Page 6 of He Insulted My Entire Family Before Proposing

At last he said, "Darcy can learn."

"Can he apologize?"

"With difficulty."

"Then I wish him a long education."

By the time Elizabeth returned to the parsonage, the walk had done nothing to cool her anger and everything to arrange it. Charlotte was in the garden cutting early flowers with the calm precision of a woman who enjoyed small beauties but did not depend on them.

"You have been walking with Colonel Fitzwilliam," Charlotte said.

"You make it sound scandalous."

"In Hunsford, walking with anyone not approved by Lady Catherine is an uprising."

Elizabeth took the basket from her and began arranging stems by length. "I know more than I did."

"And feel worse?"

"Much."

"Then it was probably true."

There were reasons Elizabeth loved Charlotte that had nothing to do with shared girlhood. Charlotte did not rush to comfort at the expense of accuracy. She could look at an unpleasant truth and decide whether it required tea, silence, or a plan.

"Mr. Darcy separated Bingley from Jane," Elizabeth said. "He believed Jane indifferent. He believed our family unsuitable. He congratulated himself on it."

Charlotte clipped a stem. "I am sorry."

"Do not be gentle. I cannot bear gentleness this morning."

"Very well. It is exactly the sort of harm a rich man can do without ever having to call himself wicked."

Elizabeth let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Thank you."

"What will you do?"

"What can I do? I cannot restore Mr. Bingley by accusing Mr. Darcy in your parlor."

"No."

"I cannot tell Jane until I know how to tell her without making the injury fresh."

"No."

"I cannot challenge him to pistols, which is a pity, because I believe my aim would be much improved by principle."

Charlotte's mouth twitched. "Mr. Collins would faint before he could serve as your second."

"Lady Catherine would insist on giving instructions."

They both laughed then, quietly, because laughter was sometimes the only socially acceptable way of touching rage.

The garden gate clicked.

Mr. Darcy stood beyond it.

He had come alone. His expression, usually arranged into grave self-possession, carried a disturbance Elizabeth had not seen before. He looked not embarrassed, nor merely earnest, but like a man who had talked himself into believing this was wise.