Chapter 11
Elizabeth
Mr. Darcy asked Jane's forgiveness the next day.
He arrived at Longbourn before Mr. Bingley—in itself extraordinary enough to unsettle my mother. She received him eagerly, offering tea, coffee, currant wine, and three kinds of cake before he could explain the purpose of his visit.
“I should like to speak with Miss Bennet,” he said.
My mother smiled at me so meaningfully that I almost wished for curtains thick enough to hide behind.
“Lizzy is here, naturally. She's doing nothing important. Lizzy, take Mr. Darcy to the library. Your father is in Meryton.”
“I was speaking of Miss Jane Bennet,” he clarified.
My mother's smile froze.
Jane set down her cup.
“Of course.”
Darcy turned to her.
“I should like your sister to remain with us, if you will permit it.”
Jane glanced my way. I could tell she already guessed the subject.
We went into the small parlor, where the door could stay ajar without letting my mother hear every word. Darcy remained standing until we were seated. His usual stiffness had returned, but I now knew it often shielded an emotion rather than a judgment.
“Bingley has no doubt told you what I revealed to him in London,” he began.
“Yes,” Jane replied.
“He told you that I encouraged him to leave Netherfield, that I concealed your presence in London from him, and that I believed your affection less deep than his.”
“He did.”
Darcy clasped his hands behind his back.
“I was mistaken about your feelings. That error does not excuse the rest. I made a decision that belonged to Bingley and caused you several months of pain. I cannot undo that. I wished, however, to ask your forgiveness without assuming that your present happiness erases what I did.”
Jane lowered her eyes. She never sought to punish, but her silence was not empty. I watched Darcy wait without attempting to fill it with fresh justifications.
“I suffered greatly,” she said at last.
Her frankness surprised me. Jane shielded others from her pain so carefully that she rarely named it.
“I regret it deeply,” Darcy replied.
“I did not know why Mr. Bingley had left. I thought I had misunderstood his attentions, or that my reserve had misled him. Then his sister made me understand he no longer thought of me. I blamed myself for having hoped.”
Shame marked Darcy's face.
“Miss Bingley acted on her own initiative, but she believed she was confirming what I had told her. I bear my share of that cruelty.”
Jane raised her eyes.
“Why did you believe me indifferent?”
“Because I observed you as a man accustomed to trusting visible demonstrations over temperaments unlike his own. You were calm. Bingley was not. I concluded his attachment exceeded yours.”
“Yet you are often calm yourself.”
A slight flush rose to his cheekbones.
I had to turn my head to hide a smile. Jane had just, with perfect gentleness, reminded him of the absurdity of his judgment.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I should have understood that a feeling can be deep without being displayed.”
“And my family?” she asked.
Darcy did not evade.
“I judged the conduct of some of your relations incompatible with my friend's happiness. I still believe some behavior at Netherfield was imprudent. I no longer believe it gave me the right to decide that Bingley should give you up.”
Jane nodded slowly.
“I cannot pretend that all this did not wound me. But you told Mr. Bingley the truth when you could have kept silent. You came to speak to me without knowing whether Lizzy will marry you. I forgive you.”
Darcy bowed his head deeply.
“I thank you.”
“On one condition.”
He looked up, surprised.
“Which is?”
“Do not protect Mr. Bingley from his own decisions anymore. He is gentle, but he is not incapable of choosing.”
An almost imperceptible smile crossed Darcy's lips.
“He gave me the same instruction with much less elegance.”
Jane smiled back.
The tension eased. I felt a new surge of pride in my sister. Her kindness hadn't stopped her from admitting she had suffered, or from setting a boundary. I had often mistaken her gentleness for an absence of anger. Darcy had made a similar mistake with graver consequences.
“Mr. Bingley will arrive soon,” she said. “I believe he would be pleased to find you here.”
“I hope I'm not imposing on your first weeks of engagement.”
“You could hardly impose more than Mama.”
This response, so unusual for Jane, made me laugh. Darcy looked surprised as well, then amused.
We left the small parlor. My mother was waiting for us in the hallway, pretending to look for her needlework.
“Is everything settled?” she asked.
“Perfectly,” Jane replied.
“I should hope so. A man who possesses ten thousand a year should never be kept from the arrangements.”
Darcy cast me a look. In his eyes, I saw that he understood why I had developed the habit of meeting embarrassment with irony.
Mr. Bingley arrived a few minutes later. He found Jane near the window and nearly forgot to greet the others. Darcy drew me aside toward the table where Mary had abandoned several pieces of sheet music.
“You didn't have to speak to her today,” I murmured.
“I did.”
“You had already set things right with Mr. Bingley.”
“Miss Bennet is not merely a side effect of Bingley's situation. She is the one I wronged.”
This response struck me with unexpected force.
“She forgave you.”
“I hadn't presumed she would.”
“You assume very little anymore.”
“You showed me the danger of it.”
I let my fingers slide along the edge of a sheet of music to keep from reaching for him in front of the entire parlor.
“Jane asked you to respect Mr. Bingley's decisions. I could make a similar request of you.”
“Concerning yours?”
“Yes.”
“I'm trying.”
“I can see that.”
His gaze settled on my face.
“Does it change your opinion of me?”
“You promised not to demand an answer before I was ready.”
“I'm not asking for that answer—the one about marriage.”
“You're clever.”
“Desperate.”
I lowered my voice.
“Yes. It changes my opinion.”
He didn't smile. His face relaxed with an emotion deeper than satisfaction.
Under the table, hidden from view, his hand briefly found mine. His fingers pressed mine, then withdrew before my mother could turn her head.
That touch stayed with me the rest of the day.
I was beginning to understand that perhaps love did not spring from a single revelation. It advanced through acts, through difficult truths, through choices made again and again when no one promised a reward.
Mr. Darcy had not asked Jane's forgiveness to convince me.
That was precisely why he had succeeded.