Fourteen
Longbourn
Darcy
He scarcely remembered the first quarter mile of the ride back.
His hands had tightened upon the reins far more than his horse's gentle pace required, while his thoughts returned, again and again, to the sight of George Wickham walking beside Elizabeth Bennet with the same easy confidence Darcy had watched him assume before a hundred strangers over the years.
The single glance he had permitted himself before riding on had been enough to tell him she was entirely at ease in his company, and the knowledge refused to leave him.
How long had they known one another? She had spoken freely of her family, of Miss Lucas and the other friends of her acquaintance, even of a Mr. Martin who had more than once sought to distinguish himself in her favour. Never, in all those conversations, had she spoken George Wickham's name.
Perhaps they had met only today. It was the most reasonable explanation. Wickham possessed a singular talent for making himself agreeable within minutes of an introduction. Darcy had seen it too often to mistake it.
Yet another possibility lingered, unwelcome and persistent. If they had not met today, why had she never spoken his name?
Yet the thought would not settle.
"Darcy." Bingley drew alongside him at last, having fallen behind some way in the exchange of pleasantries Darcy had been too occupied to properly attend.
"You rode past them as though the devil himself stood amongst the party.
Considering we had just left Longbourn, I confess I cannot make sense of it. "
Darcy said nothing for the length of several strides, weighing how much to say.
"When I asked to accompany you to Longbourn today," he said at length, "I was not entirely candid."
Bingley looked across at him. "What do you mean?"
"You believe I came only because Mr. Bennet had already paid us the civility of calling at Netherfield."
"Yes. And I expect you shall also accompany me to Lucas Lodge before Sir William's ball besides."
"Well... not entirely." Darcy slowed his horse a little until they rode abreast. "I allowed you to believe that was my only reason."
"Then that was not your only reason?"
"No." He drew a slow breath before continuing. "I wished also to see Miss Elizabeth."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
"Yes." Darcy kept his gaze upon the road ahead. "The truth is, I have been meeting Miss Elizabeth almost every morning these past three weeks. She has not come these last three mornings, and I wished to know that all was well."
Bingley looked at him in surprise. "I thought you met only when you apologised?"
"I did. I happened upon her again the following morning at Oakham Mount. She favours the place for walking, I for thinking, and so we continued to meet there."
"Almost every morning?"
"Very nearly."
"And you have contrived to keep this entirely to yourself?"
"I had reasons."
Bingley regarded him for a moment. "Darcy..."
"We walk together, Bingley," Darcy said, understanding perfectly the direction of his friend's thoughts.
"Nothing more. There has been no contrivance in it.
We were simply two people who found themselves upon the same path each morning and, by degrees, fell into conversation. There has been nothing improper in it."
"And yet you have told no one."
"No. I would not willingly have drawn attention to an attachment I had every intention of keeping private, at least for the present. Not after what I told you before."
Bingley sighed but said nothing further.
"We became friends, Bingley. Quite unexpectedly." Darcy continued, his gaze returning to the road ahead. "She has shown me a kindness and understanding I had no expectation of finding here. I esteem her more highly than I ought."
"Well." Bingley studied him for a moment. "That is rather better news than your countenance led me to expect. Five minutes ago, you scarcely looked at her. What happened?"
"I saw her walking with him."
"With whom?"
"George Wickham."
Bingley frowned. "Who is George Wickham?"
"The fair-haired officer Miss Elizabeth walked beside."
"Oh." Bingley's brow knitted for a moment. "I confess I thought I recognised something in his face, though I could not have said from where."
"You saw him at my father's burial, if you looked closely enough at the time.
I do not wonder you failed to place him after five years and a uniform he did not then wear.
" Darcy's gaze remained fixed upon the road before them.
"George Wickham. My father's steward's son.
We were raised very nearly as brothers."
"Were?"
"For many years."
"You have never spoken of him."
"There has been little reason to."
They rode on in silence for several moments before Darcy spoke again.
"When Mr. Grey first convinced me that what has befallen me was no mere succession of unfortunate accidents, Wickham's name naturally occurred to me.
I examined the possibility more than once, then dismissed it each time.
Whatever design has been at work against me began five years ago, whilst he and I were still upon fairly friendly terms. The chronology simply would not answer. "
"And now?"
"Now we have not spoken for rather more than two years."
"What changed?"
Darcy was silent long enough that Bingley was obliged to ask again.
"Darcy?"
"He did something I have found myself entirely unable to forgive." Darcy said at last.
Nothing in his tone invited further enquiry, and Bingley thankfully offered none.
"That breach came too late to explain any of this," Darcy continued. "I have reminded myself of it often enough. Five years of patient, deliberate ruin cannot be laid at the feet of a quarrel that began scarcely more than three years ago."
"And yet."
"And yet here he is." Darcy's hands tightened once more upon the reins. "In Meryton. Walking beside the one woman in England whose good opinion has become of consequence to me, scarcely a month after my own arrival, in a neighbourhood he had no discernible reason to choose above any other."
He fell silent before adding, more quietly,
"I do not believe in many coincidences, Bingley. I cannot persuade myself to believe this is one merely because the timing does not fit the rest."
~
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Mrs. Bennet soon informed the returning party from Meryton that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had called at Longbourn during their absence.
Mr. Collins was much disappointed to learn he had missed the opportunity of meeting Mr. Darcy, and exclaimed still further when Lydia announced that they had passed both gentlemen upon the road, and that the other, whose name no one had thought to mention, had been Mr. Darcy himself.
He had therefore seen the gentleman without knowing him.
Mr. Collins then turned eagerly to Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bennet, and Jane, informing them that Mr. Darcy was nephew to his esteemed patroness, and enlarging at some length upon the distinction of the connexion.
Further inquiry, once Mr. Collins had retired to compose the letter he had spoken of writing on their way home, revealed a little more. While brushing out her hair before the looking-glass, Jane told Elizabeth that Mr. Bingley had called to see her and Mr. Darcy to see their father.
Mr. Darcy, she understood, had spent the greater part of the visit over a game of chess with Mr. Bennet, seeking out no other company, asking nothing of the family, and appearing perfectly content simply to sit with her father in companionable silence.
Elizabeth turned the small detail over for some time, seated upon the edge of the bed with her arms wrapped about her knees, unable to account for why it should please her so much.
Somehow, the image of him bent over a chessboard with her father, speaking little and thinking much, affected her far more than it ought.
In due course she related the remainder of the afternoon to Jane, the encounter upon the road, Mr. Wickham's easy charm giving way to something colder at the mention of Darcy's name, the look that had passed between the two gentlemen, and Darcy's refusal to acknowledge anyone beyond the briefest inclination of his head before riding on.
Jane listened with her usual quiet attention, and when Elizabeth had finished, laid aside her brush and regarded her with an expression of thoughtful concern.
"You must be careful, Lizzy. All of Meryton has already formed its opinion of Mr. Darcy, whether fairly or not. I should not like to see you adopt the same opinion upon the word of a stranger alone."
"I do not intend to let it." Elizabeth spoke with more confidence than she entirely felt. "I mean to hear a great deal more of the matter tomorrow, if Mr. Wickham comes to Aunt Phillips's tea party, as he promised."
She did not add what remained foremost in her thoughts.
More than anything, she wished she could tell Jane the whole truth, of Oakham Mount, of every quiet morning these past three weeks, and of everything Mr. Darcy had entrusted to her that no one else in Hertfordshire yet knew.
But those confidences were not hers alone to disclose. She must first speak to him.
With that resolution fixed in her mind, she lowered the lamp some while later and prepared for bed. On Monday she would seek him out at Oakham Mount, tell him all that had passed with Wickham, and only afterwards, if he gave his leave, would she tell Jane of the unlikely friendship she had found.