Events on the Bingley front proceeded fairly according to expectations. I will not bore you with the details, neither regarding the hunting (I was as abysmal at it as I had remembered) nor with the persuading. Suffice it to say, once presented with the facts surrounding Miss Jane Bennet and her regard for him during his stay in London, he was convinced; the only difficulty was in explaining why they had been withheld from him previously. I took the honorable route and gave him the truth, steeling myself for the repercussions. It was here that the conversation took a turn for the bizarre.

"I understand the situation completely, old thing. It is perfectly obvious that the mastermind behind my months of misery was never you," Bingley declared magnanimously.

"Yes, obviously," I agreed heartily and dishonestly.

"I see now. Caroline put you to it."

"Yes, of course it was…" Wait. Who was Caroline? One of Bingley's old flames? He knew absolute heaps of girls, I could never retain their names in the old register. One of them might have been called Caroline. As a matter of fact, I could recall him mentioning a Caroline rather recently. That's right, it was when he was referring to - "Miss Bingley," I finished.

"Naturally. She was acting out of her desire to protect my feelings from mistaken danger, and you could not help but bend to her will."

"I never bend to a female's will," I retorted on reflex. A man's sense of pride cannot be repressed easily. This reminded me that the same could be said of his innate sense of self-preservation, particularly during assorted skirmishes with my aunt and sister. The opposition, unsurprisingly, had secured complete victory without exception. "I never bend to an unrelated female's will, anyway," I amended.

Bingley regarded me patronizingly. "Silly Darcy. Beyond necessary civilities, you never speak with unrelated females, except for Caroline."

I raised an outstretched finger to object to this accusation, but was forced to lower it. I drew a complete blank of cases with which to contradict him. Excepting Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of course, but I hardly wished to draw his attention in that direction.

"And it's easy to see why. You wish to make her related."

I gaped at him. How did he know my intentions towards Miss Bennet? Did Bingley in fact own an intellect capable of discerning my carefully concealed feelings? How long did he know? How much did he know? What else did he know about me?

As these and progressively more alarming thoughts swirled through my head, the mystifying man beamed at me jovially. "And, as her brother, you will undoubtedly be relieved to know that I bear no ill will toward either of you, and in fact give you my warmest approval!"

I closed my mouth and rubbed my chin perplexedly. I was fairly certain there was no conceivable method for Bingley to be Miss Bennet's brother. I ran through the maths in my head to verify this. Miss Bennet, in the course of her life, has acquired four sisters and zero brothers. Thus, no man could claim to be her brother. Bingley has the singular misfortune to possess not one but two sisters who were not Georgiana (the paradigm of sisters and the best a man could ask for; all other sisters pale in comparison). He also has zero brothers. Therefore, he could claim to be a brother, but not to Miss Bennet (nor, regrettably for him, to Georgiana). Who, then, could Bingley be claiming himself a brother to and professing his approval of my suit to? The math left only one candidate.

Miss (Caroline) Bingley.

I gaped even more largely at him than before. "Bingley," I began thickly. I was too filled with warring emotions to continue.

"No need to worry, old chap! I sha'n't mention a thing to her – not that it needs mentioning, what with your steadily warming relationship. We've been expecting developments for months. But that's beside the point now! I must ride for Longbourn at once! I need my hat and gloves!"

I stood speechless, listening as he dashed towards his apartments, slammed the doors to the closets, upset what sounded like an erstwhile vase of flowers, and clattered back down the stairs and outdoors towards the stables. I finally regained enough control to sink slowly into a chair as he re-entered from the grounds and ran towards the other end of Netherfield, a cry of "I forgot - I need boots too!" echoing behind him.

I trudged back towards my own apartments, trying to piece these new developments together. My behaviour, engendering hopes of an attachment between myself and Miss Bingley? Preposterous. Surely she herself did not think so. She behaved towards me as she would towards any friend of her brother. It was impossible. But what could Bingley had meant when he said "We've been expecting developments"?

Somehow, I staggered through the doors to my rooms, where Jeeves was ready to attend to the casualties my faculties had suffered during the preceding conversation. "May I assume, sir, from the distinctive manner of Mr Bingley's recent departure, that your efforts met with success?" he enquired solicitously while pouring.

"You could assume that, and more," I groaned, taking a sip of the proffered restoring tonic. "Let it never be said that a conversation with that blasted Bingley is ever dull. Out of curiousity, Jeeves, have you ever discerned anything peculiar in Miss Bingley's demeanor towards me in the recent past?"

"No, sir, she has been as unwavering and expectant in her infatuation with you as ever," Jeeves responded promptly.

"I must have misheard you, Jeeves. I could have sworn you said 'infatuation'," I replied, blinking.

"I did employ that term, sir," Jeeves affirmed calmly. "Perhaps you would prefer 'warm admiration and particular regard, with intentions of a swift marriage,' instead?"

I closed my eyes. Hope was not lost. Even Jeeves could not be perpetually free from all error. I slowly finished my drink, revisiting my memories in search of such an example.

"I hope that your spirits are somewhat restored, sir?"

I nodded. Just because no such cases of Jeeves' fallibility yet came to mind did not mean that they would not soon.

"I am pleased to hear that, sir. In that case, I ought to inform you that Lady Catherine is waiting on you in your sitting room."

Upon that news, words failed me. Eyes still lidded, I silently held out my now empty glass for another round.