Chapter III #2
“The subject of her family has not arisen between us,” replied Darcy, “except that the Gardiners’ children are staying at Longbourn in her sisters’ care. Should there be anything of particular importance to relate, I suspect she would have told me.”
“That is not necessarily true,” disagreed Hurst. “As I recall, you were not so close in Hertfordshire as to invite intimacy.”
“I also met her in Kent,” said Darcy, feeling a little defensive.
Hurst looked on with interest. “That only proves my point, old boy. You count Bingley among your closest friends, yet this is the first time you have said anything about meeting Miss Elizabeth when visiting your aunt.”
“And that is curious,” added Bingley, looking at Darcy with some intensity. “I cannot imagine how Miss Elizabeth came to be in Kent.”
“Do you recall that ridiculous parson, the Bennets’ relation?” asked Darcy. “He attended the ball in their company.”
Bingley did remember, if his moue of distaste was any sign. “Aye, I remember him. He was the fellow who danced badly and spent the entire evening speaking of some patroness or another. My focus was on Miss Bennet, but even I noticed him.”
“That is him,” agreed Darcy. “The patroness of whom he spoke is my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“That is a coincidence,” said Hurst.
“It is,” agreed Darcy. “Mr. Collins married Miss Charlotte Lucas in January. The new Mrs. Collins invited Miss Elizabeth to Kent, and her stay at the parsonage coincided with mine at Rosings.”
Again, Hurst regarded him as if he suspected something that he did not yet name. Bingley appeared oblivious.
“To return to the initial conversation, you know nothing about the Bennets.”
“I do not, my friend,” said Darcy. “I apologize. To reiterate, if something significant had occurred—such as the marriage of a beloved sister—I suspect she would have mentioned it.”
Bingley did not appear to appreciate the notion of Miss Bennet being married, but he offered a curt nod.
“In this instance,” said Hurst, “I think you must take the initiative yourself, Bingley. Should you wish to know more of Miss Bennet, you may ask Miss Elizabeth yourself.”
After considering it for a moment, Bingley gave a decisive nod. “Yes, I suppose I must. Tomorrow may be difficult, but the following evening will provide an opportunity.”
As he watched his friend, Darcy realized that continuing to withhold the truth of his interference was cruel, and it could not go on.
Though he considered telling Bingley the truth now, Darcy refrained.
He was not afraid of Bingley’s reaction.
What held him back was his uncertainty about Miss Bennet’s current situation, despite his confidence that Miss Elizabeth would have said something on the subject if there had been anything of significance to relate.
For information about Miss Bennet, he would need to apply to her sister.
Darcy resolved to do just that when the opportunity arose.
Once she told him, Darcy could take the opportunity to apologize to his friend, and perhaps give him some encouraging news about Miss Bennet.
If the situation was different, he could at least break it to Bingley gently.
It was some time before Darcy sought his bed that night, as Bingley was in a talkative mood.
Much of his conversation consisted of his recollections of Hertfordshire and Miss Bennet in particular.
This did nothing more than confirm Darcy’s resolve.
Once he apologized, Bingley would have the information he needed.
Then he could act without interference as he should have done in the autumn.
ELIZABETH FOUND SLEEP difficult that evening, and her reflections continued into the following day.
Her aunt directed their steps to an outing that day to a viewpoint of some local renown, but despite Elizabeth’s love of nature and eagerness for such prospects, her mind was only half on the view.
That her relations had noticed her distraction was obvious, though they tactfully kept their own counsel for the moment.
Were anyone to ask her, Elizabeth was uncertain whether she could have stated the exact reason for her preoccupation. Mr. Darcy occupied a rather central position in her thoughts, as did Miss Darcy, though she also considered Mr. Wickham to a certain extent.
That last she now could not consider without abhorrence.
Elizabeth had always fancied herself intelligent and discerning—nothing annoyed her more than allowing another to make a fool of her.
As she thought back on those days after Mr. Wickham’s arrival, she could recall in detail what he had said to her and how he had charmed her, played upon her obvious dislike of Mr. Darcy’s manners, and fed those feelings with the skill of a virtuoso.
What galled Elizabeth most of all was how she had allowed him to lead her about by the nose. She had been absurd, prejudiced, and blind, and the knowledge sat ill with her. At least Mr. Wickham was now gone from Meryton, and she doubted he would ever return.
By the time they arrived back at the inn, Elizabeth saw some definite signs that her aunt meant to have an account of her thoughts.
That opportunity arrived after luncheon and perhaps a half hour before they were to depart for Pemberley.
Though she might have expected her uncle to make himself scarce, he sat nearby, looking at a local newspaper, though Elizabeth knew he attended more closely to their conversation than to the paper.
“You seem quite distracted, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, opening the conversation without disguising her intentions.
Elizabeth offered her aunt a slight smile. “You know me too well for deception.”
“You have not hidden it, Lizzy,” said she.
“No, I suppose I have not,” agreed Elizabeth. “There is much for me to consider.”
“Do you wish to discuss it? Sometimes speaking of a matter aloud does much to clarify one’s thoughts.”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct.” Elizabeth paused, considering. “You recall that my initial impression of Mr. Darcy was not at all positive.”
Uncle Gardiner laughed and folded his newspaper. “No one acquainted with you could have mistaken it, Lizzy. As usual, you did not hesitate to share your opinion.”
Though she knew he meant it with affectionate humor, Elizabeth felt the sting of his statement, for it was the truth. “In my defense, I shall assert that Mr. Darcy’s behavior was not at all admirable.
“But I was wrong.”
“How so, Lizzy?” asked Aunt Gardiner.
Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain how much she might safely say.
There were certain matters she could not divulge, as Mr. Darcy had related them in confidence.
Certain other events she wished to keep to herself.
The scene at Hunsford parsonage, for example, remained unsettled in her own mind and was embarrassing besides.
“It was Mr. Darcy’s conduct in Kent,” said Elizabeth at length.
“Was he much altered?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “At first, he was much as he had been, though he appeared more comfortable in the company of his relations. Mr. Darcy is a reticent man who will never be open with his feelings, but he lost the edge of haughtiness I saw in his character in Hertfordshire. As the visit proceeded, I came to understand something more of him.”
“And this overset your firm opinion of him,” surmised her uncle.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I was so certain I had taken his measure that this new side of him came as a shock.”
“There is something else, is there not?” asked her aunt.
Elizabeth smiled. “Perceptive as always. The other matter concerns Mr. Wickham.”
The way her aunt and uncle both regarded her, Elizabeth knew they had suspected something of this nature. Seeing her expression, her aunt laughed and patted Elizabeth’s hand.
“Your reaction to the housekeeper’s comments about Mr. Wickham suggested you knew something, my dear. What I cannot make out is why Mr. Darcy’s account was more trustworthy than what Mr. Wickham told you, especially when you were so convinced about the reverse.”
There was no point in contradicting her aunt—what she said was nothing less than the truth. The question was how to go about explaining it fairly without revealing too much.
“When Mr. Darcy explained it to me,” said Elizabeth after a long pause, “I labeled it the grossest lie.”
“But you reconsidered,” prompted Uncle Gardiner.
“I did,” said Elizabeth. “When I compared Mr. Wickham’s tale to Mr. Darcy’s account, I recognized certain discrepancies in Mr. Wickham’s story that I had never noticed before. When I compared the two accounts, I had no choice but to acknowledge that Mr. Darcy’s was the more credible.”
“That suggests more amiss with Mr. Wickham than a false story about Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “Mr. Wickham has many vices and has used Mr. Darcy without remorse. And Mr. Darcy has proven to be a better gentleman than I had ever thought.”
“You esteem him now,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
“More than I did before, to be certain,” agreed Elizabeth.
Mrs. Gardiner watched her for several moments. “If you will pardon me, Lizzy, I must say that Mr. Darcy strikes me as a man whose admiration is decidedly engaged. Have you seen nothing of his regard?”
This was getting into territory about which Elizabeth did not wish to speak.
“By the time I left, I was not unaware of Mr. Darcy’s interest.”
The amused glance Mrs. Gardiner directed at her husband spoke volumes.
“What do you think, Edward? It seems our niece has a gift for understatement.”
“Given what I saw of Mr. Darcy yesterday,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “the gentleman’s regard has made remarkable progress in Lizzy’s absence. Or perhaps Lizzy is keeping something from us.”
“Uncle!” protested Elizabeth, but he just laughed.