Memory: Volume 3, How Far We Have Come, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (48 page)

She relaxed and laughed, and then walked before him, startling when he offered his arm.  “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure.”  They walked slowly, and approaching the stairs, Bingley stopped.  “Miss Martin, I am going to sound rude, but I do not care.  I am quite pleased that you found Mr. Peterson’s conversation boorish.”  She blushed again.  “I ask, what of Mr. McCoy’s?”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“No sir, I am afraid that I do not.”  She let go of his arm and he reached to retrieve her hand.  “He is a very good, kind, and sincere young man.  He has excellent prospects, and he is here now.  And he is suspicious of you.  I have no answers for his questions.”

“You know my reasons for not giving you any.”

Abbey studied him.  “The way that you look at me.  I see such conflict in your eyes.  What does it mean?  Are you fighting attraction or resisting action before you feel the time is right?”

“What else do you see?”  He urged her.  “Tell me.  Does it resemble Mr. McCoy’s expression?”

“No.”  She studied him.  “He may be shy, but he is visiting for a reason.  Give me a reason to send him away, Mr. Bingley, for I would be a fool to pass the chance if there is nothing else waiting for me.”  He hesitated and she sighed.  “I see.”

“No, you do not.”

“Then tell me!”  She cried in frustration.  “What are you holding back?  Would you regret it if I were to throw myself wholeheartedly into my visits from Mr. McCoy?”

“Would you?”

“What is wrong with me that makes you hesitate?  If I am so unsuitable that you cannot answer me now, then . . . I think that I am better off thinking no more of the possibility.”  Abbey’s eyes were bright with tears.

“Abbey . . .”

“No sir. You have no right to call me by name.”  She stepped away from him and went to the stairs. “Goodbye, Mr. Bingley.”  She ran down and Bingley felt a hand shove his back.  Not even looking behind him, he ran forward and arriving at the front door, stopped her from opening it.  She looked down at her feet.  “Sir, do not block my exit.”

“Do not give in to McCoy.” 

“Why?”

“Just don’t.”

“That is not good enough.”

“Please.”

“It is so easy for a gentleman to be choosy.”

Bingley closed his eyes.  “I know.  I know how difficult it was to find a husband for my sister, despite her charms.”

“Charms.”  Abbey scoffed and Bingley looked back at her as a smile appeared.  She sighed.  “Give me a reason to wait for anyone other than Mr. McCoy.  Give it to me before I leave this home or I will never . . .”   She opened her reticule and pulled out his calling card.  “I will never look fondly upon this again.”

Bingley took the card and looked at it, and pressed it back into her palm.  He searched her eyes and covered the card with his hand. “I hope to see you in Hertfordshire.  I will be disappointed if I do not, but I
will
understand.”  He let go and stepped away, and unlatched the door.  “Good morning, Miss Martin.” 

Abbey stood still and drank in his sincere and sad eyes.  “Will I see you again before then?”

“No.”  He said softly.  “I am to travel to Scarborough to see the mills and my relatives while the weather is good, then stop at Pemberley before going to Netherfield.  That is why I cannot compete with any suitor.  It is not for lack of desire.”

“Oh.”  She looked at her father’s waiting coach and back up at him.  “Thank you for telling me that.”  Opening the reticule, she started to replace the card and stopped.  “Would you have said goodbye before you left?”

“Yes.”  Bingley relaxed when the card at last was returned to the bag.

Abbey paused to close her eyes before looking back up to him.  “Good Morning, Mr. Bingley.  I will see you in October?”

“I hope so.”  He smiled and bowed over her hand.  “Take care, and bless you.”  Abbey walked out to the curb and climbed into the coach, and watched him raise his hand as it pulled away.

“Bless you, too, Mr. Bingley.”

Chapter 15

“P
icturesque town.”  Hurst observed as the carriage rolled into Scarborough and they passed the Bingley Mills.  Bingley glanced at him and returned to looking out at the massive building that his forefathers had built.

“It hardly seems right.  They worked so hard to build this up, all so I could sit and do absolutely nothing.”  He looked back to Hurst as they moved further into town. 

“But that was the goal all along, to better the family, to bring it out of the working class.  Your father was a huge success in that light alone.  Look at you, a recognized gentleman, accepted in circles that he could only dream about, with connections he could hardly imagine.  You are welcome in the homes of a man with a name as old as this country, and in the home of an Earl.  I cannot claim that and I was born a gentleman.  It is through you that I have the slightest taste of that society.”  Hurst smiled.  “You have worked hard, not through the sweat of your brow, but through the application of your friendship.”

“I feel like an utter failure, though.”  He sighed.  “Darcy told me how hard this would be.”

“Miss Martin, again?”

“Darcy keeps telling me to be completely open with her, lay out my heart, and be prepared for the consequences if I do not.”

“Bingley, one thing at a time.  You have to worry about the future of the looms today, worry about the future of your name tomorrow.”  They rolled to a stop and stepped out to stand before a large red brick house.  “Ahhh, the family home.”

“Not anymore.”  Bingley looked up to the window that had once been the nursery.  “I am glad to have sold this.”

“No reason to keep it.  You are long past living here.”  Hurst put his arm around his shoulder and they walked to the door. “Come, face the ghosts.” 

Laughing softly, they entered and were immediately shown up the stairs to the sitting room, occupied by a woman of fifty years, who came straight to Bingley’s side and did not hesitate to take his hands.  “Oh, look at you!”  She cried.

“Mrs. Porter.”  He smiled and squeezed her hands.  “You are as lovely as ever.”

“You do have your father’s charm; there is no doubt about that!”  The small woman with gray, once black, hair smiled and studied him. “Oh dear, you are your father, how handsome he was.”  Bingley’s face coloured under her intense inspection and the silence became increasingly uncomfortable when he noticed her eyes welling up with tears.  Hurst cleared his throat and looked at him pointedly. 

“Mrs. Porter, I do not know if you remember my brother, Mr. Hurst?  He married Louisa?”

“Oh.”  She blushed and finally let go of his hands to turn to Hurst and curtsey.  “I believe that I saw you one time when you came to call on Mr. Bingley, your father, dear, when you were courting Miss Louisa.  How is she?”

“Very well, madam, she said to convey her best wishes and to thank you for putting up with us, in case we forgot to thank you ourselves.”

“Oh, yes!”  Bingley cried.  “I meant to thank you . . .”

“Ah, that is your father.”  She smiled at him fondly again then shook her head.  “Well, the board is at the mill, they were not sure exactly when you would arrive, but they are planning to meet here in an hour or so.  There is time for you two to relax a bit.  Shall I show you up to your rooms?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Porter, I promised Louisa I would write to her as soon as we arrived, and I promised to walk out and see if I could find a certain treat at the confectioner’s for her.”

“Something that is not in London?”  She laughed.  “I can hardly imagine!”

“Just not as good; and . . .well, I do not wish to intrude on my brother’s business.  I am merely along for the ride.”  He smiled at Bingley.

“How is Caroline?  Acerbic as ever?”  Mrs. Porter tossed over her shoulder as she led the way across the hall towards the bedchambers.  “Has motherhood mellowed her at all?”

The men exchanged glances.  “She is resting at our brother’s estate.”  Bingley offered.

“With or without your brother?” 

“Currently, with.”  

“That was a careful answer.”  Mrs. Porter replied humourlessly when she arrived at a chamber.  “She is the picture of your mother.”  Opening the door she waved.  “For you Mr. Hurst. I see that you travelled without your servants, my husband’s valet will be glad to aid you during your stay.”

“Thank you, madam.”  He bowed and entered. “I will see you after the meeting, Bingley.”

“Yes.”  Bingley followed Mrs. Porter along until they stopped at another door.  “My old chambers.”  He smiled.

“I thought that you might like them, dear.”  She opened the door and he passed in.  “Fond memories or would you rather move elsewhere?”

“No, fond for the most part.”  He looked around.  “The paper has changed.”

“It was hideous, you had to admit.”  She looked around and touched the furniture. 

“Mrs. Porter . . .” Bingley hesitated, and she smiled up at him again.  “You knew my father, well, differently than I did.”

“Socially?”

“Yes.”  He sighed and said nothing as his luggage was brought in, and the servant bowed before leaving them alone.  “I really only knew the ambitious businessman. I rarely saw him, he was always at work.  And when I did see him he was eager only to hear of my attempts to join the society he aspired to enter.” 

“Only on your holidays when he would parade you around.”  She smiled when he blushed.  “I saw how uncomfortable you were.”

“I could not deny him, I was living his dream.”

“Yes.”  She said softly.  “The dream that his father put in his head, and made him blind to everything else.”

“I have always sensed a deep dislike for my mother from you.”

“I did not hide it well.”  She shrugged.  “She stole my Charles, but then if he had married me, there would be no you.”  She patted his hand.  “And the world is far better with the gentleman you are.”

Bingley stared.  “You and father were . . .”

“Friendly.” 

“Did you court?”

“In a way.”  She went over to a chair and sat down.  “We loved each other’s company, we laughed and danced.”  Mrs. Porter smiled at him, but was seeing another young man.  “He was sweet and kind, and very good.”

“What happened?”

“Ambition, pride, pressure to do as his father wished.”  She shrugged.  “He met the girl who was to be your mother. Her father was in trade as well, but a little higher up.  A little closer to the social sphere, more experience, and speaking of ambition, well!  She heard of your grandfather’s desire to have his son in an estate and how he was saving for it, and that was it, she latched onto him, your grandfather, I mean, buttering him up so he looked at her and thought this was the ideal woman to move your father forward.  I was pretty and lively, but I was not the girl your grandfather saw coming down the stairs and welcoming the top of society into the Bingley mansion.  Of course your father listened to his father and naturally . . .”

“Became as ambitious, and continued to save for that estate.”  Bingley nodded, now seeing where his father’s almost single-minded pursuit was born.  “Do you think that Father would have been happy simply continuing the mill and not pursuing being a gentleman?”

“I do not know.”  She said softly.  “I think that he hoped to be the man in the great house, he was raised to believe that was his destiny.  But I think that he might have pursued it differently, perhaps even still be living now to enjoy that success instead of leaving it on your shoulders to achieve.”

“Do you believe that Mother drove him to his early grave?”

“He did not marry for love, dear.  It just was not done, not if something better could come of a proper match.”  She sighed.  “Do not listen to me.  I am the jilted lover, and I will never like your mother.” 

“I understand that.”  He went to stand by the window and slumped against it.  “There is a wonderful young lady, who I like very much.”

“Oh?”  She watched his shoulders sag.  “Is she of the society you now occupy?”

“No.  She is of the society I left behind.”

“And she is, sweet and lively?”

He turned and smiled. “Yes, she frightens me sometimes with how fiery she can become, but I think that is good for me, she is strong, but not in an
acerbic
way.”  Mrs. Porter’s brows rose.  “I have tried so hard to be kind and for lack of a better word, gentlemanly with her.  I told her I wished to wait until I moved into the estate before I became serious about my future choices.”

“She is not so patient?”

“She is frightened, I think.  Of course, she is a woman, and she sees possibilities with other men, good men, and she wishes to know if I . . .” He sighed, and looked at his hands.  “There is another lady, a most suitable lady, one from . . . .”

“Ahhhhh, the one who would be ideal for walking down the stairs of the Bingley mansion, the one who would be perfect in the society you inhabit, everything about her is perfect?”  He nodded.  “And this first girl, the one who would struggle to fit in, knows of her?”

“She knows that she will be in the same area when I move into Netherfield.”

“So she pushes for you to make a decision before then.”

“I believe that is why, yes.”

“Do you love the suitable girl?”

“No, but I like her.  She has her own problems, but she could . . .” He turned back to the window.  “With time, I am sure that she might grow on me, I do not really know her.”

“Well that is a declaration of commitment that would make the angels weep.”  Mrs. Porter clucked when he shook his head.  “The unsuitable girl,” he turned and sent her a sharp look, “hmm, the other girl, then, do you love her?”

“I would like to.”  He said softly.

“Look at me, Charles.”  Their eyes met.  “I am the other girl for your father.  I was left behind for the suitable one, and yes, your father had a beautiful home, three healthy children, a good son who is fulfilling his dreams, and I married the decent man who eventually took over the business when your father died, and gave him children and a good home.” She wiped the tears that fell down her cheek, “But each time we met, each time we spoke, the regret was there, in our eyes, in our voices.  He made the prudent choice.  I believe that if he were alive today and listening to you, he would tell you to act differently.”  Standing up she walked over to embrace him. “If I had ever been blessed with a son by your father, I pray that he would have been you.”  She kissed his cheek and wiped away a tear that was rolling down it.  “Now, you have a very important meeting about the fate of a great many people, you have enough on your shoulders for one day.  Wash your face, dear.  I will send up some wine for you.”