11. Chapter Eleven #3
Bingley let out a startled laugh at that, though emotion roughened the sound quickly afterward. He rubbed one hand across his mouth and peered at the floor.
“I wondered,” he admitted. “Afterward, I mean. In town.” He glanced up again. “There were moments when I thought perhaps, I did not give her a choice when we were in Meryton—that I foisted my attention upon her. Then Caroline insisted—”
“Your sisters raised every objection besides the one regarding Miss Bennet’s affections.”
Bingley fell silent.
Darcy continued before cowardice could reclaim him.
“I will not pretend I approved of every connection within the Bennet family while we were in Hertfordshire. Nor shall I claim such considerations irrelevant to your standing. But my true objection—my decisive objection—was the conviction that Miss Bennet did not love you.”
Bingley absorbed this without interruption.
Outside the open window came faint sounds from the terrace below. Miss Lydia’s voice carried unmistakably even at a distance—apparently, they had gone back outdoors. Georgiana responded in more modulated tones shortly afterward.
The laughter outside made the study feel unusually close and solemn. He ought to have done this months ago.
Bingley exhaled slowly. “You are correct. The rest came from Caroline and Louisa.”
“Yes.”
“And I listened.”
Darcy inclined his head once.
Bingley studied him for several seconds. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled a little. “Does this mean I finally possess your approval?”
Darcy laughed despite himself. “Do you require it?”
“No,” Bingley replied after brief consideration. “I never should have thought I did. But I should like it all the same.”
Darcy’s chest ached painfully and then eased again almost immediately. “Then you have it.”
Bingley grinned outright. The expression lasted perhaps three seconds before he sprang abruptly from the chair. “Well! I must go.”
Darcy stared at him. “Go where?”
“To Miss Bennet, naturally.”
“You cannot leave for Hertfordshire now.”
“No, but I may begin planning.”
Darcy rubbed one hand across his forehead. “Sit down.”
Bingley remained standing but was marginally less prepared to bolt from the room.
“I intend,” Darcy said slowly, “to accompany the Gardiners when they return to London.”
Bingley’s brows rose.
“I shall continue afterward into Hertfordshire.”
Understanding dawned very quickly then. “Oh.”
Darcy very deliberately did not think about Elizabeth smiling at him on the path. “I hope to ask Miss Elizabeth to marry me,” he said.
Bingley appeared delighted. His expression was filled with uncomplicated pleasure. “You villain,” he declared. “And here I believed myself the romantic fool between us.”
Darcy smiled despite the absurdity of the accusation. “You have always been the greater optimist.”
“Yes, but clearly not the greater success.”
“That remains uncertain.”
Bingley waved this aside impatiently. “Nonsense. Miss Elizabeth looks at you as Jane looks at—” He stopped abruptly. “Well.”
Darcy’s pulse betrayed him slightly at that observation.
Bingley noticed, naturally.
“Oh, this is excellent,” he announced.
“It may yet become disastrous.”
“Probably. But still excellent.”
Darcy shook his head. “Come with me to Hertfordshire,” he said after a moment. “Instead of continuing north with your sisters and Hurst.”
Bingley blinked. “You mean it?”
“Yes.”
A grin spread across Bingley’s face so rapidly it transformed him completely. Then the grin faltered. “We had perhaps best not mention this to Caroline.”
“No,” Darcy agreed dryly. “That would be unwise.”
Bingley chuckled under his breath and finally reclaimed his chair, though barely. He appeared too restless now to remain still for long.
Darcy moved toward the window. The noise from outdoors drifted upward again. Miss Lydia was apparently attempting to teach Horace some unsuitable trick while Georgiana protested between bursts of laughter.
Strange. Months earlier Darcy would have found such disorder intolerable. Now the sound made Pemberley feel alive.
“I am angry with you,” Bingley said.
Darcy nodded. “You have every right.”
“I know.” Bingley rotated the untouched brandy glass slowly between his hands. “For a little while after we left Netherfield, I thought perhaps you had done me a kindness.” He gave a short shrug. “Then I began wondering whether I had simply lacked courage.”
Darcy remained silent.
“I loved her,” Bingley admitted. “I think I knew that even then.”
Darcy understood too well the cost of doubting oneself where love was concerned. “I am deeply sorry,” he said at last. “More than I can express.”
Bingley stared at him with such unguarded honesty that Darcy had to turn toward the window.
“You are forgiven,” he replied. “Or you shall be eventually. I may remind you of it occasionally for the next twenty years.” A faint smile bloomed.
“Provided this does not end with Miss Bennet refusing to see me.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “That,” he admitted, “remains a possibility.”
Then more seriously, Bingley added, “I hope I have not ruined my chances.”
Darcy thought of Elizabeth upon the path in Lambton. He remembered the feel of her hand and the startled color rising in her cheeks before Miss Lydia’s interruption shattered the moment.
He had come far too near to losing her already. “I hope not either,” he said.
And privately, with gratitude sharp enough to unsettle him, Darcy acknowledged how narrowly he himself had escaped losing one forever.