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Her design was to find Jane, whose quiet composure had ever been her best refuge from any disquietude of her own. Yet, when she drew near to where her sister sat, she perceived that Jane was already most fully occupied with Mr. Bingley. To intrude upon them now would be unfeeling, and she meant to retreat, but found she could not when she again heard the name Darcy from Mr. Bingley’s mouth. He was speaking of some of the vexations he had experienced while in London with his sister, and though he seemed a touch saddened by the recollection of family friction, his tone quickly brightened as he came to his friend.

“I confess I was vexed enough with how things stood at first,” Bingley murmured softly, a warm smile touching his lips, “but Darcy would have nothing to do with Caroline’s schemes. He told me that he had watched you closely, Jane, and could see no lack of sincerity in your regard, despite what my sister claimed. He said that you were a lady and quite above pretending an attachment for a fortune. I know very well I am my own master, yet I confess it was a relief to know he thought so well of you.”

“Then perhaps he will attend, especially when he learns that Wickham is no longer in Meryton. Surely, he is too good a friend to wish otherwise.”

“He will return, I expect,” Bingley replied. “Once he knows that Wickham is gone, I see no reason why he should not wish to attend.”

A few paces away, Elizabeth stood, still frozen in place. What Bingley had said of Mr. Darcy hung in her mind. He told me that he had watched you closely, Jane, and could see no lack of sincerity... He said that you were a lady and quite above pretending an attachment for a fortune.

Elizabeth’s stomach turned as she became even more unsettled than earlier. She remembered their sharp dispute at the Netherfield ball; she remembered how poorly she had behaved, how she had refused to even consider his side of the matter. She still believed herself to be right in most respects, but her manner was not what it should have been.

She drew a steadying breath. It would not do to let her disquiet be observed yet again. Still, she could not help but wonder why she had allowed herself to react so strongly to Darcy. She had always considered herself possessed of a rational temper, and had it been anyone else with whom she had spoken, she did not think she would have let her disappointment so overwhelm her. But with him, her usual clarity had deserted her, and she could not account for it.

“Miss Elizabeth?” came Mrs. Morgan’s voice from behind her.

Elizabeth turned to address the other woman. She was glad to find that Mrs. Morgan was not so observant as Mr. Field, wishing to speak about the wedding and what all her sisters might still require for setting up their homes. Gladly, Elizabeth was drawn into the conversation, although she knew that her disquieting thoughts would likely return when she was next alone.

Chapter 27

The joyous news of Bingley’s betrothal arrived with the morning post a few days later. Darcy’s friend had written in a shaky hand, no doubt trying to form the letters properly so the message would not be unreadable. Even with such effort, there were a few words that Darcy could only make out from the surrounding context.

The betrothal was no surprise to Darcy. That the match would take place was certain as soon as Bingley had managed to free himself from the unfortunate influence of his sisters. Darcy was glad for his friend, relieved even that all was settled. Yet, for himself, he could not be easy. The letter slipped slightly in his grip as he pictured a pair of fine dark eyes, so keen in their judgement.

“You presume too much upon our acquaintance, Mr. Darcy,” she had said during their quiet, tense dance at Netherfield, making sure to emphasise the formality with which she spoke.

And she had been right in her censure, too. Every sharp, unsparing word she had levelled against him echoed in his mind.

Now, reading of how the gentlemen of Meryton had united to buy up Wickham’s local debts and cast him into debtor’s prison, a heavy sense of self-reproach settled over him. They had done what he should have had the courage to do years ago. He might have been able to act, had he not been so paralysed by the cowardly desire to shield his family name and keep Georgiana’s near-ruin a secret. He had allowed a snake to go about in their midst, and for what? To soothe his own fears, he supposed.

Could he not have determined a method of capture that would not allow Wickham’s knowledge of Georgiana to be revealed? He had many more of Wickham’s debts than the people of Meryton. He had thought he had acted as reason and familial duty dictated, but he now knew that to be false.

Elizabeth Bennet had seen through his facades from the very beginning. To return to Hertfordshire was to face her disappointment in him, to see her condemnation of his character affirmed before him. No, he could not go. The same cowardice that had long kept him from dealing properly with Mr. Wickham now would not let him go. Even if he could muster the courage, he knew he did not deserve to seek her forgiveness, no matter how much he longed for it. Mayhap he could attend Bingley’s wedding, but nothing more. Anything more than one morning provided far too much time in the company of Elizabeth.

∞∞∞

Darcy was glad for the mountain of correspondence that he had neglected during his foray in Hertfordshire. He had gone thither with the hope to distract himself from the very sorts of people whose letters had piled up. These were those who were neither intimate with his family nor important enough for their missives to be forwarded on to Netherfield. Piles of invitations, requests for assistance, and notes of introduction for young gentlemen newly come to town lay waiting for his reply. He could bury his wounded pride in the measured composition of a reply, or the precise columns of an account book, and for several days, he did little else.

He would only be drawn from these tasks at his sister’s request, or when the hour required him to join her for a meal. On each occasion, he was unfailingly gracious to Georgiana. He could not fail her as he had the previous summer, so he listened as she played the pianoforte, praising her increasing skill. He accompanied her to the new exhibits at the British Museum, patiently waiting as she read the many plaques describing the artefacts. He bought her a dozen new titles from the bookstore, committing himself to read three of the novels to see if they were suitable for his sister. Yet, at the end of each such excursion, he would politely remove himself to his study, where he would remain until his presence was again requested.

It was after one such afternoon out, when Darcy had just seated himself back at his desk, that a soft, hesitant knock sounded at his door. When he bade the person to enter, he was surprised to see Mrs. Annesley enter the room. Darcy rose instantly, his blood suddenly running cold at the serious look on the lady’s face. “Mrs. Annesley, is my sister unwell?”

The companion did not immediately correct him, causing his fear to deepen.

“She is not ill, Mr. Darcy,” she said, once she noted his panic. “Her health, I am glad to say, is as robust as could be. However, I fear she is far from easy in her mind.”

The knot that had formed in Darcy’s stomach loosened, but did not entirely release. “Then do sit, Mrs. Annesley, and tell me what has happened.” He gestured to the chair before him, which she accepted with thanks. He then requested to know what had so alarmed his sister.

“Alarmed is perhaps the wrong word, sir,” said Mrs. Annesley. “Her trouble is entirely of a domestic nature, for it concerns you.”

“It concerns me?” he said, taken aback. “Georgiana knows that she need only ask for whatever she requires. What is it she wishes for?”

“You have provided, sir, every material comfort that a young lady could dream of,” Mrs. Annesley assured him. “You are unfailingly kind to her as well.”

“Then what can be the matter?”

Mrs. Annesley hesitated, knowing she must speak but not wishing to offend her employer. “It is your manner, sir, these last days. Miss Darcy has observed a change and, being of a sensitive disposition, has come to believe herself the cause of your disquiet. She cannot think of anything she has done recently, and therefore believes that you are dwelling on what occurred this past summer. I tried to assure her that you are simply busy with matters of business, but she does not appear to believe me.”

Darcy was stunned into silence.