Chapter XXV
Darcy was still thinking of Elizabeth’s visit when Bingley appeared at the door of his study later that day. He was still under the influence of that dangerous and thoroughly distracting monosyllable.
The afternoon ought to have been spent on business. Several letters remained unanswered upon his desk, and the estate report from Pemberley lay open before him. He had attempted to read it twice and succeeded neither time.
His thoughts returned, with remarkable persistence, to the garden.
To Elizabeth, standing beside him beneath the autumn sky.
To her smile when Georgiana had innocently revealed the existence of the cake.
To the astonishment on her face when he admitted receiving her letter.
Most of all, he found himself remembering the simple word she had spoken when he asked whether he would have been favourably received at Longbourn.
Yes.
The memory was absurdly capable of improving his spirits.
More than once, he had caught himself looking like a fool at nothing in particular. Had Richard been present, he would have shown no mercy whatsoever.
Darcy closed the estate report and pushed it aside.
“Darcy!”
He had rehearsed the conversation three different ways, disliked all three, and abandoned every one of them the instant Bingley walked through the door.
Bingley entered with his usual warmth and extended a hand. “You might have mentioned in your letter that the matter was not one of life and death. I have spent half the journey imagining murders, bankruptcies, and at least one duel. I even packed a large purse of coins.”
Darcy shook his hand. “No murders. No robbery.”
“Then the situation is already improving.” Bingley threw himself into a chair and glanced around the room. “I confess I expected to find you looking more distressed.”
“I have had several days to grow accustomed to the situation.”
That answer immediately caught Bingley’s attention. His smile faded. “Something has happened.”
“Yes.” Darcy remained standing for a moment before moving to the fireplace. “Have you come here straight from the trip?”
“Essentially yes. Though I dropped Caroline off before coming here.”
“Miss Bingley?”
“She insisted that I bring her.”
“Right. Then you must be famished. Let me have some food brought.” With that, Darcy opened the door and gave his instructions to the footman.
“Thank you. Yes, I could eat something.”
“I am sorry for not writing why I asked you to come. It is not something one commits to paper.”
For the first time since entering, Bingley felt uneasy. “What is it?”
Darcy was silent for several seconds.
“Darcy?”
The other man remained standing by the fireplace, one hand resting upon the mantel.
At last, he said, “I have something to tell you, and it is long overdue.”
Bingley blinked. “You worry me. What is this about?”
Darcy looked into the fire.
“When we talked after we left Netherfield, I shared my opinion about Miss Bennet.”
Bingley straightened. “That is a curious beginning.”
“I had no right to interfere. I am sorry for it.”
“No right?”
Darcy shook his head. “I have learnt a hard lesson. When it comes to women, I am no expert. Please do not ask me how.”
Bingley stared at him. “Darcy, you are alarming me more with every sentence.”
“That was not my intention.”
“It rarely is.”
For the first time, a faint shadow of amusement touched Darcy’s expression. Then it disappeared. “When we left Netherfield, I believed Miss Bennet esteemed you, but I also believed her feelings were considerably less engaged than yours.”
Bingley’s face grew serious. “Yes.”
“I was mistaken.”
The words hung between them.
Bingley frowned. “What do you mean?”
Darcy looked away briefly. “I mean that Miss Bennet cared far more deeply than I understood.”
For several seconds, Bingley simply stared at him. “How-how do you know that?”
“I was told.”
“By whom?”
Darcy hesitated. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
That answer produced exactly the reaction he expected.
Bingley’s eyebrows rose. “Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. When you met her in Lambton?”
“No. When I met her again in Kent, in the spring.”
Bingley sat motionless.
“This is the first time I’ve heard about this.”
“She was there visiting her friend, Miss Lucas, now Mrs. Collins.”
“Collins? The vicar?”
“Yes, if you remember, he is the parson in my aunt’s employ.”
“And she just told you in a conversation?”
Darcy gave him a look. “I assure you there was nothing entertaining in the experience.”
Bingley shifted slightly.
“We had an argument, if you must know. She was furious.”
“Well, good,” Bingley said though he was more confused than anything. He rose abruptly and crossed to the window.
Outside, London continued its business entirely unaware that his understanding of the past had just altered.
“Good God.” The words escaped him quietly. “Jane…”
“Unfortunately, there is more. She was in London before that, and she visited your sisters.”
“Pardon?”
“Rudely, they waited weeks before returning the visit.”
“Why was I not informed? I would have visited her.”
“They told me. Together, we thought it better not to inform you.”
“Better? How could it be better? And why were you the judge?”
“At the time, I did not know what I learnt later at Rosings. By that time, you stopped mentioning Netherfield… We thought it best not to open things again. I am sorry.”
“You are sorry. And I should just accept that?”
Darcy met his gaze. “No.”
The answer took some of the force from Bingley’s indignation.
“You had no right. I could be… who knows… I could be married by now. I trusted you, Darcy. I gave up Netherfield because of you.”
“Bingley. I accept my misjudging of her feelings. I was wrong. But I was not solely responsible.”
Bingley looked at him sharply.
“You listened to me because I was your friend. You listened to your sisters because they were your family. Your sisters believed the match imprudent. They were determined to keep you in London. Yet in the end, the decision was yours.” Darcy hesitated. “You never returned to Netherfield.”
“Because I believed she did not care.”
“Yes. And I bear responsibility for that. But you never questioned it. You stayed away, and you did not even bother to say goodbye to your neighbours. That is not the characteristic of a man in love. Disappointed, maybe, but not in love.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I did love her.”
“Did you really? Yet you did not act as a gentleman. And you did not pursue the object of your love.”
The silence stretched between them until a servant entered carrying a tray. Cold meats, bread, cheese, and ale were arranged upon a side table before the man withdrew once more.
“You know nothing of love,” Bingley said at last.
Darcy bit his lip.
God knew his friend was right. Only a few months earlier, he might have dismissed the remark entirely. He had proposed to a woman who disliked him, fully expecting acceptance. Such confidence seemed almost absurd now. At the time, he had thought only of his own feelings.
Now he knew better.
Love was not merely obtaining the acceptance of a lady. Now he wished to be loved in return. And perhaps, he reflected, it was wishing for that lady’s happiness even when one could not be certain it would ever include oneself.
He thought of Elizabeth. Of a letter written in distress that had contained not a single request. Of the gratitude she had shown him for actions she believed were simple kindness. Of her first concern that morning being Lydia rather than herself.
A few months ago, he might have agreed with Bingley’s accusation. Now he could not.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Come, have something to eat. You will need your strength. There is more.”
Bingley stared at him. For a moment, he had almost forgotten there had been another reason for the summons. “More?”
Darcy nodded.
The brief trace of humour disappeared from his expression.
At once, Bingley felt a knot form in his stomach. Without another word, he crossed to the table and poured himself a glass. “Very well,” he said. “What has happened?”
Darcy waited until they were both seated. Then he told him.
Not everything. Some details belonged to Lydia Bennet and ought never to become the subject of drawing-room conversation. Others were still too recent and too painful.
But he told him enough. Enough to explain the scandal. Enough to explain why Jane Bennet would inevitably suffer for something she had neither caused nor deserved. Enough to explain why he had thought Bingley should know.
When he had finished, Bingley sat motionless. The untouched bread lay forgotten beside his plate. At length, he set down his glass.
“Good God.” The words were little more than a whisper.
Darcy said nothing. There was very little that could be said.
Bingley stared at the table for several moments. He pushed aside the untouched plate and looked up. “Why tell me this now?”
Darcy frowned slightly.
“You have just informed me that Miss Bennet cared for me. You have informed me that I was a fool. You have informed me that her family is in disgrace. What am I supposed to do with such information?”
Darcy regarded him steadily. “If your feelings have changed, nothing.”
Bingley stared. “And if they have not?”
For the first time, Darcy hesitated. Then he said quietly, “Then perhaps you can still save her.”
The words seemed to strike Bingley speechless.
“Save her?”
“Yes.”
A short laugh escaped him. “Darcy, have you entirely lost your senses?”
“Possibly.”
Darcy had intended the answer to sound dry, even dignified. Instead, hearing it aloud, he realised it bordered on the ridiculous. Bingley, unfortunately, seemed to have reached the same conclusion.
“You have just spent an hour explaining why connecting myself to the Bennets would now be considered madness.”
Darcy’s expression grew serious again. Taken together, he knew his arguments bordered upon incoherence. Unfortunately, they also happened to be true.