Page 82 of Dear Friend

He endured another quarter of an hour.

Bingley, meanwhile, had delivered the invitation to the Netherfield ball and was now engaged almost entirely with Jane. Mrs. Bennet could not have looked more pleased had the marriage already been announced. Kitty and Lydia were occupied with the prospect of the ball, Mary had returned to her book, and even Mr. Collins's attention had at last been claimed by Mrs. Bennet.

It was at this point that Darcy saw his opportunity.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, turning towards her, “might I trouble you to show me something of the garden? I confess I have called at Longbourn several times now and have seen almost nothing of the grounds.”

Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise before glancing towards her mother.

Darcy followed the look and immediately understood the difficulty.

Mrs. Bennet had heard him. “Oh, certainly, Lizzy! You must show Mr. Darcy the garden. Though there is very little worth seeing at this time of year, I am sure. In spring it is much prettier. You ought to show him the shrubbery as well. And the little wilderness beyond it.”

“Mama,” Elizabeth said, with admirable patience, “I believe Mr. Darcy asked to see the garden, not to purchase it.”

Mr. Bennet, who had followed only half the conversation over the top of his book, lowered it and smiled at his daughter's jest.

Even Darcy could not conceal a smile.

Mrs. Bennet waved the objection away. “Well, go along, then. You will have little enough daylight if you sit debating the matter.”

Elizabeth rose. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I shall endeavour to make Longbourn's November-garden worthy of your inspection.”

“I have every confidence in you.”

The look she gave him suggested she understood perfectly that he had no interest whatsoever in the garden.

They went out by the side door and followed the gravel path away from the house. The afternoon was cold but clear, and the fading light had already begun to lengthen the shadows beneath the trees. Darcy waited until they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the windows before speaking.

“I suppose you know why I asked you to show me the garden,” Darcy began. “There is little purpose in pretending otherwise, so I shall speak plainly. I owe you an explanation.”

Elizabeth looked towards him. “I had suspected the garden was not your principal object.”

“No.”

“Then I suppose we are to speak of Mr. Wickham.”

“We are.”

For several steps Darcy said nothing. He had considered the conversation repeatedly since the previous afternoon, yet now that Elizabeth walked beside him, the words seemed more difficult than they had in the privacy of his room.

“I must first apologise for my conduct yesterday. I should not have left as I did.”

“You were angry.”

Darcy glanced at her. “I was.”

Elizabeth's mouth curved slightly. “I confess I had never seen you in such a temper. Even Mr. Bingley knew not what to say to excuse your actions.”

Despite himself, Darcy smiled. “Bingley attempted to explain it?”

“He suggested you might be unwell.”

Darcy closed his eyes briefly.

Elizabeth laughed. “I am sorry. I ought not to find it amusing.”

“I assure you, Bingley's attempts to explain my conduct were considerably more charitable than I deserved.”