“Oh?” One of Bingley’s eyebrows rose, although his smile did not dim.
Darcy rubbed both hands over his face. “I…uh…in January, Miss Bennet…Miss Jane Bennet was here, visiting London for two months…and I…kept the information from you.”
Bingley stiffened as if shock had paralyzed his muscles. “What? You kept the…?” He swallowed loudly. “How did you learn of her presence?” he asked slowly.
Darcy had known he would need to name his co-conspirators, and this had occasioned some misgivings. “Your sisters so informed me. They were concerned for your peace of mind.”
Bingley’s left hand was shaking where it grasped the arm of the chair. “And who are they to make such decisions for me? Who are you?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“I agree.” Darcy blew out a breath. “It was wrong of us. We should not have concealed it.”
Bingley leapt from his chair and commenced pacing with great energy. “It was very wrong of you!”
Darcy could do nothing but fall on his sword. Best to give all the bad news at once. “Yes. I also believe—I believe now that we were wrong in encouraging you to quit Hertfordshire.”
Bingley paused and then whirled around to face Darcy. “You admit you were wrong?”
“Utterly and completely. You have my most abject apologies.”
Bingley stared into the empty fireplace, pushing a shaky hand through his hair. “Why tell me now?”
With hands clenching the arms of his chair, Darcy could not prevent himself from gazing longingly at the exit. As bad as the previous conversation had been, the next part would be even worse. “I…encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet at Rosings, and she…implied that your actions—the actions we encouraged you to take—had saddened her sister.” No, that was not quite the truth, and Darcy intended to reveal the whole truth. “No, had…broken her sister’s heart.”
“Oh, Good Lord!” Bingley fell into a chair, burying his face in his hands.
“I cannot apologize enough. I truly believed it to be the right course at the time.” It was a meager excuse. At the time he had believed his advice to Bingley to be objective and unbiased, but now he realized it had been colored by Darcy’s own desire to escape his attraction to Elizabeth.
Bingley’s head turned sharply in Darcy’s direction. “Why did Miss Elizabeth reveal such personal information? That seems unlike her.”
Darcy winced. He had hoped Bingley would not notice that little incongruity in his story—particularly since Darcy had promised himself he would not lie to his friend again. “I…um…” The words emerged slowly as if dragged from his throat. “She was very angry with me and accused me of ruining her sister’s happiness.”
Bingley frowned. “Why was she angry with you? What did you do to her?”
Darcy’s honor was piqued. What did Bingley think he had done? He would not be offensive to Elizabeth! “I-I made her an offer.”
Bingley’s mouth fell open. “Of marriage?”
“Yes.” Darcy would not meet his friend’s eyes. He would see incredulity, but would he also see pity? That would almost be worse.
“After you declared that the Bennet family’s connections were too common for me?”
“Yes.”
“You understand my confusion.” Bingley’s voice had a dangerous edge.
“Of course, but…” How could he explain it when he barely understood it himself? “It was different…”
Bingley was on his feet again, looming over Darcy’s chair. Suddenly the prospect of a duel did not seem impossible. “Oh? How was it different?” he asked in a low growl.
Damnation! Darcy hated revealing himself in this way! Such information should be private, but Bingley deserved the truth. “When I saw Elizabeth at Rosings, I realized I had…fallen in love with her, Charles. I could not imagine my life without her.”
“Oh.” Bingley’s eyes widened, and he retreated several steps. “I-I see. Good…excellent.” He swallowed. “Let me offer you my congratulations.”
“There is no need.” Darcy strove to keep the bitterness from his tone. “She refused me.”
“She—what?” Bingley said. “Are you certain you heard her correctly?”
Darcy snorted. “There is nothing wrong with my hearing. She was quite insistent; there was no mistaking her meaning. She does not like or respect me—which, you must admit, are excellent reasons for refusing an offer.”
Bingley blinked rapidly. “Huh. I knew she found you a little high-handed, but I did not realize… Well, I had no idea you were partial toward her, so I was oblivious to much.”
“I took pains to conceal my sentiments.”
Bingley nodded in an abstracted way. After a minute he asked, “Have you tried to change Miss Elizabeth’s opinion of you?”
“No, I left Rosings the next day.”
“I believe you would make a good match. You should—”
Darcy interrupted him, having no desire to revisit the frustration and melancholy Elizabeth’s very name provoked. “I did not visit to discuss my affairs; I came to discuss yours,” Darcy reminded him. “Given what we now know, I believe you should return to Hertfordshire and resume your courtship of Miss Bennet.”
“Hmm…” Bingley tapped one finger against his mouth.
Why had his friend not already ordered his horse saddled? “It is not too late,” he murmured softly. “I believe she is still unattached. If you still have feelings for her—”
“If!” Bingley said with a short laugh. “I only think of her half a dozen times a minute!”
“Then you should leave for Hertfordshire and declare yourself.”
Bingley nodded slowly. “I will do so on one condition: that you accompany me on the trip and speak with Miss Elizabeth again.”
The very thought filled Darcy with terror. “There is nothing left to say.”
Bingley stood, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I doubt that. She was angry over your highhandedness; it does not necessarily follow that she will hate you for the rest of her life.”
“My standards for my betrothed are higher than the cessation of animosity,” Darcy said with a grimace.
Bingley said nothing but stared out of the window. Darcy waited; his friend must go to Hertfordshire. Nothing else would lessen the damage wrought by his actions. Finally, Bingley lifted his chin. “You must come with me, or I will not go.”
Darcy sighed; Hertfordshire was the last place on earth he wished to visit. The very thought caused his heart to race. But he owed his friend an enormous debt, and this would be his penance. “Very well. I will come. But do not be surprised if Miss Elizabeth refuses to speak with me.”
***
The most notable feature of Longbourn’s drawing room was the absence of one Elizabeth Bennet. Upon their arrival, Mrs. Bennet had risen and granted Bingley an effusive welcome while Jane Bennet granted him a shy smile that boded well for the man’s future chances at matrimonial bliss. Two of the younger sisters were also present.
Mrs. Bennet’s welcome to Darcy was far less enthusiastic; he might have been tempted to call it curt. Whatever other faults one might lay at her door, she was not prone to forgetfulness—particularly when it came to perceived slights. Darcy’s fortune would not restrain her dislike of him. He grudgingly admired someone who adhered so closely to her “principles” despite the social and monetary advantages Darcy’s friendship could convey.
Bingley sat beside Miss Bennet while Darcy chose a chair as far from Mrs. Bennet as possible, near the window and beside Mary Bennet, who barely peered up from her book of sermons long enough to acknowledge the visitors’ arrival. He believed the other daughter was Kitty, which meant the youngest, Lydia, was absent along with Elizabeth.
After a few minutes of desultory conversation, Darcy’s relief at not immediately encountering Elizabeth gave way to concern. Where was she? Was she lurking upstairs, having refused to see him? Was she ill? Darcy longed to inquire but feared any questions might draw atten
tion to his interest in Elizabeth.
Of course, she and Lydia might be visiting friends or buying ribbons in Meryton. Taking a sip of tea, Darcy hoped to soothe his nervous stomach. There was absolutely no reason to fret. Her absence is a boon, he reminded himself, yet the lack of Elizabeth gnawed on his nerves.
The conversation had turned from the state of the roads to the unusual warmth of the weather. When Mrs. Bennet launched into a detailed description of her friends’ various health complaints, Darcy allowed his attention to wander. His gaze frequently drifted to the window in the hopes of spying Elizabeth on the road.
“—since Lydia and Lizzy are away—”
“I beg your pardon?” Darcy said.
Mrs. Bennet blinked; Darcy had interrupted rather suddenly. “Where did you say El—your other daughters are at present?”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “I did not say, but they are gone to Brighton with Colonel Forster’s regiment. Lydia is a particular friend of Mrs. Forster’s—and such a favorite with all the officers!” she crowed. “And Lizzy has gone to keep her sister company,” she added as an afterthought.
Recalling Miss Lydia’s behavior, Darcy concluded that Elizabeth’s purpose was to prevent her sister from shaming the family. Regardless, she was not at Longbourn.
Darcy set his teacup down on the saucer so forcefully it clanged, causing everyone to glance in his direction. Devil take it! Not only was Elizabeth gone, but she was at Brighton surrounded by hundreds of lonely soldiers. Of course, he had not expected anything of a romantic nature to occur, but he had thought to catch a glimpse of her.
Darcy grasped the arms of his chair, resisting the impulse to leap to his feet and demand a horse for Brighton at once. He had no reason for visiting the seaside resort, and Elizabeth would not be pleased to see him there.
Bingley’s face held great sympathy. I hope my distress is not so obvious to the others.
Mrs. Bennet was still rattling on about Brighton. “Lizzy is not quite so popular with all the officers, but one of them has taken a fancy to her.” She gave Darcy a meaningful glare. With a stab of panic, he realized she meant Wickham. But surely Elizabeth was immune from Wickham’s charms after reading Darcy’s letter at Hunsford.
Only now did Darcy realize how much he had wanted to see Elizabeth at Longbourn. Although he had tried to quell any hopes, he had still imagined conversations in which he sought her forgiveness and persuaded her to accept a courtship. Now the prospect of several days at Netherfield felt hollow and pointless.
“Darcy?” Bingley’s voice shook him from his reverie.
“Hmm?”
“You were woolgathering.” His friend chuckled.
Darcy scowled. He disliked laughter at his expense, particularly when he was already out of sorts.
“We are taking a walk, and I asked if you would join us,” Bingley said.
An escape from Mrs. Bennet’s prattle? “It would be my pleasure.”
Apparently, Mary Bennet did not care for walks, so the party consisted of Miss Jane, Miss Catherine, Bingley, and Darcy. Remembering Kitty from his previous sojourn in Hertfordshire, Darcy fervently hoped that she remained fixated on red coats and had not acquired an interest in men of large fortune.
As the ladies donned light wraps in the front hallway, the younger Miss Bennet treated Darcy with such complete indifference that his fears were allayed. Within minutes the quartet was strolling along the dusty country road.
Jane and Bingley were immediately engrossed in earnest conversation, which apparently required a walking pace that a slug would find tedious. Kitty and Darcy soon left them far behind.
Darcy strode beside the younger Miss Bennet in silence. What could he possibly say to a girl of this age? All he knew of her was that she liked men in red coats—hardly an appropriate subject for conversation.
However, Kitty might have copious information on one topic of keen interest to Darcy and no doubt she would be indiscreet enough to share it. “I was surprised to learn that your sisters were gone to Brighton,” he said.
Kitty kicked at a stone in the road. “Everything is so dull in Meryton now, and Lydia is enjoying herself in Brighton. It isn’t fair! I am older; I should have been the one to go!”
Best to direct the conversation in other directions. “I was surprised that Miss Elizabeth accompanied her. Is she a particular friend of Mrs. Forster’s as well?”
“She is not, to be sure!” Kitty’s tone turned peevish. “Lizzy is scarcely acquainted with Mrs. Forster, but Papa insisted that she must go.”
This lent credence to the idea that Elizabeth was to serve as a sort of chaperone for her younger sister, hardly an enviable position.
Kitty continued. “There is nothing for her in Brighton. Lizzy does not even care for the officers!” Relief surged through Darcy, but then she added, “Well, except for Mr. Wickham, of course.”
Darcy nearly tripped over his own feet. “Wickham?”
Kitty’s sidelong glance suggested she had heard much of Wickham’s slander. “Yes, he is quite Lizzy’s favorite.”
Darcy was finding it difficult to breathe. “When I encountered her in Kent, I was of the impression that her friendship with Mr. Wickham had, er, waned,” he managed to say.
Kitty squinted at him. “You saw Lizzy in Kent?”
Elizabeth had concealed his presence at Rosings? Why? He could understand avoiding the details of his disastrous marriage proposal, but was it necessary to hide their entire encounter?
“Er, yes. Mr. Collins is my aunt’s parson.” Darcy thought it best to give as little explanation as possible.
“Huh.”
Darcy needed to learn more. “I thought Miss Elizabeth did not care for Mr. Wickham,” he prompted.
Kitty shrugged. “She was vexed when he was courting Mary King, but that came to an end while Lizzy was away.”
Surely Elizabeth would not have returned Wickham’s interest after returning from Kent. When she read Darcy’s letter… “Miss Elizabeth was still on good terms with Mr. Wickham?” Hearing the incredulity in his own voice, Darcy was not surprised at Kitty’s searching look.
“Oh yes!” Kitty declared without hesitation. “It was as if Mary King had never existed and Lizzy had never left. I actually”—the girl lowered her voice and inclined her head toward Darcy’s, although there was no one nearby to hear her secret—“spied them in the garden! They didn’t even notice me.” She giggled.
“Alone in the garden?” The mere image filled Darcy with horror.
“I even saw him”—she paused for dramatic effect—“kiss her!”
“K-Kiss?” Darcy could not breathe.
Kitty held a hand to her heart. “It was so romantic—just as it was described in The Castle of Otranto. Have you read it? It is terribly good!”
Darcy tried and failed rather spectacularly to avoid picturing Wickham kissing Elizabeth. It was all too easy to imagine. His chest ached from lack of air—or was that pain in his heart?
A sudden thought struck him. “Did he force her into it?”
Kitty’s brows drew together. “Of course not. She was smiling.”
Turning away from Kitty, Darcy concentrated on not being sick by the side of the road.
“He is frightfully handsome, particularly in his regimentals. He appears exactly as an officer ought to. Don’t you think?” Fortunately, she continued without expecting an answer. “And he’s so noble. He could be bitter and angry, but he’s all amiability despite the horrible way he’s been treated by—”
Darcy twisted his head around to glare at Kitty, whose mind finally caught up with her tongue.
“—by other people,” she finished lamely.
Darcy immediately dismissed any consideration of telling Kitty the truth; her opinion was of no matter. But how could Elizabeth—? He had given her the letter. She knew the truth of Wickham’s nature. Darcy had even revealed the truth about Georgiana. Elizabeth could not possibly trust the man.
But what if she had
not read the letter?
Panic blazed through him like a lightning bolt. Writing a letter to an unmarried woman was highly improper, but Elizabeth had never seemed overly concerned about propriety. Had he shown a casual disregard for her reputation? Had he further provoked her rage? Perhaps she had never opened the letter. Perhaps she had thrown it into the fire.
He bit his tongue to stifle a cry of dismay.
I should not have quitted Kent without ensuring she would read the letter. His account of Georgiana’s experience would have armed Elizabeth against Wickham, but why should she deign to read a letter from a man who had so thoroughly insulted her and her family? In all probability she had assumed the letter contained self-justifications or pleas for her to reconsider his proposal—and it had immediately been consigned to the fire.
Now she was in Brighton, believing that Wickham was a trustworthy man who had been wronged by Darcy.
Darcy rested his hand on the trunk of a nearby tree to keep his balance. “What have I done?” he whispered to himself.
“Mr. Darcy?” Kitty Bennet’s face was screwed up with anxiety. “Are you about to be ill? You look so strange.”
Good Lord, he had entirely forgotten her presence. “I believe something I ate may not have agreed with me.” He touched his stomach briefly.
She backed away, saying in alarm, “My slippers are new.”
“Perhaps we should return to the house,” he said.
She nodded in fervent agreement. Darcy straightened his jacket and turned toward Longbourn. He needed to get to Brighton.
***
“Darcy, sit down. Simply watching you makes me restless!” Bingley complained as Darcy made his seventh or eighth lap across the drawing room floor, seemingly attempting to wear a path in Netherfield’s carpet.
Darcy threw himself into a chair. “I should have departed tonight. Waiting was a mistake.”
Bingley rolled his eyes. “Once again I remind you: the journey to Brighton is long—and dangerous on a moonless night.”
“Imagine if Jane were in Brighton with that blackguard!” Darcy growled.
Bingley pressed his lips together until they turned white.
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