“What!” Bingley sat bolt upright and stared at his friend. “You—you—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you say?”
“Yes.”
“But—but—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of the Hertfordshire Bennets?”
“Yes, yes!” said Darcy impatiently. “The very Elizabeth Bennet you are thinking of.”
“But—why—how . . .” For about a minute he lapsed into stunned silence. His natural sense of outrage warring with curiosity and concern, he leaned forward, studying Darcy’s half-averted face intently. “You’re in love with her.” It was more statement than question.
“Yes,” affirmed Darcy.
“How—since when?”
He jerked a shoulder. “Since—oh, since almost the very start, I suppose.”
“But you said you did not admire her!” Bingley protested. “I remember it clearly. You insisted she was hardly even pretty!”
Darcy reddened. “I spoke hastily,” he said. “In any case, it was not her beauty that first attracted me.”
“So you mean to say that, all those weeks we were at Netherfield, you were harboring a secret passion for Miss Elizabeth?”
He grimaced. “If you must put it that way, then, yes.”
“And all the things you said about a connection with the Bennets?”
“Were true. Are true. That is why I, too, left Hertfordshire last autumn.” For the first time he looked his friend fully in the eye. “I believe I felt the force of my arguments nearly as acutely as you did that day.”
“But you changed your mind!” said Bingley accusingly. “You—what, went back to Hertfordshire to seek her hand?”
“No, I did not go to Hertfordshire. I saw her in Kent. She was visiting her friend Mrs. Collins. I did try to stay away from her at first, but it proved impossible. I did not do this lightly, Bingley; I urge you to believe that. Nothing could make me forget my duty both to my name and to you as my friend. It was the most difficult decision I have ever faced.”
“Yet you chose her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” Darcy sighed and turned to gaze at the fire. “Because in the end it was the only choice I could make.”
Bingley stared at his friend’s profile. “You cannot live without her,” he said at last, quietly. The muscles in Darcy’s jaw tightened visibly, but he neither spoke nor moved. “Does she love you?” Again the clinched jaw, and he turned his face away a little more. “She doesn’t, does she?” asked Bingley with sudden insight. “She doesn’t love you, but still you are determined to marry her.”
“Do you think I do not see the irony in my situation?” demanded Darcy, looking at him briefly. “I assure you, I do!” He turned back to the fire. “But it is done, and I cannot repent it, except as it brings pain to you.” There was a note of finality in his voice.
Bingley got up and took a few agitated turns around the room, while Darcy watched silently. “I do not know what to say to you,” he began at last. “I want to be happy for you, as my friend, but I cannot deny that I feel somewhat betrayed. Not only because you’ve done something you persuaded me not to do but also because I am now forced to question the value of that advice itself. I trusted in your opinion, Darcy! I thought you saw the situation more clearly than I did and would not lead me astray. But now I find that, placed in the same situation, you chose for yourself quite differently!”
Darcy sighed and went to sit down. “Your resentment is entirely reasonable, Bingley. However, if you would permit me to point them out, I do believe there are a few differences in our situations.”
Bingley looked at him doubtfully but flung himself into a chair. “Oh, very well! Continue.”
“To begin with, my friend,” he started, “when we spoke of Miss Bennet in November, your feelings were at that time only of a few weeks’ duration, and while I know they were strong, you must admit that you have many times in the past thought yourself falling in love, only to find your feelings passed before long. Your interest in Miss Bennet was certainly more serious than ever before, but you are young, after all, and it was not unreasonable to suppose you would recover quickly from your disappointment.”
“I did not,” said Bingley flatly.
Darcy looked pained. “I, on the other hand, am older than you, and I have never fancied myself in love before. My feelings have endured for many months now, despite my own best efforts to overcome them.” He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture which generally denoted great distraction of mind in him. “It was when I saw her again at Rosings that I was forced to admit that it was no longer a question of if I had formed a lasting attachment but rather what I was to do about it.” He frowned silently for a moment, then went on. “The second difference is that in your case I was worried that you simply had not fully considered the evils of marrying into the Bennet family. I was not wrong to urge you to do so. Any sensible man must. I would not have you blind to the potential consequences of your actions. I have not been so. Love, while it may have made me helpless,” his lips twisted into a ruthful smile, “has certainly not made me blind.”
Bingley considered his points thoughtfully. “And are these the only differences between us?”
Darcy examined the tip of one shiny boot in the firelight. “No,” he said after a moment, “there is one other.”
His friend frowned at him. “Well, come on, man. What is it?”
“The final difference between you and me, Bingley,” he replied carefully, “is that, despite all objections and every possible argument, I loved her too much to let her go. I was not dissuaded.”
Bingley gaped at him. “Do you mean to say,” he demanded indignantly, “that having urged me to give Miss Bennet up, you now blame me for doing so?”
“No, not at all. I am simply pointing out that, in the end, it was your decision to make. You are your own man; I might influence you, but I could not constrain you. If you had really believed that your only hope of a happy life lay in marriage with Miss Bennet, then I cannot believe you would have relinquished her so easily.”
Bingley opened his mouth, frowned, closed it again, and fell into deep thought. For several minutes silence reigned in the study. Again Bingley paced a bit with his fierce young energy, coming at last to lean an arm on the mantel and address his friend. “It was not easy,” he said, “but your point is, of course, correct. It was my decision. I made it because I could not bear to contemplate marriage with a woman I adored but who would be only indifferent to me.” He saw the other’s frown. “Come to think of it, are you certain that you can be happy in such a marriage, Darcy? It’s not what I would have expected of you.”
Again Darcy sighed, and another hand passed through his hair. “I cannot be happy without her, I am certain of that much,” he admitted. “I think it is my fault she feels no more than she does. I was . . . too reticent with her, too determined to hide all signs of admiration while I was still undecided. It is my earnest hope that all that will change soon. She is . . . ,” his voice dropped a little, as if he were speaking more to himself, “too generous, too warm in her nature to withhold her heart.”
“If I may inquire—if Miss Elizabeth does not love you, then why is she marrying you?”
Darcy looked genuinely astonished at the question. “Why?” he repeated. “Think of her situation, Bingley! Of her family’s situation! Of course she must marry. And you cannot suppose she will receive a better offer than mine.”
“No, I don’t, but I thought you always despised women who wanted to marry you only for your money. And I must say she did not strike me as a lady who rates pecuniary considerations particularly high.”
Darcy thought of Elizabeth’s long-held opinions on marriage. “She isn’t. But I hope Pemberley is not all I have to recommend me.”
“Of course not.”
“Besides, it is hardly mercenary to desire comfort and respectability. Elizabeth is a sensible woman.” Then he smiled. “If my wealth were her only object, I h
ardly think she would have subjected me to so many questions on my character and intentions.”
Bingley laughed, his good nature quickly reasserting itself. “Now that sounds more like the Miss Elizabeth I remember. I can recall how you two argued and sparred while she was at Netherfield. You were forever disagreeing with her. And to think you were in love with her the whole time!”
“That’s one of the differences between us. I have always admired the liveliness of Elizabeth’s mind. I believe it was the first thing that attracted me to her.”
“But not the only thing, surely. Come now, let me hear you confess it: She is very pretty, as I always said from the beginning.”
Darcy could not but laugh, and there was a tender look in his eyes as he pictured her face and said, “Charles, I confess it very freely. She is, as I have long known, very pretty indeed. I would say without reservation that I prefer her countenance to any other woman’s of my acquaintance.”
“There! Now you are talking like a lover. You must not forget to go on about her eyes and her hair and the way she walks. Not to mention how beautifully she sings or plays or whatever it is she does.”
“She sings and plays,” said Darcy, amused. “However, as you are not the one I wish to convince of my admiration, I shall refrain from effusions for the present. I see you mean only to mock me, and I do not intend to oblige you.”
The conversation continued for a little time on more congenial grounds, and Darcy talked of his plans and answered Bingley’s questions about his courtship of Elizabeth. The younger man was still much amazed at this turn of events and the evidences of love which he saw in his friend’s face and voice when he spoke of his betrothed.
They were interrupted by a light knock on the door, and then Miss Bingley came in. “Charles, I was wondering—” She stopped with a start which seemed just slightly affected. “Why, Mr. Darcy! What a surprise to see you here. Forgive me, I thought Charles was alone.”
He rose immediately and bowed. “Miss Bingley. How do you do?”
“I am very well, I thank you. And yourself? I had not known you were returned to town.”
“I have been here only a short while, and I am well.”
“I am so glad. Will you not do us the honor of dining with us?”
“Thank you, but I am engaged elsewhere. In fact, I must take my leave now.”
“Half a minute, Darcy. Caroline, will you give us a moment?”
“Of course.” She concealed her dismay at so swift a dismissal. “I will wait for you in the hall.”
When the door closed behind her, Bingley turned and extended his hand. “I wanted to say that I do wish you happy, my friend.”
Darcy accepted it gratefully. “Thank you indeed. Have you forgiven me for my inconsistency?”
“Yes, of course. I know you meant well by me, and you are only acting now as you feel you must. As for the rest, you have given me a deal to think about.”
“I would have been grieved indeed to lose your friendship, Charles. Would it be too much for me to hope you’ll stand up with me when the time comes?”
Bingley’s face grew clouded. “Will Miss Bennet be standing with her sister?”
“We have not spoken of it, but I should expect so.”
“I will have to think about it.”
“I understand. I shall ask my cousin if you dislike it.”
Bingley turned away for a moment. “If I . . . chose to renew my acquaintance with Miss Bennet, you could not now object, you know. She will soon be your sister.”
“I do not think I would object in any case. I understand better now what love does to a man.”
“Yes.” There was a pause. “What if she does not change, Darcy? What if she never grows to love you as you do her?”
Darcy’s mouth tightened, and he looked back with a defiant expression on his face. “She must,” he declared. “She will. Love is stronger than indifference; her feelings must give way to mine. I cannot believe it otherwise.”
Bingley nodded, seemingly much struck. “I also wanted to ask you what, if anything, I should relate to my sisters about this.”
Darcy glanced thoughtfully at the door. It would be a relief to escape the often overly solicitous attentions of Miss Bingley. “I have not spoken to her father yet, so there is nothing official to announce. You may tell your sisters if you wish, but please entreat their discretion.”
“I certainly shall.”
They exited to the hallway, where they found Miss Bingley. Darcy made some light conversation and took his leave. “Charles!” exclaimed Miss Bingley as soon as he was gone, “what were you talking with Mr. Darcy about for so long? You were there with him for more than an hour.”
Charles cast her a humorous glance. “He came to tell me the most astonishing news, Caroline. I have never been so surprised in my life.”
“Why, whatever could it have been?”
“Darcy is engaged to be married!”
“What?” Caroline paled slightly and felt a little faint. It was truly, for her, the worst of all possible news, she thought.
“Yes, and you’ll never guess to whom!”
Frantically she searched her memory for the name of any female Mr. Darcy had paid particular attention to over the winter, but to no avail. He had been more aloof than ever the last few months.
It was then that Miss Bingley discovered just how much worse the news could get. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” her brother pronounced.
Caroline’s mouth fell open, and she just stared at him for several moments. “That’s impossible,” she managed finally but without much conviction. “You must have misunderstood him.”
“No, he was very clear. He has proposed to her, and she has accepted.”
“But not Elizabeth Bennet! Not the same one we knew in Hertfordshire—the one with the horrible mother?”
“The very same.”
“But her family—her connections!” she cried. “Mr. Darcy would never demean himself so!”
Her brother frowned at her choice of words. “He is as sensible of those objections as he ever was, but he’s extremely in love with her, Caroline. He wants to marry her anyway.”
The thought of Mr. Darcy extremely in love made her feel faint again. “But how could he be in love with Eliza Bennet?” she almost wailed. “What about that impertinent chit could have possibly interested him?”
“Miss Bennet is a very attractive girl! I’m not at all surprised Darcy fell in love with her!” declared Bingley, conveniently forgetting his own astonishment. “He admires her opinions; he told me so himself.”
“Her opinions? He admires her opinions?” She was starting to sound hysterical now.
“Well, of course more than just her opinions. You don’t think he would ask her to marry him just for that, do you?”
Caroline bit back a sharp retort and regained her composure with difficulty. “They’re really engaged?” she asked sullenly.
“Yes indeed, although it’s not official yet. He won’t be able to speak to her father until next week. So mind, not a word of this! He does not want gossip getting out yet.”
Miss Bingley had not the smallest desire to spread this news. She was mortified beyond words to be so easily vanquished by an inconsequential rival. The news that the engagement was not yet official was greeted by her with a little relief—therein lay some slight sliver of hope. It was still possible for it to end. . . . Even knowing how unlikely she was to succeed, Miss Bingley could not help planning a line—any line—of attack.
Chapter Four
Waiting with the others in the parlor for Mr. Darcy to come that evening, Elizabeth was more than a little nervous. She wasn’t at all sure how she should greet him now. What would he expect of her? How would he act? Would he snub her relations? Oh, what had she gotten herself into?
It had been a day and a half since she had accepted him, and she had not seen him since. She had had rather too much leisure in that time to question whether she had done the righ
t thing. Her reasons made perfect sense, but still . . . this was Mr. Darcy. How had the world changed so much that she could be engaged to Mr. Darcy?
When the maid announced him, he walked in looking very correct and very rich.
“Welcome, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, coming forward to greet him. “We are honored to have you join us. May I present my husband, Mr. Gardiner?”
“Sir.” Darcy bowed slightly.
“Mr. Darcy, I must thank you for allowing me some masculine company this evening. I’ve been rather outnumbered in this household of late.”
“Not at all.” The gentleman looked as cool and aloof as ever, surveying his hosts with a measuring gaze. Mr. Gardiner had small doubt that he was being assessed for suitability. He kept his countenance, however, and made some polite remarks. Then Elizabeth came forward, blushing, and Mr. Darcy’s face softened perceptibly.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “You look well this evening.” His eyes caught hers and held them until hers fell.
“Thank you.”
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed to Jane.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy.”
Their before-dinner conversation could not be called scintillating. It became rather easier, though, when Mrs. Gardiner began to talk to him of his home, which was not far from where she grew up. She had met his mother once, and she spoke some very kind words about her that seemed to thaw his reserve somewhat. They filled the remaining minutes with shared, if stilted, opinions of the Derbyshire countryside.
When dinner was announced, Mr. Gardiner immediately took his wife on one arm and his eldest niece on the other, leaving Darcy to escort Elizabeth. They were not alone, but it was a moment of comparative privacy. Mr. Darcy offered his arm with a slight but meaningful smile; she took it and felt her fingers earnestly pressed. The walk into the dining room was, in essence, their first moment together as a recognized couple.
Elizabeth had never been so grateful for her uncle and aunt’s intelligence and good manners as she was that night. Between them, they were able to draw Darcy out of his accustomed silence. She thought she saw a slight look of surprise on his face at various times, when he was given particular evidence of their good taste and well-informed minds. His conversation came more rapidly; Mr. Gardiner, in particular, engaged him in a discussion of national events, in which he appeared to take real interest.
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