Chapter 7 #2
They had reached the Darcy townhouse. As they dismounted and handed their horses to waiting grooms, Colonel Fitzwilliam placed a hand on Darcy’s shoulder.
“Take my advice, cousin. Speak honestly with Bingley, then with your wife. Pride is a poor bedfellow compared to a woman of spirit who respects your honesty.”
With that counsel, the Colonel departed, leaving Darcy to enter his house with a clearer purpose than he had left it. Whatever the cost to his pride, he would resolve this matter today.
Breakfast was an uncomfortable affair. Elizabeth was already seated when Darcy entered, pale but composed. Georgiana glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension despite their careful civility.
“Good morning, brother.” Georgiana’s voice was tentative. “You were out riding early.”
“With Fitzwilliam.” Darcy accepted coffee from the footman. “He sends his regards to you both.”
“The Colonel is always kind. Perhaps he might accompany us to the theater tomorrow evening? I was just telling Elizabeth about the new production at Drury Lane.”
Darcy’s eyes met Elizabeth’s across the table. She looked away quickly, her expression guarded. “An excellent suggestion.”
“I believe Mr. Bingley mentioned he might call today,” Elizabeth said, her voice carefully neutral. “To discuss his return to Hertfordshire.”
The deliberate reminder hung between them. Darcy set down his cup with precision. “I shall be available when he arrives.”
Surprise flickered across Elizabeth’s face, as though she had expected him to avoid the confrontation. She studied him for a moment before returning her attention to her plate.
The rest of the meal passed in desultory conversation, mostly carried by Georgiana, who spoke of her music studies and asked Elizabeth questions about Hertfordshire. Darcy excused himself to attend to correspondence, though his thoughts remained troubled.
He had barely begun sorting through the morning’s letters when Jenkins announced Mr. Bingley’s arrival.
“Show him in.” Darcy set aside the familiar anxiety that accompanied difficult conversations. This one was necessary, however uncomfortable.
Bingley entered with his usual cheerful energy, though Darcy detected unusual determination beneath his friend’s amiable greeting. “Darcy! I hoped to find you at home this morning. I have a matter of some importance to discuss.”
“I believe I can anticipate the subject. You intend to return to Netherfield.”
“Yes, exactly!” Bingley’s expression brightened. “I have already written to the steward to prepare the house for an extended stay this time. I plan to leave within the week.”
Darcy studied his friend carefully. “And the purpose of this return to Hertfordshire?”
Bingley hesitated, then straightened in his chair. “To be honest, Darcy, I wish to renew my acquaintance with Miss Bennet. Our friendship was interrupted last autumn, and I find I cannot consider my exploration of her character complete.”
The formal phrasing was unlike Bingley, suggesting he had rehearsed this speech, perhaps expecting opposition. The realization increased Darcy’s discomfort. Had his influence over his friend been so heavy-handed that Bingley felt the need to prepare defenses?
“I see. And you seek my opinion on this course of action?”
“Not exactly.” Bingley’s voice held uncharacteristic firmness. “I value your counsel, Darcy, you know that. But in this instance, I have made my decision regardless of whether you approve.”
The politely phrased declaration of independence surprised Darcy. Before he could respond, Bingley continued, his usual good nature reasserting itself.
“Your marriage to Miss Elizabeth has given me reason to reconsider my hasty departure from Hertfordshire last fall. Mrs. Darcy was kind enough to receive me yesterday when you were out. She mentioned that her sister had been distressed at my abrupt leave-taking last November.”
“Did she?” Darcy kept his tone neutral. His irritation at Elizabeth’s intervention was immediately followed by the uncomfortable recognition that he had performed similar manipulations himself.
“Yes, and it made me wonder if I might have mistaken Miss Bennet’s feelings. You recall you thought her indifferent to my attentions? Mrs. Darcy suggests her sister’s reserve might have given a false impression. That her quiet manner conceals deeper feelings.”
Darcy rose from his chair and crossed to the window, standing in silence for a long moment. Here was the opportunity to either perpetuate his interference or acknowledge his error.
“Bingley, I owe you an apology.”
Charles looked genuinely startled. “An apology? Whatever for?”
“For overstepping the bounds of friendship in the matter of Miss Bennet.” The admission was difficult but necessary. “I believed I was protecting you from an imprudent attachment, but I now recognize the possibility that I misjudged the lady’s feelings.”
“You did?” Bingley’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning hope. “Then you think she might have regarded me with particular favor?”
“I cannot say with certainty. But I acknowledge that my assessment was based on limited observation and other considerations that may have clouded my judgment.”
“Other considerations?” Bingley blinked.
Darcy sighed, committed now to complete honesty. “The unsuitability of the connection from a practical standpoint. The lack of fortune or advantageous connections, Mrs. Bennet’s unseemly behavior in society, the younger sisters’ lack of propriety.”
“Oh.” Bingley absorbed this with visible surprise. “Yet you married Miss Elizabeth despite these same objections.”
“I did.” Darcy could not explain the complex combination of circumstances and attraction that had led to his marriage without revealing more than either Bingley or Elizabeth would want disclosed. “I find the connection less disadvantageous than I initially believed.”
A slow smile spread across Bingley’s face. “Well, this is splendid news! If you no longer object to the Bennet family, and if Miss Bennet might return my regard, there is nothing to prevent me from pursuing her properly this time.”
“Nothing but the lady’s own inclinations.” Darcy was unwilling to encourage excessive optimism.
“Of course, of course.” Bingley agreed readily, though his enthusiasm suggested he anticipated no difficulties in that quarter. “But Darcy, I must ask—why did you not mention these doubts earlier? When I spoke of missing Netherfield, of wondering how Miss Bennet fared?”
The direct question caught Darcy off guard. “I believed I was acting in your best interest. I see now that I was presumptuous in assuming I knew better than you what would make for your happiness.”
Bingley studied him with unusual seriousness. “You have always guided me, Darcy, since our Cambridge days. I have valued your counsel above almost anyone’s. But in this matter...”
“I overstepped. And I ask your forgiveness for it.”
“Already granted.” Bingley declared this with characteristic generosity. “Though I confess I am curious what prompted this change of heart. Was it Mrs. Darcy’s influence, perhaps?”
Darcy hesitated, unwilling to reveal the argument that had precipitated his reconsideration. “Let us say that marriage has given me new perspectives on many matters.”
Bingley accepted this with a nod, returning quickly to his plans for Netherfield and his hopes regarding Jane Bennet. By the time he departed an hour later, his natural good spirits were fully restored, his friendship with Darcy undiminished by the revelation.
Left alone, Darcy was both relieved at the conversation’s positive outcome and apprehensive about the more difficult one that still awaited him.
Bingley’s ready forgiveness could not be counted on from his wife, whose sense of justice ran deeper and whose hurt on her sister’s behalf would not be so easily assuaged.
He spent the remainder of the morning attending to business correspondence, but his thoughts continually returned to Elizabeth.
The memory of her face during their argument—the flash of disappointment and anger in those fine eyes—haunted him.
More troubling still was the implication she had raised about their own marriage.
Did she believe he had married her solely from duty? Had he done anything since to disprove this hypothesis?
While their hasty wedding had been necessitated by the scandal of their night in the cottage, Darcy had recognized even then that Elizabeth Bennet possessed qualities that would make her an exceptional wife—intelligence, courage, principles, and a beauty that moved him as no other woman’s had.
In the days since, those initial impressions had only strengthened. Her wit challenged his tendency toward solemnity. Her directness cut through the layers of deference he encountered.
Yet he had never told her these things. Perhaps Elizabeth’s belief that he regarded their marriage as mere obligation was not unreasonable, given his reserve in expressing his growing regard.
By mid-afternoon, Darcy had reached a decision.
He would seek Elizabeth out, explain his error regarding Jane and Mr. Bingley, and attempt to clarify his feelings about their own marriage.
The prospect made him uncharacteristically nervous, but his cousin’s advice echoed in his mind: admit the error, apologize sincerely, and listen to her response.
He found Elizabeth in the music room with Georgiana, the two women seated at the pianoforte with their heads bent over a complicated duet.
The scene struck him with unexpected force—his sister, normally so reserved, already comfortable in Elizabeth’s company; his wife, her dark curls escaping their pins as she laughed at some mistake in the music, the sound warming the formal room in a way he could not recall since his mother’s death.
They looked up at his entrance, Georgiana with a welcoming smile, Elizabeth with a guarded expression that pained him.