Page 48 of Near Pemberley

Jane watched her quietly, but with a tenderness which seemed to ask for no explanation.

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The days following Darcy’s letter to Longbourn passed with a slowness which no occupation entirely succeeded in relieving.

At the outset, he expected an answer almost immediately.

Not because he imagined himself entitled to one, but because the circumstances themselves appeared too urgent to admit delay. If assistance were required, surely Mr. Bennet would respond without unnecessary formality.

Thus, Darcy found himself listening involuntarily whenever letters arrived from the post as soon as it was plausible for one from Longbourn.

By the se’nnight, expectation had begun gradually to give way to uncertainty.

By the fortnight, uncertainty had become something far more difficult to master.

No answer came.

Outwardly, his conduct altered little. The habits of self-command long established in him did not easily abandon their place. He continued attending to his guests with proper civility; he dined with them, accompanied them in rides through the park, listened with patience to Miss Bingley’s observations, and even exerted himself occasionally in conversation when Georgiana’s comfort seemed to require it.

Yet the effort grew more and more exhausting daily.

Every morning, upon entering the breakfast room, his eyes moved towards the letters placed beside his plate.

And every morning, disappointment returned.

He did attempt to reason with himself calmly. The letter might have miscarried. Mr. Bennet, amidst distress and confusion, might simply have overlooked it. The family’s situation might be too painful to discuss with comparative strangers. Or perhaps – and here his thoughts always became less steady – Elizabeth herself had opposed any reply.

That possibility recurred to him with increasing frequency.

She might consider his interference unwelcome. She might resent his presumption in writing at all.

Or worse still, she might now wish entirely to forget every renewed intimacy which had arisen between them in Derbyshire.

He recalled again, with painful exactness, the openness which had existed between them during those few hours at Lambton. At times, he felt persuaded he had not imagined the alteration in her manner. At others, memory itself seemed merely another form of vanity.

Perhaps he had once more mistaken civility for encouragement. Even considering such a possibility was enough to unsettle him.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at Pemberley became increasingly oppressive to him.

Miss Bingley, though careful never again to speak openly with disrespect of the Bennets in his presence, possessed too much curiosity not to speculate continually upon the mystery of their sudden departure. Darcy perceived easily enough that she suspected disgrace of some kind; and though Bingley himself remained more sincerely anxious than inquisitive, even his concern became painful to witness.

For Bingley still spoke of Jane Bennet sometimes. Not frequently. Not directly. But enough.

Enough that Darcy, hearing the unchanged warmth in his friend’s voice, became ever more conscious of the injury he himself had once assisted in inflicting.

But another reflection now accompanied the recollection with increasing persistence. Had Bingley’s attachment been equal to his own? Darcy could not entirely persuade himself that it had. For if a man truly loved – deeply, decidedly, beyond vanity or convenience – could he so easily have surrendered the object of his affection merely upon another man’s judgement? Or because his sisters did not approve?

Bingley had withdrawn without resistance, without demanding explanation, almost without complaint. More troubling still, he had left Hertfordshire without offering Miss Bennet any proper farewell after attentions which all the neighbourhood had observed.

Every time Bingley spoke of Hertfordshire and the pleasure he had found there, Darcy experienced a fleeting impulse to tell him plainly what he had never before said.

That if his attachment truly remained unchanged, he ought never to have surrendered it so easily.

The impulse was neither reasonable nor entirely just.

Yet it returned often.

Darcy reproached himself for the influence he had exerted; yet he could not wholly absolve his friend of weakness. There were moments indeed when he debated whether justice now required him to confess everything – to tell Bingley plainly that he had been mistaken in Jane Bennet’s feelings, and that Elizabeth herself had convinced him of it long ago. But each time the resolution arose, another consideration checked it. Too much time had passed. The circumstances at Longbourn were now too unhappy. And perhaps, most uncertain thought of all, Miss Bennet herself might no longer wish her former attachment remembered.