Page 38 of Moments of Truth
“No,” he said, with sudden steadiness. “I am only just. For I have come to understand what it was I left behind—what I nearly threw away. If there is any hope that I might recover your good opinion—if there is any—I will spend the rest of my days proving I deserve it.”
Jane’s smile was as soft as morning light. “My opinion of you, sir, was better than you believed. I—” She faltered, then finished with brave simplicity, “I have not been easy in myself without you.”
Bingley’s breath escaped him in a half laugh, half prayer. He reached for her hand, checked himself, and instead clasped the chair-rail as though he must hold something or be overcome altogether. “Then I am not wholly undone. Miss Bennet—Jane—may I venture to call again tomorrow? And the next day? And—if your aunt and uncle do not forbid me—every day until we have done with doubts?”
The colour in her cheek deepened most deliciously. “If my aunt and uncle approve, I shall not oppose them.”
At the pianoforte Mrs. Gardiner, who played well enough to give privacy but not so well as to command attention, turned a page with unfeigned satisfaction. Elizabeth, pretending an urgent interest in the hem of a handkerchief, felt tears prick. This, at least, is set aright. And then, as joy often does, it made room for a gentler pain.If he were here—if Mr. Darcy— She stopped herself, aware that longing is a poor counsellor. Yet his letter, so grave and unadorned, had altered something within her. If I am to be worthy of anyone’s love, I must learn to be just.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley called, suddenly conscious that a sister must be made a party to his hopes, “may I steal you for a moment? I wish to thank you—for your kindness to your sister—and, if I may be permitted, to speak with Mr. Gardiner.”
Elizabeth rose at once. “With all my heart, sir.”So open—so honourable—she thought,and he will not proceed a step without it. She brought him to her uncle, who had been fortifying his benevolence with a small glass of madeira, and then discreetly drew back.
“Mr. Gardiner,” Bingley said, the words tumbling lest they be frightened from him, “I am—well—very much attached to your niece. If I am allowed the privilege of calling frequently while she remains under your roof, I shall consider it the greatest obligation of my life. And—if her regard could, by steady attentions, be won—if I might one day ask Mr. Bennet’s sanction—” He stopped, astonished at his own courage, and blushed like a boy.
Mr. Gardiner, whose sense and kindness were equal, regarded him with grave kindness. “Sir, you honour us. My niece’s happiness is the first object with us. If her judgmentapproves, mine will not oppose. Call when you please—at reasonable hours, mind you,” he added, smiling, “and we shall see what comes of constancy.”
“Constancy!” Bingley repeated, as though the very word were music. He bowed, murmured grateful nonsense that was all the better for being nonsense, and turned back to Jane with an expression that made Mrs. Gardiner sit very straight to conceal her delight.
The evening softened into that sweetest conversation which belongs to families who love one another and to lovers discovering they are allowed to hope. Plans were half-formed and then modestly withdrawn; Mr. Gardiner promised a drive the next morning if business permitted; Mrs. Gardiner recollected a ribbon that must suit Jane exactly; Maria yawned and protested she was not the least tired as she went off to bed. When the time at last came to part, Bingley lingered at the door in the way of men who wish to be sent away and called back in the same breath.
“Tomorrow, Miss Bennet?” he asked, almost whispering.
“Tomorrow,” Jane answered, and the promise shone between them like a small, steady flame.
Elizabeth, watching from the stair, pressed a hand to her heart.May every tomorrow be kinder than the last,she prayed, for them—and perhaps for me.
***
Next morning, Mr. Bingley arrived before the clock struck eleven, so radiantly punctual that Mrs. Gardiner pronouncedherself quite charmed by young men who respected a household’s order. A simple plan was proposed: a short drive for air, then back to Gracechurch Street for a light nuncheon, after which Mr. Gardiner must to his counting-house and Bingley would return his sisters’ carriage. No one mentioned that the purpose of all plans was merely to keep two hearts within sight of one another.
They walked first, for the sun was agreeable and the pavements dry. Mr. Gardiner contrived, with a dexterity long practised, to fall a few steps behind with Elizabeth, leaving Jane and Bingley just before them. “Well, Lizzy?” he said, as if the scene were not eloquent enough.
“I believe,” she answered, smiling through a sudden mist, “that we shall be very merry in Hertfordshire by and by.”
“I believe we shall,” he returned. “And I will tell you what else I believe: that a certain niece of mine is learning to value a steady heart as much as a clever head.”
She laughed a little. “I hope so, sir.” Then, lower, as if speaking to herself, “I hope so very much.”
Before a window seller’s bright display, Jane and Bingley paused to admire a watercolour of a village green. “It reminds me of home,” he said.
“Of Longbourn—or of Netherfield?” Jane ventured.
“Of any place where I am permitted to callyourneighbourhood,” he replied, colouring, and then, with a courage that astonished himself, “Miss Bennet—Jane—if I secure your father’s approbation, would you—could you—allow me to hope that Netherfield might be such a place again?”
She turned those candid blue eyes upon him, and the city noise fell away. “If my father approves, Mr. Bingley,” she said, “I will be—very happy.”
Elizabeth, who had paused before a milliner’s fan purely to give them one moment more, felt tears rise and did nothing to prevent them.Let this happiness stand; let nothing return to shake it.
Back at Gracechurch Street, over cold meats and excellent pickles, Mr. Bingley applied himself determinedly to pleasing Mr. Gardiner, and succeeded without effort. He listened when anyone spoke, even when the speaker was Maria extolling a bonnet; he offered to convey a parcel to a mutual acquaintance; he praised the Gardiner children’s small watercolours with such sincere delight that Mrs. Gardiner’s heart capitulated entirely. If this was a man easily persuaded by the strong will of others, it was not by selfishness but by good nature—and good nature, guided by love and steadied by purpose, may accomplish happy miracles.
When at last Mr. Gardiner must be off, he drew Bingley aside. “Sir, I am today at liberty to advise what I yesterday only hinted: you should write to Mr. Bennet and ask for a talk.”
Bingley’s face brightened promptly like a boy’s at a holiday. “At once! —that is, with your leave—”
“With our very warmest leave,” Mrs. Gardiner said, joining them. She laid a hand upon his arm, motherly and kind. “And if you wished, in addition, to ride down yourself before the post can carry your letter, I doubt there is anyone in this household who would call you rash.”
“Ride down—today?” His eyes flew to Jane, and then back. He mastered himself with an effort. “No—I will first secure Mr.Bennet’s permission with proper respect. But if his answer be favourable, I shall not lose an hour.”
