Chapter 10
Bingley was on his second glass of brandy when his friend joined him at their club. He did not usually drink at noon, but the news he had just received had disturbed him so much that he needed something to calm both his anxieties and his hopes.
“You will never believe what has happened,” he said before Darcy had even sat down in the large leather armchair.
Darcy smiled. It was not uncommon to find Bingley in a state of excitement, and generally it concerned a new lady. “A new lady?” he asked with slight amusement.
But Bingley slowly shook his head. “Absolutely not!” He continued with unusual vehemence, very unlike his ordinary manner.
“I have received a letter from Netherfield.” So absorbed was he in his own thoughts that he did not notice the sudden change in Darcy’s face, where sadness and a small light of hope appeared at the same time.
“Wait one moment, my friend. I need a glass of brandy myself,” Darcy said.
Only then did Bingley properly look at him. “What has happened?” he asked, struck by the torment visible in his friend’s expression.
Darcy, who rarely hesitated and could generally utter even the most disagreeable truth without difficulty, paused with the glass still in his hand. “It is indeed about Netherfield that I have long wished to speak to you. But first, tell me your news.”
“My news is both simple and complicated. It appears Mr Oswald has found a buyer for Netherfield Park.”
“Oh? And is that good news or bad?”
“Both, if such a thing is possible. I am sorry not to return there, but I have already made a decision, and I intend to resolve my situation even if I never live at Netherfield again.” Hope entered his voice, and his excitement visibly increased as he spoke.
“Then it is good news,” Darcy answered, already suspecting that his friend’s proposed journey to Hertfordshire was intended for something more important than a farewell to Netherfield. “Does this decision concern a certain lady living in the neighbourhood?”
Bingley flushed, then paled, before a wistful smile appeared upon his face. “Yes! Though I know you do not—”
“Please stop,” Darcy interrupted gently.
“My friend, I have spent many months reflecting upon our stay at Netherfield and most particularly upon our sudden departure.” Darcy’s silences were nothing unusual, but this time even Bingley could perceive the heaviness that hung over him.
“I made a great mistake when I advised you last November not to continue a certain attachment.”
It was perhaps the strangest declaration Darcy had ever made.
Bingley admired and respected him deeply, yet he had never entirely approved of Darcy’s arrogance in certain company.
It was merely a private opinion, and often, when faced with Darcy’s generosity or courage, Bingley felt ashamed of it.
Still, he remembered perfectly Darcy’s conduct at Netherfield the previous autumn, his cutting remarks regarding certain ladies and his refusal to join in the pleasures Hertfordshire offered them.
Afterwards, he had persuaded Bingley that Miss Bennet was merely pursuing fortune.
His sisters had fully agreed, but in the end, it was Darcy’s opinion that mattered most.
“I tried for many months to persuade myself you were right,” Bingley said quietly.
“I know, and I am sorry that I did not intervene sooner when I saw your unhappiness. But…you see…I had already begun to despise my own tendency to offer advice where it was neither wanted nor deserved.”
“No! I have always valued your opinions and always shall,” Bingley replied, more troubled than before.
“Allow me to finish. Opinions, yes. Advice, no. I chose my words carefully and selected my moment well to influence you more effectively, and in the end, I succeeded. Yet it took me three months to realise that it was never your battle but mine. You merely became a casualty in my own war.”
The declaration was so unexpected that Bingley sat motionless, scarcely understanding a word. “It was never a war,” he murmured.
“No. For you, it was love. You allowed your feelings to be visible because that is your nature, and they were returned to you in the same spirit. Instead of following your example—”
“My example?”
“Yes, my friend. Your whole character is an example of kindness, benevolence and tolerance. You neither impose nor lecture. You simply are, whilst I remain incapable of changing and persist in my old habits of pride and prejudice.”
“I confess I do not understand half of what you are saying.”
“And yet my story is as simple as yours. I fell in love with Miss Elizabeth.”
Bingley looked so astonished that Darcy almost regretted speaking.
When he had decided upon this conversation, he had intended only to apologise and indirectly give his blessing, certain that Bingley still valued his judgement.
But once seated there and hearing his friend’s obvious determination, the whole truth had forced itself out.
Darcy had always despised useless confessions and believed a man ought to solve his difficulties alone rather than burden his friends with them.
Still, he found himself in need of precisely that sort of confession.
He needed someone to whom he might admit the full extent of his disastrous conduct.
“When?” Bingley asked at last, though his face already expressed far more than his words.
“At the same time that you fell in love with Miss Bennet. At Netherfield last November.”
This time, Bingley became entirely silent. For perhaps the first time in their friendship, he was angry with Darcy, though his naturally gentle temper prevented him from openly showing it.
“Be angry, Charles. You have every right,” Darcy said from the heart, even more troubled by his friend’s loyalty.
“I am, Fitzwilliam, I am.” Yet the feeling could not remain long in Bingley’s heart.
He smiled slightly, and already the first signs of forgiveness appeared.
“Still, I do not wish to blame you more than you deserve.” Bingley shook his head vigorously, still incapable of saying more, waiting for his friend to continue.
“At that time in Hertfordshire, I was entirely unaware of my own feelings for Miss Elizabeth. It was as though a wall existed between myself and my heart. Instead of attempting to break it down, I began finding fault with her family and criticising everything they did. Persuaded I was right, I attributed bad motives everywhere, even to the lady you admired. I hope you may forgive me and repair this…situation.”
“Yes, I intend to return and ask Miss Bennet whether she can forgive me.”
“Good. I have reason to believe she remains unhappy and still regrets your departure.”
“After all these months?” Bingley asked, fresh hope appearing in his gentle eyes.
“Yes. And again I was mistaken. She is not merely beautiful but kind, faithful and sincere.”
“I do not dare hope too much, but how do you know?”
Again, Darcy hesitated, but he understood that forgiveness required the entire truth. “I met Miss Elizabeth in Kent.”
“You mentioned it, though you gave me no details, however much I questioned you.”
“Yes. You wished to know Miss Bennet’s feelings, and again I erred. I ought to have told you everything when I returned from Rosings, where I proposed to Miss Elizabeth.”
“No!” was all Bingley managed to say.
“Yes, and it went disastrously wrong. She had already discovered my part in your departure from Hertfordshire. Instead of acceptance, I received reproaches and anger, most of them deserved.”
“I am sorry,” Bingley managed with difficulty, causing Darcy to laugh bitterly.
“My God, Charles, even when wounded yourself, you remain kind! Never go to war, my friend. You would probably succeed in making friends of the enemy.”
“You are not my enemy, Fitzwilliam,” Bingley answered suddenly with complete conviction, as though his distress had vanished entirely.
“You are my friend, a truthful one and a man I deeply admire. Only someone like you could commit such a mistake, mostly unconsciously, and afterwards possess the courage to apologise and seek forgiveness. You are responsible only for your own faults, not mine. I was weak and indecisive and allowed myself to fall under my family’s influence when I abandoned Miss Bennet at Longbourn.
A man must make his own decisions, and being easily led is a flaw like any other.
Let us forget all this and travel to Hertfordshire tomorrow.
No, let us speak plainly: let us travel to Longbourn and each seek the lady of his heart. ”
For a long while, they drank in silence, then at last Bingley spoke again, his voice almost calm.
“Imagine it, Fitzwilliam. We might become brothers.”
But Darcy could not indulge in such dreams, for he remembered Elizabeth’s eyes the last time he had seen her, when he placed that letter in her hands. They had conveyed neither forgiveness nor hope. On the contrary.