Chapter Six #2
“I thought I might help your cause along a bit,” Fitzwilliam continued, clearly enjoying himself. “I thought perhaps if she understood the depth of your character, the strength of your devotion to those you care about, she might view you more favourably.”
The tension in Darcy’s chest tightened further. “What exactly did you tell her?”
“I spoke of your loyalty to your friends, your willingness to go to considerable lengths to protect those you value.” Fitzwilliam was warming to his subject now.
“I wanted her to understand that beneath your rather forbidding exterior lies a man of genuine feeling and principle. Someone who acts decisively when he believes a friend to be in danger of making a serious mistake.”
Darcy’s hands had begun to curl into fists at his sides without his conscious awareness. He forced them to relax, forced his breathing to remain steady. “And did you provide specific examples of this loyalty?”
“Of course. Generalities carry no weight, do they? I told her about how you saved Bingley from an imprudent connection last autumn in London.” Fitzwilliam’s smile remained firmly in place, oblivious to Darcy’s building alarm.
“How you recognised that he had formed an attachment to a young woman whose feelings were not sufficiently engaged, whose family connections were disadvantageous, and how you took decisive action to separate them before he could make an offer that would have compromised his happiness and standing.”
The world seemed to slow around Darcy. The words reached him as though travelling through water, distorted and terrible. Bingley. Last autumn. A young woman whose feelings were not engaged. Disadvantageous family connections.
Darcy’s hand moved to his forehead, pressing against his brow as though he could somehow push back the understanding that was crashing over him.
Bingley’s attachment last autumn. A young woman in London.
But Bingley had not met any woman in London last autumn.
Fitzwilliam must have misunderstood exactly when and where the events had taken place.
Bingley had met Jane Bennet in Hertfordshire, had formed an attachment to Jane Bennet, and Darcy had aided and abetted Bingley’s sisters in separating them.
Jane Bennet. Elizabeth’s beloved elder sister.
If Elizabeth knew, if Fitzwilliam had told her that Darcy had deliberately separated Bingley from an attachment formed last autumn, she would have understood immediately.
Would have recognised her own sister in that description.
Would have known with absolute certainty that Darcy was responsible for Jane’s heartbreak.
And she would have been furious. Should have been furious.
Should have confronted him, challenged him, demanded explanations with all the fire and spirit he had come to expect from her.
She should have looked at him this morning with anger and betrayal in her eyes, should have refused his company, should have cut him with words sharp enough to flay skin from bone.
Instead, she had been warm. Pleasant. Almost affectionate. Had smiled at him with apparent genuine pleasure, had accepted his arm without hesitation, had described his conversation as agreeable.
The wrongness of it crashed over Darcy with renewed force, compounded now by this revelation. Elizabeth should have been enraged by what Fitzwilliam told her. Yet her behaviour this morning had suggested the opposite, had implied she viewed him more favourably than ever before.
It made no sense. None of it made sense.
Darcy lowered his hand slowly, forcing himself to meet Fitzwilliam’s increasingly concerned gaze. His cousin had taken a step closer, clearly alarmed by Darcy’s reaction but not yet understanding its source.
“Darcy?” Fitzwilliam said, his voice stripped of its earlier amusement. “What is it? What have I done?”
But Darcy could not answer, could barely think beyond the certainty pounding through his consciousness.
Elizabeth should be angry. Should hate him.
Should never wish to speak to him again after learning what he had done to her sister.
Yet this morning she had been pleasant, compliant, nearly affectionate.
“Darcy, for God’s sake, what is wrong? You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
Darcy straightened slowly, releasing his grip on the wall and forcing his breathing to steady.
Fitzwilliam stood before him with deep concern, one hand still extended.
They were alone in the corridor, but servants could appear at any moment, and Darcy could not afford to appear as shaken as he felt.
He needed to explain, needed to tell Fitzwilliam what he had done, though the confession would only compound his cousin’s alarm.
“The young woman Bingley formed an attachment to last autumn,” Darcy said, his voice carefully controlled despite the turmoil in his chest. “It was not in London. It was in Hertfordshire.”
Fitzwilliam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Hertfordshire? But you said...”
“I said he had met someone. I did not specify where.” Darcy paused, the words catching in his throat before he could force them out. “It was Miss Jane Bennet. Elizabeth’s elder sister.”
The colour drained from Fitzwilliam’s face with remarkable speed. For a long moment he simply stared at Darcy, his mouth slightly open, his expression cycling through shock, comprehension, and finally horror.
“Dear God,” Fitzwilliam breathed. “Tell me I did not... Tell me I did not tell Miss Bennet that you deliberately separated her sister from Bingley.”
But Darcy could not tell him that, could only watch his cousin’s horror deepen as understanding crystallised. Fitzwilliam took a step backward, one hand rising to cover his mouth as though he could somehow take back the words he had spoken yesterday afternoon.
“I am so sorry,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice emerging rough with genuine distress.
“Darcy, I had no idea. You never told me the woman was Miss Bennet’s sister!
If I had known, if I had suspected for even a moment, I would never have spoken of it.
” He shook his head, looking genuinely stricken.
“No wonder you looked so alarmed. She must despise you now. Must think you the most interfering, presumptuous villain in England.”
Darcy opened his mouth to agree, to confirm that yes, Elizabeth would naturally be furious. But the words died before they could form. Because Elizabeth had not seemed furious this morning. Had not acted like someone who despised him. Had been warm, pleasant, nearly affectionate.
“That is what troubles me,” Darcy said slowly, his thoughts arranging themselves even as he spoke.
“Miss Bennet did not seem angry this morning. Did not behave as though she had just learned I was responsible for her sister’s heartbreak.
Instead, she was...” He paused, searching for the right word.
“Pleasant. Agreeable. Almost welcoming of my company.”
Fitzwilliam stared at him as though he had begun speaking in tongues. “Pleasant? Darcy, surely you are mistaken. Perhaps she was hiding her anger behind civility, maintaining appearances until she could express her true feelings more privately.”
But Darcy shook his head. “No. It was not that sort of controlled civility. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, genuinely happy to walk with me. There was no coldness beneath the pleasantness, no hint of suppressed fury.”
“Then perhaps...” Fitzwilliam hesitated, his expression troubled. “Perhaps she has not yet made the connection? If I did not mention Miss Bennet by name, perhaps Miss Elizabeth has not realised I was speaking of her own sister?”
The suggestion was logical, but Darcy found himself unable to accept it.
Elizabeth was too intelligent, too perceptive to miss such an obvious connection.
Bingley’s attachment formed last autumn, a young woman whose feelings were deemed insufficient, disadvantageous family connections.
Any mention of Bingley and last autumn would immediately bring Jane to Elizabeth’s mind.
Unless… Elizabeth did not care as much about her sister’s disappointment as Darcy had assumed.
The thought arrived with the force of revelation, offering an explanation that would resolve the contradiction.
What if Jane’s feelings for Bingley had been as tepid as Darcy had thought them to be?
What if Elizabeth knew her sister had not been particularly attached, had not suffered terribly from the separation?
In that case, Elizabeth might view Darcy’s interference as misguided but not cruel, protective rather than malicious.
Perhaps even helpful, saving her sister from the obligation of refusing a distasteful proposal, much as Elizabeth herself had to do with Collins.
“Perhaps Miss Bennet was not deeply affected by the separation,” Darcy heard himself say, the words emerging with more confidence than he felt.
“Perhaps her feelings for Bingley were not as strong as we assumed, and Elizabeth knows this. That would explain why she showed no anger at learning I had separated them.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression suggested he found this reasoning deeply flawed.
“Darcy, that seems rather unlikely. Miss Elizabeth spoke of her sister with genuine affection during our conversations. I cannot imagine she would be so sanguine about anyone interfering in Miss Bennet’s romantic prospects, regardless of the depth of her sister’s attachment. ”
But Darcy was already building the argument in his mind, constructing a narrative that would justify both his past actions and Elizabeth’s present behaviour.
“If Miss Bennet’s feelings were not seriously engaged, then no real harm was done.
Elizabeth might recognise this, might even approve of my protecting Bingley from an unsuitable connection that would have satisfied neither party in the end. ”