Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Elizabeth
"I am afraid Darcy sends his deepest apologies, but he will be unable to call today."
Elizabeth's heart sank. She had been bracing herself all morning for this moment—for seeing Mr. Darcy again after yesterday's revelations, after reading his letter deep into the night until her candle had guttered and her eyes burned with exhaustion and tears.
And now he was not coming.
Her first thought was irrational and immediate: He is avoiding me. He hates my actions. He does not wish to see me again.
Mr. Bingley stood in the parlor of number fourteen Camden Place, his usually cheerful countenance dimmed by obvious concern. Jane had risen from her seat, her hand pressed to her chest.
"Is something wrong?" Jane asked. "Is Mr. Darcy unwell?"
"No, no—nothing like that. It is his friend, Mr. Hewitt.
The elderly gentleman he has been walking with each morning?
" Bingley looked troubled. "His condition worsened considerably during the night.
The local physician said he required treatment beyond what Bath can provide.
Darcy left before dawn to take him to Bristol—there is a hospital there with a physician who specializes in disorders of the heart. "
Elizabeth felt her anxiety transform into something else entirely. Not avoidance, then. Not anger or disgust at her accusations. Simply a friend in desperate need.
"Bristol?" Mrs. Gardiner said. "That is a considerable distance."
"Nearly fifteen miles," Mr. Bingley confirmed. "Darcy insisted on using his own carriage rather than wait for the mail coach. He wanted to accompany Mr. Hewitt personally to ensure he received proper care."
"How ill is the gentleman?" Mr. Gardiner asked, setting aside his newspaper.
"Quite ill, I am afraid. His heart is very weak. Darcy has been quite worried about him these past days." Bingley's expression was somber. "He left me a note before I woke that he would return as soon as he was able, but he could not say when that might be."
Elizabeth's chest tightened. Tomorrow morning they would leave Bath. Return to London briefly, then to Hertfordshire. And Mr. Darcy was in Bristol, fifteen miles away, tending to a sick friend.
"Will you take some tea, Mr. Bingley?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "You must not have had time for breakfast if you came directly here."
"That is very kind, but I had breakfast before I left. I wanted to deliver Darcy's message as soon as possible." He glanced at Elizabeth, and she had the uncomfortable sense that he wanted her to know Darcy’s message personally.
"How kind of Mr. Darcy to think of us when he must be so distressed about his friend," Jane said softly.
"He was quite particular about it," Bingley said. "Made me promise I would call and explain his absence. He did not wish you to think—" He stopped, seeming to realize he was revealing too much.
"To think what, Mr. Bingley?" Elizabeth heard herself ask.
Bingley looked at her with surprising directness. "I believe he did not wish you to think he was avoiding his promise to call today."
The words hung in the air. Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm.
"Of course not," she managed. "We would not presume Mr. Darcy owes us anything. His friend must take priority."
"Still, it is unfortunate timing." Mr. Gardiner folded his newspaper. "We depart tomorrow morning, as you know. Early, to make good time to London."
"Yes, Darcy mentioned that in his note." Bingley's face brightened slightly.
"Which is why I wanted to assure you all that I will be there to see you off.
And—" He looked at Jane, his expression turning almost shy.
"And I hope to follow you to Hertfordshire very soon.
Within the month, if I can manage it. There are some important matters I need to attend to there. "
Jane's cheeks flushed pink. Her eyes met Mr. Bingley's, and something passed between them that made Elizabeth look away, feeling suddenly like an intruder.
"Longbourn would be delighted to see you, Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Gardiner said warmly. "I am certain Mrs. Bennet will be pleased to receive you."
"I hope so." Bingley's smile was genuine now. "I have some things to discuss with Mr. Bennet. Things that cannot wait much longer."
Jane's blush deepened. Elizabeth felt a pang of happiness for her sister mixed with a curious ache she could not quite name.
Mr. Bingley stayed another half hour, speaking with Mr. Gardiner about business matters and the state of the roads to Hertfordshire. Jane sat quietly, her happiness evident in the softness of her expression, the way her eyes kept drifting to Mr. Bingley's face.
When he finally rose to take his leave, he bowed to each of them in turn. But when he reached Elizabeth, he paused.
"Miss Elizabeth, Darcy asked me to tell you specifically—" He hesitated, then continued. "He asked me to tell you that he hopes you are well. And that he regrets he will not see you before you leave Bath."
The words were simple enough, but something in the way Bingley spoke them made Elizabeth's throat tighten.
"Please tell Mr. Darcy that I hope his friend recovers," she said. "And that I—that we are grateful for his kindness during our stay."
It was inadequate. Entirely inadequate. But what else could she say with everyone watching?
After Mr. Bingley left, the room fell into silence. Jane excused herself to write a letter, leaving Elizabeth alone with her aunt and uncle.
"Well," Mr. Gardiner said, returning to his newspaper. "It seems young Bingley intends to make his intentions known sooner rather than later."
"Indeed," Mrs. Gardiner agreed. She glanced at Elizabeth. "And it seems Mr. Darcy had particular reason to regret his absence today."
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm again. "He was being courteous, that is all."
"Was he?" Mrs. Gardiner's tone was mild. "I thought his message rather more pointed than simple courtesy required."
"Aunt—"
"I make no judgments, Lizzy. I merely observe." Mrs. Gardiner picked up her embroidery. "Though I will say, it is unfortunate you will not have the opportunity to speak with him before we leave. I had the impression you might have wished to."
Elizabeth's hands twisted in her lap. Her aunt was right, of course. She had spent half the night rehearsing what she might say to him, how she might begin to apologize for her terrible accusations, how she might convey that she understood now—truly understood—who he was.
And now she would have no chance at all.
"Perhaps it is for the best," she said quietly. "I hardly know what I would say to him."
"The truth, I imagine," Mrs. Gardiner said. "That usually suffices."
But what was the truth? That she had been spectacularly wrong about him? That she was ashamed of her prejudice? That reading his letter had kept her awake until dawn, that every page had struck her like a blow, that by the time she reached the end she had been weeping openly?
That she regretted rejecting his proposal, and that what she felt for him now was unlike anything she had ever known before?
"You will see him again," Mrs. Gardiner said gently, as though reading her thoughts. "Mr. Bingley will be at Netherfield. I imagine Mr. Darcy will visit his friend there."
"Perhaps." Elizabeth did not sound convinced. "Or perhaps he will choose to avoid Hertfordshire entirely. I gave him little enough reason to wish to return."
"You may have given him more reason than you think."
Elizabeth looked at her aunt questioningly, but Mrs. Gardiner said nothing more, only returned her attention to her embroidery with a small, knowing smile.
How her aunt could read so much in her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy thus far, Elizabeth could not say; yet somehow she was certain Mrs. Gardiner perceived more than she chose to reveal.
Perhaps that was why she had never mentioned her familiarity with the Darcy family, nor spoken at length of Mr. Wickham when Elizabeth had confided in her—save to listen, and to observe.
Elizabeth managed a small smile. Her aunt was, after all, the wisest and most considerate woman she knew. Her mother loved her daughters in her own fashion, but it was Aunt Gardiner who best understood how to guide them.
***
That evening, Elizabeth stood at the window of the bedchamber she shared with Jane, looking out at the darkening Bath streets.
Tomorrow they would leave. Return to the familiar rhythms of Hertfordshire, to her mother's exclamations and Mary's sermons and Kitty and Lydia's silliness. Everything would be as it was before.
Except it would not be. Because she was not the same person who had left Longbourn three weeks ago.
That Elizabeth had been certain of her judgments. Sure of her ability to read character. Confident that she could see through pretense to the truth beneath.
This Elizabeth knew better. Knew that first impressions could be devastatingly wrong. That pride and prejudice could blind one to truths that were painful but necessary. That she was capable of spectacular error and even more spectacular injustice.
"Are you very disappointed?" Jane's voice came softly from behind her.
Elizabeth turned. Her sister was already in her nightgown, her hair loose around her shoulders.
"About what?"
"About Mr. Darcy not calling today." Jane's expression was gentle. "I know you wished to speak with him."
There was no point in denying it. Jane knew her too well.
"Yes," Elizabeth admitted. "I wished to speak with him. To—to make amends, I suppose. For the way I treated him."
"You will have another chance. Mr. Bingley will bring him to Netherfield."
"Will he?" Elizabeth moved away from the window. "Why should Mr. Darcy wish to return to a neighborhood where he was so ill-received? Where he was judged and condemned without a fair hearing?"
"Perhaps because not everyone condemned him," Jane said quietly. "Perhaps because some people might wish to make amends, as you say. And perhaps because forgiveness is not so difficult when the person asking for it is sincere."
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed. "I was horrible to him, Jane. The things I thought—the accusations I made—"
"But you know the truth now. And when you see him again, you can tell him so."
"If I see him again."
"You will." Jane's certainty was absolute. "I know you will."
Elizabeth wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that there would be another chance, another moment when she could look Mr. Darcy in the eyes and say all the things that crowded her throat now.
But as she lay in bed that night, sleep refusing to come, all she could think was that she had finally understood him just in time to lose the opportunity to tell him so.
Tomorrow they would leave Bath.
And Mr. Darcy would still be in Bristol, fifteen miles distant, attending a dying friend—and perhaps, despite Mr. Bingley’s assurances in his note, quietly relieved that he need not face the woman who had thought the worst of him once too often.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried not to think about what might have been said if he had called today.
But sleep was long in coming, and when it did, it brought dreams of roads not taken and words left unspoken.