Chapter 17 #2
“Certainly she would—for is that not what she has done with you?” she replied.
“I can only suppose that little in that letter is true, and that it was written chiefly to create difficulties between us. She saw at Pemberley that her brother was still interested in you, and while I do not know what may have passed between Fitzwilliam and Mr Bingley before he left, I am certain we were not named as the cause. No—her purpose was to drive a wedge between you and me, and to persuade you that Mr Bingley would have returned and offered for you, had it not been for me.”
“But why?”
“Who can say, Jane?” Elizabeth said, a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone. “Only that her intentions cannot have been good in writing such a letter. It is not the first time she has misled you.”
Jane acknowledged this only with a slight nod, and Elizabeth could see that she was still attempting to reconcile the matter in her own mind.
Her sister had always wished to think well of others, yet it was clear that this account unsettled her.
Elizabeth would not press her further; in the end, Jane must decide for herself whether she would place her trust in her sister or in Caroline Bingley.
If the choice were so difficult, Elizabeth would leave her to make it in her own time.
Having so resolved, she rose and crossed to where Fitzwilliam sat.
“Your sister was kind in her description of what Miss Bingley wrote,” he said as she approached.
“I have read these through several times now, and while the first letter is not wholly objectionable, the allusion to Mr Bingley spending time with my sister has the potential to create a scandal in the wrong hands. But the second—” He paused briefly, reviewing it once more.
“It is clear the lady was in considerable agitation when she composed it. I am concerned she may have written in a similar vein to others; and if she has done so, I must consider how you might be received in London when we go there.”
He glanced up at her. “It is not a matter of serious concern, but I believe we may be obliged to spend rather more time in Town during the Season than I had intended, so that people may see you.”
“Very well, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “I shall not complain of being required to spend a month or two in Town, if you judge it best.”
She laughed when Fitzwilliam dropped his head into his hands.
“My aunt will be relentless,” he said.
“Then I shall take it as proof of her affection,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “Truly, Fitzwilliam, it cannot be so bad, can it? We shall have to show ourselves amongst the ton at some point.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “And it is very possible I am borrowing trouble. Miss Bingley may have written only to your sister because she believed she could do so without consequence.”
Elizabeth turned to look at Jane, who stood some distance away, seemingly lost in thought.
“I cannot understand Miss Bingley’s purpose,” she said quietly. “When Mr Bingley mentioned my sister at Pemberley, I thought I detected some interest. I will not ask whether you spoke to him about her, but I can only suppose she meant to wound Jane in some way.”
Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. “I believe that may have been her intention. Still, I will write to Bingley and insist that he restrain his sister from making any further remarks. I must also inform him of our engagement and explain that it was circumstances such as these that prevented me from speaking more openly before. He may be displeased, but that cannot be helped.”
He paused, then looked at Elizabeth. “As to the other matter—yes. The evening after we paid a call on you at the inn, I told him that Miss Bennet had been in London during the winter, and that his sister had concealed it from him. I also acknowledged my own part in the affair. He was not pleased with me, but he understood my reasoning. I suggested that he ought to consider returning, but I cannot say how soon he might do so, or whether he will do so at all.”
“When we spoke last night, I hinted to Jane that, although others may have been complicit, Mr Bingley is ultimately responsible for his failure to return,” she said with a sigh.
“We have not yet spoken of it in detail, but your letter has made me see several things in a different light. I have also considered that, had someone advised you as you did Mr Bingley, you would not have acted in the same way. I do not believe anyone could have persuaded you to leave me.”
With a short, incredulous breath, he said.
“But I did. I walked away from you in Hertfordshire when we first met, convincing myself that you were not good enough for a Darcy bride. In Kent, I proposed—and, in truth, had you struck me, I should have deserved it. I was arrogant and foolish, yet entirely persuaded of my own superiority.”
Shaking his head, a faint, humourless laugh escaped him. “It astonishes me still that you would speak to me again at Pemberley—not after I forced that letter upon you, not after that dreadful proposal, not after all that I said and did.”
He paused, his voice lowering.
“I had no expectation of ever seeing you again—nor of being forgiven, if I did. I believed I had lost you entirely, and that such a loss was only the natural consequence of my own conduct.” He drew a breath, as though steadying himself.
“That you should look at me with kindness again—that you should accept me….” He broke off, shaking his head slightly. “It is more than I deserve.”
“It is more than I deserve,” she said quietly. “You ought to have despised me for the manner in which I spoke to you. Your letter persuaded me of your goodness?—”
“That letter ought to be burnt,” he interrupted. “Pray, tell me you do not still have it.”
“I do,” she replied, her smile widening. “It is the first—and, thus far, the only—letter you have written to me.”
“Then I must remedy that soon,” he said, lifting her hand and pressing a brief kiss to her fingers.