Memory: Volume 3, How Far We Have Come, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (3 page)

“Well you picked the right spot!  A friendly place!”  Martin saw the young boy who had first greeted him and called out, “Round up some tea, Alfie!” 

“Yes, sir!”

“That is not necessary, sir, really . . .”  Bingley protested.

“Of course it is!  We are men of business, let us have a cup and discuss things a bit.”  Martin sniffed and looked him over shrewdly.  “I hear you were in Derbyshire this winter.”

Bingley startled.  “Oh.  Yes, I was, I . . .” A slow smile appeared.  “How is Miss Martin?”

“Ahhhh, my girl is just lovely, sir.”  He nodded and looked very pleased to see that Bingley remembered her.  “She enjoyed meeting you at your friend’s estate.  Pemberley was it?”

“Yes, it was.  A beautiful and very great estate.”

“So I was told, sir.  I looked into the Darcys; Mr. Darcy took the niece of one of my neighbours to wife.”

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy is the niece of Mr. Gardiner.  I was just visiting with him.”

“Good that someone as powerful as Mr. Darcy is willing to . . . shall we say, bend to be friends with men of business.”

Bingley smiled.  “Yes, I am grateful for his condescension.”

“Ah, you are a gentleman, sir.”

“My roots are as soiled as yours, sir.” 

“So they are, so they are.  But I remember talking to your father, wanting to do right by my girls, giving them an education, a leg up, if you will.”

“Yes, I recall that, and may I say that Miss Martin is a lovely and wonderful example of the benefits of education.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time with her.”  Bingley’s smile was warm and his expression, soft.

“Did you, now?”  Martin’s eyes glimmered and he spoke quietly.  “She had some things to say of you.”

“Oh?”  He laughed and leaned forward eagerly.  “And?”

“She said you were a friendly, kind, and pleasing young man.”  Bingley blushed.  “She wondered if there was once something between you and Mrs. Darcy.”

“What?”  Bingley sat up and frowned.  “What did she say?”

Martin startled with the abrupt change and spoke quickly.  “Oh, do not take that the wrong way, sir.  I am sure she did not mean to imply that you and she were . . .”

Bingley stood.  “Sir, I do not appreciate any implication that I would engage in any such activity with a woman as fine and excellent as Mrs. Darcy!”  He took a few steps and turned to find Martin on his feet and coming after him.  “How dare anyone imply such a thing!  She is the kindest, most loyal wife to my best and treasured friend, and I consider her a sister and friend to myself!  If your daughter is such a conniving wretch to wish and imply anything so . . . so . . . disgusting between me and . . . well, I seriously misread her and I obviously am . . . a failure at judging people.  Thank you for bringing my failings to my attention.  I will be far more staid in my welcome of strangers in future.  Good day, sir!”

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Bingley!  Wait!”  Martin ran after him.  “Sir . . .”

At that moment, Abbey walked into the shop and removed her bonnet to shake it out.  She looked up to come face to face with Bingley.  She gasped and gazed at him, and a becoming blush spread over her cheeks before she realized that he was glaring at her.  “Mr. Bingley!”

“Miss Martin.”  He said coldly.  “Excuse me; I will remove myself from your presence since I obviously inspire your worst instincts.” 

“What?”  She stared and did not move.  “What are you saying?”

“I do not believe this is the time or place to discuss it.”  Bingley’s mouth set.  “Now, please step aside so that I may leave this place.”

“No!”  Abbey glared.  “You cannot just accuse me of something and . . . barrel out of here like some . . . stuck-up snob and expect me to bend over and thank you for it!  Now explain your accusations!”  She crossed her arms and did not move.

“Miss Martin . . .”

“I am not moving, sir.”

“I am trying to remain a gentleman.”

“Well then behave like one and answer a lady’s question.” 

The two continued to look intently at each other and finally Mr. Martin stood between them.  “Now then, why don’t we just retire to the parlour . . .”
Bingley shot a look at Martin.  “Why, so she can accuse me of some other indiscretion?  Perhaps she thinks that I am sweet on my best friend’s fourteen-year-old sister as well as his wife?” 

Abbey’s face grew white.  “Papa, what did you say to him?”

“I only repeated what you said.  You told me that you wondered at his care for Mrs. Darcy and if there had ever been something . . .” His voice trailed off and he saw his daughter’s and Bingley’s matched mortification.  “Obviously someone here got something wrong.” 

“Mr. Bingley, I apologize if my musings were misunderstood or repeated in any way that questions your friendship with the Darcys or Mrs. Darcy’s fidelity to her husband.  I . . . I only saw an unusually close relationship, and I knew that you were not blood.  I . . . I am very much unaccustomed to such displays of . . .” She glanced at her father, “Camaraderie.”

Bingley breathed through his nose and searched her face for sincerity.  “I will have you know, Miss Martin, that my loyalty and care for the people in my life is very sincere and strong.  If what I display seems inappropriate to an outsider than I will have to check myself.  Thank you for telling me what my friends might feel.”  He frowned deeper still.  “However, my friends who know me well do not doubt me.  They trust me.  They care for me, as I do them.”  His face reflected his deep hurt and she saw it.  “Excuse me.”

“Please, Mr. Bingley . . .”

“No, Miss Martin, I . . . I must leave.  I . . . I bear you no . . . animosity.”  He put his hat on his head and walked out into the rain.

“Oh, Papa!”  Abbey turned to her father.  “Why did you have to say that?  I did not mean what you implied!”  She stared out at Bingley’s retreating figure and crossed her arms protectively around her chest.  “I liked him.  I liked him so much, and I thought that he liked me.”

“I am sorry, Daughter.”  Martin put his arm around her.  “I thought that I was . . .well, it is done now.  Come, let’s get you some tea.  You’re chilled to the bone.” 

Abbey saw Bingley disappear and nodded sadly.  “Yes, Papa.”  She stopped and wiped her eyes.  “Did he say anything about me?”  When her father hesitated, she stared up at him.  “He hated me!”

“No, no.  He said that you were lovely and he enjoyed his time with you.”  He watched her hands fly to her face and he hugged her.  “Why
did
you wonder about his feelings for Mrs. Darcy?”

She sobbed and buried her face on his shoulder.  “Because I . . . I had been imagining what it might be like to . . . be cared for by him.  I . . . I thought that I was not so different from his sister and . . . and his friends liked me and I . . . I was
daydreaming
,
Papa!  I was wondering how any man could be so kind and happy with his friends . . . I wondered if what he displayed with Mrs. Darcy was what it would be like to be loved by him.”  Her shoulders shook and he held her tightly.  “Oh why did you tell him!” 

Mr. Martin rested his chin in her hair and rubbed her back.  “I will make this right, Daughter.  I will find a way to make this right.”

“CHARLES, YOU WOULD NOT believe the number of invitations that have come for you, today!”  Louisa smiled and approached him as he walked through the door.  “Caroline will be kicking herself for . . . why, you are drenched!”  She watched the servants taking his coat and hat and saw that the heavy fabric had not protected him from the storm.  “Did you walk here from Cheapside?”

“Almost.”  He murmured and started up the stairs.  “I will be in my rooms.”

“Charles, what is wrong?”  Louisa took his hand.  “This is not like you.” 

He looked down at his feet.  “Perhaps this is the way I am supposed to be.”  Shaking his head he squeezed her hand and continued on his way.  Louisa looked after him then turned to go into Hurst’s study.  He was asleep in a chair by the fire.

“Gerald.”  She shook his shoulder and he grunted.  “Wake up!”

“What is it Louisa?”  He jumped and blinked. 

“Charles came home soaking wet and went to his rooms.”

He glanced out at the downpour and raised his brows.  “And this is worrying because . . .”

“He is despondent.”  She grew impatient with his obtuseness.  “Go and speak to him.”

“The man wants to be left alone, he does not . . .” Seeing her glare he sighed and pushed himself up and out of the chair.  “Yes, dear.”  He walked up the stairs with a bottle and two glasses in hand; debating what could possibly make Bingley despondent, and decided it had to be a woman.  “What else could it be?”  He smiled to himself, and arriving at his brother’s chambers, knocked, then opened the door.  Bingley was standing by the window staring out at the street below.  Hurst closed the door behind him and poured out the port, then walked over to Bingley and nudging him, held out a glass.  “Here, to warm you.”

Bingley looked down and silently took the glass.  They drank and Hurst leaned against the window frame.  “You may as well spill it, Louisa will not let up until she knows what is bothering you.  And frankly, I was rather enjoying my nap by the fire.”  Taking his brother by the arm, he pulled him over to a chair and sat him down, refilled his glass, and took a seat for himself.  “A woman.”

“How . . .”

“Anyone I know?”

“Miss Martin.”

“Ahhhhhh.”  Hurst smiled.  “You did remember her.”

“I never forgot her.”  Bingley glanced up at him.  “I felt a very strong attraction to her.”

“And yet you did not pursue her upon our return.”

Bingley bristled.  “I have suddenly found myself in the enviable position of being pursued.  Can you blame me for wanting to see what that was like?  For the first time since coming to this town I am worthy of attention from the first circles.”

“Yes, the invitations are rather remarkable, according to Louisa.  It is a sign that your connection to Darcy and Matlock is very well-established and envied.”  He watched him nod and smiled.  “Not to mention that your worth has been authenticated.”

“How?”

“Caroline has undoubtedly been talking up the connection.  You are the Darcys’ friend; she is your sister, ergot . . .”

“Of course.  Nothing is ever done out of familial love.”  Charles sighed then looked up to his brother.  “You were at Pemberley.”

“I seem to remember that.”  Hurst chuckled.

“Tell me, my behaviour with the Darcys, Mrs. Darcy, is it questionable?  Was there ever any indication that I, that we, that there was . . .” Bingley’s growing distress made Hurst sit up.  “Did I do wrong?”

“Such as?”

“Is there, was there, any suggestion that . . . that I ever had a
tendre
for Mrs. Darcy?”

Hurst sighed and nodded in understanding.  “To someone who did not know you, or your deep feelings of care and respect of them, perhaps they might see you as being too forward or familiar.  But those who know you, who know Mrs. Darcy’s teasing nature, and who know that she sees you as her brother would never do anything more than smile at your antics, and perhaps wish for you to mature a bit, and find someone of your own to tease.”

“So I go too far.”  He sighed. 

“If you went too far I believe that you would find yourself flat on the ground via Darcy’s fist or deafened by Mrs. Darcy’s tongue.  It is their opinions that matter.  Theirs alone.”  He nudged the glass towards him.  “Now, what does this have to do with Miss Martin?”

Bingley stared at the wine and spoke to the glass.  “I found myself in her father’s shop.  We somehow began speaking of Pemberley, I . . . expressed my admiration of Miss Martin, he repeated her admiration of me and . . . that she wondered if I had ever had feelings for Mrs. Darcy.”

“Ah, and you were justifiably offended.”

Seizing on the statement, he snapped his head up.  “Of course I was!  She does not know me!  And to go . . . gossiping about me behind my back!  To her father, no less!  A man who is associated with my business!  Who might he have spoken to about this?  Why, it was mortifying!  What does that tell me of her upbringing, her family?  She and her father are no more discreet than Caroline!”

Nodding, Hurst asked patiently, “And then?”

“She entered the shop and I was forced to listen to an incomprehensible explanation from a woman who obviously enjoys gossiping about her perceptions of people she barely knows.  And I gave her absolution!”  He frowned and took a long pull on his glass of port.   Slamming it down he glared at his brother.  “Am I wrong to feel angry?”

“No, not at all.”  Hurst nodded and studied him for some moments.  “Is it possible that
you
felt a
tendre
for Miss Martin?”

“How should I know?”  Bingley turned his glare back to the window.  “I liked her.  I liked talking to her.  I liked our common background.  I liked her smile and her teasing.  I liked her eyes.”  His voice faltered.  “I knew how to find her.  I could have gone to her father’s shop at any time since we returned.”

“And?”

Bingley glanced at Hurst.  “I am to marry a gentlewoman.”

“Ah.  As Louisa and Caroline were to marry gentlemen.”

“Yes.  It was pounded into us.  I know that I showed my excitement at Pemberley, and it was wrong, just as Darcy implied.”  Bingley passed his fingers through his hair and sighed.  “Well she showed herself, there is no need to battle with my duty now.  I can put her away with a clear conscience and enjoy the Season.  And find my angel.” 

“Well you certainly have enough invitations to do that.”  Hurst smiled and stood, and gripped his shoulder.  “It is for the best.”  Bingley nodded and Hurst left the room, leaving the bottle behind.

DARCY STOOD and held out his hand.  “You look very well!” 

De Bourgh grinned and clasped his hand, then took the indicated chair before Darcy’s desk.  “Thank you, so do you.”  He glanced out of the door into the hall and looked back when he heard Darcy’s soft chuckle.  “Am I so obvious?”

“Yes.”  He laughed again and looked to Conrad.  “We can finish this in the morning.”