Page 85 of Master of Himself

They walked together for some distance, and when they reached the dormant flower beds, they continued onward in silence. Now that Darcy was finally alone with her, he knew not what to say or how to console her.

“Charlotte Lucas is my closest friend,” she said in a sombre tone. “But I suppose that’s at an end now that she has accepted Mr Collins.”

Darcy had witnessed their lively conversations on a few occasions and understood the loss she must be feeling. He had felt the same when George Wickham had gone his own way. “I’m sorry you’ve lost her friendship.”

They walked on without speaking until she finally broke the silence. “This is my favourite path.”

Darcy recalled meeting her in this same area. “Do you walk here most mornings?” he inquired.

She nodded. “Sometimes I’ll go to the spinney or the woods, but this path has fewer obstacles.” After another extended silence, she spoke in a quiet voice. “You must think me a poor companion, Mr Darcy. Walking usually clears my head, but today clarity evades me.”

He could well understand, especially after the disastrous morning. “I could never think poorly of you, Miss Elizabeth, even if you said nothing at all. I always enjoy walking with you.”

She slowed her steps. “I don’t recall ever walking with you before.”

He silently berated himself for another careless error, yet this time, he made no attempt to correct himself. “On the contrary, I have walked here with you twice and once at Netherfield.”

A crease appeared in her lovely brow. “Has Mr Bingley told you of our walks together?”

Deciding that it was now or never, he continued, “No, that was me. After you left Netherfield, I couldn’t bear to be parted from you and sought you out.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Then when Wickham arrived, I came again to warn you about him.

“No,” she said, backing away. “That’s not what happened.”

“I’m telling you the absolute truth, Miss Elizabeth,” he said in earnest.

When her eyes turned suspicious, he knew he must confess everything. “Do you believe in the occult?”

“Like witches and wizards?” she inquired, to which he nodded. “No, do you?”

“I didn’t used to, but it recently intruded into my life; mine and Charles Bingley’s. Do you remember that morning in this grove when I said that I wasn’t Bingley, that I was Darcy?”

“No, but I recall when Mr Bingley did so.”

Despite her resistance, he continued, “Through some form of the dark arts, he and I changed places. At the time, I didn’t mean to tell you about it and covered for my slip by saying that I was just being morose. I appeared and sounded exactly like Charles, but it was me.”

She shook her head. “Impossible.”

“It happened the night before you came to Netherfield. You must have noticed that something was amiss, because Bingley suddenly became more reserved and Darcy was unfailingly amiable.”

She averted her eyes. “Well…yes.”

“We told no one about it, except for Henry Hurst, who was with us when the switch happened. Who would believe such an improbable story?”

From her sceptical frown, he knew she was still unconvinced.

“When I came to warn you about Wickham, what I didn’t tell you was that the young girl he nearly absconded with was my sister.”

Gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest. “Miss Darcy?” she said in a hushed voice.

“I was able to prevent it, but if my other-worldly friend hadn’t warned me that danger lurked in Ramsgate, she would have run off with Wickham.”

“Other worldly?”

“An old, bearded man wearing a flowing cloak, like a wizard or a monk, appeared twice. Once to advise me that Georgiana needed my help, and again to warn me of my own arrogance and conceit.”