Bingley leaned back against the seat cushion in his carriage. He had not felt this stunned since he had been beaten up his first year at Harrow. Then it was his body that been pummeled, this time it had been his spirit.

He was a cad.

Jane – no, he was not entitled to call her that – Miss Bennet had laid out the evidence and rendered her judgment. He was a cad. And his sentence was to be exiled from her presence. Forever.

A cad. His father, whom in his personal and business dealings had never been called dishonourable, would have been so disappointed in him. To have treated someone like Miss Bennet so dishonourably; to have raised her expectations so high and then to have stolen away like a thief in the night. His father would not have entertained any excuses or rationales for such behaviour; certainly not that it was all a consequence of a conspiracy on the part of Caroline, Louise and Darcy. His father would have said 'If you broke it, you own it. What are you going to do to make it good?'

How could he make it good to Miss Bennet? He had taken from her the chance of a comfortable and prosperous married future, which he was confident, although it sounded so prideful, was what marriage to him would have entailed. She had no fortune nor connections to speak of, so, accordingly to his sisters and his friend, she had little chance of marrying any gentleman of note. Such a lack might forestall her marrying a prosperous tradesman as well. Her fate might be marriage to a farmer or a shopkeeper, or eking out an existence as a spinster.

Could he somehow, anonymously of course, find her a good husband? As soon as the thought came to him, he laughed it away. He had failed to find Caroline a husband, good or not; how could he play the matchmaker for Miss Bennet.

Could he somehow, again anonymously, bump up the amount of Miss Bennet's dowry? How much? Through whom? What public justification could be given? The various permutations spiraled out of control so fast and became so fantastical that it made his mind hurt.

He had no good answer to his father's question. He would have to ponder on possible answers. Somehow, he would make it good to Miss Bennet.

And what of himself? Miss Bennet had set out his failings; how could he make those good?

First of all, he would not cry about his situation. His father's attitude towards most injuries lacking bleeding or broken bones was 'get up and walk it off'.

He would never again act the cad. Easy to say but he would work at it. He would tamp down his enthusiasm. He would not monopolize the attentions of any young lady. He would not raise any expectations he was not prepared to satisfy. Thinking of his behaviour since he had left Hertfordshire – he had not flitted after one 'angel' or another - certainly he had not behaved as severely as Darcy but at all the social events his sisters had dragged him to, he had been civil and friendly and respectful towards all the young ladies he had met; he had not gone further, he had not even been tempted to. If he could maintain such an attitude, he would never again be in danger of being thought a cad. If.

Miss Bennet had called him a puppy. That was the criticism that had really stung. It was unseemly to even think it, but there were 'gentlemen' within the ton, with whom neither he or Darcy associated, who would laugh off him being called a cad, in fact would say he was lucky to escape the parson's mousetrap. Not one of them would laugh off being called a puppy – to call such a person a puppy to his face would be to invite a challenge.

But in truth he was a puppy. And he knew why he was a puppy. At Harrow, as a tradesman's son at a school of gentlemen's sons, he had assumed the persona of a puppy: happy go lucky, never serious, eager to please; all to avoid being beaten. Few would kick a puppy, and those that would, would be chastised severely by those who would not. Darcy was his most recent protector. Even though he was no longer trapped in those situations like school where he could be bullied, he still kept up the persona – he had grown so used to it, it was comfortable like an old and well broken-in pair of boots. He was his sisters' lapdog, his friend's loyal canine companion. To grow up, he would have to slip free of his collar and run away. He sighed. He would miss Darcy, but not so much his sisters.

Miss Bennet had compared him with Mr. Collins. Unfavourably! Mr. Collins looked to him to be eminently bullyable and he wondered if all that man's bowing and scraping and over the top compliments were part of a persona to avoid being bullied. If he ever met the man again, he would have to consider him in that light.

-}{-

After he had visited his solicitor, Bingley recalled that on the way to his townhouse he would pass by that stationer's shop where Caroline purchased that hot pressed paper she so favoured and he directed his coachman to stop there. In the shop he considered the available copybooks and bought a dozen: three each of proverbs, Latin tags, Shakespeare quotes, and bible verses; and, half a dozen of the new dip pens. He told the shopkeeper they were for his nephew.

If he ever dared to write a love letter it would be legible.

-}{-

Bingley sat at his desk tapping his fingers on the desktop. Louisa and Hurst sat across from him. They were waiting for Caroline who, as usual, was taking her time. He had told the Hursts that what he had to say, he would only say once, so they had to wait for Caroline.

He was considering having his butler and two footmen go find her and drag her to his study when she finally breezed in.

Caroline scowled at Bingley. "What is this all about? I have to get ready for the Johnsons' ball."

"You will not be going" Bingley told her.

"What? Why not?"

"You will be packing."

"What?" Caroline screeched.

Bingley spoke slowly and quietly, clearly enunciating every word. Louisa remembered their father speaking like that when he was very, very angry. She squeezed Caroline's arm and whispered "Hush, listen to him."

Bingley started "Darcy has confessed how he and you conspired to separate me from Miss Bennet." He saw Caroline was about to object so he held up his hand. "Stop. I have already heard the truth from Darcy, I do not need to hear lies from you. I have called you here to let you know what is going to happen going forward. I am closing up the townhouse."

"What?" Caroline screeched at even a higher pitch.

Bingley slapped the top of his desk. His sisters jumped and even Hurst startled. "Shut up, Caroline. If you do not, I will have you gagged." When she looked to object, he picked up the handbell which sat on his desk. He looked at it and then he looked at her. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. Caroline gulped and shook her head.

Bingley continued. "Caroline, your time in London is at an end. I have instructed my solicitor to close out all your accounts. I will no longer subsidize your spending. You are going to Scarborough to stay with our aunt. In little more than a year you will be five and twenty and your fortune will be releasable to you. If you want, you can come back to town then. My solicitor indicated that there are a number of respectable hotels that let rooms to spinsters. But I would suggest that you spend your time in Scarborough finding a husband from our class."

Bingley could read Caroline's lips – she was saying "But, but …" but not out loud. He told her "We are of the class of tradesmen. We are not of the ton. We never will be. You know very well that if I purchased an estate the ton would not regard our family as part of the gentry until my grandson inherited. Although…" Here Bingley pointed a finger at his sister "if I married a gentleman's daughter, like Miss Bennet …" he stabbed his finger at Caroline three times "it would have helped."

Bingley knew what Caroline wanted to say in response, he had heard so very many variations of it over the years, and so he pre-empted her. "Forget Darcy. He will never marry you. He has had ample opportunity to declare for you in the past five years and he has made no effort to do so. Anyway, it is doubtful you will see him any time soon. You only meet him through me, and since I am as unhappy with him, as I am with you, it will be some time before I am in company with him. No, Caroline, look for a husband elsewhere. I got the impression last summer that Mr. Entwistle, of Entwistle Mills, was quite taken with you. If he is still available, marriage to him would make you the doyenne of Scarborough's circle of tradesmen. Think about it."

Bingley turned to Mr. Hurst. "Hurst, if you and Louisa can see Caroline safely to Scarborough, I will return your vowels to you." Louisa whipped her head around to glare at her husband; it was apparent she was not aware he had borrowed from Bingley. Hurst nodded his agreement.

Bingley concluded "I do not know when I will be amenable to extending hospitality to any of you again. Perhaps the passage of time will help." Bingley stood up. "Anyway, I have packing to do; I am sure you do as well. If I do not see you again – I wish you safe travel." He moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Hurst asked.

Bingley turned back. "My solicitor has given me a list of estates for sale in the south west: in Somerset, Devon and Cornwall. I am going to take a look at them." As he left his study, he heard squabbling break out behind him.

-}{-

Some time later, when he was collecting some papers from his study, Bingley supposed that he should let Darcy know what had happened with Miss Bennet, he owed him that much, but he did not want to tell him all the details.

It took him three drafts to craft a message to Darcy, of only four words, which was legible and free of blots.