Darcy examined the knot of colorful silk that was his driving club’s signature neckcloth, observing in particular the series of knots cascading with deceptive ease into the top of his waistcoat. Club rules decreed that it be arranged precisely so, and no member would be granted entrée to the dinner if it deviated in the slightest degree. Never one to abide such nonsense, Darcy had not attended the Four-and-Go Club’s annual dinner since his induction a number of years before, but tonight was Bingley’s night. Therefore, not only Fletcher’s skill but his memory also had been called upon to produce the required entrance ticket.
“Well done, Fletcher!”
“Thank you, sir.” The valet lowered the hand mirror and placed it carefully on the dressing table. “I only hope that Mr. Bingley’s man can achieve the same result. His last attempt was merely passable.”
“That is why Mr. Bingley will come to Erewile House for your inspection before going to dinner.” Darcy shrugged into the frock coat his valet held up.
“Indeed, sir!” Fletcher replied as he smoothed the shoulders. Darcy could hear the smile of satisfaction in his voice. “I shall await your summons.”
Nodding, Darcy gathered his fob and pocket watch, left his rooms, and proceeded down the stairs to the Small Parlor. The much-longed-for retreat to Pemberley after the Wickham affair had lasted only a week. His Matlock relations had arrived hard upon his return, and most of his time had been spent in their service. Lord and Lady Matlock were not unwelcome guests, and the introduction of his cousin D’Arcy’s new fiancée, a lovely and modest young woman suggested by Her Ladyship, was a pleasure, especially for Georgiana. Darcy managed a few private moments with his sister in which to confide his discovery of Wickham and relate in general terms that the affair had been brought to a successful conclusion. She listened with sympathy and accepted his abbreviated account with a sincere joy that all had ended well for the family of her newest acquaintance. “Might Miss Elizabeth Bennet visit us again?” she asked, but he held out only a weak “Perhaps” as a possibility.
Georgiana’s desire to see Elizabeth again echoed strongly in his own heart. How he longed to know her thoughts, her feelings about all that had transpired! Was she recovered from her pain? Had she returned to her former liveliness, or had the whole affair changed her irrevocably? The frustration of his desire was an ache in his chest. She could never know of his involvement beyond her desperate confession to him that day in Lambton. He had expressed to the Gardiners in the strongest terms that his involvement be kept secret and that Lydia be sworn to silence. The Bennet family was to know nothing. He had, in short, no reasonable expectation of ever seeing her again. It was entirely possible that he would never witness the least result of his efforts. But had he not known that from the first?
“Show him in, Witcher,” Darcy instructed his butler upon Bingley’s announcement at the parlor door. With quick strides, his friend came and, in some perturbation, stood before him and demanded Darcy’s opinion of “this blasted knot.”
“Driving the course under the critique of the country’s most noted horsemen and whips was not half so unnerving as my man’s fiddling with this thing.” He flipped the ends of his silks with contempt.
Darcy laughed. “I have already put Fletcher on notice, Charles. Come, let him set you to rights before the others have at you.”
“I feel at such sixes and sevens,” Bingley confided to him later as Darcy’s carriage pulled away from the curb. “It is not just this.” He motioned to his neckcloth. “Or the scrutiny of the club on my every word until my induction this evening. It is my whole life!” he ended in exasperation.
“How do you mean? Has something happened?” Darcy turned to him in concern.
“Nothing in particular, but that is part and parcel of the problem. I have no goal, no direction. Nothing to strive for or against,” he answered. “Yet, there are decisions which I must make that could very well determine my future.”
“The stuff of life,” Darcy commiserated lightly, but his companion was not deterred.
“For instance,” Bingley continued, “I determined last year that I simply must have my own country house. My social obligations demand it. I had hoped to have that settled by now, but deuce take it, I cannot make up my mind. Only last week, I received an inquiry from the agent for Netherfield Hall asking if I intend to purchase it or not. Caroline is against it…”
Netherfield! Darcy’s mind set to racing. He had forgotten about Netherfield, assuming that Bingley had terminated his lease months ago. Netherfield! And only three miles distant — Elizabeth!
“Perhaps,” he delicately interrupted his friend’s musings, “another visit might help you to make your decision.”
“You advise it?” Bingley drew back. “That was my own feeling, but…So, you do! Well!” He shook his head as if in wonder. “Would you, then, possibly consider —?”
“Accompanying you?” Darcy finished for him, then wished he had bitten his tongue rather than betray his eagerness.
Bingley did not appear to notice, for his next words were a rush of gratitude that spilled on into dates and plans until the carriage pulled up to the site of the club’s dinner. “This is so good of you, Darcy!” he exclaimed, descending to the curb.
Good of you? Darcy thought to himself as he followed Bingley into the hotel, or was it merely selfish opportunism? Upon reflection, he decided that it was a mixture of both. He had interfered last autumn with such harmful results that, whether Jane Bennet received Bingley or not on this second foray into Hertfordshire, Darcy was forced to acknowledge he owed his friend a full account of his conspiracy to part them on the first. It would be uncomfortable and embarrassing — eventualities he richly deserved — but worse, it might very well cost him the friendship of this decent man. That, he owned with a deep pang, he would deserve as well.
“You are arrived at last!” Bingley’s great smile and hearty clap on his shoulder attested to Darcy’s welcome one week later on the very doorstep of Netherfield Hall. “I thought I would be driven mad awaiting you these several days, but there is such a great deal to be done opening a house! Dawn to dusk!”
“Really?” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “I had no notion!” he teased.
Bingley laughed. “Come in, come in!” Darcy followed behind as his friend led him to the library. Their progress was slowed somewhat as Bingley confidently nodded directions to a servant here or answered a question from another one there until at last they were alone within their old haunt awaiting the arrival of a tray. Had it taken but two days as master of Netherfield to effect such a difference in attitude? From whence had come this ease? Darcy teased his friend. Coloring at his praise, Bingley quickly placed its origin in the warmth of his reception. A number of the county’s landowners had paid him visits within hours of his arrival, welcoming him back into the neighborhood and pressing upon him all manner of invitation. Then there were the servants, largely the same as those he’d had the previous year, who showed every indication that they were, indeed, glad to see him returned to Netherfield. “It is truly above everything,” Bingley concluded with obvious pleasure, “more than ever I expected!”
Darcy smiled and murmured his agreement, pleased with his friend’s doubly good news. The neighborhood, it appeared, had not held the events of last year against Bingley but was, in fact, eager to renew its acquaintance. That the servants were glad for his return also boded well. Bingley’s increased confidence and ease in his role were undoubted testimony of their efforts to encourage him to stay. There remained but the question of Miss Bennet. Had he tried to see her?
The ordered tray arrived, and after the servant closed the library door behind him, Darcy inquired whether his friend had paid any visits since his arrival. He had been far too busy to do any more than pay a call on Squire Justin, Bingley replied and shook his head, and that only because he had encountered his carriage on the road and been strongly importuned to follow him home for a welcoming cup. “But yesterday, I determined to remedy that.” He looked at Darcy, a mixture of anxiety and excitement in his eyes. “I intend to visit the Bennet family tomorrow.”
“Indeed?” Darcy accepted Bingley’s statement with no show of his surprise, but his heart pounded in expectation.
“I know that the company of the Bennets is not what you prefer,” Bingley continued, sitting back in the chair, “and the younger girls can be rather tiresome. I could put it off —”
“My dear Bingley,” Darcy remonstrated with mock severity, “you are not to neglect your social obligations to as prominent a family as the Bennets on my account!”
His friend laughed, then sobered only a little before asking, “You have no objection, then?”
“None.” Darcy rose from his chair, the rapidity of his immersion into Elizabeth’s society exciting both a joy and a fear he was not certain he could disguise, and approached a window that looked out onto the fields and wood of the hall. “Shall we see how the land has fared in the year you have been absent?”
Rather than send his card in announcement of their visit, Bingley decided over their evening port that they should give their prospective hosts the joy of it in person. Torn between an engulfing desire to see Elizabeth and an innate caution that his appearance might not give her or her family as much pleasure as Bingley predicted, Darcy could only nod approval to his friend’s plan before steering the conversation elsewhere. Yes, he had come to Netherfield with Bingley’s welfare as his prime motivation and, if he had made a terrible mistake in his assessment of Jane Bennet’s affections, rectifying his misdeed. The sooner he determined the yea or nay of the matter, the better — not only for Bingley but for his own conscience. But he had come, too, nurturing the hope of discovering what remained of the beginning he and Elizabeth had made at Pemberley. He had pondered how to achieve these ends during the greater part of his journey to Hertfordshire, but miraculously, the opportunity for seeing to both was set before him without effort on his part! Nevertheless, the speed at which his hopes and fears were distilling into irretrievable action was breathtaking, beyond anything he could have planned or, truth be told, even wished!
Despite what he wished, there was no denying the material fact that tomorrow would bring him face-to-face with Elizabeth. How should they meet? How should they go on? It was certainly quite paradoxical, he wryly observed as he lay in bed that night, how an event for which one had longed could, upon the eve of its occurrence, so handily transform itself into a thing fraught with the most wrenching apprehension. An unquiet night followed, but when morning finally dawned, with it came the conviction that, in order to accomplish what he had come to do, it was not Elizabeth but Jane Bennet he must learn of and toward whom the greater part of his powers of discernment must bend.
They rode slowly. When Darcy had met his friend at the mounting block, Bingley greeted him with his usual smiling exuberance and chatter, which had lasted until they met the road to Longbourn. Then, his conversation lagged. Now Bingley was almost silent, the gait of their horses reduced to no more than an amble. Darcy looked sideways at his friend, searching for some revival of his liveliness, but Bingley continued gripped by a pensive mood Darcy knew not how to brook.
They had just turned in to the lane leading up to Longbourn when Bingley reined in his horse. “It is better to be certain of the truth of a matter, is it not?” he demanded of Darcy. “One should not go on without having resolved the past.”
Darcy nodded slowly, his eyes trained on Bingley’s countenance. “That is usually the wisest policy.”
Bingley nodded back. “Well then.” He turned and, setting his shoulders, nudged his mount forward. Following a moment later, Darcy observed the set of his friend’s shoulders with dismay and no little sting of guilt. If, as he suspected, Bingley had sunk into self-doubt and a wariness of his reception as they rode toward Longbourn, it could be laid entirely at Darcy’s door. He had exposed Bingley to the censure of the world for caprice and instability — that was how Elizabeth had put it. Thank heavens the “world” in the environs of Meryton seemed to have forgiven Charles the events of last year. Would those at Longbourn be as kind?
Bingley’s doubt of his welcome must have been swept away as soon as he dismounted from his horse. The stable boy who ran up to them, the maidservant who opened the door to them, and the housekeeper who announced them — all did so with the infectious sort of enthusiasm that portended a unanimous welcome within. Darcy hoped that the pleasure at Bingley’s coming might spill over to include him in a general way and lessen the awkwardness his presence must provoke. The door to the Bennets’ parlor opened under the housekeeper’s hand, allowing a shaft of sunlight to pierce Longbourn’s hall. Darcy drew a breath against the sensation that time and space were careening wildly beyond his grasp.
“Mr. Bingley! How delightful that you have called!” Mrs. Bennet’s ample form blocked the doorway. “We were just remarking, were we not, girls, how wonderful it would be if you were to call today; and here you are! Is it not marvelous?”
“Ladies!” Bingley bowed immediately upon entering the parlor, Darcy following him. When they rose, Kitty was smiling at Bingley. She quickly curtsied at his bow, then returned to a pile of ribbons on the table. Mary dropped a perfunctory curtsy and walked away to resume her book at the far side of the room. Darcy and Bingley turned to the last two. Miss Bennet and Elizabeth stood together, the color in their faces rising ever so slightly as they offered their curtsies. The picture of grace and modesty Elizabeth presented sent Darcy’s heart thudding so loudly against his ribs that it hurt. He allowed himself the luxury of a few moments’ gaze, searching for a look, a smile that might indicate the state of her heart, but Elizabeth seemed distracted. He forced his eyes away and commanded his heart to be still.
“Please, be seated,” Mrs. Bennet spoke again. “Mr. Bingley, you must sit here out of the sun.” She guided him to quite the most comfortable chair in the room. “There, is that not pleasant? And so convenient for conversing. Should you like some refreshment?” It was only after Bingley had murmured a denial that she finally turned to Darcy. “And Mr. Darcy.” She waved her hand vaguely about the room before seating herself close to her preferred guest.
Free to see to himself, Darcy found a chair that was admirably situated for his purposes yet close enough to Elizabeth to allow some conversation without demanding it. He sank gratefully into its contours and waited a few ceremonious moments before leaning in Elizabeth’s direction with what he considered must be a safe topic. “May I inquire after your aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner? Are they well?”
Elizabeth started and colored before informing him breathlessly that yes, her relatives were well and would desire her to thank him once again for his courtesies to them at Pemberley.
“It was my pleasure,” he assured her, then looked away, puzzled that she should be disconcerted by a question so customary as to be trite. He looked down at the floor even as all his inclinations yearned to discover what she was thinking. Steeling himself against them, he turned back to Bingley only to be surprised by a question from Elizabeth in turn.
“And Miss Darcy? Is she well?”
“Thank you, she is very well,” he answered, “and sends her greeting with a wish that you might visit again someday.”
“Oh, she is very kind.” She may have intended to say more, but he was not to know.
“It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away,” Mrs. Bennet declared, overriding all conversation. “I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say, you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true.” She looked at him slyly. “A great many changes have happened in the neighborhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers.” Bingley could offer no comment on this assertion, for she gave him no opportunity. “It was in The Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq., to Miss Lydia Bennet,’ without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything.” She leaned toward him, shaking her head pettishly. “It was my brother Gardiner’s drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?”
While Bingley replied that he had and made his congratulations, Darcy could only sit, struggling that his astonishment should not show in any part of his person. He had anticipated a discreet mention of Lydia’s marriage in explanation of her absence, delivered, of course, with a painfully acquired circumspection of manner. But, no, there was to be none of that! A glance at Elizabeth showed her struggling with embarrassment at her mother’s words. She glanced at him briefly and then quickly returned to her needlework.
“It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married,” Mrs. Bennet continued with not the slightest indication of prudence, “but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken away from me.” They were gone to Newcastle, she informed them, where his new regiment would be for some time. “I suppose you have heard of his leaving the —— shire, and of his being gone into the Regulars. Thank Heaven, he has some friends, though, perhaps, not so many as he deserves.” Her eyes traveled past Bingley to scour Darcy’s stony face.
Disbelief warring with indignation, Darcy stood and moved to a window as he labored to retain his self-possession under her condemning eye. As his gaze traveled over the last flowers of the season in Longbourn’s garden, it struck Darcy how extraordinary it was that this woman could be Elizabeth’s mother! Mrs. Bennet’s self-delusion was complete, her experience of the last weeks incapable of reforming her opinions or teaching her prudence. His pique cooled; its place was taken by a compassion for what Elizabeth and her sisters must always suffer because of their mother.
“Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth’s tremulous voice recalled him, and he looked up at her profile. “Do you mean to make any stay in the country at present?”
“I believe we shall stay a few weeks. The hunting season, you understand.” He looked at Miss Bennet during his reply and might have said more, but her mother pounced upon his words.
“When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, I beg you will come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet’s manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.”
“You are very kind, madam.” Bingley responded to her absurd speech with remarkable grace. He turned to the sisters. “But I do not anticipate being forever in the field. Is there anything, Miss Bennet, that will call all the countryside together?”
Ah, here at last was what he had come to observe! As Bingley engaged Jane Bennet in conversation, Darcy considered them both. Bingley was flushed, his eyes cautiously hopeful as he carefully drew her out from her mother’s shadow. His feelings were unmistakable. Miss Bennet’s responses were, by contrast, measured but gracious. Bingley persisted. Her eyes warmed a little as he teased her on some point, then she laughed. A smile spread across Bingley’s face and his shoulders straightened, at which Miss Bennet blushed and looked down, but not before Darcy saw the shining eyes and gentle smile that accompanied it. A beginning that held promise, he decided and wondered how he ever could have imagined Jane Bennet scheming to trap his friend into a socially advantageous marriage.
What, then, of Elizabeth? He looked at her quickly, then back to Bingley, his heart sinking. She was so quiet! Tension emanated from her in waves. Did she wish him gone, or did she wish him to speak? Should he allude to their time at Pemberley? Dare he attempt to continue as they had during her visit, before the arrival of the letter bearing news of Wickham’s treachery? He looked again out the window as conflicting explanations for her behavior racked his brain.
A scraping of chairs alerted Darcy that their call was drawing to a close, and he rose to make his good-byes, eager to put an end to both their suffering. But he and Bingley were not to make an immediate escape.
“You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet accused playfully as they made their way to the door, “for when you went to Town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with us as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement. You must dine with us this very week, sir! Is Tuesday agreeable?”
Bingley’s eyes flew to Darcy’s, a flush creeping above his neckcloth, before he turned to his hostess and stammered an apology. With a glance at Miss Bennet, whose color had also risen, he accepted the inelegant invitation on behalf of them both. “Mrs. Bennet.” He and Darcy bowed in farewell. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth…” Bingley continued taking leave of them all, Darcy repeating the compliment after him. Miss Bennet’s answering farewell to Darcy was all that was composed, and he was quite able to meet her eyes; but Elizabeth’s he feared to pursue for the relief he might see in them.
They were to meet again, dine together at Longbourn, in two days’ time. He was glad for Bingley’s sake. “What do you think, Charles?” he asked when they reached the end of the lane and turned in to the road. “Would you say it went well?”
“As well as can be expected after so lengthy an absence,” he replied thoughtfully, then launched suddenly into a veritable paean. “Is she not beautiful? As beautiful as I — No, more beautiful than I remember! Oh, Darcy, the way she smiled at me!”
As they wended their way to their next morning call, Darcy listened with sympathy to all his friend’s expressions of renewed hope, but his own hopes he considered as gravely in doubt. If, as it appeared, he only caused Elizabeth pain or his presence confused her into silence, he would not give her cause for more by imposing himself upon her notice any more than necessary. He would place himself even more firmly at Bingley’s disposal and continue to observe Miss Bennet, his eyes this time attuned to the more subtle signs of affection which resided in that Bennet sister. As for Elizabeth, he decided as they rode to the squire’s, he would need a sign from her or he was for London as soon as possible.
Their visit with Squire Justin was conducted along such familiar lines as to deny they had been absent from Hertfordshire for more than a fortnight. Under the squire’s hearty ministrations, it occurred again to Darcy that, should his friend become a fixture in the neighborhood, he would do quite well among them. The squire, Darcy noted, might be just the sort of older, wiser head toward whom Bingley would do well to turn as Darcy eased himself out of a role he felt less and less qualified to play. He would mention it to Bingley, should his friend find that all he desired did, indeed, reside in Hertfordshire.
It was decided. He would leave on the following day. Darcy looked up at the ceiling above his bed, then flung an arm over his eyes. The dinner at Longbourn the previous evening had provided every reason to believe Bingley’s feet upon the path to happiness. He had watched the pair, their delight in each other patently obvious, with growing certainty. With the confession Darcy must make to him today, Charles would soon be well down the road to matrimony. It was time to cut him loose and leave him to make his future. As for his own…
The company at Longbourn had proved to be large in number. Of this fact, Mrs. Bennet had not hesitated to remind him several times, harking back, Darcy supposed, to his utterance last autumn about the confining nature of country life. Other than those commonplaces required of a hostess, she had ignored him most of the evening, and he had kept his distance from her. Only at dinner had he been forced to sit near her and partake of a meal replete with the reiteration of all the vulgar speculations of the dinner ball at Netherfield, now generously seasoned with raptures over her recently married daughter and son-in-law.
After being greeted in the hall by his hosts, he had come to Miss Bennet, who had greeted him with the kind smile she was wont to bestow on every creature. Making his bow, he had moved on. Elizabeth. His heart had turned over as he looked down on her glossy curls and creamy brow. How could she always surprise him with more loveliness than he remembered when he remembered and cherished every moment between them?
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth had looked up at him, her glorious eyes uncertain as she briefly explored his face, then looked down in her curtsy. “So good of you to come.”
“Not at all,” he had replied upon rising from his bow. “It is you who are good to invite us.” And that had been the sum of their conversation until the evening was almost over. When he had taken the opportunity to stand by her, she had asked about Georgiana. He had answered her and then waited, standing there awkwardly, his tongue tied against the riot of questions he longed to ask, but she had said no more and he had walked away when another young woman required her attention. Not once that evening had she approached him! Neither had the vivacious Elizabeth, full of life and wit and challenge, ever made an appearance.
Soon after, he had found himself planted at a table of whist players whose fiendish affinity for the game fortunately required his unwavering attention. Between hands, he had stolen glances across the room to Elizabeth’s table. The look upon her face had indicated little pleasure with her cards. Perhaps it had indicated little pleasure with the whole of the evening. He could not tell. What had pleased her was the renewal of Bingley’s attentions to her sister. The soft look he so coveted for himself she had bestowed often on the pair as they walked about the room together or sat and conversed with other guests.
Well, so it must be, he thought to himself with something like despair and threw off the covers. He had wished for a sign, and though he had not received a negative reception, there was in nowise enough positive in their exchanges to constitute any encouragement to stay. So, he was for London. Darcy rose and threw open the curtains. One last day…one last day that must end in either strengthening or destroying a friendship. His eyes traced the distance over the fields from Netherfield to Longbourn. Elizabeth…Elizabeth.
“What good fellows they are!” Bingley turned a bright, satisfied countenance upon Darcy when the last of his guests had called for his carriage or horse and departed into the cool of the autumn night. “I like them quite as well as — better than — I did last autumn.” An impromptu gathering of gentlemen for cards had been announced by Bingley the night before at Longbourn, and many had come, glad for an evening away from the eyes of mother, wife, or sister.
“A good sort on all counts,” Darcy agreed as they returned to the drawing room and a last glass of port. “It is gratifying to know that I leave you in such good company. You shall want for nothing to keep you occupied during my absence.” He observed Bingley carefully as he poured out their drinks. His friend was in the best of humors. The visits to Longbourn and the welcome of his return by the neighboring gentry were doing his friend great good, and for this, Darcy was exceedingly thankful. Now, the night before he was to leave Hertfordshire for London, was the time to tell him. His stomach tightened even as he accepted a glass from his friend.
“I wish you would not leave so soon, but since you must, here is to those fellows who just departed, and to your speedy return.” Bingley raised his glass, smiling at him. A swift pang smote Darcy at the sight. When he had done with what he must tell him, would Bingley still wish for his return? Darcy tipped his glass to Bingley’s, and each downed a portion of his liquor. Go to! Darcy’s conscience badgered him.
“Charles, there is something that I must tell you before I leave.”
“Tell away, Darcy!” Bingley set his glass down, flung himself with a bounce into the large stuffed chair, and motioned to its mate before the fire.
“No, thank you, I think I will stand.” Darcy took another sip of the port and stared into the flames.
Bingley looked up at him in concern. “Are you quite the thing, Darcy? I did notice that you have been more quiet than usual this evening.”
“A sore conscience tends to subdue the spirits, my friend, and that is the reason for my behavior tonight. I knew that I must speak, and the prospect of confession, however necessary, is never pleasant.”
“I say, you are sounding frightfully somber, Darcy. Confession! What can you have to confess to me?”
“I have interfered in your life, Charles, in such a manner that I can only regard as the most absurd piece of impertinence that I have ever committed.” Darcy looked down into his friend’s confused but trusting countenance, and regret washed over him as a tide. “My only excuse, if I may be allowed one, is that at the time I had convinced myself I was acting entirely for your good. I have come to see that I was wrong, very wrong, on every side.”
“Darcy! Come, my friend —”
“Charles.” He forestalled Bingley’s denial of his guilt with an upraised palm. “You must understand my offense.” He bit his lip as a sigh escaped him and then took a deep breath. “Without any regard for your feelings or hers, I made it my aim to do everything that was within my power to separate you from Miss Bennet last autumn.”
“What?” Bingley stared uncomprehendingly at him.
“I worked to prevent you from pursuing the connection despite the evidence of your attachment. I had convinced myself of Miss Bennet’s indifference to you and then made it my business to cast doubt upon her character and dissuade you from trusting your own mind and heart.” He stared down into the glass in his hand, unable to look at his companion. “My temerity so astounds me, even as I tell you, that I should not complain should you order me from your house this instant.”
Bingley’s face had gone pale. His hand shook as he set down his glass. “All this time? Do you mean to say that all this time she…But Caroline and Louisa both said the same!”
“Your sisters did not desire the connection, Charles. They have more exalted hopes where your marriage is concerned. Frankly, and to my shame, I conspired with them in this.”
“Good God, Darcy! I cannot believe it of you!” Bingley jumped up and walked away from him, raking his hand through his hair.
“It was in every way reprehensible.” Darcy watched in concern and not a little pain as Bingley paced to and fro. If only he could end it here, but of course, there was more. “My dishonor does not end there, Charles. I must also confess that Miss Bennet was in London above three months last winter, and I directed that her presence be hidden from you.”
“Darcy!”
“I should also tell you that Miss Bennet called on Miss Bingley and waited weeks for her notice, which when it came, was made only to cut the acquaintance. That, also, was under my direction.” The look on Bingley’s face was terrible to see, and Darcy’s heart sank. He closed his eyes, searching for the words for a proper apology.
“I am sorry for the pain I have caused you and Miss Bennet. Heartily sorry, Charles. The only amends I can offer are my assurances that I was very wrong about Miss Bennet and that she, indeed, loves you and would yet make you a very happy man.”
Bingley rounded on him. “Your assurances! You tell me that you deceived me, defrauded me of the love of the sweetest of women, encouraged me to doubt my own heart; and I am to accept your assurances?”
“You are right not to depend upon me, Charles. I have proved a poor friend. Leave me out of it. What is your own view of Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked quietly.
A variety of emotions played across Bingley’s face as he wrestled with what he had learned. Turning away and taking a seat, Darcy allowed him the dignity of silence. He sipped at the last of his port and waited, the hearth fire snapping against the irons.
“That my dear Jane suffered all those weeks in London, Darcy! What she must have thought of me! What all the Bennets must think of me! I cannot understand why they received me with such civility when I returned!”
“Charles, the fact that you were so warmly welcomed by them is further proof that Miss Bennet’s affections are very much in your favor.”
“Yes,” Bingley mused aloud, “that seems reasonable. I was welcomed! Although it is true that Miss Bennet and I are not on quite as easy terms as before, I have only just returned.”
“If I may be allowed an opinion, I believe a proposal on your part will be answered in a manner that will afford great happiness to you both.”
“Do you, Darcy?” Bingley flushed. Drawing back a little, he cleared his throat. “Truly?”
“I have no doubt; do you?”
“I don’t know!” Bingley resumed his pacing. “I think…Last night she…Oh, if I dared to ask! Darcy!” he pled, coming to stand before him.
“Wait if you wish, but it will end the same, Charles, and with that I am silent now on the subject!”
With a shout, Bingley grabbed his hand in a crushing grip. Thereafter such a flood of words poured from that gentleman as went far to assure Darcy that, though he had behaved abominably, he had not lost a friend and that that friend forgave him everything in light of his future happiness.