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Their conversation that morning had supplied a wedding full of sisters and a father difficult to answer. It had not explained how Bingley had found courage to approach that father in the first place. Darcy’s own concerns had left him little attention for the progress of the courtship; he had accepted Caroline’s account too readily.
“Was Miss Bennet in favor of the match from the first?” Darcy asked.
“You will have to ask her.”
“I ask what you observed.”
“I observed that she came to Netherfield with mud upon her petticoat and declined to be ashamed of it.”
Darcy waited.
“Jane had caught cold after riding over to dine with my sisters,” Bingley explained. “She was obliged to remain, and Elizabeth walked from Longbourn the next morning to see her. Caroline was horrified.”
“By the illness?”
“By the mud. Jane was upstairs, so there was less opportunity to inspect her.”
Darcy laughed before he could prevent it. “That is unkind.”
“It is accurate. I was there.”
Bingley took a drink from the glass he had set upon the mantel. He had spoken lightly of his sister, but affection for his wife soon returned to govern his expression.
“I asked Elizabeth whether Jane would like a fire. Then whether she would like more pillows. Then whether I ought to send into Meryton again. At last Elizabeth asked whether I meant to enter the room myself or furnish it so completely that there would be no place left for me.”
“And what did you do?” Darcy asked.
“Sent in the pillows.”
Darcy leaned upon his cue and laughed properly this time.
“I went upstairs afterward,” Bingley added. “You need not suppose me an entire fool.”
“I should never form a judgment upon so little evidence.”
“You used to.”
Darcy looked at him, but Bingley was smiling. They had known each other too long for every truth to require apology.
“Did Miss Bennet encourage your visits?” Darcy asked.
“She encouraged me to discover what Jane wanted. That was less convenient than being told, but useful.” Bingley set down his glass. “Once Jane was well again, I thought everything would become easier. Instead she was so good to everyone that I could not be certain whether I meant anything particular to her.”
“You cannot have doubted her for long.”
“Long enough to make myself miserable.”
Darcy considered his friend’s handsome face and the fortune that accompanied it. “There must have been some sign.”
“Her mother provided several. Unfortunately, I wished to marry Jane.”
The distinction made Darcy uncomfortable. He had treated a mother’s wishes as though they must necessarily describe a daughter’s behavior. Mrs. Bingley, as he had seen her these two days, did not make demands even when she had a clear right to do so. It was perfectly possible that the reserve he admired now had once caused Bingley considerable uncertainty.
“Besides,” Bingley said, “you must not suppose that because Mrs. Bennet wishes something, her daughters will oblige her. Ask Mr. Collins how readily Elizabeth follows her mother’s advice about marriage.”
“My aunt’s clergyman?”
“The very man. You know him?”
