19. Chapter Nineteen #4
“You are cruel,” she whispered.
“Perhaps tonight I am. I ought to have been honest sooner.”
“You will regret this.”
“I may regret many things. This will not be one of them.”
Miss Bingley faced the window, gripping the edge of the table until the roses trembled in their vase. “Leave me.”
Darcy opened the door wider. “I shall send Bingley to you if you wish.”
“No.”
“As you please.”
He stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the lamplit morning room.
The drawing room conversation faltered when he returned.
Elizabeth stood near the window, her hand resting on the back of a chair. Georgiana had risen from the sofa, Lydia beside her with open concern she made no attempt to hide. Bingley crossed the room toward Darcy with his face unusually sober.
“Darcy?”
“She is in the morning room,” Darcy said under his breath. “She is distressed. Give her a few minutes, then send Louisa.”
Bingley looked past him toward the closed door. “What did you say?”
“The truth.”
Bingley shut his eyes for a moment. “Ah.”
Darcy left him there and crossed to Georgiana. She did not ask aloud. She did not need to. Her fingers closed around Lydia’s list until the paper bent.
“She will not trouble you tonight,” Darcy said.
Georgiana swallowed and nodded.
Lydia leaned toward him. “Did you vanquish her?”
“Miss Lydia.”
“That means yes.”
Elizabeth came nearer then, moving with that mixture of concern and restraint which had first undone him months ago in Hertfordshire and now threatened him daily. “Mr. Darcy, are you well?”
He had been angry and harsh. He had done what should have been done before harm accumulated. Even so, when Elizabeth stood before him, the anger loosened, leaving behind fatigue and a longing so simple it made speech difficult.
“I am better for seeing you,” he said.
Her cheeks colored.
Lydia made a squeaking noise.
Georgiana stepped on her foot.
Mrs. Gardiner, from her chair, became deeply absorbed in tying off a thread.
Darcy ought to have regretted speaking so plainly in company.
He did not.
Behind him, the morning room door opened. Mrs. Hurst crossed the hall toward her sister, her expression pinched. Bingley followed after a moment, looking wretched but resolved. Miss Bingley did not return to the drawing room.
The evening never fully recovered its former ease.
How could it? A battle had occurred one room away, and everyone knew enough of it to be uneasy without knowing enough to speak.
Still, the room arranged itself around the absence.
Georgiana sat beside Lydia. Elizabeth took the chair nearest Mrs. Gardiner.
Darcy remained where he could see them all.
Pemberley had changed in ways he had not foreseen.
No, that was not true.
Pemberley had begun to show him what it might become.
Elizabeth laughed softly at some remark of her aunt’s, then darted a look toward Darcy.
The sound was small, quickly suppressed, but it reached him nonetheless.
Georgiana spoke to Lydia without first checking the door.
Mr. Gardiner asked him about the next day’s weather, and Bingley, returning from his sisters, stood by the fire with the weary air of a man discovering that affection and blindness were not the same virtue.
Miss Bingley had realized it too, Darcy thought.
Elizabeth was no longer merely a guest in his house.
She had become central to its peace.
He hoped Miss Bingley understood that clearly enough to withdraw.
Even as the thought formed, he knew hope was a poor guard against resentment.
Across the room, Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his again. This time she did not look away quickly.
Darcy rose and crossed to her side.
“Mrs. Gardiner,” he said, “if the weather holds, would you and Mr. Gardiner permit me to show you the old quarry path tomorrow? Miss Elizabeth mentioned an interest in wildflowers near the ridge.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Did I?”
“You did.”
“I believe I mentioned flowers generally.”
“A sufficient foundation.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes moved from one to the other. “We should be delighted.”
Lydia, from the sofa, called, “Miss Darcy and I shall come too.”
Georgiana lifted the bent paper list. “We are required. For supervision.”
“Of whom?” Elizabeth asked.
Lydia pointed toward Darcy. “Everyone.”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
Her amusement resumed, bright and dear.
“Then I submit to Miss Lydia’s authority,” he said.
“Excellent,” Lydia replied. “That is the first wise thing any gentleman has said today.”
For once, Darcy allowed himself to laugh without restraint.
The sound drew Miss Bingley’s absence into sharp relief.
No correction followed. No delicate disapproval. No attempt to reclaim the room.
He would have preferred the Bingley party to leave the following morning, but one of the carriage horses had gone lame and the replacement would not arrive until the next day.
Until then, he instructed Mrs. Reynolds that Georgiana was not to be left alone with Miss Bingley.
For that evening, at least, Pemberley breathed.