Page 88 of His Pride and His Prejudice

Bingley looked up at him, an emotion Darcy recognised well flashing across his features. “What do you mean by this?”

The pain was Darcy’s constant companion also. He felt it as he awoke, it accompanied him throughout the day, and it was there, in bed with him as he attempted to sleep. Perhaps it was even there in his dreams, certainly Elliot featured in them often enough.

“I am so very sorry for the pain that I have caused you both,” he eventually said. “And I understand entirely if you wish to pause our friendship whilst you consider it.”

“Jack is…”

“As in love with you as you ever were with him,” Darcy said. “I have it on good authority.”

And then he shared with Charles everything that had happened in Kent. He left nothing out, not even his own rejection, his own pain. Charles was, as always, an involved audience. He gasped when Darcy revealed his proposal, groaned as Darcy described Elliot’s reaction, and possibly began to pale slightly as Darcy conveyed Elliot’s exact words regarding his brother’s feelings.

“He was always so…” Charles shook his head. “Circumspect.”

“It is his way.”

“Late in the evening at my ball I succeeded in tempting him into one of the parlours. I thought, if I were to make a declaration, well then, I should damn well have kissed him at least!” Charles sighed. “And he was all perfection, Darcy, I felt it, I thought he did, but something held him back, some restraint. When you spoke of his indifference, I thought that must have been what you meant.”

“The expectations on him are significant,” Darcy said softly. “I suspect that is why he holds himself back.”

Both men were consumed by their own thoughts for a little while until Charles eventually broke the silence. “You acted in my best interests.” It was not a question, but Darcy answered it as if it were.

“Always.”

“Then our friendship continues. Of course, it does. But if what you have said is correct…” Charles shook his head and he looked differently suddenly, hopeful. “I must return to Netherfield!”

“I suspected you would say as much.”

The roots were no longer an issue, and Charles hurried down the hill. “You will join me?”

“I cannot.”

“Elliot…”

“Precisely.”

Bingley clasped him on the shoulder. He was always most animated when there was a plot afoot, and seemingly he had already shaken off their dreadful mistake—well, Darcy’s at least—and was now making plans for the future. Darcy could only be grateful. He would have been pained indeed to lose Bingley’s friendship.

“Then I will return alone. That is probably for the best. And perhaps once I have convinced Jack of my regard, and apologised profusely for my shockingly poor behaviour, then perhaps I may be able to talk with my new brother Elliot also.”

“I would that you did not,” Darcy said as he imagined Elliot’s response to that.

Charles gave him a look. “Some interference is warranted, Darcy, surely.”

“Charles—”

“Especially if it is done in the best interest of a friend.”

“Yes,” Darcy eventually agreed. “Perhaps it is.”

He looked out over his grounds, watching as the afternoon sun shifted the colours of the fields and the trees to a tapestry of deep greens and bright oranges, his thoughts on the Bennets, and on what Elliot would think when Charles returned to declare himself.

Would it soften his stance to Darcy?

Would Darcy welcome that?

Those tapestry of treasures filled Darcy once more, and he considered them one by one. Elliot the first time they had met in that awful assembly with the dreadful fruit punch. Elliot’s intriguing smile at the Lucases’ ball when Darcy had begun to realise there was something special about him. Elliot at Netherfield, all concern for his brother and mortification at the rest of his family. And then, finally, Elliot next to him as they danced at that final ball, their hands touching, their bodies reaching out to one another…already aware of what their minds had not yet comprehended.

Of course, Darcy would welcome it, there could be no doubt.

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