A/N: By way of answer to 'adkshviofskbnpn (Guest)' who/whom/whatever yelled at your hack writer: 'PLEASE LEARN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "WHOM" AND "WHO" - IT'S IMPORTANT!': It's the letter 'M'. Amirite?
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Hill did not want her charges to be caught unawares so she announced to those sitting in drawing room: Mrs. Bennet, Jane and Mary (Mr. Bennet, as always, was hiding in his book room), that "Mr. Bingley has been spotted riding up the drive."
Mrs. Bennet started shrieking "We're saved, we're saved" and generally causing a commotion. Mary stood and catching Jane's eye, nodded at the front door. Then Mary and Hill each took one of Mrs. Bennet's arms and lead her off to the comfort of her tonic.
Jane sighed and smoothed down her dress. It was one of Lydia's old ones, stripped of all frilly accoutrements, satisfactory as a house dress, but not one in which you would want to receive such an important visitor. Much too late now to worry. She sighed again, lifted her chin, and walked to meet her fate.
Mr. Bennet met Jane at the front door. "What was the old bitch baying about?" he asked.
Jane presumed he meant his wife, her mother, and not Hill. Not wanting to go off on a tangent by inquiring whom he meant, she said "Mr. Bingley is coming up the drive."
"Do not worry, my dear, I will protect you from that feckless fool." Mr. Bennet pushed past Jane and went out the front door, stopping on the top step. Jane followed but she stopped on the sill so she could see over her father's shoulder. As she waited for Mr. Bingley to arrive, she glared at the back of her father's head, he picked a fine time to become a protective father, now, when her best hope of salvation was at hand. She frowned; she would not let her father wreck things now.
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As Bingley rode up the drive, he thought about what he must do. Apologize, abjectly; grovel, profusely; abase himself to whatever extent it took to regain his angel's favour. But how? And when? The thought he was months late and pounds short gnawed at him. It was September now, a scant fortnight from the expiry of his lease of Netherfield. He should have come as soon as he received Darcy's letter, but he hadn't; he had taken advantage of Caroline's lassitude following on from her supposed loss of Darcy to see her embarked on a voyage of matrimony with Mr. Entwist, proprietor of Entwist Mills, maker of thread used by all the finest modistes. Bingley hoped, prayed really, that by the time Caroline found out his deceit, she would be safely ensconced as the Grande Dame of Scarborough's first circle of tradesmen, and enjoying that role to such an extent that she would not poison him the first time he supped at her table. Bringing Caroline and her now husband to point had taken time, and a thankfully small supplement to her dowry, but it was done. Now to deal with Miss Bennet; but again, how?
Then Bingley saw Mr. Bennet and Miss Bennet come out of the front door of Longbourn and he understood what Harold must have felt like arriving at Hastings after marching from Stamford Bridge. Mr. Bennet scowled at him. Miss Bennet glared at him, then she frowned and Bingley felt a part of him start to shrivel. Looking up, he could see Miss Mary watching him from an upper window, looking as dour as she ever did, if not fiercer. Bingley took a deep breath, lifted his chin, he could do this, and reined his horse to a stop before the Bennets. A gardener was coming across the lawn to take his horse. Bingley started to dismount.
"Stay in the saddle, sir. You will not be here that long. Now state your business" said Mr. Bennet.
Bingley was nonplussed. Mr. Bennet continued to scowl at him. Behind her father Miss Bennet shook her head back and forth.
"I am here to call on Miss Bennet" said Bingley.
"She's not receiving visitors the type of you" said Mr. Bennet.
Miss Bennet looked shocked; and Bingley heard her whisper "Papa, please …"
Mr. Bennet turned his head and said "Hush Jane, I will deal with this imposition". He looked back at Bingley and said "Sir, you have crossed my daughter in love once and ran off, leaving her broken hearted; it took her a long time to mend her heart; you will not be given a second chance to break it."
Bingley sat taller in his saddle. "With all due respect, sir, I would like to speak to Miss Bennet, and ascertain her feelings directly."
"Well, she is not in a position to speak to you or any other gentleman. In the eyes of society" Mr. Bennet fairly spit out that last word "she has been ruined by her sisters." Mr. Bennet shooed Bingley away.
"I'm fully aware of what has been done by Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia and their actions do not in any way lessen my regard for Miss Bennet" said Bingley, his voice only cracking a little, as he struggled to keep his growing anger at Mr. Bennet in check.
"Then you are a damn fool in addition to being a feckless cad. You should know that ruin is contagious. Now begone."
While her father had been haranguing Bingley, Miss Bennet had been pointing her finger, not at Bingley, but rather at a forty-five-degree angle over his right shoulder, and then holding up two fingers; she repeated this twice before her father finished.
Bingley tipped his hat and said "Good day, Miss Bennet." He did not farewell Mr. Bennet.
Bingley turned his horse back towards the gate, but when he got to the foot of the circular drive he stopped and looked up to determine what Miss Bennet had been pointing at. It was the summit of Oakham Mount. And the significance of the two fingers? He took out his pocket watch. It was seven and ten minutes past one o'clock. He put his watch back. Something was going to happen at two o'clock on top of Oakham Mount. He would be there.
