Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Darcy
The carriage carrying the Gardiners and the Bennet sisters had barely disappeared from view when Bingley turned to Darcy with barely restrained enthusiasm.
"Did you see how Miss Bennet looked at me when I mentioned the circulating library? She smiled, Darcy. That particular smile she has when she is pleased about something. I am certain she wishes to go."
"I have no doubt," Darcy replied absently, his eyes still fixed on the empty drive.
They returned to the drawing room, where the servants were already clearing away the evidence of the evening. Bingley poured them each a brandy and settled into a chair with the satisfied air of a man whose romantic prospects were secure.
"I think this evening went remarkably well, don't you? Your cook outdid herself with that fish course. And the wine—perfect choice, my friend."
"I am glad you approved."
Bingley took a sip of his brandy, then set the glass down with a thoughtful expression. "Darcy, is something troubling you? You have seemed rather...preoccupied all evening."
Darcy turned from the window. "Have I?"
"You have. And if I may be so bold, you were watching Miss Elizabeth rather intently during dinner. More so than usual, even."
Darcy moved to take the chair opposite Bingley. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply staring into his glass as though it might contain answers.
"She has changed," he said at last.
"Changed? In what way?"
"I do not know precisely. But she is different than she was even a few days ago.
" Darcy set his glass aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"When we walked together last week, she was—warm and civil.
Engaged in our conversation. She asked questions, offered observations.
There was an ease between us that I had not expected to find after. ..after everything."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight she could barely look at me. Every response was clipped, perfunctory.
When I handed her into the carriage, she pulled away as though my touch burned her.
" He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration he rarely allowed himself.
"It was as though all the progress we had made these past weeks had been undone in an instant. "
Bingley frowned. "That is strange. I noticed she was quieter than usual, but I assumed she was simply tired. Miss Bennet mentioned her sister has not been sleeping well."
"Perhaps." Darcy did not sound convinced. "But it felt like more than fatigue. It felt like...anger. Or disgust. I cannot be certain which."
"What could possibly have caused such a change? You have been nothing but courteous to her. Kind, even. Far kinder than—" Bingley stopped himself, clearly thinking better of whatever he had been about to say.
“Far kinder than I was in Hertfordshire?” Darcy finished for him, his voice bitter.
“Yes. I am aware. That is precisely what makes this so confounding. I have been trying—truly trying—to show her that I am not the man she believed me to be. That I can be better. And for a time, I thought it was working.”
He paused. “I thought she was beginning to see me differently.”
“Perhaps she has simply had time to reconsider,” Bingley suggested gently. “To remember your interference with Jane and me. That is not a small matter to set aside.”
“I know. And I apologized for it. I admitted my mistake openly.” Darcy’s jaw tightened.
“I tried to explain myself, to make her understand my reasoning, however flawed it was. She told me to stop apologising. Even said I played a part in bringing you and Miss Bennet back together. So, I don’t understand. I mean, now—”
He shook his head. “Now I wonder if she has simply been biding her time, waiting until she could return to Hertfordshire and be free of my presence entirely.”
Bingley regarded his friend with sympathy. “You care for her a great deal.”
It was not a question.
“Yes,” Darcy said quietly. “God help me, yes.”
Bingley's eyes widened. He set his glass down carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement might shatter the moment. "Darcy, I—I had suspected, perhaps, but to hear you say it—"
"I know." Darcy's voice was rough. "I have not been...forthcoming about such matters."
"That is something of an understatement." Bingley's shock was evident, but there was no judgment in his tone. "How long have you—"
"Long enough." Darcy cut him off, then seemed to regret his sharpness.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"It is the reason I came to Bath, you know.
To escape having to think of her constantly.
To put distance between myself and...and everything I had ruined.
" He gave a bitter laugh. "And then providence brings her here.
To Bath. Of all places. I wonder sometimes if it is playing some cruel trick on me, or if—" He stopped himself, shook his head.
"Forgive me. I do not wish to speak of it further. "
Bingley opened his mouth, clearly brimming with questions, then closed it again. After a moment, he simply nodded. "Of course. I understand."
Darcy felt a surge of gratitude for his friend's restraint. Bingley could have pressed—perhaps even should have, given the magnitude of the admission. But he did not. And for that, Darcy was profoundly thankful.
Bingley was quiet for a moment, then said carefully, "Forgive me, Darcy, but you seem troubled beyond even Miss Elizabeth's coldness this evening. Is there something else weighing on you?"
Darcy hesitated, then nodded slowly. “A friend of mine is unwell. Quite seriously, I fear.”
“A friend? Here in Bath?” Bingley sat up straighter, concerned. “Has a letter arrived with bad news? You did not mention anything.”
“No, not a letter. It is an elderly gentleman here in Bath. Mr. Thomas Hewitt. I have been taking my morning walks with him for the past month.”
“The deaf gentleman you mentioned? The one you bring books to?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s voice softened. “He has been ill for a couple of days now. His heart is weak. I called on him at his lodgings and found him quite poorly. His son has been sent for, but I do not know if he will arrive in time.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” Bingley said with genuine sympathy. “He must be a good friend for you to be so concerned.”
“He has been... more than I can easily explain.” Darcy smiled faintly. “A confidant, of sorts.”
Bingley looked as though he wanted to ask more, but he simply said, “I hope he recovers, Darcy. Truly. Is there anything I can do? Should we send for another physician?”
“A physician has already attended him. There is little more to be done but wait.” Darcy picked up his brandy again. “I plan to visit him again tomorrow morning, before we call on the Gardiners.”
“Of course. Take whatever time you need.”
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Then Bingley said, “Tomorrow will be better, I am certain of it. Whatever has troubled Miss Elizabeth, it will pass. You will see.”
Darcy wanted to believe him. But the memory of Elizabeth's cold eyes and averted face suggested otherwise.
Something had happened. Something had turned her against him.
And if he could not discover what it was before she left Bath, he might never have the chance to make it right.