroughly she had been deceived, something very like hope had kindled in her chest.

No matter how bleak the horizon appeared, there was always the possibility of dawn.

Chapter 21

The fire in Netherfield's study had burned low by the time carriage wheels sounded upon the gravel. Darcy rose from the chair where he had spent the past hours with a book in his lap, his thoughts fixed upon Longbourn and what might be transpiring there whilst he sat waiting for news he could not seek himself.

He had planned to remain at Pemberley but had not been able to bring himself to do so. Thus, he had accompanied Bingley to Hertfordshire, which he had left so very recently.

He met Bingley in the entrance hall, searching his friend's face for some indication of how the morning had unfolded. What he found was a curious mixture of gravity and elation, two states so at odds that he could not immediately reconcile them.

“Well?” He kept his voice level. “Did they believe you?”

“They believed me.” Bingley handed his hat and gloves to the footman and gestured toward the study. “Come. I shall tell you everything, but I require brandy first. Possibly the entire decanter.”

They settled into chairs before the dying fire, and Bingley poured two generous measures before launching into his account. The shock of the Bennet women when he presented the evidence. Mrs Bennet succumbing to vapours and requiring salts. The tense interval whilst Jane played at the pianoforte and Miss Elizabeth examined the documents. And then McLeod's return from Meryton to find his world crumbling around him.

“He denied it at first,” Bingley said, swirling the amber liquid and watching it catch the firelight. “He actually had the audacity to speak of powerful connexions in Scotland who would take a dim view of slander against a Highland laird. Then, he implied he would see me ruined.” He took a long swallow. “I confess there was a moment when I wondered whether we had made some terrible mistake.”