Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “I have three reasons, and I have tried to be honest with myself about all of them. Jane’s happiness is the first. The cost to Mr Bingley is the second.
Miss Bingley’s ruin is the third. She is not an easy woman for whom to feel sympathy.
Yet neither could I feel at ease in knowing myself to be responsible for the destruction of any hope of future happiness for her. ”
“But what of your own name? If Miss Bingley’s guilt is not exposed, the damage to your reputation persists. If anyone’s name is to suffer for this, it should not be yours.”
“I shall escape all real consequences by changing my name to that of Darcy.” She met his eyes. “I am not without a resolution here. It is not the resolution I would have designed, perhaps, but it is one in which I expect to be very happy.”
“You are dreadfully unfair, Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy said gently. “I cannot hold my anger when you remind me so sweetly that you will be mine. All grievances seem to fall away, however great.”
“I would have it so,” Elizabeth told him. “If we choose justice in this case, I believe the costs of that choice will be with us all our lives. I should prefer to choose mercy.”
Mr Darcy nodded slowly, looking thoughtful.
Some emotion seemed to move across his face, inscrutable, before his expression hardened into determination.
“I want her to know,” he said then. “I believe you are right in choosing mercy, but there must be at least this much justice for you, and for what she would have done to us both. Not for the neighbourhood, or for any public purpose. Miss Bingley ought to understand that her guilt is known, and if her victim were not a woman of noble spirit, she would have been ruined before the sun had set.”
Elizabeth considered this. It was not exposure or the public mechanism she had refused, but something more private, more direct.
Caroline Bingley would understand that the calculation she had made and the outcome she had engineered were entirely visible, and that the only thing standing between her and its consequences was the woman she had wronged.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “I think she should know that much.”
“I will speak to her,” he said. Then Mr Darcy let out a long breath, reaching for calm once more. “It is difficult. The unfairness of it inspires anger on my own account, but more particularly on yours. The danger for myself was never so great as for you. And such anger is difficult to hold.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I have felt much the same over the past weeks. Just as you say, it is difficult to hold. I can only say that I have done my best to do so.”
A crease appeared between his brows. “How?”
“Imperfectly,” she said. “But Jane helps.”
He softened. Of all people, he understood a cherished bond with a sibling. “I imagine she does.”
They sat for a moment in companionable quiet, different from the awkward silences of November, the frozen stillness of December, and the careful performances of January.
This was the silence of two people who had said the difficult things and were still in the room with each other, and had found each other to be everything they needed.
The fire crackled merrily, and a soft peace settled over them. But there was one last element that Elizabeth needed to address.
“There is one more thing,” Elizabeth said. “When you speak to Miss Bingley, I should like you to tell her something from me. Tell her I am aware she did not intend me. That the plan was for herself, and that I do not think she is without feeling on the subject of what it produced.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I am not forgiving her — certainly not. But I want her to know that I have not reduced her to the worst thing she has done. We all deserve more grace than that.”
Mr Darcy studied her for a long moment. “I think not. I would say, rather, that it is more than she deserves.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said. “But it is what I have, and I would rather give more than is deserved than less.”
He said nothing immediately. His expression was the one she had seen at the assembly, when he had told Lady Catherine she was not a reliable judge of what he valued. She had understood even then, through all the management and the misreading, that the expression meant something.
“You are truly an admirable woman. More charitable that you have any right to be, and yet it comes easily to you. It is not forced. You are honest without being cruel, a most admirable quality.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly.
“I will speak to Miss Bingley,” Mr Darcy promised. “And when I do, I will also relay your message.”
Somewhere in the house, her mother was conducting what sounded like a spirited conversation with Mrs Hill about the coming luncheon, which meant they had been in the parlour longer than either of them had noticed.
“I should go,” Mr Darcy said.
“You should,” Elizabeth agreed, rather reluctantly.
But despite their good intentions, neither of them moved until the clamour in the hall became too loud to be ignored. Mr Darcy then bid his farewells and set out for Netherfield Park.
But at the gate, he turned back to wave at Elizabeth.
She felt her heart catch in her chest as she returned that wave.
The rueful curve of his lips and the softness in his eyes was inexpressively precious.
Elizabeth felt she knew what was meant by the expression, for it was much the same as what was in her own heart; a reluctance to part, and an eagerness to meet again as soon as possible.
After long weeks of doubt and anguish, Elizabeth felt suddenly happy enough for mischief. Before she could persuade herself out of her daring, she blew Mr Darcy a kiss.
Upon perceiving it, his eyes widened in surprise, and then his smile changed — became a full, satisfied grin, the first she had ever seen from him.