Chapter X
Jane reiterated what she told Elizabeth that evening after returning from tea. Aunt Gardiner listened, not interrupting, as Jane spoke of her conclusions, and when she finished, their aunt drew her in close much as Elizabeth had done earlier.
“That is most sensible of you, Jane.”
“And high-minded, to be certain,” teased Elizabeth. “If I had any doubts about my sister’s angelic disposition, this would have dispensed with them!”
“Not at all, Lizzy,” said Jane, ignoring the jest. “There is nothing of benevolence in this decision, only practicality.”
“Oh, very practical, indeed,” said Elizabeth.
Jane shrugged, her usual serenity in place.
“You may tease if you wish, but the facts cannot be contradicted. Miss Whitcombe is a kind, steady young woman who appears suited to Mr. Bingley, and he prefers her to me. What happened between Mr. Bingley and me at Netherfield was real, but it was incomplete. I do not regret it, but I also do not mistake it anymore.”
And with that, Elizabeth knew that something had ended.
Though she would continue in kindness and patience, Jane would no longer accept Miss Bingley’s insistence or her assurances.
The outcome was no longer uncertain—all that remained was the manner in which Mr. Bingley would resolve it.
That Jane was not heartbroken was an excellent sign—those weeks in Hertfordshire had been so hard that Elizabeth had wondered if her sister would recover from the disappointment.
There was, however, one matter that remained open in Elizabeth’s mind, and she was not of a mind to allow it to persist. What Mr. Darcy had known of the situation was yet a mystery to Elizabeth, and she meant to have an accounting, if only to understand.
Once she had that, she could put the matter in the past where it belonged.
Darcy was working in his study when his butler brought him word of the Bennet sisters’ call on his sister.
As he was engaged in nothing particular at the time, he took a few moments to tidy his papers and his pen and inkwell, then he strode from the room, trying to tell himself that he was not eager for the pleasure of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s company.
It was a miserable failure and quite unnecessary, given his actions in making his interest clear to her on two occasions.
Something still held Darcy back, perhaps a vestige of the old sense of superiority that had plagued him, or his uncle’s desire that Darcy should make a marriage to secure an important alliance.
Darcy knew the earl would accept if he stated his intention to go his own way, though the earl was not the problem.
Lady Catherine was far more of a concern, though Darcy had never had any intention of obliging her.
Darcy had not yet decided, though he felt the pull of his attraction to Miss Elizabeth, clear and urgent when she was in the room, more distant yet no less insistent when she was not.
For now, being in her presence was enough while he decided what he wanted.
And just as important was what she wanted, for he knew now that she would not accept him if she did not feel an attachment to him.
That would come in time, should he prove himself.
Until then he would content himself with enjoying her company.
The Bennet sisters were engaged in conversation with Georgiana when Darcy arrived, but he sensed something altered in Miss Elizabeth the moment he entered the room.
It was nothing overt, nothing he could point to.
Perhaps it was the way she watched him, the slight expression that spoke of assessment.
Judgment? Darcy could not be certain, but he felt no hostility in her looks—just something new, something . . . unexpected.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” greeted Darcy as these thoughts ran through his head. “I am pleased to see you today, though I am curious.”
“Oh?” asked Miss Elizabeth, showing him that delightful arch of her left eyebrow. “Is visiting your precious sister unacceptable?”
Had there been any inflection in her tone that suggested anything other than playful teasing, Darcy might have wondered if she was being severe with him. As it was, he could see her amusement and interest, and responded in a like fashion.
“If I said there was, what would you do about it?”
Georgiana giggled just a little, sensing the repartee, her knowledge of Darcy sufficient to understand his current ease. Even Miss Bennet appeared diverted by their banter.
“I would ask your dear sister if she objected to our presence,” said Miss Elizabeth.
“So her opinion is more important than mine?”
“Of course, it is, Mr. Darcy. We ladies always defer to other ladies rather than the gentlemen in their lives. Did you not know that?”
Darcy turned his own arched brow on Georgiana. “Is that true, Sister?”
“I cannot say, Brother,” replied Georgiana, though she had trouble stifling her giggles. “Perhaps I should reprimand Miss Elizabeth for giving away ladies’ secrets.”
“Lizzy does that rather often,” said Miss Bennet. “It comes from her overwhelming desire to make everything into a jest, and perhaps the desire to have the last word.”
“Not at all!” exclaimed Miss Elizabeth. Then she winked at Georgiana. “It is only that I dearly love to laugh.”
“And you do it well, my friend,” said Georgiana.
Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana, then turned back to Darcy. “Mr. Darcy, if you are amenable, I should like to tour the lovely little wilderness at the back of your house. Will you oblige me?”
This was the reason for the visit that day—or perhaps that was too simplistic, for Darcy was aware the Bennet sisters esteemed Georgiana.
They did not visit only for whatever reason Miss Elizabeth wished to talk to him.
And that was without a doubt what she wanted—Miss Bennet’s glance at her sister informed Darcy that she knew something of it too, though she was not the instigator between them.
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy without hesitation. He smiled to reassure her that he was not angered by her forwardness. “I should like that very much.”
“Miss Bennet and I will stay and talk,” said Georgiana.
Darcy could not be certain, but it seemed Georgiana also suspected something, though he did not think the Bennet sisters had shared anything with her.
At Darcy’s gesture, Miss Elizabeth preceded him from the room, walking through the house at his direction to the gardens.
Darcy did not offer his arm, and Miss Elizabeth did not expect it from him.
A little distance was welcome at present, not knowing her purpose.
When they exited through the rear door, Miss Elizabeth stepped out into the space, her appreciation evident at once.
Birdsong floated above the rustling of leaves as Darcy enjoyed watching her breathe deeply, stretching her arms out as if she could catch rays of dappled sun through the overhead foliage.
She seemed almost as a forest nymph, impossibly beautiful and difficult to capture.
“This is wonderful, Mr. Darcy,” said she after she dropped her arms, still looking about with appreciation. “If it is not so fine as Hyde Park, it is only because Hyde Park is so extensive.”
She turned to him grinning, her eyes expressive behind fine, lustrous eyelashes. “Have you considered purchasing the surrounding houses? You could tear them down and build your own version of a city park.”
A rumble of laughter filled Darcy’s breast. “If you believe I have the means for that, you overestimate my wealth by a significant degree.”
“Perhaps I do,” said she, turning again to admire the garden.
Darcy shrugged, though her manner charmed him. “Hyde Park is not far distant—at the end of the street, actually. Why create a new park when there is already one close to hand?”
“Why, indeed?” said she. “Perhaps you are correct, sir.”
“While I am delighted with your appreciation for the gardens, I suspect you had some reason for this excursion. Will you not tell me what it is?”
Miss Elizabeth turned to him with a wry smile, telling Darcy that whatever prompted her desire to speak privately, she was not unhappy with him.
“Perceptive as always. I must take care, Mr. Darcy. With Mr. Collins, I could say almost anything, and he would convince himself that he understood my meaning, and it would inevitably consist of whatever interpretation he preferred. You, however, understand something of me before I ever open my mouth.”
“I hope you do not find that unwelcome, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy.
“Not at all,” replied she. “If I preferred an obtuse man, I would already be married to Mr. Collins.”
“That is not at all a welcome notion, for it would be a most unequal match.”
“Is that all?”
Darcy smiled and nodded. “For anything more, I suspect we must wait a little longer.”
“Yes, I agree.”
Miss Elizabeth’s expression turned serious.
“As you have divined, I have a specific purpose in wishing to speak to you today. Jane knows what I wish to say, and while she does not think it is necessary, she does not oppose it either. I am not angry with you, but there is something I wish to understand.”
“Very well,” said Darcy, an indefinable feeling of relief stealing over him. “What do you wish to ask?”
“I wish to ask you about Miss Clara Whitcombe.”
Darcy started in recognition.
“You are not unfamiliar with the name,” said Elizabeth, keeping a close watch on the gentleman for his reaction.
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, I am,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But what I can tell you is perhaps less than you suspect, and likely less than you already know yourself if you have already heard of Miss Whitcombe.”
Elizabeth nodded, having expected as much. “Then perhaps I should tell you what we have learned.”
“I am listening, but perhaps we should have this conversation in greater comfort.”