11. Chapter Eleven #2
And somehow, through mysterious means, Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves alone several yards ahead of the others upon the path back toward Pemberley, the carriages having gone on ahead while the occupants chose to walk for a time.
Darcy became acutely aware of everything: the crunch of gravel beneath their feet, the soothing rush of water, Elizabeth’s sleeve brushing occasionally against the edge of his coat when the path narrowed.
“You are smiling, Mr. Darcy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are.” Elizabeth tilted her head toward him. “You have been attempting not to for nearly five minutes.”
“I assure you my self-command is under severe strain today.”
“That I believe readily.”
He laughed then stopped himself, startled by how easy the sound had become around her.
Elizabeth’s expression altered slightly at hearing it.
She wanted very badly to hear it again.
“They are conspiring against Miss Bingley,” he said after a moment.
“Lydia and your sister?”
“And possibly Horace.”
Elizabeth bit back another smile. “Lydia has adopted Georgiana completely.”
“She has.”
“And your sister appears happier for it.”
Darcy’s attention remained on the distant movement of Georgiana’s blue walking dress farther down the hill.
“Yes.” The word emerged rougher than intended.
Elizabeth studied him before speaking again. “You worry over her a great deal.”
“I have not always done so wisely.”
“You have always cared.”
His head pivoted toward her with a jerk.
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped almost immediately to the path between them. A faint flush remained along her cheeks.
The urge to take her hand arrived so suddenly it unsettled him.
Too soon. Far too soon. And yet every day near her made restraint increasingly unbearable.
“I owe you another apology,” he said.
Elizabeth was surprised. “For what now?”
“For Bingley.”
The warmth faded from her expression. Not coldness, exactly but caution.
Darcy deserved that. “I have spoken honestly with you regarding my interference,” he continued, “yet I have not corrected matters with him.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders stiffened slightly beneath her pelisse. “Did you never tell him?”
“No.” The admission sat heavily between them. Darcy forced himself onward. “Beyond our journey to Pemberley, we have scarcely met in recent months. And when we did…” He exhaled shortly. “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were continually present. I would not discuss your sister before them.”
Elizabeth considered this in silence.
Ahead, Miss Lydia’s voice floated faintly through the trees followed by Georgiana’s laughter.
At length Elizabeth nodded once. “I suppose that is reasonable.”
“Reasonable,” Darcy repeated bleakly. “Miss Bennet deserved better than reasonable.”
Elizabeth let her attention settle upon the stream. “Jane has borne it with more composure than I.”
“That does not lessen my fault.”
“No,” she admitted. “It does not.”
He accepted the blow willingly.
After another few moments, she spoke again, more thoughtfully. “I have sometimes suspected Mr. Bingley wished to ask after Jane.”
Darcy frowned. “And?”
“Miss Bingley interrupts him continually.”
That did not surprise him in the slightest.
Elizabeth met his eyes. “I believe he still thinks my sister indifferent.”
“He will not continue thinking so.” The force beneath Darcy’s voice surprised even himself.
Elizabeth stopped walking. He halted beside her.
For one suspended moment neither spoke. The breeze stirred loose curls near her temple.
Sunlight shifted across her face between moving leaves overhead.
She seemed troubled and hopeful simultaneously, which struck him as an intolerably unfair combination.
“You would speak to him?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Even if it causes difficulty?”
A humorless breath escaped him. “Miss Elizabeth, difficulty has already been achieved.”
That startled a laugh from her.
Darcy had to look away for a moment before answering. “I shall speak with Bingley privately,” he said more gently. “Soon.”
Elizabeth searched his face with unnerving steadiness.
Then, very quietly, “Thank you.”
He should have stopped there.
Instead, he reached for her hand. Her fingers trembled once beneath his. Darcy forgot how to breathe.
Elizabeth stared at their joined hands, then back toward him. Color spread rapidly across her cheeks.
“Mr. Darcy—”
“Lizzy!”
The shriek came from somewhere behind them.
They sprang apart instantly.
Miss Lydia appeared around the bend in the path looking far too pleased with herself. Georgiana followed several steps behind, attempting and failing to appear innocent.
“Miss Bingley has twisted her ankle,” Miss Lydia announced breathlessly. “She requests Mr. Darcy at once.”
Darcy put a hand over his eyes. Beside him, Elizabeth’s shoulders shook suspiciously.
Georgiana cleared her throat with enormous dignity. “Mrs. Porter remained with her.”
“How fortunate,” Darcy said flatly.
Miss Lydia blinked up at him. “You do not sound grateful.”
Elizabeth busied herself studying the scenery, very clearly to conceal laughter.
Despite everything, Darcy found himself smiling again.
Darcy did not attempt subtlety.
The instant they reached Pemberley and the ladies dispersed upstairs to change before luncheon, he said to Bingley, “You must come with me.”
Bingley blinked. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is overdue.”
“Even worse.”
Darcy ignored this and continued toward the study.
Behind them Miss Bingley called, “Charles, do not disappear. Louisa wishes to discuss tomorrow’s arrangements.” All pretense of a sprained ankle had vanished.
“I shall return shortly,” Bingley answered.
Darcy caught the look that passed across Miss Bingley’s face before the door closed behind them. Suspicion already sharpened her attention whenever he and Bingley spoke privately.
Another complication added itself to the growing list.
The study stood happily cool after the warmth outdoors. Late morning light slanted across the desk and shelves in long golden bars. Darcy crossed directly toward the sideboard.
“Brandy?”
Bingley stared at him. “Goodness, it truly is serious.”
“Do you wish for any?”
“Yes.”
Darcy poured two glasses.
Bingley accepted his but did not drink. He remained standing near the hearth, watching Darcy with increasingly wary curiosity.
“Well?”
Darcy set his own glass aside untouched.
“You were deceived.”
Bingley’s expression changed, not to confusion. Hope… which somehow made this worse.
Darcy forced himself onward before hesitation interfered. “I believed Miss Bennet indifferent to you and I acted upon that belief. I was mistaken.”
Bingley did not move.
The silence stretched long enough that Darcy wished to continue speaking simply to break it.
Then Bingley said, “What changed your opinion?”
“Reliable testimony.”
“From whom?”
Darcy hesitated. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Bennet was in town for months,” Darcy admitted.
Bingley stared at him blankly.
“In London?”
“Yes.”
The expression on Bingley’s face morphed gradually. Confusion first. Then disbelief.
“No one told me.”
Darcy did not soften the answer. “I know.”
Bingley set his glass down with more force than intended. Brandy sloshed against the rim. “Caroline knew?”
“Yes.”
“And Louisa?”
“I believe so.”
For a moment Bingley said nothing at all. He crossed toward the hearth instead, then stopped halfway there and came back again with visible agitation.
“I heard them speaking of it on the journey here,” he said abruptly. “Not directly. They did not mean me to hear.” His laugh came harsh and brief. “I thought at first I misunderstood.”
Darcy did not look pleased.
“Caroline said Miss Bennet had been in London nearly all the season and had not attempted to see me.” Bingley lowered his head, studying his hands. “Louisa answered that it was fortunate, because any renewal of the acquaintance would have encouraged false expectations.”
Darcy closed his eyes.
“I asked Caroline afterward why she had not mentioned it.” Bingley gave another short laugh that was devoid of humor. “She claimed she believed it insignificant.”
“That was impossible.”
“Yes.” Bingley met Darcy’s eyes directly then. “It was. Caroline is not merely uncomfortable, is she? She means to make Miss Elizabeth uncomfortable as well.”
Darcy nodded. “I fear you have understood her correctly.”
Silence settled between them for several seconds.
At length, Bingley exhaled heavily and rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. “I am disappointed in you.”
Darcy inclined his head once. “You ought to be.”
“But I cannot place all the blame there.” Bingley acted frustrated with himself now more than angry.
“You advised. I chose to listen. I could have returned to Netherfield whenever I pleased. I could have written. I could have sought certainty instead of accepting comfort.” He shook his head.
“I think some part of me feared discovering she truly did not care.”
Darcy understood that fear far too well to dismiss it.
Bingley sat down rather abruptly in the nearest chair.
Darcy found anger to be a more desirable emotion. The stunned look upon his friend’s face proved far more uncomfortable to witness.
“When?” Bingley asked slowly.
“At Rosings this spring.”
“You discussed Jane?”
“We discussed many things.”
Bingley stared at him another moment before an abrupt understanding entered his expression.
“Ah.”
Darcy frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
Bingley leaned back in the chair. “That your interest in Miss Elizabeth has become somewhat difficult to overlook.”
Darcy became abruptly aware of Bingley watching him far too closely. “I have not conducted myself improperly.”
“No,” Bingley agreed. “Nothing of the kind. But you look at her very differently than you once did.”
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley’s mouth curved slightly. “Much differently.”
“I deserve that.”
“You do.”
There was no real malice in it. That somehow made Darcy feel worse.
Bingley lowered his glass slowly. “You truly believe Jane cared for me?”
“Yes.” The admission scraped at his pride.
“How certain are you?”
“As certain as I have ever been wrong.”