Chapter 10
Darcy
Bingley forgave me with a generosity that only deepened my shame.
We were in Netherfield's library the morning after his engagement. He had spoken of Jane for nearly an hour before remembering he might have reason to resent me.
“I was furious, of course,” he said. “At least until the moment I saw her again. After that, I couldn't find the time.”
“You should still be angry.”
“What would be the point? You told me the truth. I came back. She loves me.”
His smile was unbearably happy.
“You could have come back months earlier.”
“Yes.”
He sat down across from me.
“But I also let you decide for me. Caroline claimed Jane didn't care for me. You believed it. I preferred your certainty to my own judgment because it spared me the risk of refusal.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“You're not responsible for my deception.”
“No. Only for my cowardice.”
Bingley almost never used that tone. Jane made him more clear-eyed without diminishing his kindness.
“Miss Bennet is fortunate,” I said.
“And I more so. Which brings us back to you.”
“I don't see why.”
“You look toward the road to Longbourn every ten minutes.”
I stood up.
“I'm expecting correspondence.”
“Naturally. Correspondence that walks, wears a dress, and has very fine eyes.”
I gave him a look that would have silenced him in the past. He laughed.
“Elizabeth still hasn't given you her answer?”
“No.”
“But she receives you.”
“She also tolerates her mother, which hardly constitutes proof of inclination.”
“You're joking.”
“Barely.”
Bingley leaned forward.
“She may already love you.”
The idea stirred such a fierce longing to believe it that I rejected it at once.
“She hasn't told me so.”
“Not all women announce their feelings with my dear Jane's frankness.”
“Miss Bennet spent months concealing hers.”
“Only because she's modest.”
“Which proves my point.”
He sighed.
“Then ask her.”
“She asked me for time.”
“Darcy, you can respect her time without behaving like a condemned man awaiting the executioner.”
I didn't answer him.
That afternoon, we went to Longbourn. Bingley was immediately absorbed by Jane and Mrs. Bennet, who had already chosen a wedding date to which neither of the engaged couple had consented. Elizabeth sat near the window with a closed book on her lap.
She looked up when I entered.
Her smile was meant for me alone.
I felt the same shock as at Hunsford when she had said yes, with one difference: I no longer allowed myself to build a future on a smile.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “my sister claims your friend is incapable of choosing between two dates for their wedding. Perhaps you could decide for him. You have experience in that area.”
Bingley nearly choked. Jane blushed. Mrs. Bennet, who hadn't understood, warmly approved the idea.
I looked at Elizabeth.
“I've renounced that role. It proved ill-suited to my character.”
“A sign of wisdom.”
“Belated.”
Her expression softened.
Bingley, with his characteristic lack of subtlety, proposed a walk. Mrs. Bennet encouraged Jane to accompany him, ordered Kitty and Lydia to stay, then decided Elizabeth should show Mr. Darcy the improvements to the garden.
“What improvements?” my hostess asked after sending us outside. “Well, you'll find them.”
Elizabeth lowered her head to hide her laughter.
We followed the path behind the house. Bingley and Jane walked far ahead, so absorbed in each other they had forgotten any duty to chaperone.
“Your mother seems to approve of my presence,” I observed.
“My mother would approve of an earthquake if it possessed ten thousand pounds a year.”
“Should I find that reassuring?”
“That depends. Are you in the habit of causing considerable destruction?”
“Only in my friends’ relationships.”
She stopped.
I immediately regretted this attempt at humor.
“I did not mean to…”
“I know.”
She resumed walking, more slowly now.
“Jane is happy. She does not hold it against you.”
“And you?”
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Elizabeth looked at the trees.
“I resented you greatly.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She drew a breath.
“I do not yet know how to name what I feel. My anger has not disappeared simply because you made amends. But it is no longer alone.”
My heart beat faster.
“What else is there?”
She turned toward me.
“Gratitude, which I would prefer to set aside because it complicates my judgment. Esteem. Curiosity. And a certain irritation at your habit of becoming honorable precisely when I would wish to condemn you easily.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You do not look sorry.”
“I am not.”
She smiled.
We reached a small path bordered by hazel trees. The foliage partially concealed us from the house. Elizabeth removed a glove and brushed her fingers against a new leaf.
“My father told me the terms of your arrangement.”
“They were settled independently of you.”
“I know. That is what allows me to thank you without fearing you will interpret my gratitude as a promise.”
“I will not interpret it as such.”
“You are very cautious.”
“I have learned that my hopes possess an excessive imagination.”
She lowered her eyes to her bare hand.
“And if I were to give you a permission that is not a promise?”
I stopped breathing.
“Which one?”
She extended her hand toward me.
“You may touch me without waiting for me to slip into a rut.”
I took her fingers with a slowness that cost me all my self-control. Her palm rested against mine. She wore no glove. I felt the fineness of her skin, the warmth of her blood, a slight tremor she could not conceal.
“Is this an experiment?” I asked.
“Perhaps.”
“And what result do you hope for?”
“To discover whether my judgment becomes more impaired when you hold my hand.”
“I fear the observation must be prolonged.”
Her laughter was softer than I had ever heard it.
We continued thus, hand in hand, until the voices of Bingley and Jane reached us on their return.
Elizabeth withdrew her fingers before we could be seen.
The absence of her touch was immediate.
“Your judgment?” I murmured.
She replaced her glove with excessive care.
“Gravely compromised.”
Then she passed me on the path.