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She left shortly afterward, walking with a light and graceful step. Darcy listened to her footsteps in the corridor and sat for a time, looking into the fire.

He had told her the truth, as far as it went. Such a dissolution would not serve to protect Elizabeth or to restore her reputation. That much was true.

But it was also true that he was not capable, at this point, of promoting an arrangement that removed her from his life entirely. Not without being asked. Not while Bingley’s reading of their circumstances sat unresolved in his chest, impossible to put down.

Though he could not honourably act on what he wanted, Darcy refused to construct the mechanism of its opposite.

Darcy picked up his correspondence and attended to it with careful discipline. He did not think about Miss Bingley’s offer again.

There was no need. Whatever might happen, however so painful a circumstance might be resolved, it would not be by making Elizabeth Bennet the object of blame. Not by his hands, and not if it could be prevented by any effort of his, however great.

Of that much, Darcy was already entirely certain.

Chapter Sixteen

Lady Lucas’s teas had never previously required anything of Elizabeth beyond moderate attention and good manners. She had attended half a dozen of them in the past year without incident. It was therefore a testament to the difficulties of the past several weeks that she arrived at this one already watchful, already aware that the room contained Caroline Bingley, and already certain that Miss Bingley had not come merely to drink tea.

She arrived with her mother and sisters, greeted Charlotte in the usual way, and had been in the room perhaps twenty minutes before Caroline Bingley approached with a small smile and an air of studied casualness.

“Miss Eliza,” Miss Bingley said with an impeccable imitation of warmth. “I wonder if I might steal you for a moment. There is something I have been wishing to say; I should be remiss if I did not seize the opportunity for a private word.”

Miss Bingley’s expression was composed and pleasant and entirely unreadable, putting Elizabeth on her guard. In her experience, that was precisely when Caroline Bingley should be watched most carefully.

“Of course,” Elizabeth said evenly, concealing her unease.

They moved to the window embrasure at the far end of the room, sufficiently removed from the nearest conversation to allow for privacy without being remarkable. Miss Bingley moved with such deliberation that Elizabeth rather wondered if she had choreographed each movement in advance. Watching that elaborate care, Elizabeth felt her disquiet grow. Whatever this was, it was not the result of an idle fancy on Miss Bingley’s part. Far from it. This was very much a part of her plans.

“I hope you will take what I am about to say in the spirit it is intended,” Miss Bingley began. “Which is one of genuine concern. For you, and for Mr Darcy.”

“I will do my best,” Elizabeth said dryly.

“I find myself deeply troubled,” Miss Bingley said, “by the situation as it stands. Not for any want of respect for either of you, naturally. It is only that Mr Darcy has been my brother’s closest friend for many years now. I understand him rather well, and I have observed things these past weeks that have concerned me.” She paused, selecting her next words with care. “He is not a man who speaks easily about what he feels. I expect you have found that as well.”

“Mr Darcy keeps his own counsel,” Elizabeth replied.

“Indeed. Which is why those of us who know him well are perhaps better placed to interpret his feelings.” Miss Bingley looked at her with an expression of delicate sympathy. Elizabeth felt a shiver pass over her body. If she had not had reason to suspect everything Miss Bingley might say to her, she would have believed in that sympathy without question. “I had occasion to speak with him recently. Privately, at Netherfield, and I must tell you, Miss Eliza, that I came away from that conversation with a heavy heart.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Elizabeth said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“He spoke of the engagement,” Miss Bingley said in a hushed undertone, as though each word were difficult to say. “Of his sense of obligation. Of his genuine concern for your happiness. He is not a man who would say directly that he feels himself bound by honour to something that causes distress on both sides, but the implication was clear. At least to someone who knows how to listen for it.”

Elizabeth looked at the winter garden through the window. The frost had held all week. A bare tree at the lawn’s edge made a precise dark line against the white sky.

“Miss Bingley,” she said at last, “I appreciate your candour.”

“I hoped you would.”

“I find, however, that I cannot discuss Mr Darcy’s feelings with you. Whatever he may have said, or implied, in a private conversation is between himself and the person to whom he was speaking. It is not a matter I can take up through an intermediary.” She looked at Miss Bingley directly. “The engagement is strictly a concern of Mr Darcy and myself. I hope you will understand.”

Caroline Bingley’s expression flickered for only a moment before it settled back into sympathy. “Of course. I only wished you to know in case it were useful that there are paths available. Quiet ones. That need not damage either party unduly, if both were agreeable.” She held Elizabeth’s gaze. “I should hate for two people to remain in an arrangement that neither of them —”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “You are very kind.”

The words fell between them with the weight of finality. Miss Bingley almost startled. Her lips parted, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought she would challenge them.

Then she inclined her head with perfect grace. “I hope we understand each other,” Miss Bingley said.

“I believe we do,” Elizabeth said. “And I thank you for your — candour.”