Chapter 9
NINE
Elizabeth
The gentlemen called the next day and the day after, but the ladies did not follow them on any walks because no one suggested it in particular.
Elizabeth found herself eager—almost desperate—to be in Mr. Darcy's company again, if only in the hope of hearing him speak about Mr. Wickham. Which he never did.
It was the one thing she still held onto by a thread. The one certainty that remained in her mind about his character. But now, she questioned her own judgment more than either Jane or Mrs. Gardiner had done when she first told them all she had heard about Mr. Wickham from the man himself.
With the version of Mr. Darcy she saw now—thoughtful, humble, kind even—Jane's earlier comment about the ease with which Mr. Wickham had divulged his business with Mr. Darcy suddenly made more sense.
A gentleman of true discretion would not speak so freely of private matters to a stranger.
Yet Mr. Wickham had done precisely that.
For those two days of visits, Jane and Mr. Bingley spoke within the parlor while Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy conversed about business or played chess. Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner were both bystanders and chaperones most of the time, contributing little unless directly addressed.
Those two days made Elizabeth feel all the more eager to speak with Mr. Darcy privately, in the hope that he might mention Wickham and offer some explanation at least.
Jane did little to ease Elizabeth's restlessness, spending most of her time recounting the many wonderful things Mr. Bingley had told her and how he intended to return to Netherfield as soon as the Gardiners and the Bennet sisters left Bath.
Elizabeth's heart felt only quiet longing and questioning, most of which were filled with her convincing herself that she perhaps admired Mr. Darcy's kindness and his changed demeanor, but was not beginning to actually like him.
She could not be. That would be absurd.
It was not until the fifth day after Mr. Darcy's first call to Camden Place that Elizabeth had the opportunity to walk with him again.
The gentlemen were calling for the fourth time when Mr. Bingley, with characteristic enthusiasm, announced a walk. With the consent of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, the four soon went on their way—this time with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in front and Jane and Mr. Bingley following behind.
They walked in companionable silence for several minutes before Elizabeth ventured to speak.
"Aside from business, Mr. Darcy, what occupies your time in Bath?"
He glanced at her, seeming surprised by the question.
"Various pursuits,” he began. “I belong to a gentlemen's club where we discuss literature and philosophy.
I play billiards occasionally, though I confess I am not particularly skilled at it.
And there is a club for pall-mall that meets twice weekly. "
"That sounds quite pleasant."
"It passes the time." He paused, then added almost reluctantly, "I also teach."
Elizabeth almost tripped. "Teaching? What do you teach?"
"It is nothing so formal as all that," he said quickly, his discomfort evident. "There is a charity school near the lower part of town. Children whose parents cannot afford proper education. Whenever I am here, I go there twice a week and assist with reading and mathematics."
Elizabeth stared at him. "You teach underprivileged children?"
"I would hardly call it teaching. More...guidance. The schoolmaster does the real work. I simply lend what assistance I can."
"That is—" Elizabeth struggled to find words. "That is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy."
He looked uncomfortable with the praise. "It is nothing. My father believed that those with advantages have a duty to share them. I am merely following his example."
Elizabeth felt a sharp dissonance settle over her.
This man—who gave his time freely to teach children who could not afford an education—was the same man who had supposedly denied Mr. Wickham the living that would have secured his future.
The same man who had, according to Wickham, stripped him of every opportunity for advancement out of spite and jealousy.
It made no sense.
A man who valued education enough to teach poor children twice weekly would not deny a deserving young man the means to pursue his own studies. Would he?
Unless Mr. Wickham's account had been...incomplete.
The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
While she still struggled to reconcile the thought, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, as though eager to change the subject. “But enough of myself, Miss Elizabeth. Tell me—how often do you and your sister accompany your aunt and uncle in their travels?”
“Not very often, I am afraid,” Elizabeth replied, composing herself and pushing the errant thought from her mind. “We generally visit them in Town during the winter months, but journeys such as this are quite uncommon.”
"I am surprised your aunt and uncle could leave London for so long at all. Do they not have children?"
"They do. Three of them. But the children remained in London with the housekeeper and their governess. My aunt thought it best, given how young they are. The journey would have been difficult for them."
"That was wise," Mr. Darcy said. "And how long do you intend to remain in Bath?"
"Only a fortnight in total. We arrived just over a week ago, so we have less than a week remaining before we must return to London, and then home to Hertfordshire."
Something flickered across Mr. Darcy's expression—disappointment, perhaps, though it was gone too quickly for Elizabeth to be certain.
"That is not very long at all."
"No. But it has already proven beneficial for Jane, so I cannot regret the brevity of our stay."
"Of course not." He said.
They walked on in silence for some moments before Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.
“May I ask—why did you choose to accompany your aunt and uncle to Bath? Forgive me if I am too forward, but from what Mr. Gardiner mentioned, he seldom visits Bath save on business. This visit, however, does not appear to be of that nature.”
Elizabeth sighed, reluctant to speak but feeling she owed him honesty. "Jane was...weary. About the Mr. Bingley situation. Mrs. Gardiner suggested that a trip might be the best way to lighten her spirits."
Mr. Darcy slowed to a halt, the path suddenly seeming very still around them. His expression grew grave. “So, you are here because of the mistake I made.”
Elizabeth drew in a slow breath, her gaze fixed upon the gravel beneath her feet. “Honestly?” she said at last. Then, as he resumed their pace and she fell into step beside him, she added quietly, “Yes—and no.”
"I am truly sorry for that, Miss Elizabeth. More than I can adequately express."
"You do not have to apologize again, sir.
" Elizabeth found herself wanting to ease his evident distress.
"Perhaps providence was using you as an instrument to bring them back together.
After all, you said you asked Mr. Bingley to come with you to Bath, and somehow the two of them met again here. What else can one say?"
Mr. Darcy was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but weighted with meaning. "I am glad I am making amends for all my mistakes."
The emphasis on "all" was unmistakable. Elizabeth knew the statement had more significance than the surface meaning conveyed, but she could not bring herself to ask what exactly he meant.
Their conversation shifted to lighter matters. Mr. Darcy enquired after the conditions Elizabeth had left Meryton and Hertfordshire, asked if her parents were in good health, and seemed genuinely interested in her answers.
By the time they returned to Camden Place, Elizabeth felt happy that they had spoken, but still anxious that Mr. Darcy had not addressed the Wickham matter. At this point, she did not know whether to bring it up herself or wait for him to mention it.
Perhaps he never would.
Perhaps the explanation she sought would never come.
And perhaps—most troubling of all—she was beginning to care less than she once had for Mr. Wickham’s claims, or for their truth at all.
***
That evening, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, Jane watched her sister brush her hair with unusual vigor.
"You are very quiet tonight, Lizzy."
"Am I?" Elizabeth did not meet her eyes in the mirror.
"You have been quiet since we returned from our walk." Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. "Did something happen?"
"No. Nothing happened.”
“You know I am referring to something between you and Mr. Darcy, do you not?” Jane said with a playful smile.
“We merely talked,” Elizabeth replied, though a faint colour rose in her cheeks.
"About what?"
"Nothing in particular. His activities in Bath. Our reasons for coming here." Elizabeth set down the brush with more force than necessary. "It was perfectly ordinary conversation."
"Then why do you look so troubled?"
Elizabeth turned to face her sister. "Because I do not understand him, Jane.
I do not understand any of this. He apologizes for separating you and Mr. Bingley.
He volunteers to teaches poor children. He speaks to Uncle Gardiner as an equal.
He asks after our family's health as though he genuinely cares about the answer.
" She threw up her hands in frustration.
"Who is this man? Because he is not the Mr. Darcy I knew in Hertfordshire. "
"Perhaps he never was that Mr. Darcy," Jane suggested gently. "Perhaps you only saw what you expected to see."
"Or perhaps he is an excellent actor."
"Do you truly believe that?"
Elizabeth was silent.
"You like him," Jane said softly. It was not a question.
"I do not—"
"Lizzy. I know you. I see the way you watch him when you think no one is looking. I hear the way your voice changes when you speak his name. You may lie to yourself if you wish, but do not lie to me."
Elizabeth sank onto the edge of the bed. "I do not know what I feel. I only know that since we met him here, I keep wanting to speak to him or hear him speak, though I cannot say when or how that happened."
"That sounds remarkably like the beginning of affection."
"It cannot be affection. Not after everything that has passed between us."
"Can it not?" Jane's smile was sad but knowing. "The heart is not always governed by logic, dearest. Sometimes it simply...feels what it feels."
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face. "This is madness."
"Perhaps. But it is also human."
They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Elizabeth lowered her hands and looked at her sister.
"What if I am wrong about him again? What if this kindness, this humility—what if it is all pretense?"
"Then you will discover the truth eventually," Jane said simply. "But I do not think it is pretense, Lizzy. I think he is exactly what he appears to be—a good man who made mistakes and is trying to atone for them."
"And the things he did? The way he treated Mr. Wickham? His interference with you and Mr. Bingley?"
"He has apologized for the latter. As for Mr. Wickham—" Jane paused. "Perhaps you should ask him about it directly. Give him the chance to explain."
"I cannot. It would be too forward."
"More forward than continuing to judge him for something you have only heard one side of?"
The question hung in the air between them.
Elizabeth had no answer.
She lay awake long after Jane had fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling and trying to sort through the tangle of her thoughts.
She had been so certain of everything once. So sure of who Mr. Darcy was and what he represented.
But certainty, she was learning, was a fragile thing. And once shaken, it was nearly impossible to restore.
Tomorrow, the gentlemen would call again. Mr. Darcy would be polite, attentive, kind. He would make her laugh without seeming to try. He would look at her in that way he had—as though she were something precious and rare.
And she would feel her resolve crumbling a little more.
She did not know how much longer she could sustain this pretense of indifference.
But she would have to try.
Because the alternative—admitting that she was beginning to care for him—was too frightening to contemplate.